SWF Smarkdown (June 24/2002)

[Guest BA_Baracus]

Silence.

 

Darkness.

 

There was nothing.

 

And, there was pyro.

 

FWOOOOOOOOOOSH! Streaks of explosive sparkles light up the American Airlines Arena, and the entire capacity crowd for this edition of SWF Smarkdown is on its feet, roaring and cheering as the Smarkdown theme rips through the speakers. Fans getting into the show, have signs like “Clan and Carnival = Ratings!” as well as “Raynor is SMASH champ!” The camera slowly eases toward the announce table, where the commentating duo of Mark Stevens and Bobby Riley take over.

 

Stevens: “It is time for another dazzling addition for SWF Storm!”

 

Riley: “Where we will see eVil dominate the rest!”

 

Stevens: “You wish, my commentator friend!”

 

“Light’s out! Guerilla Radio!”

 

“Turn that shit up!”

 

“Light’s out! Guerilla Radio!”

 

“Turn that shit up!”

 

“Guerilla Radio” by Rage Against the Machine invades the ear lobes of the thousands of Florida fans, while several inches away, their mouths let forth an ovation of boos that would make even George Bush change his ways.

 

Stevens: “Ugh! Not the way to start the show!”

 

Riley: “Bah! He signs your paychecks, son! In fact, he didn’t even need to have you be rehired! He was gracious enough to give you this job!”

 

Stevens: “I must remember to send him a thank you bomb.”

 

Commissioner Stubby Pots McWeed steps through the curtains, pausing before entering some more. He stares down at the crowd, laughing at what he has in store for them tonight. He turns back to the curtains, and waves toward him, some more people to come. The fans silence down for half a second, to see who it is, although most already have that gut feeling. Two figures step through the curtains, and with the right lighting, it is soon shown that it’s the former tag team champions, Jay Dawg and Sacred. Smiling as the crowd flanks them with boos, they walk forward until they are a few feet from the boss. Satisfied, Stubby turns around and starts to walk down the ramp, JD and Sacred slowly follow. Halfway down the ramp, amidst in the sea of boos, Stubby suddenly stops. Smiling, he waves his index finger left and right, shaking his head to the crowd. He turns around once again, and points to the top, his music fading.

 

Stevens: “Oh joy. There’s more!”

 

“ALL ABOARD!!!! HAH HAH HAH!!!”

 

And the fans go insane; the sea of boos turns to full-fledged tidal waves. Ozzy Ozbournes “Crazy Train” thunders over the speakers, as the two competitors in the center of the ramp smile, while Stubby rolls his eyes. The Suicide King steps through the curtains, his arms up, greeting the fans in a confident manner, fully aware that anyone of them would take a swing at him at this moment. Finally, they all walk down the ramp, JD and Sacred sneak ahead and hop onto the ring apron, however they stop there, and sit on the ropes, holding it open for Stubby. The commish steps onto the ring apron, and through the hole in the ropes created by JD and Sacred. King hops onto the apron and steps through the ropes himself. JD and Sacred let go of the ropes, grab the top, and launch themselves over the top. The ring filled with the four men, known only as Da Pound. The ring announcer stands there, and finally does his bit.

 

Funyon: “Ladies and Gentleman! Please welcome Da Pound!”

 

Stubby grabs the Mic from Funyon and shoos him out of the ring. Stubby walks around the ring as the other three men grab a corner to rest in.

 

Stubby: “Ladies and Gentleman!”

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!”

 

Stubby: “Ok fine. You thousands of assholes just don’t get it! Not one person in this league can defeat me! When you think you are more powerful then the boss, you get taken down, or you get destroyed! In case you’ve forgotten, we can show the most recent example! Thanks to a little help from our buddy Jay Dawg over there.”

 

JD gives a nod, as the crowd lashes out with curses.

 

Stubby: “The Thugg, the bad guy, the angry black man. Whatever you want to call him, in reality, he is absolutely shit! I mean look at him! He said it himself! ‘I can barely move!’ Hell, roll the damn footage!”

 

The SmarkTron lights up, to last week’s Storm, where HVT sits in the hospital bed, the neckbrace focused on the most. A little bit of editing is done, repeating phrase after painful phrase.

 

“I have a broken goddamn neck! I won’t return to the ring period! I can barely move! I can’t lift my arms! My neck is <BEEP>ing broken!”

 

Stubby: “Heh heh, that’s music to my ears! Let’s hear that one more time!”

 

“I have a broken goddamn neck! I won’t return to the ring period! I can barely move! I can’t lift my arms! My neck is <BEEP>ing broken!”

 

Stubby: “Oh wonderful Jay Dawg, you were there first hand, how did that make you feel to hear that?”

 

Stubby hands the Mic over, as JD steps out of the corner and graciously accepts it.

 

Jamie: “Commissioner McWeed. You have no idea!” his confidence grows, as does the riot from the crowd. He suddenly turns to a mocking voice. “I guess you couldn’t wreck my shit, could you Thugg. Ain’t that a bitch, eh Thugg?”

 

“Jay Dawg sucks! Jay Dawg sucks!”

 

Jamie: “Go on! Boo all you want! He said it himself! He can’t fucking move! So how is he going to take us down! Hey Sacred, I guess he’s going to run us over with his wheelchair!”

 

JD bends slightly over, holding his back, walking like a cripple, as Sacred starts to put his arms up in fear.

 

Jamie: “What are we going to do?”

 

Sacred: “We better walk into the hospital bed, and stick our asses out, that way he might be able to hit us!”

 

Jamie: “I dunno Sacred, that seems like a lot of work. Bah fuck it. You know, the HVille Thugg was one dominant motherfucker. He tore through everyone. Everyone except one man. This one man defeated him everytime he walked into the ring with him. Handicap matches included. This man was great, and in fact still is. However, not only was he the Giant killer. He was the Carnie killer. In the ring, one, two, three, he pinned the HVille Thugg for the heavyweight title. This one man, is the Suicide King.”

 

JD and Sacred point to the Deputy Commish, as he smiles, his pearly whites sparkling.

 

Jamie: “His only flaw. A loss, to that man over there.” Pointing to Stevens, which gets a huge pop. “Oh shut up y’all! King is not one to forget! Are you?” JD hands the Mic over to the Gambling man.

 

King: “I never forget, Jay Dawg. In fact… Stevens, without wasting my time, sweating this beautiful body. I had your ass retired, by one of your best friends! How many people can say they achieved that? Genius is not often loved, but it is always admired. In fact, with the exception of Stubby, no one can say they have done what I have. It is not easy to have just as successful career when retired, compared to your in ring career. We did it, and in time, Sacred, and Jay Dawg, you shall too.”

 

Stevens: “Listen to this idiot! King, someday, I swear! But listen to him manipulate JD and Sacred!”

 

Riley: “Manipulate!? Try saying guiding? If you would listen to a word or two, you might not be retired sitting next to me!”

 

Stevens: “And what do you have to say?”

 

Riley: “Injury you bitch!”

 

Sacred now has the mic.

 

Sacred: “You see, you all thought we were incomplete. However on Storm, Jay Dawg had shown his completion! We are the dominant ones! No one can stop us! However, people get in our way! Men like Edwin MacPhisto! Men like Thoth! They will be wiped out! Like that shot to the head on Storm! Fallout got lucky, we underestimated him. But don’t worry, that will not happen again. The Clan will finally be wiped out, those pesky chunks of vermin, that tried to brainwash our great Commissioner Stubby. Brainwashing only works on the weak minded you morons, like those fucking leaguers, or basically the ones in your crew! Not ones like Stubby! And let’s not ever forget the Carnival. Jay Dawg, my buddy… you will show Edwin what will happen to those who get in our way!”

 

Stevens: “Edwin will show that little punk Jay Dawg what happens to those who cross him!”

 

Riley: “Talking down on one of the guys who gave you a break in this business, Stevens? You poor, ungrateful sap.”

 

Stevens: “Don’t start!”

 

Stubby once again gets the Mic.

 

Stubby: “We have been ridded of Thugg. We will be ridded of Edwin. Bo has left. One thing still haunts me. The name of this stable. Da Pound… do we look like a bunch of Thugs? Hell no! Fuck… from this day forward, we will no longer be known as Da Pound… King… what shall we be known as?”

 

King whispers something into Stubby’s ear.

 

Stubby: “Heh. I like that. FROM NOW ON!!! You will address us as!”

 

Silence fills the arena, people questioning what name has arisen.

 

Stubby: “Creative Control.”

 

Passing the mic to King one last time.

 

King: “Cause we control your success! We control your paychecks! And most of all… we control your lives!”

 

Those last syllables uttered, Rage Against the Machine’s “Guerilla Radio” cranks over the speakers. King tosses the Mic out of the ring, and the four exits to the cases of boos.

 

Stevens: “Listen to his crowd! These guys think they have more power then should be allowed! They will be straightened out in time!”

 

Riley: “What a way to start the show! WOOF to da POOF!”

 

Stevens: “Did you just say woof to da poof?”

 

Riley: “No. But these evil bastards are going to kick some ass and I love it!”

 

Stevens: “Whatever, let’s see the damn card!”

[Guest BA_Baracus]

HARDCORE MATCH

Ash Ketchum vs. Johnny Rotten

- Ash Ketchum will likely be facing Stryke in a hardcore title match this Sunday and he’ll try to get back in the garbage groove on Smarkdown.

Match Description – Regular DQ and count-out rules are not in effect. Submissions, pinfalls and knockouts count anywhere within the arena.

 

WACKY MIS-MATCHED 6 MAN TAG MATCH!

Thoth & Durandal vs. Stryke & Xero vs. Mercury & Chris Raynor

- Thoth returned on Storm and set his sights on Chris Wilson (and his allies, such as Stryke) while on the same show Raynor defeated Durandal to become the US champ and Xero and Mercury squared off. Which team will mesh best and come out the winner?

Match Description – DQ and count-out rules are in effect. 3 men are allowed in the ring at once and each man can only tag his assigned partner. The first team to score a pinfall, submission or knockout is the winner.

 

NON-TITLE SINGLES MATCH

Edwin MacPhisto vs. Jay Dawg

- Leading into the Storm main-event it appeared as if Jay Dawg (who returned on the show) had some sort of beef with Sacred. It turned out to be a ruse though, as he ended up hitting MacPhisto over the head with a chair and costing him the match! The current heavyweight champ gets a shot at revenge this Monday.

 

3-WAY MATCH FOR THE #1 CONTENDERSHIP TO THE SWF HEAVYWEIGHT TITLE

Fallout vs. Chris Wilson vs. Erek Taylor

- Fallout won a triple threat match on Storm to earn a place in this match, against an opponent that at the time was a mystery. Well, it turns out he doesn’t just have one opponent, but two! He’ll go up against the recently resurgent Chris Wilson and Erek Taylor who returned on Storm and attacked Wilson. Who will face Edwin MacPhisto next Sunday?

Match Description – DQ and count-out rules are in effect. Once someone is eliminated via pinfall, submission or knockout they must leave ringside and can no longer participate in the match. The last man surviving is the winner.

[Guest BA_Baracus]

SWF Smarkdown rolls back from a happy SWF Live commercial, the fans at Miami’s American Airlines Arena jump to their feet! The cheers are deafeaning... and hey, this is just the opening of the show! The a/c is running, and that makes the announcing team of “Grand Slam” Mark Stevens and Bobby Riley very happy. Oh, and the camera keeps catching a glimpse of a “STUBBY OWNZ J00!” sign behind the announcers.

 

Stevens: Ladies and gentlemen, we welcome you back to the American Airlines Arena in Miami-

 

Riley: SOMEONE TURN ON THE A/C! I’M DYING IN HERE!

 

Stevens: It’s already on, stupid.

 

Riley:Well, it’s not cold enough for me!

 

Stevens: *sigh* Bobbi... when will you EVER shut up...

 

Riley: ...Did you just call em Bobbi? TELL ME YOU DIDN’T JUST CALL ME BOBBI!!!

 

Stevens: Whatever, Booker.

 

Riley: SUCKA!!

 

Stevens: But next, we will see Ash Ketchum facing off against Johnny Rotten, and this Sunday, Ash takes on Stryke in a re-match for the Hardcore title!

 

Riley: Five stars, all the way! Woo-hoo! Stryke’s gonna kick ass!

 

Suddenly, “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.

 

Funyon: The following contest, is scheduled for one fall! Introducing first, weighing in at 268 pounds... Johnny... ROTTEN!

 

Rotten climbs in the ring with a cocky sneer. The fans pick this up, and a few boos come from the crowd.

 

Stevens: Rotten’s had some, well, rotten luck as of late, losing to Thoth on Storm in the lastest of his matches.

 

Riley: Hmmmm... I think his frown’s gonna turn upside down after he’s through with Ash!

