2008 Cold Front Classic!

[Toxxic 0]

The SWF presents...

THE COLD FRONT CLASSIC
NIGHT ONE: END OF THE FALL

LIVE to DVD at 7pm EST Saturday 6th December, from the Times Union Center in New York!



THE COLD FRONT CLASSIC
The Cold Front Classic, an eight-man tournament to determine the Number One Contender to the SWF World Heavyweight Title, was first conceived in 2004 by Joseph Peters. The inaugural tournament was won by current Commissioner Landon Maddix, and the next two were won by JJ Johnson. This year's tournament doesn't feature either of those two athletes... but that's not the only difference.

No, this year we've got sixteen entrants... fourteen men, one woman and a robot!

Cold Front Classic First Round Matches

Tracey Bruner vs Michael Alexander
Tracey Bruner, one half of NYC, tasted defeat as he and his partner attempted to take the Tag Titles from The Breslins at All Hallows. However, now the man they call Mister Bruner gets the chance to go after another title... and this time, he's on home territory. Up against him is Michael Alexander, who failed to use home advantage to its full potential against Va'aiga at Genesis, but may have learned valuable lessons about wrestling a super-heavyweight. One thing's sure, he's going to need them; Bruner's even bigger than Va'aiga, and certainly no more inclined to charitable actions towards his opponents.

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


Dance Dance Dragon vs MANSON
What's this? The opponents from All Hallows where MANSON went completely batshit insane and attacked Dragon, ripping off his mask, are due to go head-to-head in the first round of a tournament? Commissioner Maddix denies any shenanigans (but Toxxic is pointing and nodding behind his back). There's bad blood here for sure, so let's see what unfolds this time!

Rules: Standard Singles
Word Limit: 4000
Send To: Toxxic


Tod James Stuart vs X-Punk
Tod James Stuart is no stranger to X-Punk, as the GTA Fight Team beat down on DVS's Team Canada at Toxxic's urging a few months ago. However, this time Punk is prepared and in his ring gear (at least, he will be if he knows what's good for him). Meanwhile Tod is coming off the back of an impressive victory over TKO with his partner Daniel Smith, and the option of adding a little more gold to the impending Tag Title shot surely appeals.

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


NON-TITLE MATCH
Taiga Star© vs Kevin Riggs
Taiga has become something of a fixture in the SWF, to the point where she became the first DVS talent to win a title when she took the Cruiserweight belt from Spike Jenkins. This has been something of a bone of contention in the DVS, where she is fighting an ongoing battle against the DVS die-hards, including Team Canada. After his two appearances so far Kevin Riggs, X-Punk's tag team partner, has been tempted back to the SWF for the chance to get a shot at the SWF and perhaps win it... for him, for Canada, for the DVS! However, first he'll have to get past a young lady who tonight will surely have no conflict of loyalties.

Rules: Standard Singles
Word Limit: 4000
Send To: Toxxic


'Hollywood' Spike Jenkins vs Luke Breslin©
Spike Jenkins is always first in line when there is talk of a World Title shot, although he's sometimes also first in line to leave. The fact remains that Spike is, on his day, a fearsome competitor... but tonight he goes up against the SWF's newest champion, the young stud Luke Breslin who is still undefeated in an SWF ring. The Breslin's traded Luke's World Title shot for a shot against TKO for the Tag Titles, which they won - can Luke now get the Big Gold Belt by beating the entire fed to get his shot at the Maori Badass, or will Spike show his ability to throw a spoke in the wheels of the best-laid plans and head after the Maori which he has a long, long, loooooong history with? (mainly of getting lariated out of his boots, but hey)

Rules: Standard Singles
Word Limit: 4000
Send To: Toxxic


Dace Night vs Ryan Styles
Dace Night is back in singles competition, and splatting people just like the old days. He's up against Ryan 'Hardkore Jammer' Styles, who has an impressive history elsewhere but has done little in the SWF bar take part in a beatdown on Taiga. Can Dace return to his old asskicking ways and qualify for a title shot against his own tag team partner (which would be interesting) or can Styles show why he's held in such high regard elsewhere and pull off what would have to be considered an upset in SWF terms?