 

Rotten checks the tightness of his wristbands, making them comfortably snug. He looks up at the entryway as his music fades. The lights cut out, a kickin’ piano piece blastin’ over the speakers. The crowd begins to cheer a little, pyro similar to Christian’s entrance flowing from the top of the SmarkTron and spewing from vents in front of the entrance.

 

Riley: Oh greeeeeeeat. He had to show up.

 

At the same time, a Poke Ball upon the SmarkTron. It begins to spin as the crowd pops, spinning faster and faster and faster until it stops, blocked out by a picture of a certain wrestler’s head, winking at everyone in the arena. A huge pyro blast kicks up from the front of the stage as Billy Crawford’s “Pokemon Theme” blasts through the speakers. The pyro in front of the entrance then stops, and a spotlight shines down on Ash Ketchum and his sexy girlfriend Misty. Turning around from his Jericho-like pose, Misty on his right side, he spins, making eye contact with Rotten as Misty points them out and says something to Ash. Ketchum nods, then smiles and waves to Johnny. Ketchum and Misty make their way down to the ring, slapping hands with some of the fans.

 

Funyon: And his opponent, being accompanied by Misty, from Pallet Town, weighing in at 258 pounds... ASH KET-CHUMMMMMMM!!!

 

He climbs up onto the apron, opening the ropes to let Misty in, then climbs in himself. Quickly Ash climbs the turnbuckle closest to the crowd and usually takes off his shirt, whipping it into the first two or three rows of the crowd, giving a lucky fan a souvenir to take home. Ash then hops off the turnbuckle to face Rotten. Ash knows this could be his big chance to prove himself. He just needs to do this.

 

Riley: Y’know, because of Ash.. I’m afraid to watch SWF on TV.

 

Stevens: Huh? You Scott Steiner all of the sudden?

 

Riley: Hey, shut your damn mouth and show him some R-E-S-P-E-C-T!

 

Stevens: That’s about the dumbest thing you’ve ever said.

 

Slowly, the ref singlas to the timekeeper as Rotten stares a hole into Ash’s head, and...

 

DING DING DING!

 

Stevens: Here we go, ready to open things up on SWF Smarkdown!

 

The two men begin to circle each other slowly, the faster Ketchum making a dart inwards towards Rotten here and there to startle him. Ketchum’s face is lit up with a huge Poke Freak grin, but the grin soon fades away. They circle for a few more seconds before Ash leaps forward, spinning gracefully around once as he extends his leg out for a spinning heel kick, but Rotten ducks. Ash he pops back up, Rotten catches Ash off guard, and slowly, he draws his arm back pounding away into Ash’s abdomen with low jabs. Ketchum grunts with each blow, bending forward in pain after three such blows. Rotten quickly snatches Ash’s head up in a side headlock while he is down. Ash does nothing at first, remaining clenched in the hold as Rotten squeezes. Ash drops to a knee at first, but he quickly rises back up, pulling his head backwards, or attempting to as Rotten tries to lock in the hold. But Ash’s head slips through the hold like a penguin on ice, and with a pronucned “Aha!”, Ketchum grabs Rotten by the shoulders from behind, spinning him around. As soon as Rotten faces Ash, Ketchum grabs him by the back of the head, dropping down into a sit-out jawbreaker!

 

Stevens: Ash seems to be controlling Johnny Rotten here early on.

 

Riley: Come on. You can’t tell that!

 

Stevens: He’s practically put in all the offense...

 

Rotten bounces away as Ash scrambles to his feet, but Rotten gets to his feet, sticking his shoulder out as he hits Ash with a shoulder block. Ketchum drops to the mat as Rotten charges to the ropes, bouncing off them and flying back at Ash. He leaps into the air, preparing for an elbow drop, nailing Ash with it. Both men get to their feet, Ash grabbing his chest. Rotten stands to meet him, but his arm is grabbed by Ash and he is whipped to the ropes. He ducks a clothesline from Ash, and comes off the rebound, and back again... except Ash is bent over, scooping Rotten across his chest as he spins and falls, slamming Rotten to the mat with an Irish whip powerslam! Rotten grunts as Ash hooks his leg...

 

One..

 

Two-Kickout by Rotten. Ash slowly gets to his feet, grabbing Rotten as he gets, up, bent over, but Rotten finds his way out of the situation, locking Ash in a front facelock as he bends over, and getting to his feet, Rotten throws an arm over his shoulders, grabs the tights, and lifts Ash into the air for a basic vertical suplex.

 

Stevens: Beautiful suplex from Rotten, huh, Bobbi?

 

Riley: You just did it again, didn’t you? I thought so, you washed up piece of shit has-been...

 

Stevens: Don’t you start...

 

Riley: What are you going to do if I say it again? Ass rape me?

 

Stevens: No... you might enjoy it too much.

 

Ash slams hard onto his back, but gets up as Rotten relinquishes the hold. Both men face each other as Rotten bends over, scooping Ash up before slamming him. Ash slams onto his back Rotten backs into the ropes and comes off with an elbow drop, which echoes through the arena with a satisfying thud. Quick cover...

 

One...

 

Two-Ash gets the shoulder up. Rotten begins to pull up Ash from his prone position, but Ketchum shoves Rotten off of him. Quickly, Ash begins to throw right hooks, each impacting the jaw of Rotten.

 

Riley: Come on! Break it up, ref!

 

Stevens: You’re siding with Rotten, aren’t you?

 

Riley: No... I want them BOTH to lose!

 

Ash hits another, and another right hook before drawing his arm back, thrusting his right palm forward into Rotten’s chest with a palm strike. Rotten is frozen in place by the blow as Ash clenches his right hand into a fist, driving it up under Rotten’s chin with a rising uppercut! The blow catches Rotten off guard and knocks him off his feet and itno the air! Rotten drops and slams onto his back, grabbing his jaw as he begins to get up. Quickly countering the move, Ash leaps into the air, thrusting his legs outward as he jocks Rotten in the jaw again with a missile dropkick, the Rocket Launch! Rotten flies back from the blow, well, he drops to the mat like Ash does. Once more, Rotten gets up from the move around the same time Ash does.

 

Riley: Wow... what a piss poor match.

 

Rotten begins to get back up onto his feet, but as he does, Ash, who was also down, does the same. This time, though, Ash ducks down, quickly sliding Rotten onto his shoulders, and without haste, he swings Rotten around, head still clamped as Ash drops Rotten down, down into a sit-out neckbkreaker! Ash hits the mat sitting as Rotten hits the mat hard. Ash releases the head of Rotten, who falls off to the side.

 

Stevens: K-Cutter! This might be the end!

 

As soon as Rotten’s body hits the mat, though, Ash covers him quickly for a pin-fall attempt!

 

One...

 

Two...

 

TH-Rotten kicks out! Ash looks up at the ref and holds up three fingers, arguing he had Rotten down as the crowd’s cheers and screams fall silent.

 

Riley: Heh. That shut those twerps up.

 

Stevens: Ash nearly had Rotten, and if Ash gets another pinning attempt, he’ll take this match! Rotten had better be extremely careful!

 

Both men begin to get up rather quickly for two tired men, but Rotten hooks an arm of Ash and falls to the mat, pulling him into a arm drag. Ash lands on his back, but he gets right back up, where Rotten waits for him, hooks Ash’s arm again, and throws him into another arm drag. Ash’s back hits the mat again, but he gets up. As Ash gets up after the second arm drag, Rotten presses his right thumb hard up against Ash’s throat then pushes off, executing a thumb to the throat called the Rotten Spike. Ash cokes for a second, grabbing his throat as Rotten stands to the right of Ash. Ash's right arm is placed over Rotten’s right shoulder. Johnny reaches across the front of Ash's body with his right arm and the left arm around the back of Ash to under Ash's left shoulder. Lifting Ash up and pivots as if for a belly to belly suplex, driving Ash into the mat! The uranage does its damage, keeping Ash down as Rotten covers Ash for a pin...

 

One...

 

Two...

 

THREE-Ash kicks out! Rotten is irate, screaming at the ref. But after a second, he calms down, pulling up Ash slowly.

 

Riley: Cheap ref! He had this one won!

 

Rotten quickly applies a standing headscissors on Ash, crossing Ash’s arms under his chest,and lifitng Ash up so he is horizontal to the mat! Things look bad as Rotten sets Ash up for the Pyramid Driver, but Ash gets loose, breakign the hold on one arm and sliding down the back of Rotten. Rotten turns to face Ash, arm cluthcing Ash’s, but instead, Rotten counters with a quick whip to corner, sending Ash flying. Ketchum slams hard into the turnbuckle as Rotten moves to the corner, putting Ash’s legs up on the ropes and backing up.

 

Stevens: Jesus no-

 

Riley: Ash’s Poke Balls are about the be steamrolled!

 

As Rotten backs up, he stps and charges at Ash, and just seconds before hitting Ash, lifts his foot up, smashing Ash in the groin. Ketchum cries out, grabs his balls, and falls out of the corner in serious pain.

 

Riley: Oh, what a lovely and great move that was...

 

As Ketchum lies in pain, Rotten grabs him and pulls him to his feet, moving behind Ash. As Rotten moves behind Ash, he hooks Ketchum’s armstruning himself around as he contortions Ash’s body into a set-up for an Unprettier!

 

Stevens: Looks like Ash is going to have a Rotten Day!

 

Riley: Oh, cut the crap jokes about the finisher’s name.

 

Stevens: ...What?

 

Just as Rotten’s about to drop down, though, Ash pedals forward, forcing Rotten in the direction he is facing: directly aligned with a turnbuckle. “SLAM!” Rotten’s chest hits the turnbuckle and he releases the hold as Ash bends back up. Quickly, Ash waistlocks Rotten, holding him for a second before he bends backwards, falling back as he slams Rotten with a release German suplex! Both men remain down, but they at least begin to move once they hit the mat.

 

Stevens: And a German suplex counter form Ketchum!

 

Riley: Blech. This match is a DUD.

 

Stevens: You’re a dumbass.

 

The crowd cheers for Ash as Riley screams into his headset.

 

Riley: HEAR ME ALL OF YOU! ASH SUCKS!

 

Meanwhile, as the former Steelers cheerleader Misty tries to get the crowd into a chant of “Rotten Sucks!”, the crowd hears Riley’s comment, and the chant begins to morph...

 

Crowd: BOBBI SUCKS! BOBBI SUCKS!

 

The shot switches to a sign in the crowd, reading “Bobbi sucks... his cock!” before returning to the ring.

 

Riley: KILL THE FREAKS! KILL ‘EM ALL! (He stands up.) ALL OF YOU WILL DIE!

 

Stevens: Sit down!

 

Riley: NEVER! NOT UNTIL THEY SHUT UP!

 

Ash begins to get to his feet, sitting up after the suplex. It is about this time the crowd begins to boo loudly as Stryke comes down to the ring to watch the match. Misty begins to back away from Stryke, remembering what happened on Storm. Strange, he has no weapons. Maybe he’s here for other reasons...

 

Riley: This is UNFAIR! He can’t do this!

 

Stevens: How is this unfair?

 

Riley: Look at poor Rotten! Ash cheated!

 

Slowly, Ketchum hops to the top rope as Rotten gets to his feet, leaping off quickly. Rotten is overhwelmed as Ash spins through the air into a phoenix splash, but as he is about to hit Rotten, he grabs Rotten around the head. Poor Johnny is helpless to stop Ash from falling backwards, slamming Rotten’s head onto the mat with a spiked DDT!

 

Stevens: POKE BALL, GO! ASH’S FINISHER HAS JUST BEEN EXECUTED! Rotten is outta here!

 

As Rotten falls forward, collapsing in possible exhaustion, Ash flips him over, hooking his leg and covering him. At the same time, though, Stryke tries to enter the ring under the bottom rope? What’s going on here?

 

One...

 

 

Two...

 

 

THREE!!!

 

 

 

 

Four!

 

 

Five!

 

 

Six!

 

The referee has been distracted by Stryke, therefore missing the pinning attempt by Ash! Stryke has been backed up to the apron, but he still tries to argue and enter the ring, attempting to cost Ash his match!

 

Riley: Not so fast, oh dumb one!

 

Ketchum sees this, and slowly getting up, he runs at Stryke, extending his forearm out and smashing the Hardcore champ in the head! Stryke takes a tumble from the apron, getting onto his back as Johnny Rotten, that tough old-school bastard, grabs hold of the ropes, pulling himself up onto his feet. Ash remains at the ropes, pointing and screaming at Stryke as he gets up. Stryke wipes his mouth off and begins to walk backwards towards the stage and exit as Rotten gets to his feet. He is uncoordinated, knocked off balance due to Ash’s finisher, but as he staggers forward, he slowly begins to plan things out. Ash begins to back up as he finishes his little talk with Stryke, but as he does, Rotten turns his back to Ash, hooking Ash’s arms with his!

 

Riley: Oh my God, this is it! Backslide from Rotten to end this thing!

 

Before Rotten can drop Ash into a backslide pin, Ash falls back and drops Rotten into some form of a quick reverse Diamond Cutter! Both hit the mat at the same time with a “THUD!” that shakes the ring and fires up the crowd, not to mention Grand Slam and Bobby.

 

Stevens: WHOA! GOOD NIGHT!

 

Riley: What was that? Is that legal? DQ the bastard!

 

Ash rolls over, rolling Rotten into a backslide pin, the crowd counting along as the ref slowly makes the count...

 

 

ONE...

 

 

TWO...

 

 

THREE!!!

 

The ring bell rings as the the crowd explodes! Ketchum sits up, looking for Stryke, but the Showstopper has evdaded him yet again. Misty enters the ring to help Ash up, but the frustrated Poke Freak knocks her back a few feet, though not intentionally. With whatever he has left, he slides under the bottom rope and heads backstage for a confrontation. He knows one is waiting for him. Not now, maybe not later, but sometime down the road. The book’s still left wide open, and the ending is still to be written.

 

Stevens: Stryke’s in for some punsihment from Ash! Even though he won, he’s still pissed!

 

Ash begins his walk up the ramp as we fade away to commercial for the PPV this Sunday, including Ash and Stryke in a re-match for the Hardcore Title...

[Guest BA_Baracus]

“Welcome back to Smarkdown!” says Mark Stevens loudly, greeting the television audience. “After being pre-empted for two weeks, we are back on the air on the Smarks network!”

 

“Stupid Westminster Dog Show,” Riley grumbles, fumbling with his fingers. “I mean, what is up with that? They’re dogs. Dogs. How do they figure out the best dog?”

 

“Yet another mystery of your world, Bobby. Just like where toilet paper comes from.”

 

“Well, you’re so smart. Why don’t you tell me?”

 

“Sigh... I try Bobby. Oh, how I try...” Mark Stevens resigns himself to shuffling papers. He sighs, looking straight at the camera, and through it, vicariously, millions of fans sitting in their living rooms. “Our next match tonight could best be described as random. It’s a triple threat tag team match, with the participants picked seemingly at random. On one team, you have the recently returned Mercury, and Chris Raynor. On the second, you have the veteran of the Junior League, Xero, and the current Hardcore and Tag champ, Stryke. In fact, the only team that could be considered a team here is the Clan’s entry into this match.”

 

“Shenanigans, I say! Durandal and Thoth must be pulling someone’s strings up in the offices!”

 

“Nevertheless,” says Riley, sighing, “The Clan has the clear advantage in this match. While the other teams don’t have any problems, they probably won’t be able to gel as well or as reliably.”

 

“Electra Made me Blind” starts to play as the camera cuts away from the announce table to the entryway. The arena’s lights are blinking everywhere, then, as Art Alexakis screams, blue pyro goes off, and Chris Raynor, flanked closed behind by Mercury, enters from the back.

 

“The following contest is a triple threat tag team match!” announces Funyon, with Riley adding “Score one for alliteration!” from where he sits. “Introducing first, at a total combined weight of 483 pounds... MERRRRRCURY! ... and the S-W-F United States Champion... Chrissss.... RAYYYYNOOOOR!”

 

Raynor rolls under the bottom rope after tossing his jacket to a lucky fan, while Mercury takes the stairs, going through the ropes. The Regenerate Warrior climbs the turnbuckle, playing to the crowd, and overall, happy to be back in an SWF ring. The lights stop flickering, and the crowd has time to catch their breath before the next team enters...

 

“So you wanna be a Rock Superstar, and live large...”

 

The lights blacken, with only a wide, bright spotlight on the ring. Blue and red pyro spin and sparkle, clearing their way only for Stryke, with Xero next to him, his head down, ready for battle.

 

“Their opponents, weighing in at 418 pounds, XEROOO! ... and the S-W-F Tag Team Champion and Hardcore Champion... STRRRRRYKE!”

 

Stryke climbs the far turnbuckle, the lights coming on. He gloats... holding a championship belt in each arm as he laughs at the crowd; they are lesser than he. Xero just stands back, his arms crossed, bemused.

 

“Say what you will about Stryke’s choice of running buddies,” muses Riley, “But it’s already paying dividends. Stryke is the latest in a short line of double champions in the Smarks Wrestling Federation. Not to mention Xero is as of yet, untested. He could turn out to be very impressive indeed.”

 

Stryke hops off the turnbuckle, staying away from Mercury and Raynor, as the lights fade out completely. A haunting set of cries, combined with random flashes of white light set the mood for the third and final team’s entrance. A beat slowly begins to grow, as the flashes become more pronounced and rapid. Finally, a laughing voice asks:

 

“What’s wrong, motherfucker, you were a man just a minute ago!”

 

And the bass drops in booming! As a swirling spotlight illuminates the entryway, two robed figures appear at the entrance.

 

“And finally, at a total combined weight at 449 pounds, DURRRANDAL.... and THOOOTH!”

 

“Thoth made his successful in-ring return last Friday with a win over Johnny Rotten, but Durandal wasn’t as victorious.”

 

“Of course you’re not as victorious when you lose, retard! Durandal lost his US title to Chris Raynor on that same card... so look for them to square off here, and blow off some of that steam that is definitely lignering.”

 

Durandal and Thoth stand before the ring and remove their robes, revealing the ring attire underneath. They climb the stairs on either side of the ring and enter. The lights come back on, and the bell...

 

*DING DING DING*

 

...rings. The camera angle switches to a shot above the ring; each team makes one point of an equidistant triangle. After the proper members of each team step out onto the apron, Thoth, Xero, and Mercury remain in the ring. They start feeling each other out, moving cautiously.

 

All of a sudden, Xero charges quick as lightning, nailing Thoth with a boot to the gut! He whips him to the ropes, and follows up with a spinning heel kick, taking the Balancer down hard. Thoth pushes himself up, winded more by the suddenness and agility of Xero’s onslaught than any pain his kick may have caused. Xero grabs Thoth to hook him for a suplex. He lifts... but Thoth blocks, sticking his legs between Xero’s! Xero tries to lift again, but Thoth blocks just the same! Thoth reverses, snapping Xero over himself! But as Thoth gets to his feet, Mercury makes his move, striking Thoth on the crown of his head with a double axhandle!

 

“The danger of these triple threat matches is-”

 

“Cut the crap, Stevens! What were you gonna say? That there’s always another person to watch out for? Isn’t that it? Isn’t it? That’s obvious, Stevens, and anyone with a quarter-brain could figure that out! God, I hate you! I hate you so goddamn much!”

 

Casually, Stevens fiddles under the table for a moment, and comes up with a bottle of Zoloft. He passes it to Riley with a sidelong glance.

 

“Woohoo! Happy pills.”

 

Mercury, meanwhile, has Thoth by the hair, and delivers an uppercut that sends the Balancer reeling into the comfort of the padded turnbuckles. The comfort is fleeting, though, as Mercury whips the Balancer to the far corner. Mercury walks toward his foe cautiously, then notices behind him that Xero is on his feet. He yells to him to “Take care of him,” then whips him toward Xero. The JL veteran aims a dropkick which catches Thoth just below the face, dropping him right next to where Xero lands. Xero makes a cover...

 

ONE!

 

TWO- And a kickout. Xero pulls Thoth up and gets some speed, running into the ropes, and coming back with a leap of faith onto Thoth’s head. He scissors it, and takes him down to the mat with the power of gravity! Once down, he swivels in place and locks a half crab onto Thoth!

 

“Nice set of moves by Xero,” remarks Stevens, “Though I don’t know if going for a submission this early on in the bout is a good idea.”

 

The referee asks Thoth if he wants to give up; the Balancer, with a look of pain on his face, says no as calmly as he can, trying not to give the impression that Xero is putting a lot of pressure on him. Xero wrenches back, drawing a sudden and awkward cry from Thoth. Xero closes his eyes, trying to put all he can into the hold...

 

And then Mercury kicks Xero in the face, breaking the hold! Thoth slumps down on the ground momentarily, then props himself up on his elbows, frustration clearly evident on his face. He looks over his prone shoudler; Mercury has a handful of Xero, and he looks like he’s about to abuse the recent bumpee. He gets Xero in a hammerlock, then twists through, putting Xero in a front facelock... and pulls up on the arm, driving him down in the vicious Pipedream! He covers...

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

TH- And Durandal rushes in with a stomp, breaking up the count! The Broken Sword retreats to the apron quickly, and when Mercury gets up to try and pursue, he finds his mind rocked with an axhandle to the back of the head from Thoth! The Balancer whips the Regenerate Warrior to the ropes, and stands ready for the rebound... he takes Mercury over with a high-angle arm drag that has the ring rocking with the impact! Thoth grits his teeth as he pulls Mercury up and starts laying some blows in, more to humiliate and to satisfy his bloated and malformed id than to do damage. At the same time, Xero stumbles into his corner, holding his head in pain, and tags in the eminent Stryke. The dual champion steps into the ring calmly, surveys the situation... and, does nothing. He steps into the neutral corner, and rests, checking an imaginary watch.

 

“Hey, Mark, what time is it?”

 

“It’s 9:58,” says Mark, twisting his wrist to read his Rolex. YEAH BABY! He’s got a Rolex! Damn right.

 

“No, it’s a freckle past a hair! Get it! Hee hee hee... Letterman, eat your heart out.”

 

Stryke blows the dust off his fingernails as Thoth continues the assault on Mercury in the corner, nailing several boots to the midsection before whipping Mercury hard out of the corner... but Mercury holds on, reversing the whip to Thoth! He makes hard contact with the far turnbuckle, and then Mercury charges, only to eat boot from the Balancer. Thoth grabs hold of Merc’s light gray shirt and tosses him under the bottom rope into the steel pole, a move that causers much of the arena crowd to cringe with phantom pain. Thoth steps back, satisfied with his work, and turns around to find himself face to face with Chris Wilson’s prodigy, Stryke. The dual champ glares with unending fervor at Thoth.

 

“Stryke definitely doesn’t have much love for Thoth after the Clan leader declared personal war on Chris Wilson,” says Stevens. “Not to mention he was the one who Thoth hit with the steel chair during that handicap match to give Edwin MacPhisto the win.”

 

Stryke starts talking to Thoth, words that the cameras don’t pick up, and Thoth talks back. Stryke with a slap to Thoth’s face, which turns the Balancer sideways, and the crowd wincing and yelling, “Oh!” Thoth’s right eye starts twitching, and he clenches and unclenches his hands repeatedly. Slowly, he turns his head back towards Stryke, keeping his body turned in the direction his foe put it. Stryke puts his hands on his hips and laughs, making sure to be as loud and obnoxious as possible.

 

Out of nowhere, drop-toe-hold by Thoth! He floats over into the usual front chancery... but hooks the arms! Double Arm DDT! Thoth gets up and looks straight down at his oppostion, his nostrils flaring as he takes in huge amounts of oxygen with every breath. He pulls Stryke up to his feet and whips him to the ropes... no, reversal by Stryke! Thoth goes for the ride, and Stryke catches him, tossing him overhead with reckless abandon.

 

“What a release German suplex from the Australian Stryke!” beams Stevens. “Stryke goes in at only 219 pounds, but he holds a lot of latent power in his body.”

 

“That’s definitely gonna send a message to Thoth,” adds Riley, “And that message is: Get off my lawn.”

 

Somewhere in the world, Outcast says, “Dammit!”

 

Mercury finds his way out of the corner and gets to his feet, looking over at Stryke. Their eyes meet, and subconsciously, in the primal, something clicks, and they lock up... Mercury overpowers the relative rookie and arm drags him down, locking in an armbar. Stryke struggles, and then starts to get up... but Mercury stops him with a stomp to the shoulder.

 

“There’s a veteran move right there! Instead of milking the hold, he let go in order to stay on the offensive side of the match!” says Stevens. Off in the far reaches of the SWF ring, Thoth admits defeat of a kind by tagging in Durandal, who climbs into the ring, eager to fight. Mercury, who is bent down to pick up Stryke, sees his adversary coming out of the corner of his veteran’s eye and turns to face him. Durandal and Mercury square off, with Stryke slowly getting to his feet, then backing off to let them compete. The two workers grapple; Durandal lowers his level and ducks under Mercury's arm, taking advantage of the considerable height difference. He locks his hands around the Regenerate's waist, looking for a German suplex. Merc turns backwards and quickly hits a go-behind switch, ending up in position for a German of his own. The Clannie re-switches, locking up and going back to the original position, but by this point they've been backed into the ropes. The official gives them a four-count to break, with Mercury holding his arms up to show that he's willing to make a clean return to the center. As the official turns away, Durandal breaks his grip and hits Mercury in the back of the head with a shotei, just hard enough to irritate him without causing any real damage.

 

Stevens, horrified, says, "Did you see that? That was a blatant cheap shot by Durandal!"

 

"See what?"

 

"Are you blind?"

 

Riley lets loose with an exaggerated sigh, then says, "Excuse me, YOU'RE the one wearing glasses."