Rules: Standard Singles
Word Limit: 4000
Send To: Toxxic


S.I.N. vs Spyke
Sammy Nunez failed in his bid to win tag team gold against the Breslins at All Hallows, and now he's going up against the man who failed to win Cruiserweight gold at Genesis IX. It's the size, strength and attitude of one half of NYC against the speed, savvy and attitude of... well, he also comes from NYC, even though he's not in the stable. Although a stable of S.I.N., Bruner, Spyke and Spike would be both geographically interesting and thoroughly terrifying... but I digress. S.I.N. vs Spyke, both with the crowd behind them (we would presume), and both with their eyes set on the title belt adorning the Maori's shoulder. And lest we forget, S.I.N. attacked and kidnapped Va'aiga's tag team partner while in Puerto Rico, while Spyke pissed Va'aiga off so bad before the DVS Birthday Bash 2008 that Va'aiga completely snapped and got himself disqualified while utterly destroying his opponent with whatever came to hand, including tables. There's history there, and a good reason for both to give their all.

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


TORU Takahara vs Ghost Machine 4.0
TORU Takahara is a known quality. Big, strong, surprisingly agile and dirty as fuck. Ghost Machine is ALWAYS a surprise, especially since the SWF has now come into possession of a new model, apparently compatible with the iPhone. Predictable, this ain't.

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

[Toxxic 0]

A few hours before the show, backstage in the Times Union Center

 

"LANDON?"

 

Toxxic, General Manager of the Smartmarks Wrestling Federation, opens the door of the office he's sharing with La Cucaracha for the next two nights and finds Maddix sitting with his feet up on the table reading the latest edition of Wrestling Panda newsletter and making 'tutting' noises.

 

"Landon?"

 

"Yo," Maddix says looking up, "what can I do for you?"

 

"Have you seen Spyke?" the Englishman asks.

 

"Spike? Yeah, he's just down the hall," Maddix replies, "getting a drink at the water cooler last I saw."

 

"Oh, OK, cool," Toxxic says turning away. Then stops, and turns back. "Hang on, are you talking about Spike-with-an-I or Spyke-with-a-Y?"

 

"Uh... which one were you talking about?"

 

"Spyke-with-a-Y. Have you seen him?"

 

"No," Maddix shakes his head, "Spike-with-an-I has been here a couple of hours, but I've heard nothing from The Y Chromosome."

 

"OK, that means... wait, what?" Stephens says incredulously as his brain catches up with his ears. "The Y..." He tilts his head to one side, looking at Maddix querulously. "That's gotta be the oddest thing I've heard in... weeks."

 

"Oh come on," Landon snorts, dropping his Wrestling Panda, "it makes more sense that all this 'Spyke-with-a-random-letter' crap."

 

"So what are we going to call Spike-with-an-I?" Toxxic asks.

 

"Gee, I dunnp. How about 'Jenkins'?" Maddix suggests sarcastically. Toxxic folds his arms and glowers at him.

 

"Cute, Landon," the Straight-Edge Sensation declares when this fails to have a noticeable effect. "Thanks for sharing your yearly witticism with me. But odd or appropriate names aside, we still don't know where Spyke-with-a... you know, the one I was talking about... is."

 

"Do we need to?" Landon asks. "We know S.I.N. won't be here, nothing to be done, the match is booked. As far as I'm concerned, he gets a bye."

 

"Right, fine, yes," Toxxic nods impatiently, "only we haven't TOLD him he's getting a bye, and he's still not here. This concerns me, because I don't want to be giving anyone a bye from the Quarters to the Semis."

 

"So do a Triple Threat to decide the Number One Contender!" Landon says, "that way we can get it all done on Night Two!"

 

Toxxic looks at him for a couple of seconds.

 

"OK, OK, so no-one would show up for a Triple Threat because the entire roster appear to be members of The Fun Police," Maddix admits, "but it'd be one solution."

 

"For me, a solution has to involve us not being pressured to give our refunds when half of our talent doesn't show," Toxxic grumbles. Then brightens. "Hang on, I've got an idea. Where's my mobile..."

[Toxxic 0]

 

“Well fans, we're all gearing up for the opening contest of the 2008 Cold Front Classic,” Mak Francis says as the camera pans around the Times Union Center taking in the 15,000 or so fans who have packed themselves in, “for the first time ever it's a sixteen-man competition, or rather 'fourteen men, one woman and a robot'.”

 

“Yeah, I can't wait to see Ghost Machine 4.0 in action,” Suicide King comments, “after the great success enjoyed by Version 2.0, I think this new incarnation must be even better. The Vista to the XP, if you will.”

 

“For everyone's sake, I hope not,” The Franchise mutters, clearly a stickler for tradition. However, it is at this point that mariachi music strikes up... with a techno beat. Everyone looks confused for a few moments until the Ghost Machine logo flashes up and Chris Belcourt appears, wheeling a trolley which carries a familiar figure wearing a largely black bodysuit and mask along with a HUGE sombrero.

 

“King, that looks remarkably like Ghost Machine 2.0 in a different outfit,” Mak comments suspiciously, “an outfit that looks rather like that of El Hombre Sin Nombre, in fact.”

 

“It's a similar chassis to before, I'll grant you,” King agrees, “but even apart from the new paintjob, I'm sure we'll see fantastic new features.”

 

Ghost Machine climbs into the ring while Belcourt takes off for the back, and Funyon receives the printout from the mouth slit on Ghost Machine's mask which he then reads.

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is a Round One match in the 2008 Cold Front Classic and is scheduled for one fall,” the ring announcer declares. “Introducing first, from Parts Unknown; locomoted to the ring by Chris Belcourt and weighing in at a thoroughly robust 240lbs, this is the pinnacle of design and engineering known as GHOST MACHINE VERSION 4.0!”

 

The crowd boo on general principle as the possibly-robot waves and claps Funyon encouragingly on the back.

 

“That's Flesher, isn't it,” Mak states flatly.

 

“I have no idea what you're talking about,” Suicide King responds.

 

“No change there then.”

 

The lights go down and strobes start to flash out across the arena as 'Tribe' by Mad Capsule Markets starts up. The pulsing electronic beats herald the arrival of the 'TKO' logo on the Smarktron; then, as the bass durm comes in, Chris Card and Natasha appear on the soundstage.

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

The two ignore the jeers of the crowd and instead turn to wait for their client; the first guitar riffs hits and the muted Japanese chanting starts, leading up to-

 

*BOOOM!*

 

'TRIIIIIBE! Why don't you strike, justify your mind!?'

 

-the explosion of pyro that announces the arrival of the larger half of TKO, stepping out onto the soundstage with the strobes reflecting off his shades and a title belt wrapped around his waist.

 

“...and his opponent, from Saitama Prefecture, Japan and accompanied to the ring by Chris Card Enterprises; weighing in at 264lbs and one-half of the DVS Tag Team Champions TKO, this is 'The Japanese Hammer', TORR-RRRUUUUUUUUU... TAKA-HAAAAAAARRRRRRRR-AAAAAAAAAAAA!!”

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

The crowd are booing a lot more than on general principle, not that TORU seems to care; he hands his shades to Card and his trenchcoat to Natasha, then jumps up to the ring apron and vaults in over the ring rope before flipping the double bird at Ghost Machine. Referee Brian Warner checks that both contestants are ready to go and then signals for the bell:

 

*DING-DING-DING!*

 

“And we're underway, kicking off the 2008 Cold Front Classic!” Mak announces. “We've got TORU Takahara going one-on-one with Tom Fle- I mean, with Ghost Machine,” he corrects himself as King digs an elbow into ribs.

 

“Believe me Mak, if that was Tom Flesher in there, we'd soon know about it,” the Gambling Man declares as the two combatants lock up and Ghost Machine slips smoothly behind his larger opponent into a hammerlock, then transitions to a rear waistlock before hoisting the startled Takahara off his feet and dumping him down onto his front, then scooting over into a textbook front facelock.

 

“...yes, I believe we would.”

 

“That proves nothing except that the programmers have consulted wrestling experts, possibly including The Superior One,” King sniffs.

 

Ghost Machine cranks his hold in tight as Brian Warner leans down to see if TORU wants to give it up. However, the Japanese Hammer might not be a technical genius but he is big and strong, enough to start to force his way up to his feet again. Ghost Machine tries to clamp down but TORU is able to get back to a vertical base, albeit with his head still trapped under Ghost Machine's arm. The possibly-robotic wrestler is wary to the danger as TORU goes for a blind waistlock, and starts hammering down on Takahara's back with his left arm to prevent his opponent from hitting a Northern Lights Suplex. TORU doesn't bridge backwards; however, he instead gets his legs under him and bulls forwards, charging towards the corner of the ring. Ghost Machine is unable to halt him and gets rammed backfirst into the turnbuckles, which drives what appears to be air out of what might be lungs. TORU takes a step back, takes a deep breath... and slaps Ghost Machine across the face!