 

Riley mutters "Jackass" as Mercury and Durandal return to the center. Durandal smirks at Mercury, who locks up with him and subsequently whips him to the ropes. As he rebounds, Durandal ducks a side kick and stops suddently behind Mercury. When he turns around, Durandal hits him with two crisp slaps, one to each side of the Regenerate King's face. With that, Mercury jumps up and nails Durandal with an explosive dropkick to the chest that sends him reeling! Stryke steps in to take over.

 

Stryke and Mercury lock up, with the grapple sending Stryke backing into the corner. Mercury starts to back away to let Stryke out, but Stryke counters with a quick low blow. He charges out of the corner and stiffs Mercury with a clothesline, taking him to the mat. He gets back up, then jumps up and executes a quick legdrop across Mercury's neck. The referee counts

 

ONE

 

TWO - but Mercury kicks out comfortably. Stryke begins stomping him, but Mercury is able to roll away. Stryke follows him to the corner, where Mercury tags Raynor in to a loud pop from the crowd. Raynor steps into the ring, eyes Stryke, then throws his fist into the air and bellows, "SMAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASH!!!!!!!!!" Once again, the crowd pops like a cherry on prom night. Stryke, however, isn't nearly as amused, and opts instead to dropkick Raynor in the chest. Raynor hits the corner and crumbles into a seated position, and a smile spreads across Durandal's face. The Neglected Sword struts over to the corner, preparing to humiliate Raynor with a series of boot scraped, but before he can get there, Stryke stands up and intercepts him. The camera catches Stryke saying, "What, you want to just take advantage of my hard work? Fuck off!" and shoving Durandal away. The Clan member responds with a stiff shotei to the face. He winds up for another one, but before he can hit it, Raynor rolls out of the corner and hooks Stryke from behind, pulling him into a schoolboy rollup for

ONE

 

TWO

 

TH- NO! Stryke manages to kick out just in time! "Bobby," says Stevens, "Stryke looks very upset that Durandal almost cost him the match!" Stryke stands up and shoves Durandal away. Durandal drops into a fighting stance, but as Stryke approaches, he stands back up, makes a "Whatever" motion and walks over to his corner, tagging Thoth in. Thoth enters the ring, immediately met by Stryke. Stryke starts pounding Thoth with a series of right hands, staggering the Marathoner. Thoth is stunned by the first few punches but begins to fight back, angry and intense against the Australian. Finally, Stryke throws a hard right hand that Thoth blocks and counters with an uppercut that practically shatters Stryke's jaw.

 

"What an uppercut!" Riley is clearly exciteded. "I can't believe it!"

 

"Thoth is handling himself well in this heated battle," notes Stevens, "despite my partner being very easily impressed."

 

"Easily impressed?" Riley appears offended. "Why, I should- OH MY GOD! THAT DOG HAS A PUFFY TAIL!"

 

Riley jumps out of his seat, pointing at the decorated canine, as Thoth spins around and grabs Stryke's head, then takes him over with a snap mare. He bounces off the ropes and runs toward Stryke to deliver a knee to the back of the head, but Raynor blindsides him with a big boot! "What a kick!" declares Grand Slam.

 

Riley shrugs. "It's nice, sure... but where's the puffy tail?"

 

Stevens chuckles to himself, then says, "You know, Bobby, you seem to like that puffy-tailed dog a little too much. Have you lost weight? Because you seem a little light in your loafers there."

 

"Actually, I've been lifting and I've put on a lot of weight."

 

"Oh, okay. It must just be the mincing gel you've been using." Stevens laughs to himself again, while Riley just pats his biceps in a satisfied manner.

 

In the ring, Raynor grabs thothTby his hair and lifts him up for a suplex, holding him upsider down for hangtime. Thoth, though, manages to shift his weight and come down on his feet back-to-back with his assailant. Thoth reaches up and hits a spinning back elbow, stunning Raynor just long enough for Thoth to whip him back into the corner, here Mercury tags himself in.

 

Mercury enters the ring and squares off with Thoth. The two trade right hands, with Mercury catching Thoth's arm and twisting it into a hammerlock. He continues the twist into a front facelock, keeping the hold intact. Mercury tries to throw himself back for the Pipedream DDT, but Thoth arches his back and manages to stop the motion. Mercury tries again, but this time Thoth frees his arm and counters with a textbook Northern Lights suplex for

ONE

 

TWO - NO! Mercury kicks out! Meanwhile, Stryke gets over to his corner and tags in Xero, leaving Thoth, Mercury and Xero legal. Thoth and Mercury lock back up, with Mercury gaining the advantage and whipping Thoth to the ropes. Thoth catches the top rope to stop his momentum, then very calmly slides out of the ring. As Xero and Mercury square off, Thoth makes his way back to the corner and tags Durandal in.

 

Xero and Mercury lock up, with Xero taking the initiative to grab Mercury's right arm and take him to the mat with an armbar takedown. Xero torques the Fujiwara armbar as Mercury tries to wriggle out of it.

 

"Xero's going at this with a bit of a different strategy this week," points out Stevens. "It seems like he had trouble with Mercury's high-impact style on Storm, and so he's been working to change the way he attacks."

 

Mercury squirms a little more, switching out of the hold and coming out on top with a hammerlock. He gets up and tries to continue through for the Pipedream, but Durandal breaks the hold by sliding in and dropkicking Mercury's leg out from under him! Mercury collapses, and Durandal stands back up to square off with Xero.

 

Xero locks up, and Durandal drops down to attempt a single-leg takedown. The Port Colborne native counters by simply stiffing Durandal with a kick to the chest, then a boot to the face! "There's no love lost between these two," says Stevens. "They've competed on several occasions both here and in the SJL, each time with Durandal coming out on top." As if irony just occurred naturally to him, Xero plants Durandal into the mat with a low spinning heel kick that catches his kneeling opponent in the face. He covers the junior Clannie for

 

ONE

 

TWO

 

TH- NO! Durandal kicks out and then bellies out, holding his forehead. Xero grabs him by the hair and yanks him back to his feet, where we can see that he's busted open from ear to ear. Durandal spins around and throws a quick and dirty palm strike that catches Xero in the chest, but Xero responds with a roundhouse kick to the face and then a snap suplex. The Neglected Sword comes back up, but he's moving very sluggishly.

 

"I'm a little concerned, Bobby." Stevens removes his glasses and cleans them thoughtfully. "Durandal's quite fatigued from his work in this match up to this point, and he appears to be losing a lot of blood. Already, he's starting to move a little more slowly."

 

"Ah, shove it, Mark. Durandal's a smart athlete, and he'll know when to quit."

 

Xero catches Durandal with an armdrag and follows him to the mat, locking in a pumphandle armbar, Anderson-style. He plays to the crowd, while Mercury stands by watching intently in case should Xero get Durandal close to submitting and force him to interfere to break the hold. Durandal sells beautifully, grimacing and wincing all while bleeding heavily from his forehead. Xero, seeing that Durandal isn't going to put up much of a fight, steps through and cockily switches off to a standing wristlock. Durandal winces and screams as Xero twists his arm and forces his wrist down over itself... then looks up, stares the Canadian luchadore in the face and nails him with a brutal shotei to the nose! He smirks weakly as Xero staggers back, tagging Stryke back in for lack of a better course of action. Durandal doesn't have much time to smirk, though, as Mercury immediately charges at him with a superkick to take him down. Durandal ducks the kick and counters with a stiff palm strike to Mercury's exposed groin, incapacitating him for at least a few moments while his testicles stop aching.

 

"What a counter by Durandal!" Bobby Riley cheers. "Mr. Flesher, I salute you!"

 

Stevens sighs, disgusted as always. "What is it with you and low blows? You giggle like a little girl every time you see one!"

 

"I just happen to like the technique, that's all."

 

"You remember what I said earlier, about the mincing gel?"

"Yeah?"

 

"I was right."

 

Stryke charges in, hoping to take advantage of Durandal's condition as the wound on his face leaks massive amounts of blood. The Showstopper stomps Durandal over and over again, causing blood to spray over the mat each time his head snaps back. Finally, Stryke lifts the junior member of the Clan to his feet and looks over, then gives Thoth the finger before slamming Durandal to the mat with the Breakdown. The referee counts

 

ONE

 

TWO

 

THREE- NO!!!!!! Durandal somehow manages to kick out just at the very last second! Stryke, disgusted with the development, pulls Durandal to his feet and slaps him, yelling, "STAY DOWN, YOU LITTLE BASTARD!" Reacting almost solely on instinct at this point, Durandal responds with a crisp slap across Stryke's face. Rather than stagger him, though, the show of disrespect only angers the Hardcore Champion further, prompting him to whip his opponent to the ropes. He catches Durandal on the rebound and throws him into the air, tossing him like a rag doll in an overhead released belly-to-belly! Durandal goes high, then lands right next to Mercury! Stryke, struck with an idea, mounts the nearest corner and faces the crowd. He raises his arms into the air, then backflips. He rotates through and extra ninety degrees, landing in the Lithium Heartattack with a knee on each opponent! Mercury and Durandal both look stunned, but Durandal rolls to his stomach as Stryke gets off both his opponents.

 

"Durandal looks absolutely horrible," asserts Stevens. "He's not just wearing the crimson mask. At this point, even his grey t-shirt is starting to turn red. I'm surprised the official is letting this go on."

 

"He does look pretty bad," agrees Bobby, "but he's pulling himself back up. He's going to keep going!"

 

Stryke walks over to Thoth's corner as Chris Raynor jumps off his corner to check on Mercury. Stryke taunts Thoth, saying, "Hell of a prospect you've got with the new Clannie." Thoth doesn't react, showing absolutely no emotion whatsoever. Stryke calmly lifts up each hand, flipping Thoth off in stereo... giving Durandal just enough of an opportunity to slide in behind the Australian Showstopper and catch him with a schoolboy rollup! Thoth runs across the apron and blindsides Xero with a clothesline that knocks him to the concrete, and with Raynor preoccupied with attending to his injured partner, he neglects to break the pin as the official counts

 

ONE

 

TWO

 

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

 

DING DING DING!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

Stryke kicks Durandal off just in time to hear the main riff of “You Were” by DJ Foxxx ring out over the speakers and Funyon say, "The winners of this match.... Thoth, Durandal, THE CLAN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Durandal rolls out of the ring and falls limply to the floor as Stryke gets to his knees. He looks surprised, but the look on his face quickly turns to anger, and he starts to pound the canvas out of frustration!

 

"What a finish! I don't think anyone saw that coming," bellows Stevens. "The Clan's youngest member took out Thoth's adversary with a simple schoolboy, and he's barely conscious! Stryke can't be happy about that! But the big question that remains... Chris Raynor and Durandal didn't see much action together. What will happen at Snake Eyes? Will Durandal regain the US Title, or will Raynor prove to be a strong champion? In fact, will they even face off?"

 

Riley scoffs. "It'd take a real booking mistake to screw this one up."

 

"How true, how true! Let's go to commercial!"

[Guest BA_Baracus]

As we return from commercial break, a wall of fireworks explodes, starting at the top of the entrance ramp, popping off from seemingly random areas in the house…

 

“Welcome back to SWF Smarkdown, our last edition before the Snake Eyes PPV! I’m Grand Slam Mark Stevens, and we’re about to get started on our third match of the night…”

 

“This is mah house!”

 

And the American Airlines arena sends forth a scathing chorus of boos as the deep, rumbling bass of “Du Hast” thunders out through the speakers! The muscled figure of one Jamie Drazon steps out onto the entrance ramp, head lowered, slowly rising, plastered with a self-satisfied grin.

 

“And there he is, Jay Dawg, a member of Da Pound—or, should I say, a new force: Creative Control!” Stevens shakes his head as Jay Dawg cracks his neck and rolls his shoulders, starting the long walk down the ramp. “It’s a clever name for sure, but to me, it doesn’t spell ‘creative control’: it spells trouble!”

 

“Ohhh, you’re soooo good with the words, Mark,” groans Bobby Riley, sitting by Grand Slam’s side. “Please, just keep on talking, because I’m sure everyone wants to hear it.”

 

“Oh, shut your piehole, Riley. I’m just filling the fans in--”

 

“Jay Dawg’s a smart, brutal fucker and he’s gonna fight the world champ now. There. See how easy that was? Minimal metaphors, same point.”

 

“We’re never gonna get ratings with you around…”

 

“The following contest is scheduled for one fall, and it is a non-title match-up! Making his way to the ring, weighing in at 250 pounds and hailing from Vancouver, British Columbia, he is a member of Creative Control—Jamie “Jay Dawg” DRAAAAAAAY-ZOOOOOOOON!” The former US and Tag champion struts his stuff down to the ring, cracking his knuckles all the way, jaw-jacking with a few fans, walking right past a really tall guy in a red coat, yelling at a little kid…

 

Wait.