 

*smak!*

 

“OOOOOOHHHHHHHHH!”

 

Ghost Machine appears to have fallen victim to a system error for a moment as he remains frozen, but then he fires back with two quick slaps to TORU, one with each hand.

 

*smak!*

 

*smak!*

 

TORU's eyes widen in surprise and anger, and he goes for a return slap... but Ghost Machine ducks, then repeats his performance!

 

*smak!*

 

*smak!*

 

TORU tries again with his left hand this time, but with the same result...

 

*smak!*

 

*smak!*

 

The big man roars in anger and lunges with a knee for Ghost Machine's midriff, but the mechanical wrestler shows surprising quickness for an automaton of his build and gets out of the way, then pulls TORU down into a schoolboy pin.

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

...but TORU kicks out, and starts shouting angrily at Brian Warner in Japanese. The referee seems nonplussed until TORU grabs his trunks, indicating that he thinks Ghost Machine was attempting to get an unfair advantage. The referee questions Ghost Machine about this, but the debatably-mechanical competitor shakes his head. Warner eyes him suspiciously, but motions for them to continue. Ghost Machine retreats to the centre of the ring and TORU follows, scowling.

 

“A cagey start from both men but Ghost Machine has had the upper hand so far,” Mak comments, “and- yes, he's got the better of him again.”

 

Sure enough, Ghost Machine feinted for a lock-up with TORU but then went low, taking the bigger man down with a blast double-leg. Ghost Machine then grabs hold of one of TORU's legs and drops an elbow into the knee, prompting a cry of pain and probably some cursing in Japanese. Ghost Machine drives the elbow further in, but TORU simply sits up and double-sledges him across the back, causing the wrestling cyborg to roll away. TORU gets up, well aware by now that Ghost Machine is better on the mat, but his lunge attempting to bring his opponent into range only sees Ghost Machine taking him down with a drop toehold and then manoeuvring himself into position to apply an STF to the bigger wrestler.

 

“Ghost Machine really is performing fantastically,” King observes as Warner performs the regulation check on TORU and gets a middle finger for his pains.

 

“Yes,” Mak agrees, “you might almost say he is the Superior One tonight.”

 

“...I'm going to choose to ignore that ridiculous comment, Francis.”

 

“Just saying King, just saying.”

 

Ghost Machine has the hold cinched in tight, however it's not a hold that's going to finish a match in this day and age unless you're from West Newbury, which is some distance away from Parts Unknown. TORU has three limbs free, and three very strong limbs at that; as a result he is able to start to pull his body over the mat towards the sanctuary of the ring ropes. Ghost Machine does his best to weigh his opponent down but TORU's power allows him to get close enough to reach out a hand and force the break.

 

'One!'

 

In theory.

 

'Two!'

 

In practice...

 

'Three!'

 

...well, it's just not that simple.

 

'Four!'

 

Ghost Machine doesn't seem inclined to break the hold...

 

'Fi-'

 

...until just before Warner reaches the disqualification mark, at which point the wrestling automaton rolls neatly away from TORU and gets back to his feet. Warner berates the masked humanoid, which stares steadily back at him and then raises one hand, clearly showing the five digits to signify the count he has available. Chris Card seems to be objecting strenuously to such abuse of the rules (hypocrite that he is) and gets up onto the apron to yell at Warner for allowing it; the referee goes over to calm him down, and as Ghost Machine's visual sensors register this new movement Natasha hastily slips the bottle of awamori to TORU, who takes a healthy swig and then gets back to his feet to approach Ghost Machine.

 

“Oh, we've seen this before...” Mak comments.

 

*fffffffft*

 

...and TORU sprays the awamori mist into Ghost Machine's face as the referee's back is turned!

 

'Error.'

 

*CHING!*

 

“And that's why you don't try and 'mist' a robot!” King shouts as Ghost Machine stares blankly at TORU for half a second, awamori dripping off him, then kicks the big Saitaman squarely between the legs.

 

“That's why you don't try and 'mist' a man with lenses in his mask, you mean,” Mak corrects his broadcast partner. “Either way, TORU shouldn't have tried it, but 'Ghost Machine's' response was hardly fair either!”

 

“Fight fire with fire,” King shrugs as Warner turns around to see Ghost Machine covering TORU and dives to count...

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

...but the Japanese wrestler kicks out! Ghost Machine looks over at Brian Warner and holds up three fingers, but the referee responds with two and Ghost Machine contents himself with pulling TORU up towards his feet again. Once there the possibly-robot delivers two sharp shoteis to his opponent, causing him to waver on his feet, then slaps his thigh and runs for the ropes. Ghost Machine bounces off and accelerates, apparently looking for a Yakuza kick, but TORU has recovered quicker than the robot expected and steps forward, grabs the running Ghost Machine and hoists him into the air before driving him down with a slam spinebuster!

 

*BANG!*

 

“No Through Road from TORU, and that's stopped Ghost Machine in his tracks!” Mak calls as Ghost Machine writhes in pain on the canvas. Takahara steps to the side, faces away from his opponent and then performs a backflip, coming down on Ghost Machine with a standing moonsault!

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

...but Ghost Machine kicks out!

 

“And that shows how quickly TORU can turn a match around, with that combination of strength and agility,” The Franchise comments, “Ghost Machine needs to try and neutralise that by keeping the big man grounded.”

 

“That would be the best strategy,” King nods, “but don't forget that the Ghost Machine chassis can take a hell of a beating and keep on ticking, TORU is going to have to throw a lot at him to keep him down.”

 

TORU seems quite content to do just that and pulls Ghost Machine up to his feet again, then scoops the wrestling automaton up into a sidewalk slam position before dropping down to one knee and delivering a pendulum backbreaker. Ghost Machine rolls off, once again writhing and TORU follows up with another cover...

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

...but Ghost Machine kicks out again!

 

“It's worth noting that Ghost Machine 2.0 had a weak back,” Mak comments, “I wonder if that's TORU's plan here?”

 

“I'm sure any previous design flaws would have been modified for this model,” King maintains, “but nevertheless, it's a worthwhile approach.”

 

TORU doesn't seem impressed at his opponent's resilience, and pulls the shorter wrestler back to his feet before turning and running for the ropes. The big Saitaman rebounds with one arm extended for a lariat, but this time it is Ghost Machine's turn to counter a running attack as he ducks under the attempt and wraps his arms around TORU's waist, grabbing a rear waistlock and heaving the bigger man overheard with a German suplex!

 

*BANG!*

 

TORU hits hard but Ghost Machine isn't done, rolling back up to his feet and hauling TORU over with another German that he bridges into a pin!

 

*BANG!*

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

...but TORU kicks out! Ghost Machine once more questions Brian Warner about it but the referee is adamant and the wrestling automaton is forced to continue the match. Which he does by clamping one of his hands around TORU's windpipe and squeezing.

 

'One!'

 

'Two!'

 

'Three!'

 

'Four!'

 

'Fi-'

 

...and once more, Ghost Machine breaks the hold nanoseconds before the disqualification mark, no doubt due to his advanced programming. Once more Brian Warner gets in his face, but Ghost Machine shows no more concern than last time and pulls TORU up to a sitting position before applying a bodyscissors.

 

“I don't care how big, strong and fast you are Mak, if you can't breathe, you can't win,” the Suicide King opines as Ghost Machine exerts pressure on his opponent's midsection.

 

“True, although I'm not sure how much leverage Ghost Machine is going to be able to get on TORU,” Mak points out, “his legs are relatively short and TORU is a pretty barrel-chested individual.”

 

Sure enough, the Japanese Hammer is in no mood to simply have the breath crushed out of him and he leans forward to start hammering at Ghost Machine's ankles to try and loosen the grip on him. Ghost Machine reacts by reaching out and grabbing a sleeperhold, then leaning back. TORU's priorities quickly change from loosening the bodyscissors to fighting against the arms trying to cut off the supply of blood to his brain, but Ghost Machine has it locked in tight and the bigger man is struggling. Brian Warner leans down to see if he needs to call a submission... and TORU reaches up, grabs the referee and pulls him straight down on top of the both of them! Ghost Machine instinctively loosens his grip and raises his arms to protect his head as the referee stumbles down onto all fours near their heads, allowing TORU (who was expecting it) to lean forward and start attacking Ghost Machine's legs again. Ghost Machine recovers and leans forward again to try the same approach but this time TORU jerks his head back, cracking his opponent sharply in the face! Ghost Machine collapses backwards clutching at the front of his mask and TORU manages to loosen Ghost Machine's legs, then rolls away with his chest heaving while Brian Warner yells at him.