 

Walking past a really tall guy in a red coat?

 

Jay Dawg stops in his tracks and turns back.

 

WHAM.

 

The crowd, simply put, explodes.

 

“My god! Where the hell did that come from?” shouts Stevens over the wild din of the crowd, as Edwin MacPhisto, hair flowing with red streaks and silver dye, scores a huge diving chairshot off of the guardrail! “Edwin MacPhisto just came leaping out of the crowd and drove that chair straight into the skull of Jay Dawg! Woo-hoo! Go Edwin!”

 

“You partisan piece of crap!”

 

“Shut it, Bobby! Edwin just outsmarted the man who swerved him on Storm—score one for the Mac Daddy!” In the ring, the referee is in a mild state of panic, watching as the World Champion gathers himself up off the concrete, lifting the chair high above his head one more time!

 

“HALLELUJAH, BITCH!” With a bold shout, Edwin MacPhisto brings the chair crashing down on a prone Jay Dawg, and the crowd goes nuts! Stevens is ecstatic as he watches his old friend take it to JD!

 

“Edwin’s not taking this anymore! All this torment, all these confusions, title-hungry wrestlers, and mind-games from Chris Wilson and Jay Dawg have built up, and some switch has just flipped! It looks like Edwin’s had it up to here with the wordplay—tonight, he’s all business!” As the crowd roars and Jay Dawg struggles back to his feet, spitting curse words like they were bitter chunks of phlegm, world champion Edwin MacPhisto tosses the chair away and produces a microphone his coat’s lining!

 

“Hello, JD! Weren’t expecting that, were you? The Crown Prince, out of the crowd, instead of in his normal grand procedurals? You might be calling yourself Creative Control now, but you’ve forgotten that one man’s the star right now, and I’m not about to slide down to special guest appearances just because you pulled the wool over my sparkling eyes for one fast second! JD, I’d tell you to come on down, but you’re already there, so why don’t you come on up and let the Devil get his due! Yoo-hoo!” Edwin backs off, and Jay Dawg rises as quickly as he can…

 

…and Edwin bonks him with the microphone! The crowd roars as feedback ripples through the arena, and with a satisfied grin on his face, Edwin cinches his right hand around Jay Dawg’s dangling ponytail. Dropping the mic and locking a firm grip on JD’s waist, Edwin charges for the ring and tosses JD under the bottom rope, hopping onto the apron as rolls in! The referee calls for the bell, and Edwin wastes no time with formalities, grabbing onto the top rope and vaulting himself into the ring and onto JD’s chest with a slingshot legdrop! Edwin immediately rolls off and hooks the leg as Jay Dawg moans! “Cover already!” shouts a giddy Stevens! “We’re officially underway now, and Edwin could have the shortest recorded win in WF history--”

 

ONE!

 

TWO—and JD kicks out comfortably, putting a tiny kink in Edwin’s plan of aggression. “Or not. Heh. Wishful thinking, folks.”

 

“Wishful thinking?!? Wishful freakin’ thinking?” rails Riley, while Edwin gets to his feet and shakes off his coat, tossing it out of the ring as he pulls JD behind him. “Your boy comes out here and beats the stuffing out of Jay Dawg, and you’re talking about wishful thinking?”

 

“You’re damn right I am, Riley! Jay Dawg played a trick on the Devil last Friday, and now he’s got to own up and dance with him!” And, much to Riley’s surprise, dance they do! Edwin scores a sharp kneelift to the gut, and as JD sputters, Edwin pirouettes the Canadian! JD spins around under Edwin’s control and the Mac Daddy dips him as the crowd roars with laughter! “It’s Last Tango in Miami! I love it!” laughs Stevens. Jay Dawg comes to his senses shortly, and, realizing that he’s being dipped by a 6’6” fey Brit, snaps to attention and launches an elbow up into Edwin’s jaw! Edwin sputters backward, and a severely pissed JD stands to his full height and presses the attack, beating Edwin back towards the ropes with some savage closed-fist punches. As Edwin backs into the ropes, JD grabs his right arm and steps forward as if to Irish whip the champion, but he puts on the brakes and clenches the arm tightly, stopping Edwin short and twisting him into a nasty standing armbar! “Tight focus on Edwin’s right arm as JD tries to regain some control in this match-up!”

 

“And if there’s one man you don’t want working on a limb here in the WF, that’s Jamie Drazon!” says Riley. “He’ll take an arm or a leg apart like that!” Riley snaps his fingers for emphasis, and Edwin cries out as JD tightens the armbar for one last ounce of pain before transitioning to a loose arm-wrench. Edwin tries to counter with a left-arm clothesline, but JD’s waiting and ready, bending at the waist to drive a harsh shoulder into the oncoming champion’s gut! The air shoots out of Edwin’s lungs in an instant, and JD launches another shoulder charge, knocking the motion-restricted Edwin off-balance and back into the ropes again! The crowd’s starting to settle down as JD begins to systematically disable their Crown Prince…

 

“Edwin had a hot start,” sighs Stevens, “but as much as he tries, I don’t think he’s up for going toe-to-toe with Jay Dawg in a straight-up battle of aggression. Drazon’s too good a brawler, and he’s got some sharp technical skills to boot, now being put to work on Edwin’s arm.” JD fires off one more shoulder charge and Edwin hits the ropes again, now quite breathless. The No-Selling Bastard stands up and lets Edwin slack against the ropes, but only for a moment as he quickly hooks Edwin in a waistlock, then powers back with him in tow for a stunning overhead belly-to-belly suplex! Even the JD-hating fans in the crowd have to take notice of the smooth execution, and as Edwin crashes into the mat, JD rolls over and slides in for the press cover!

 

“Cover!” shouts Riley. “JD’s got Edwin!” The ref drops to the mat…

 

ONE!

 

TWO—and Edwin gets his right shoulder up, wincing as he pumps the strained arm into the air! “Edwin still kicks out comfortably, but imagine what a win over the world champion could do for Jay Dawg? He comes back, swerves everyone, punks out Thugg, and scores a win over Edwin MacPhisto, all in three days? Unheard of!”

 

“Well,” answers Riley, “he’s already 3 for 4 on that last, and he could easily pick up that…heh…Grand Slam tonight, if he keeps this assault up!”

 

“Are you making fun of my name?”

 

“…yes. Yes I am.”

 

“Well, shit.”

 

In the ring, JD gets to his knees and grabs Edwin’s right arm before violently throwing it into the mat. Edwin writhes, and JD rises, then hits a kneedrop right over the arm! “JD’s back on the arm again, and Edwin’s going to have to protect that right side if he’s going to stand up to JD’s attacks,” comments Stevens. On the mat, Edwin gets to one knee, but JD quickly dives to the mat and snags his right arm in a tight lock, wrenching it backwards in a Fujiwara armbar! Drazon torques the arm, but Edwin desperately clambers along the mat with all his strength, and with a lunge manages to catch the bottom rope with his left hand before JD can do much damage. The ref calls on JD to break the hold, and he reluctantly obliges, but not before giving the right arm one final, powerful twist. Jay Dawg backs off momentarily, and Edwin pulls himself up with his good arm. As Edwin gets up, JD steps forward…and gives him a sharp kick to the left knee! And another!

 

“Looks like JD is trying to take Edwin off-balance on the left side, taking him apart a side at a time…come on little buddy, fight through!” shouts Stevens. JD grins sadistically and steps forward for another kick, but this time Edwin shoves off the ropes, spinning and decking JD in the face with a back elbow! The shock of the impact catches the No-Selling Bastard off guard, and Edwin backs into the ropes again and returns another elbow to the face! The crowd starts to rally as Edwin shows some strength, and he cracks a wide grin before bouncing into the ropes again…and pasting JD with a huge running palm strike from his left hand! The shotei takes JD right in the chest and Dawg falls straight down on his back as Edwin runs him through, shaking the ring! “That’s what I’m talking about, Edwin! Woo!” The little mark in Stevens starts to come through, and Edwin turns as JD scrambles back to his feet. Angry and raging, JD charges forward…and Edwin sidesteps! He comes back around with a clothesline…and Edwin ducks! Totally fed-up as MacPhisto laughs at him, JD makes a quick cutthroat motion and then leaps into the air!

 

“Sweet Tooth Loosening!” shouts Riley, as JD launches the devastating spin kick—and Edwin ducks it! The crowd goes nuts as an off-balance JD hits the mat in front of Edwin, only for Edwin to quickly step forward and cinch a rear waistlock! He vaults backward, holding JD at the apex of the suplex, and the crowd counts along!

 

“ONE!”

 

“TWO!”

 

“THREEEEEE!”

 

WHAM! At the count of three, Edwin finishes his fall backwards, crushing JD with the delayed German Suplex! Fueled by the roars of his fans, he bridges for a pin—and cries out in pain as a fiery twinge courses through his right arm! The bridge slips away, and Edwin’s left wincing and trying to shake out the right arm. Meanwhile, across the ring, JD pushes back to his feet, watching with satisfaction as Edwin’s right arm fails him. “JD’s work on the arm paid off there, giving Edwin trouble with the bridge, and JD’s on the comeback!” As Stevens talks, JD charges in and brutally avalanches the world champ. Edwin crashes into the ropes, and JD takes the opportunity to grab MacPhisto by the back of the neck and garrote the poor Brit across the top rope! Once again the referee has to intervene to save the champ’s skin, literally, and this time JD gets in the referee’s face, threatening him with all sorts of nasty things involving the human fist and assorted orifices. Behind JD, the crowd starts to roar, and he turns right into a headlock from a recovered MacPhisto!

 

“Gah! Stay on your toes, Dawg!” snaps Riley! Edwin takes a running step forward, but before he can score a Midnight Special, JD plants his feet and stops Edwin in his tracks, shifting his weight and the pressure of his arms to take over the grapple and effectively reverse the headlock! Dawg quickly transitions from the grapple into a swank hip toss, fluidly flipping Edwin down to the mat! “There we go! Keep on em, JD!”

 

The crowd settles down again as JD takes over once more, walking to Edwin and pulling him up—by that agonized right arm, of course. JD fires an elbow back into Edwin’s jaw to momentarily daze him, then drags him towards the announcer-side ring ropes and steps between the second and third. “What the hell does Jay Dawg have planned now?” mutters Stevens, and JD quickly makes that clear as he pulls Edwin’s right arm over the top rope, looks down to the outside, and smirks to the crowd! “Aw, no! He’s gonna snap Edwin’s arm over the top rope! This is a systematic attack, designed to cripple just like JD crippled the Hville Thugg! Sick!”

 

JD looks back to Edwin and shouts something along the lines of “All aboard the cripple express, you little bitch!” He turns back around, ready to jump, but JD’s little bit of vainglorious taunting gave Edwin too much time—with his powerful and still strong left hand, he shoves forward, sending the No-Selling Bastard crashing off the apron and to the stiff floor below, short one MacPhisto arm! The crowd goes nuts as Edwin counters, and as he looks back towards the outside, they go even nuttier! Edwin backs off to get a running start…

 

“And here it comes!” shouts Grand Slam! “We’ve got a front row seat!”

 

Flashbulbs around the arena ignite as Edwin charges forward and leaps through the second and third ropes, leveling a just-rising JD right back to the ground with a blazing tope suicida! “I hate that,” mumbles Riley. “JD goes to show off a bit, and he gets disrespectfully shoved to the outside. Edwin prances around and the fans go nuts! What is that crap?”

 

“Hey, with a gimpy limb, you take whatever you can get.” In the ring, the referee begins his ten-count, and Edwin pulls JD up, bringing him back towards the ring—no, JD reaches out and scores an eye rake, momentarily blinding the Mac Daddy! With a shove of his own, JD drives Edwin into the ring apron, then blasts him with a sick shoulder charge!

 

“And JD’s back in control! That’s what I like to see!” Dawg drives a pair of stiff body blows into Edwin’s chest, then seizes on his right arm again! Edwin cries out in pain, and JD steps forward, whipping him parallel to the ring and towards the guardrail!

 

“Hit the brakes, Edwin, hit the brakes!” Stevens cries out, but Edwin is rocketing, and JD is coming up behind! Edwin careens towards the guardrail, and…he jumps! Edwin leaps up at the last moment, balancing on the guardrail, checking his six, all of this taking little more than a second before he flips backwards and moonsaults towards the oncoming JD!

 

“HOLY SHIT!” Edwin twists in the air, and JD’s jaw drops as he see 6’6” of blazing red Brit crashing down onto him…

 

WHAM!

 

“Moonsault press off the guardrail! Moonsault press off the guardrail!” Stevens is having conniptions, and the crowd is too, chanting his name as he annihilates JD with the big surprise move!

 

“MAC-PHIST-OOO!”

 

“MAC-PHIST-OOO!”

 

“J-D LICKS NUUUUUTS!”

 

“What a maneuver from the Mac Daddy! That was gorgeous!”