 

“These two competitors are really finding ways of outdoing each other when it comes to bending the rules,” Mak comments.

 

Ghost Machine seems a little wobbly after the blow to the face but heads after TORU; unfortunately for him the Japanese Hammer is ready and delivers a thundering kneelift to Ghost Machine's midsection, then follows it up with a second. Ghost Machine staggers back bent double and TORU flips him the double bird, then slaps his knee and runs for the ropes. He rebounds and accelerates towards his opponent, but Ghost Machine suddenly springs into action and catches the onrushing Saitaman with a railgun suplex!

 

“I think TORU was going for the Jouseishin there, but Ghost Machine's superb anticipation allowed him to pull out the perfect counter,” Suicide King declares.

 

“Or TORU's showboating,” Mak replies.

 

Ghost Machine hauls TORU up off the mat and drags him into a standing headscissors, then starts to lift... but TORU is able to straighten up and send the wrestling automaton overhead in a back bodydrop to fight his way out of the Piledriver attempt.

 

“No-one seems to be able to get the upper hand in this match,” Francis says, “they seem to have each other well-scouted, that's for sure!”

 

TORU looks around as Ghost Machine gets back to his feet, then charges at him. The bigger man swings his arm for the lariat...

 

...but Ghost Machine ducks again and scoots behind the startled TORU, then grabs a waistlock and tucks his head underneath the Japanese Hammer's arm...

 

“Backdrop Driver!” King shouts in anticipation.

 

...but TORU fires a couple of punches into the top of Ghost Machine's head, then performs a standing switch and hoists the groggy wrestling robot up into a backdrop of his own, then twists and chokeslams him down to the mat from mid-air!

 

*BANG!*

 

“Ore Ga TORU!” Mak calls as the big Japanese wrestler gets back to his feet and raise both arms.

 

'I AM TORU!'

 

With that fact established the Japanese Hammer turns and heads for the ringpost, then starts to climb to the top rope. Once there he leaps off, touching his toes in mid-air before landing hard on Ghost Machine with the Air TORU Frog Splash!

 

*WHAM!*

 

Brian Warner slides into position to make the count...

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TH-

-but Ghost Machine kicks out! TORU looks frustrated at Warner's failure to reach a three-count and responds by flipping him off, then pulling Ghost Machine up to his feet and scooping him up to hold his opponent horizontally across his chest. From there the Japanese Hammer performs a standing moonsault, taking Ghost Machine over with him into a Blockbuster Slam!

 

*BANG!*

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TH-

-but Ghost Machine kicks out again! TORU is now extremely pissed at Brian Warner, but calming words from Chris Card keep him from totally losing his cool and going off at the official. Instead Takara takes his temper out on his opponent, gutwrenching him up into a Canadian backbreaker, whereupon he drops to his knees and racks Ghost Machine's back over his shoulder.

 

“I'm not sure how much more punishment Ghost Machine's back and midsection can take,” Mak Francis says seriously, “TORU has certainly made that his target.”

 

And the Japanese Hammer hasn't finished yet; he points meaningfully towards the turnbuckles again and heads over, then starts to climb. This time when he reaches the top he takes a deep breath, prepares himself... and leaps off, backflipping into the Shooting Star Press!

 

*BANG!

 

...which misses, as Ghost Machine rolls aside!

 

“He moved!” King shouts, “Ghost Machine is surely not human, Francis!”

 

TORU writhes on the mat clutching his ribs as Ghost Machine staggers up to his feet; the wrestling robot seems to be malfunctioning slightly in the balance areas but is otherwise able to line up on the Japanese Hammer, then starts to run forward as TORU regains a vertical base. This time TORU isn't able to counter, and the Yakuza kick strikes him flush in the face!

 

*CRACK!*

 

TORU collapses backwards to the mat, but he's a tough son of a gun and turns over to start getting back to his feet... only to find that Ghost Machine has carried on to the far rope and rebounded to launch a Shining Black at him!

 

*KER-RACK!*

 

Ghost Machine piles on top for the pin which Brian Warner counts...