 

“It’s not like a moonsault press is a fricking supermodel, Mark…ugh.” The fans are on their feet as Edwin and JD lay in a crumpled heap, the referee continuing the count, getting to six before Edwin starts to stir! He looks down at his handiwork, gives himself some light applause, and then starts to drag JD back towards the ring. On the way in, Edwin notes the ringpost looking a wee bit lonely.

 

CLANG!

 

“And Edwin drives JD’s head into the post! Man, Edwin’s pulling out all the stops here tonight! He’s in control now!” shouts Stevens. Edwin comfortably rolls JD into the ring at the count of 9, and as JD stumbles to his feet, Edwin charges up, spins him around, and hooks his arms back to back! “Encore Cross!”

 

“There’s no way he’ll hit it!” snaps Riley.

 

“Why do you say that?”

 

As Edwin starts to vault forward, putting significant strain on his arms, he suddenly stalls, closing his eyes and gritting his teeth! Edwin steadies himself and pulls again, but the delay has given JD enough time to come around, and he reverses the pressure from his arms onto Edwin’s—specifically, his right!

 

“THAT’S why!” calls Riley. “Jay Dawg’s brilliant attack on the arm all match has nullified Edwin’s finisher!”

 

“Brilliant? How about sadistic?”

 

“All a part of the game, Stevens…all a part of the game.” As the two commentators debate the philosophical merits of wrestling, JD takes advantage of Edwin’s pained state and quickly unlaces him from the back-to-back lock, cinching a rear waistlock instead! He snaps back hard, crushing Edwin with a German suplex…and holds on for another! JD shoots back again, but this time he releases Edwin at the apex of the suplex, sending Edwin crashing down on his right side five feet away! “Release German suplex, right down onto that bad arm—listen to the fans, Mark! They know the end is near!” The chants of Edwin’s name have faded, replaced with a rumble of boos as JD dominates. Dawg pulls Edwin up across the mat and whips him into the corner, cracks his neck, and then charges forward and leaps…

 

CRACK!

 

And Jay Dawg connects with Sweet Tooth Loosening, dropping Edwin into a slumped heap in the corner! The fans are on their feet with jeers! “Sweet Tooth Loosening! Jay Dawg does have control, Riley, and I’m none too happy about it!” The No-Selling Bastard drags Edwin out of the corner and quickly pulls him into a standing headscissors, prepping for JD’s Revenge, but something glinting on the ramp catches JD’s eye.

 

It’s a steel chair.

 

More importantly, it’s a steel chair that Edwin brought down over his head roughly 12 minutes ago.

 

“What’s JD—oh, no! Come on Dawg, you proved you’re the better technical wrestler, just get on with it!” pleads Stevens, as JD throws the dazed Edwin to the mat and quickly dives out of the ring, grabbing the chair and grinning like he’s got the very Ark of the Covenant in his hands. He tosses the chair back into the ring and slides in, moving straight for Edwin, pulling him up into the standing headscissors, crossing his arms under his throat, and slowly walking him back over the chair. “Jay Dawg’s gonna smash Edwin’s face with his cross-armed pedigree!”

 

JD holds the arms tight…

 

…and finds himself flying through the air as Edwin rises up and backdrops him over! “MacPhisto counters, dagnabbit!” skitters Riley. “JD took too long getting set-up—but he’s still got Edwin’s arms cinched! Yes!” JD lands out of the backdrop hard on his ass, but he keeps Edwin’s arms locked, pulling the Mac Daddy down with him…and Jay Dawg applies another right armbar, twisting it as he pulls himself back up! He forces Edwin to stand, then drives one knee into his gut!

 

“Oof—come on Edwin, break free!”

 

Another knee!

 

“Double-oof!”

 

And JD hooks a waistlock for belly-to-belly, looking sadistically in the direction of the chair…and turning his head back around into a cracking MacPhisto headbutt! JD staggers back and Edwin stumbles towards him, hooks an inverted facelock, and leaps into the air!

 

“SOUND CHECK!” shouts Steven, and Edwin desperately rolls the dice on JD, taking both men down to the mat, inches away from the chair and with the crowd roaring wildly! Neither man moves…and then Edwin reaches out his left arm and drapes it across JD’s chest! “Cover! Cover! Edwin caught JD off-guard and might have just snuck a win!”

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWOOOOOOO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREEEEEEEEEEE—NO, JD gets his shoulder up at 2 and 99/100! “JD kicks out,” cackles Riley, “and Edwin’s still down! That spinning neckbreaker took just as much out of his weak frame as it did JD!” Both men struggle to push themselves up off the mat…climbing…standing…and Edwin goes crashing back down as JD blasts him with a sloppy knee charge! Now fully-enraged, Jay Dawg drags Edwin up, walking right through a left hand shotei! Another! Another!

 

“JD’s walking through those shoteis like they’re nothing!” shouts Stevens, and Dawg yanks Edwin in over the chair one more time! One more headscissors, one more hook of the arms—no, Edwin powers out and nails a rising uppercut into JD’s jaw!

 

“Dammit! Just hit him with the steel, Dawg! Don’t get fancy!”

 

Edwin slips out of and JD lunges at him—and Edwin hits him with another shotei, this time to the face! Dawg staggers into the corner, but comes right back out to eat another! “Five palm strikes! JD’s got to be reeling, at least a little!” Dawg comes charging out again, this time eying Edwin’s right arm, and the world champion catches the glance. Thinking fast and perhaps not entirely clearly, he rears back with the right arm, charging a shotei…

 

“What’s Edwin doing? That’s his bad arm!” cries Stevens…

 

…and JD takes the bait! He lunges for the right arm and Edwin sidesteps across JD’s entire path, launching up his left arm to cinch a one-handed headlock and stop Dawg in his tracks! “Edwin blocks! Edwin blocks JD’s attack—AND HERE HE GOES!” Edwin holds JD’s head steady and bursts for the turnbuckle, just a few feet away, running up the ropes as if for an Acid Drop, kicking off…

 

…and sailing out towards the center of the ring, JD and JD’s head lolling behind him, floating over his shoulder…

 

…CRACK!

 

“SPINAL TAP! SPINAL TAP! Tornado stunner on Jay Dawg!”

 

“No, no, no! JD, you were so close!” moans Riley! Still clutching at his right arm, Edwin rolls over a limp JD for an exhausted cover, and the crowd counts along!

 

“ONE!”

 

 

 

 

“TWO!”

 

 

…

 

 

 

“THREEEEEEEEEEEEEE!”

 

The referee immediately calls for the bell and pulls Edwin off the mat, carefully avoiding the right arm!

 

“Your winner by pinfall—EDWIN MACPHISTOOOOO!”

 

“What a match!” shouts Stevens, as “Battleflag” starts to bump. “JD got the better of Edwin throughout the match, but a few desperation attacks and some well-placed strategy let our world champion squeak out a win!”

 

“Eh, I’m not happy about it, but it was a damn fine match, I’ll give them that. With the performance JD put on tonight, coming within inches of beating the world champion…well, Stubby must be impressed. I wouldn’t be surprised to see Dawg get another shot at Edwin soon, and perhaps with a bit more on the line…”

 

“Don’t get ahead of yourself there, Riley! Before JD’s gonna get a shot at Edwin, someone else is, and our next match is going to determine just who that’s gonna be! Fallout! Taylor! Wilson! For the title shot at Snake Eyes—next!”

 

We cut to commercial on Edwin leaning against the turnbuckle, warily catching his breath and smiling to the fans as the ref checks on a rather dizzied JD…

[Guest BA_Baracus]

SWF Smarkdown returns from commercial, the camera twisting dizzyingly around a packed house of rabid wrestling fans, spotlights swirling around as strobes pump, before everything dies down and the cameras settle on Bobby Riley and “Grand Slam” Mark Stevens, sitting in their usual post at the announcer’s table.

 

“Welcome back to SWF Storm!” booms Stevens as Riley leans on one arm, looking nowhere in particular. “We’re six days away from ‘Snake Eyes’, and what a card we’re getting assembled so far for our monthly spectacular. The key ingredient to any good show is the main event, and right now we have ours for tonight which will decide the main event for Sunday. And with three great athletes competing for that spot.”

 

Riley slowly turns and looks at Stevens before sitting up straight. “Could you make that any more confusing and vague?” He looks at the camera. “Bottom line is this folks: Winner of this match gets a SWF Championship match with our distinguished and oh-so-respectable champion, Edwin MacPhisto, on Sunday. It’s a three-way, so we’re going to get two, count em, two, falls before we have our winner.” He looks back at Stevens. “Is it really that freaking hard?”

 

Stevens sighs. “Thank you, Bobby, for clearing that up. We’ve got three wrestlers with pretty much two different styles going at it tonight. Erek Taylor, making his in-ring return after assaulting Wilson on Friday night…”

 

“There’s the way to come back: Make a good impression with the resident homicidal maniac.”

 

“…and Fallout, who competed for and fell just short of winning the title two months ago, both are high-flying phenoms and former Light-heavyweight Champions. Chris Wilson, while he can do some high-flying, is an all-around technical wrestler, brawler type, but he is a former World Champion and has been gunning for MacPhisto and this shot since he came back. We have no idea which way this match is going to sway, and with these three ready to compete, just sit back and enjoy.”

 

The lights cut out and “Scum of the Earth” by Rob Zombie begins to play over the sound system, the crowd rising to its feet and booing with all their hearts. As soon as the heavy guitar part begins, an explosion hits the entrance area, a faint green glow lights up the arena, and Fallout comes through the curtain, draped in his Clan robe and face a slate of granite.

 

Funyon steps into the ring. “Ladies and gentlemen, its time for your main event! The following contest is a three-way match to determine the number one contender for the SWF Heavyweight title at Snake Eyes…First, making his way to the ring from Phoenix, Arizona, and weighing in at 190 pounds, he represents the Clan……the Nuclear Weapon…Fall-OUUUUUUUUUUUUUUT!”

 

Fallout gets into the ring and heads to the center of the ring. He slowly raises his arms in the air and a huge green explosion rips through the air behind him. He slips out of his Clan robe as “Scum of the Earth” dies out and a low fog drifts through the arena, mixing with the smoke of Fallout’s pyros.

 

“Ah….ah….ah……Ah….”

 

The crowd stays on its feet, booing even louder as “Summer in the City” kicks up and Chris Wilson slowly steps out onto the stage, fog swirling around him. He stands there for a moment, soaking in the hatred of the crowd, Tag Championship glimmering the dim lights along with his Oakleys. He slowly strides down to the ring with a confident gait.

 

“His opponent…hailing from Miami, Florida”..that gets an awkward hybrid louder pop/boo from the crowd”… and weighing in 273…he is the co-holder of Tag Team championships...Chris Wil-SOOOOOOOOOOOOON!”

 

Wilson strides up the steps into the ring and steps through, handing his tag strap to the referee before shoving his sunglasses and gloves into the pocket of his trench coat and disrobing, tossing the coat to the official as well. The fog slowly dissipates as the lights in the arena kick back on in an explosion of light as Trust Club’s “Downfall” begins to blare throughout the building, the crowd begin to cheer madly, not a single seat occupied as flames begin to ignite before it sets off yet another explosion of pyro, this time flames shooing high into the air. As the smoke clears away, the ventilation system of the American Airlines Arena getting a workout, it reveals Erek Taylor in a crouch he quickly rises out of, smiling out at the crowd as they smile back in their rousing ovation for the returning young superstar.

 

“And finally….making his return to an SWF ring, he hails from Anaheim, California, and weighs in at 195 pounds…..Erek Tay-LOOOOOOOOOOOR!”

 

The crowd continues to cheer wildly as Erek slides into the ring, eyeing up the two not-so-loved men in the corners opposite him. Wilson has the fire in his eyes of a maniac as Fallout stands their stoically, almost looking bored as he prepares to get down to business. Erek rises to his feet and stretches a moment before the referee looks at each participant and then does what all the fans are waiting for…

 

DING DING DING!

 

..signals for the bell! “Wilson isn’t waiting,” declares Stevens as Wilson charges at Erek and locks up with him, each man jockeying for position. “Fallout doesn’t enjoy being left out of the dance as he delivers hard kicks to both men’s knees before shoving Wilson into one corner and forcing Erek into another, driving right hands into the face of the young face. The referee separates the two as Wilson stands idly in the corner. Fallout shoves the official away and drives a shoulder into Erek that drops him to the mat. He turns around to catch Wilson trying for a sneak attack, but the maniac isn’t quick enough and Fallout catches his right hands and surges that right through into an Irish whip. Wilson can’t stop himself and he runs right into a high leg clothesline that drops him to the mat just as Erek rises.”

 

“Chaos abound!” giggles Riley with glee. “Fallout and Erek begin to trade blows and Erek manages to whip the scum of the earth against the ropes, and as he reaches the complete opposite side of the ring, Erek backdrops him over the top rope to the floor! The crowd explodes as Erek turns around to face the fallen Clannie…but Wilson grabs him from behind, lifts him high into the air, and drops him hard to the mat with a back bodydrop. The crowd boos as Wilson stands Erek up and drives him into the corner, holding onto the middle ropes for leverage as he repeatedly rams his shoulder into Erek’s stomach. He whips him across the ring, but Erek manages to grab the top rope and kick out his legs, catching Wilson in the chin and sending him sprawling to the ground.”

 

Erek drops onto the second rope, and as Wilson rises he sprigs off, twisting in the air and driving a missile dropkick into his chest. Wilson stumbles back, and Erek pops up with a high roundhouse that catches Wilson on the ear and keeps him on his heels. A quick flurry of kicks to the leg drops Wilson to one knee and Erek slaps on a front facelock, preparing for a suplex. He starts to lift Wilson into the air, but the evil genius fights him off, causing too much trouble in the air for Erek to get him over. He drops him back to the mat and Wilson immediately begins to lift Erek up. He gets him up in the air, but Erek wriggles about and falls down, landing behind Wilson. Before he can react, Erek clotheslines him over the top rope to the floor. As Wilson starts to stand, Fallout slithers into the ring and watches from a crouch as Erek pulls back on the top rope and springboards himself over the top rope with a crossbody that elicits a loud pop from the crowd.

 

After a few long moments, Erek and Wilson both begin to move like elderly men as they stagger back up to their feet, using the barricade for support. As they turn around, the crowd explodes as Fallout flips over the top rope, lands facing the ring on the outside of the second rope and flips back with an asai moonsault the topples his two opponents on the outside while he remains standing. The crowd almost cheers the athletic display by the hated man, but just catches themselves, and instead breaks into a loud chant of “S – W – F!” Fallout grabs Wilson and rolls him under the bottom rope. He hops up on the apron, stretches back the top rope and flips over, dropping a leg across Wilson’s chest and quickly covering. ONE…

 

 

TWO and only two as Wilson rolls a shoulder off the mat fairly easily so early in the match. “Fallout taking an early advantage,” points out Stevens as Fallout stands Wilson up and slaps on a headlock. “He’s got Wilson in the side headlock and he’s trying to put some pressure on his neck. Wilson pounds some elbows into his stomach, but Fallout retaliates by shoving Wilson against the ropes. As he bounces back, Fallout just lashes out with a nasty spinning heel kick that knocks Wilson hard to the mat. Wilson tries to bounce back up, but Fallout grabs his arm, flips over and spins him into a La Mahistrol cradle! Wilson is taken by surprise with that maneuver as the ref checks the shoulder/mat contact…ONE…

 

 

TWO..

 

 

 

THR..and Wilson just barely rolled out of that intelligent pinning move by Fallout. This early in the match, a lateral press or leg hook isn’t going to win it for you, so get fancy.”

 

“Fallout is a great wrestling mind,” compliments Riley. “No doubt about that at all. He grabs Wilson and puts him in a front facelock and lifts him up for a suplex, but instead sits him on the top rope. Erek is starting to stir on the outside. Fallout climbs up onto the second rope and is attempting to hook Wilson up for a superplex, but Wilson fights him off with a stiff headbutt to the nose and some hard rights. Fallout starts to teeter on the top, and Wilson shoves him off with all of his strength. Wilson rises up to the top rope, but here comes Erek! Before Wilson can even react, Taylor springs off the second rope on the outside to the top, wraps his legs around Wilson’s neck and shoulders and rolls back….WITH A HUGE SUPERCURANNA THAT SENDS WILSON SPRAWLING!”

 

The crowd once again bursts into loud “S – W –F” chants as the high-flyer takes flight and Wilson gets grounded. Erek gets up to his feet slowly and heads over to cover Wilson, but is met halfway by Fallout, who laces a knife-edge chop across his chest. He staggers, and Fallout connects with a second before whipping Erek against the ropes and taking him over with a hip toss. He keeps the lock on the arm, trying to hold his adversary down, but Erek kip ups to his feet and uses that momentum to snap Fallout to the canvas. The crowd cheers as Erek hops over top of the two-time ICTV champion, gets a head of steam and drives a dropkick into his face. Wilson pulls himself into the corner, shaken up, as Erek covers Fallout. ONE…

 

 

TWO and barely even that as Fallout shoots his shoulder from the mat, almost hurt that Erek actually tried pinning him after that. Erek grabs Fallout by the arm and pulls him up to his feet before sliding around into a hammerlock. Fallout grits his teeth as he tries to push his way out of it, slowly turning Erek into a hammerlock of his own. Erek steps back, grabs Fallout as if attempting a stunner and flips up into the air, kicking madly as Fallout has no choice but to let him go or have his arm wrenched off. Erek falls behind Fallout, grabs his neck and puts him in a reverse facelock, trying for a reverse DDT, but Fallout reaches up and rakes Erek’s eyes, citing some boo’s from the crowd as he bends back up to his maximum height, turns around and blasts Erek with a forearm shiver across the face then a knee to the stomach. He tries to whip Erek, but The High Flying Prince holds onto the top rope even as Fallout stretches him away. Eventually, as if elastic, Erek pulls back and Fallout comes back towards him. Erek ducks down and tries to flapjack Fallout across the top rope, but Fallout grabs onto the top rope and flips over the top, dangling to the floor before pulling himself up to the apron and turning to face Erek at the same time his opponent turns to face him. Fallout reacts first, driving a shoulder into Erek’s gut, leaping over the top and turning Taylor over with a wicked sunset flip. ONE….

 

 

 

TWO…

 

 

 

 

TH…and Erek kicks out. Both men stay motionless for a moment, winded after the quick series of reversals.

 

Wilson finally manages to regain his composure, rising from the corner DDP-style and looking over at Fallout. Fallout slowly rises, Erek still on the mat and clenching the back of his head. Fallout motions at himself and Wilson, and then Erek. Wilson smiles and nods as Erek starts to get to his feet.

 

“This isn’t looking good for Taylor,” forecasts Stevens. “Wilson and Fallout are looking to turn this into a handicap match against Erek, and that could be a good move with the way Erek has been taking it to both of them so far. Fallout pounds on Erek with some rights as he reaches his feet before forcing him towards an awaiting Wilson, who slaps on a front facelock and lifts him high up in the air, holding him there for a moment before dropping him down to the mat with a towering vertical suplex. Fallout gets his licks in as well, taking a step forward and dropping a somersault leg drop across the throat of Erek as Wilson rises to his feet.”

 

“These two guys,” begin Riley, “ are just great. They’re going to pick apart Erek, and then they can fight it out between themselves on who gets to beat Edwin on Sunday. It’s true greatness we’re seeing here as a winded Erek is brought to his feet and whipped against the ropes by Wilson. He bounces back, but he ducks Chris’s clothesline! The crowd begins to cheer as Erek skids to a halt, reaches up to grab Wilson around the neck…but Fallout intervenes, kicking Erek hard in the gut and causing him to release a bewildered Wilson and double-over. Fallout lifts him up into the air and slams him back down with a nasty powerbomb. He holds on, pinning Taylor to the mat. ONE…

 

 

TWO…

 

 

THR..and Erek kicks out, causing this ignorant crowd to reach their feet. Its pointless, people! Erek can’t win! It’s two-on- farging-one.”

Fallout doesn’t waste any time as he grabs Erek by the back of the neck and shoves him into the corner, beginning to stomp away at his stomach. The crowd grows deathly silent as Wilson watches from the other side of the ring. The Nuclear Weapon pops a European uppercut into Erek’s chin before whipping him across the ring and following after him. He comes charging in, flipping over once and attempting to squash Erek with a flying reverse elbow, but Taylor moves and Fallout doesn’t connect. As he stumbles forward, Erek storms forward with a bulldog takedown that floors Fallout. He immediately stands up, realizing he has to deal with Wilson, but it’s already too late as a Miami sidekick catches him across the chest and drops him hard to the center of the ring. The crowd, excited for a moment, begins to boo again as Fallout rises back up to his feet.

 

Wilson slowly stands Erek up, Fallout leaning heavily in the corner. The tag champ starts to pound on the young Taylor with some right hands before whipping him against the ropes. As he rebounds, Wilson catches him starts to spin him around for a tilt-a-whirl backbreaker, but Erek spins through into a headscissors takedown. The crowd pops loudly as Erek heads to the ropes to get some more speed, but Fallout comes charging over with a clothesline that catches him across the neck and floors him at the edge of the ring. Wilson gives the Nuclear Weapon a smile and comes up with a suggestion. He motions for Fallout to DDT Erek, and then he spins his hands, apparently meaning a 450 splash. Fallout eyes Wilson cautiously, but nods.

 

“These two sadistic men are ready to finish off Erek Taylor after their hellacious double-teaming,” complains Stevens, “and that just isn’t right. Wilson pulls himself up top and coils himself up in a crouch, waiting patiently as Fallout pulls Erek to the center of the ring and kicks him hard in the stomach. He slaps on a front facelock as the crowd boo’s loudly. He goes to lift Erek up for the Meltdown, but Erek blocks it with shoulder to the stomach. Fallout reasserts his grip around the back of Erek’s pants, but once again he takes a shoulder to the gut by Erek …WHO REVERSES IT AND TAKES FALLOUT OVER WITH A NORTHERN LIGHTS SUPLEX! Up top, Wilson simply shrugs and explodes off the top and comes crashing down on the man that seemed like his ally, Fallout, with an ‘Earth to McFly’ 450 splash! Apparently there’s no honor code among dishonorable men.”

 

“What a great move by Wilson!” applauds Riley as Wilson starts to covers. “ONE…

 

 

 

TWO…

 

 

 

 

THR…and Fallout kicks out! But he doesn’t have a chance to get out of the way like Wilson, who rolls to the side, seeing Erek Taylor jumps off the top rope, whirling in the air…AND COMING DOWN ON THE CLANNIE WITH THE DOWNFALL! This capacity crowd is roaring as Erek hits his twisting moonsault finisher and covers Fallout, the referee dropping down to count..ONE…

 

 

 

TWO…

 

 

 

 

THREE! And Fallout just got eliminated from this match! It’s down to Wilson and Taylor!”

 

DING DING DING!

 

“That came out of nowhere!” says a surprised Stevens as Wilson immediately comes at Erek with a knee to the face. “Fallout’s Meltdown got reversed and it was just a matter of time after he was hit with top-rope moves from both of his opponents. The handicap match against Taylor switched to Fallout just long enough for Taylor to eliminate him.”

 

“That was sudden,” confirms Riley. “Fallout and Wilson were wearing out Erek, and just like that Fallout was able to kick out of one pinfall attempt, but not the second. This is looking like a mismatch as a beat down Erek is trying to take down a relatively fresh Wilson, but lets not forget that in the month before his ladder match with Magnifico, Erek scored wins over a large cast of characters, including Thoth, Sacred and the Mexican himself.”

 

Wilson shoves Erek into the corner and raises a knee into his gut. He reaches back and rips off Erek’s basketball jersey, exposing his bare chest. There’s an awkward moment as the crowd thinks Wilson is just stripping Erek down before he stands Taylor up in the corner, pulls back and unleashes a hard open palm slap right across the chest of Erek. The crowd “Ooo’s” as Wilson pulls back and repeats the move, Erek wincing in pain as his chest slowly starts to turn a sickish red. As Wilson continues his assault, Fallout clears the cobwebs out and realizes what happened. He gets the look of a madman in his eye as he rolls out of the ring and grabs a chair before immediately sliding under the bottom rope. The referee sees him coming but can do little as Fallout plows him over and grabs Wilson, spinning around the traitorous fiend and wringing the chair over his head. Wilson stiffens up and collapses as Fallout does the same to Erek, blasting him with an equally vile chairshot that ruins the seat. Fallout tosses the wrangled weapon aside and lifts Wilson up. He says a few choice words to him before slapping on a front facelock, lifting up and driving Wilson to the mat with a Meltdown! Fallout stands up, hearing the usual jeers from the crowd even after the DDT on Wilson, and steps through the ropes. He drops to the floor and calmly begins his walk up the ramp.

 

“Whether he wanted to or not,” wonders Stevens, “Fallout has just evened out this playing field. All three men in the ring are down, including the ref, and this capacity crowd is still booing Fallout even as he disappears behind the curtain. Slowly, the performers in the ring are stirring, Erek being the first one to make it to his feet. He kicks his jersey out of the ring and starts to stomp on Wilson, who’s sitting in the corner half-awake. Using the ropes so he doesn’t collapse himself, Erek drives his foot repeatedly into the stomach of Wilson as the referee gets up to his feet. Now maybe we can get a match going here.”

 

“Hopefully, because I want to see some more violence!” wishes Riley. “Erek pulls Wilson up and in one fluid motion whips him against the ropes. As Wilson rebounds, Erek plants him in the face with a perfect standing dropkick. Before Wilson can stand, Erek grabs his legs, crosses them and turns over…locking Wilson in a Texas cloverleaf! Erek doesn’t have it locked in very well, however, and Wilson flips him out of it using his strength advantage by simply forcing his legs to unroll. Erek doesn’t stay down, rolling through the reversal, bouncing off the ropes and taking down the just rising Wilson with a rolling neckbreaker that snaps his head back and makes sure he stays on the mat. Erek drops down and covers. ONE…

 

 

 

TWO..

 

 

T..and Wilson twists his shoulder from the mat, the crowd here urging Erek on to do some damage.”

 

Erek doesn’t slow, crawling up to the top as Wilson stands, turning slowly to face him. As he does so, Erek leaps from the top, sailing through the air and coming down on Wilson with a cross body that splatters both men to the mat. Erek doesn’t cover, but instead tries to lock on another submission, this time grabbing both of Wilson’s legs and looking for a Boston crab. Wilson baits him, letting him get hooked in only to be pulled forward and into a Wilson right hand that sends Erek into the corner. He comes right back out, but Wilson jams his feet into Taylor’s stomach and prepares to flip him over with a modified monkey flip, but Erek grabs the back of Wilson’s ankles, lands stiffly and holds on for a tight rollup as the crowd simply explodes! ONE…

 

 

 

TWO…

 

 

 

 

THRE…and an outwrestled Wilson can only let out a sigh of relief as he unfolds his body in time to avoid the pinfall. The crowd moans as Erek doesn’t move on to the main event Sunday, but they get right back into it as Erek grabs Wilson as he reaches one knee, and helps him the rest of the way to his feet, only to jack an uppercut into his chin. He throws Wilson against the ropes and darts after him, but Wilson sticks his boot out and catches Erek in the face and sends him floundering back. Wilson pulls himself up to the second rope and as Erek regains his footing and comes at him again, meets him halfway with the ‘Rim Rocka’ flying knee. Erek’s body crumples as Wilson leans against the ropes, taking a breather after Erek’s series of near, nearfalls over him.

 

“Chris Wilson is trying to now assert himself into this match,” states Stevens. “He nearly lost this thing a few times, but now its time for him to try to expose Erek’s probable fatigue after he had to contend with both Wilson and Fallout for a period of time. Erek rolls over onto his stomach and pushes himself up to his feet, and Wilson is immediately there. He wraps his arms around Erek’s stomach, lifts him high into the air for a gutwrench powerbomb…but Erek reverses it into another hurricanrana on Wilson! He reaches back and grabs Wilson’s legs. ONE…

 

 

 

 

TWO…

 

 

 

 

THR…and Wilson once again is forced to make a daring escape from Erek’s pinning predicaments, unable to get any sort of consistent offense mounted against the young gun.”

 

“He’s just letting Erek play himself out,” assures Riley as Erek and Wilson both reach their feet at the same time, eyeing each other carnivorously. “They step forward and lock up in a test of strength. Erek puts up a fight, but the stronger Wilson takes the advantage and forcing Erek back to the ropes and driving a knee up into his stomach that loosens Erek’s grip and allows Wilson to lock him in a front facelock. Erek tries to fight him off with some jabs to the body, but Wilson no-sells them and lifts Erek high into the air and immediately drops him with a big-time brainbuster that scrambles the skull of Erek Taylor. He covers quickly. ONE…

 

 

 

TWO…

 

 

 

T..and Erek kicks out, exciting this crowd, who for some reason think Erek can actually beat Wilson, even more.”

 

Wilson drags Erek back up to his feet and forces him back into the corner and without delay goes to work on him again. He cocks back and unleashes a knife-edge chop across his chest as the crowd obliges him with an echoing “WOOO”. Wilson pulls back again and unleashes a second, Erek clutching his chest in pain. Wilson resets Erek’s arms on either side of the top rope and away from his chest, but as he adjusts Erek’s right arm, Taylor locks him in a side headlock from the left side. Wilson turns away from the corner, sprints forward a few steps and shoots Erek off of him and into the opposite corner. At once, Erek rushes back out at the madman but is caught unprepared and brutalized by a spear from Wilson. The crowd boos loudly as Wilson rolls Erek over once more and covers him. ONE…

 

 

 

TWO…

 

 

 

 

TH…and Erek kicks out again, Wilson starting to get frustrated that he won’t stay down. Wilson pulls Erek up to his feet and immediately rolls him up onto his shoulders, beginning to bounce up and down as he stretches and pains Erek in a torture rack! The crowd begins to chant “ER-ek TAY-lor” as loud as they can as Wilson tries to wrench him to pieces. The referee keeps checking to see if Erek is signaling to end the match, but he’s getting no such response as Erek starts to free his legs. Wilson doesn’t realize until its too late and a pair of sharp knee blows catch him in the temple. He yelps in pain and drops to one knee, clutching the side of his head as Erek falls to the mat, exhausted from the submission move. He very slowly begins to climb up to the top, facing the outside of the ring as Wilson stands, facing Erek and still rubbing his temple. Wilson charges at Erek, preparing to shove him off and three rows into the crowd, but Erek predicts it and elegantly flips back over top of Wilson who catches nothing but the turnbuckle pads. He staggers back and Erek wraps him in a Tazzmission. Before Wilson can even try to work his way out of it, he’s dropped to the mat with a hard sleeper drop. Erek rolls him over, covering as the crowd pleads with the ref to count faster…ONE…

 

 

 

 

TWO…

 

 

 

 

THRE…and a totally disoriented Wilson manages to kick out before the ref’s count reaches three.

 

“Our tag champ is stood up by Erek,” commentates Stevens, “and whipped against the ropes. As he rebounds, Erek leapfrogs him and pushes off, forcing Wilson to pick up speed as he lands, turns and grabs Wilson, picking him up and immediately snapping him back down with a diving spinebuster. He doesn’t cover, instead pulling himself up to the top as the crowd roars loudly, leaping off the top and attempting a guillotine leg drop…but Erek misses as Wilson rolls out of the way! Erek bounces right up to his feet, walking awkwardly as he jams his tailbone as Wilson bounces up to his feet and ties him up in a rear waistlock.”

 

“Wilson pulls back, trying to break Erek in half with a German suplex,” continues Riley, “but Erek somersaults back out of it and lands comfortably in the center of the ring. Wilson spins around to face him and is met by having his arm gripped and thrown into an Irish whip. Wilson reverses it midway through, shifting his weight and turning it so Erek is the one whipped against the ropes. As he bounces back, Wilson tries for another Miami sidekick, but Erek ducks it, hits the ropes…and explodes off with a flying forearm that catches Wilson off balance and flattens him to the mat. Both men lie their motionless as the ref starts his ten count.”

 

The count barely reaches six and both men are two one knee, staring at each other. They charge, locking up in the center of the ring again. Erek spins back to back with Wilson and tries to use gravity to his advantage and force Wilson to the canvas with a backslide, but Wilson flips over entirely and brings his knee up into Erek’s face, snapping him back up to full height and releasing the lock between the two men’s arms. Wilson kicks him hard in the stomach, slides on a standing headscissors and tries to pull Erek up for a piledriver. He can’t get him up on the first try as Erek’s struggles fight off Wilson’s attempts at wrapping around him. Wilson drops a double axe handle across his back, picks him up again and spikes him to the mat with a jumping piledriver! He makes haste covering, pulling the leg waaaaay back. ONE…

 

 

TWO…

 

 

 

 

THRE…and Erek kicks out again, Wilson looking up at the referee with a hint of delirium in his eye as he just can’t keep the Taylor down.

 

“And Wilson’s finally snapped!” shouts Stevens as an enraged Wilson rolls out of the ring and shoves Funyon to the floor, grabbing his chair and storming back towards the squared circle. “He wants this title shot, but I think he’s just frustrated enough at Taylor to waste the chance at Edwin for some sweet revenge. Not the choice I’d make, but it’s Wilson we’re talking here.”

 

“Whatever makes him happy,” states Riley. “Wilson slides into the ring and softly taps the chair a few times on that as he waits for Erek to rise up to his feet. He slowly does, turns towards Wilson and the maniac swings…but the ref grabs the chair from behind! Wilson whirls around to stare at the referee, and Erek doesn’t waste the chance, spinning Wilson around, jamming a foot into his gut and slapping on a front facelock. He spins around, back to back with Wilson, preparing for the Fame and Fury! The crowd rises to its feet, cheering wildly as the referee turns to toss the chair back out of the ring.”

 

“No!” cringes Stevens as Wilson flares back a mule kick that catches Erek right between the legs. “With the ref’s back turned, Wilson landed that low blow that has Erek absolutely out of it and this crowd in an uproar. Wilson doesn’t hesitate to slap on a full nelson and slip his foot around Erek’s, dropping forward and driving Erek to the mat with the Platinum Nightmare! Dammit! Wilson doesn’t release the hold, but simply rises back up to his feet, jerking Erek along with him like a rag doll. The crowd boo’s even louder as Wilson brings the foot around and HITS ANOTHER PLATINUM NIGHTMARE! Wilson’s trying to kill Erek! He rolls over the nearly unconscious Taylor and hooks his leg, pulling it waaaaaaay back and driving a forearm into his throat for an extra measure of support as the referee drops down and counts. ONE…

 

 

 

TWO…

 

 

 

 

THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

 

DING DING DING!

 

“It’s Wilson versus MacPhisto at Snake Eyes, but only after valiant efforts by Fallout and then an inspired Erek Taylor. What a match.”

 

Wilson rises to his feet, not a single person in the arena not letting him hear it as the official holds his arm in the air, “Summer in the City” kicking up over the sound system.

 

“The winner of this match via pinfall…and number one contender to SWF Title….CHRIS WILSOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOON!”

 

Wilson pulls his hand away from the referee and slides out of the ring, grabbing the chair he had a moment earlier and preparing to use it on a comatose Taylor. He sets the chair up and pulls Erek on, slipping on another full nelson as the crowd boos even louder. The boo’s turn to cheers as Ash Ketchum and Longdogger Pete sprint down the ramp, preparing to repay the favor that they owe Taylor from Storm. Wilson sees them coming and rolls out of the ring, heading up the ramp as the two men in the ring help Erek up to his feet.

 

“What a match, indeed,” repeats Riley as Wilson backs up the ramp. “It took jumping piledriver, a low blow and two Platinum Nightmares to make sure Erek Taylor stayed down, and I’m sure that’s not the last time we’re going to see him going for the title. Not to discount Fallout either, who if a few things had gone different would be competing in his second world title pay-per-view main event in three months.”

 

As Wilson reaches the top of the ramp, he steps back onto the stage and throws his arms up in the air, letting out a battle cry as his hometown crowd responds with crescendoing boos. Wilson slowly lowers his arms and lets out a sinister laugh…before Edwin MacPhisto, still weary from his match with JD, slowly walks out onto the stage, the crowd beginning to buzz as “Summer in the City” slowly dies down and Wilson realizes something is wrong, slowly turning around. As he does so, Edwin begins throwing right hands into the face of the evil genius that turn the crowd on its head and cause possibly the loudest pop of the night. Edwin slams Wilson up against the Smarkdown set repeatedly, before throwing him down to that stage. The crowd supports him as he towers over Wilson, but before anymore damage can be done, Stryke comes from behind the corner and swings a steel chair square into the back of Edwin that collapses the ‘Crown prince of flash and panache.’ Edwin drops to his knees, wincing as Wilson gets back up to his feet and pulls him up to his feet. The crowd once again begins to boo as Wilson slaps on a front facelock and drops Edwin face-first onto the steel stage with a Last Resort.

 

“This is a heinous beatdown!” cries Stevens as Wilson and Stryke begin to put the boots to Edwin. “They’re double-teaming our World Champion…but here comes Pete and Ash! Ash, who’s gunning for Stryke’s title at Snake Eyes, and Miami native LDP sprint back up the ramp to make the save for Edwin as Wilson and Stryke retreat to the back.” Edwin tries to get up on his own, but falters as Stevens closes the show with the copyright slowly forming in the corner of the shot of the three men on stage. “We’re way over time, folks, so we’ll see you at Snake Eyes, this Sunday on pay-per-view. For Bobby Riley, I’m ‘Grand Slam’ Mark Stevens. Good night!”

[Guest BA_Baracus]

HARDCORE MATCH

Ash Ketchum vs. Johnny Rotten

- Ash wins in a shocking upset!

 

WACKY MIS-MATCHED 6 MAN TAG MATCH!

Thoth & Durandal vs. Stryke & Xero vs. Mercury & Chris Raynor

- The Clan wins...

 

NON-TITLE SINGLES MATCH

Edwin MacPhisto vs. Jay Dawg

- Edwin wins in another shocking upset.

 

3-WAY MATCH FOR THE #1 CONTENDERSHIP TO THE SWF HEAVYWEIGHT TITLE

Fallout vs. Chris Wilson vs. Erek Taylor

- Wilson vs. Edwin this Sunday!