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TH-

-but TORU kicks out! Ghost Machine appears to be expressing disbelief at Warner's metronome and demonstrates wearily that it should have been three, but the referee sticks to his guns. Clearly muttering something uncomplimentary, Ghost Machine hauls TORU upright and slips behind the dazed Japanese Hammer, crossing TORU's arms as he does so, then hoists backwards...

 

*BANG!*

 

“Straightjacket suplex!” Mak shouts.

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TW-

-but the bridge collapses, as the damage done to Ghost Machine's back prevents him from keeping the pinning predicament in place! The wrestling automaton slaps the mat in anger and grabs TORU, grabbing him for a gutwrench and straining...

 

“It won't work,” Mak says sadly.

 

...and sure enough, the attempt at the Interface Bug fails, Ghost Machine not being able to get TORU up! Ghost Machine releases his grip and grabs his back as Natasha jumps up onto the apron to yell at Brian Warner about something unimportant; this allows Chris Card to slide an object into TORU as Ghost Machine's optical sensors wander for a second to the fine figure of gothic womanhood on the apron. Ghost Machine turns back to his opponent-

 

*CHING!*

 

-and TORU slams the foreign object into his opponent's crotch!

 

“Low blow!” Mak yells as Ghost Machine doubles over.

 

“With a magnet!” King reponds, pointing at the large magnet that TORU has thrown out of the ring, “they came prepared!”

 

Sure enough, with Ghost Machine's circuits scrambled and him incapacitated TORU is able to underhook both his opponent's arms and hoist him up into the air, then power him down with the Tiger Driver!

 

*BANG!*

 

Natasha considerately removes herself from the apron, freeing Warner up to count the pin.

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREE!!!

 

*DING-DING-DING!*

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, here is your winner,” Funyon booms, “TORRRRUUUUUUU... TAKA-HAAARRRRRR-RRRRAAAAAAAAA!!”

 

“See Mak? There's no way Ghost Machine could be Tom Flesher,” Suicide King says as TORU rolls wearily out of the ring.

 

“How so?”

 

“Well, there's no way Flesher would have lost!”

 

“Right,” The Franchise says dubiously while TORU, Chris Card and Natasha start to make their way back up the entrance ramp as 'Tribe' thunders around the arena. “Well, coming up next we have a match that the fans might actually give a shit about, as it's Dace Night laying the Smarkdown on Ryan Styles!”

 

"Styles might win, you know."

 

"Please..."

 

 

 

 

FADE OUT

 

 

[Toxxic 0]

“Ok guys, and we’re set for another opening round match in the Cold Front Classic, Ryan Styles and Dace Night are in the ring already,” barks out Mak with enthusiasm.

“Fifty bucks says this thing last five seconds,” the Suicide King snorts in boredom.

DING DING DING

The crowd roars to life with the bell. Styles makes the first strike, going for a thumb to the eyes, but eats an elbow smash to the face, he reels back for some room, but Dace has a grip on his right arm. A roll through attempt just earn Styles a boot to the face and before he can blink, Dace is on the mat with him, scissoring the arm and falling back with the vice like grip of a cross arm bar.

“King, you’re right, juji-gatame, this is over now!” Mak yells, eve as Ryan Styles is already tapping out.

 

DING DING DING!

“Ladies and gentleman, your winner by submission... DACE NIGHT!”

 

 

Edited December 6, 2008 by Toxxic

[Toxxic 0]

 

 

“The Cold Front Classic continues with one-half of the Tag Champions taking on former Cruiserweight Champion, ‘Hollywood’ Spike Jenkins,” Mak Francis announces as the scene pans around the arena. “This is going to be a good one, King.”

 

“I’m not as convinced as you, Mak,” King says while the focus turns to the stage.

 

The lighting flickers as guitar riffs and deafening drums begin The Agony Scene’s “Scapegoat.” Red strobes mix with the normal lighting. A chorus of boos from the crowd indicates their anticipation of Spike’s arrival. “IN EAGER CIRCLES TO WATCH ME DIE…BURN ME!” Spike emerges from behind the curtain and walks down the ramp soberly.

 

“I know Spike wants this win,” Mak begins. “He lost his Cruiserweight gold to Taiga Star, so I’m sure a trip to the end of this tournament and a date with Va’aiga is in his sights.”

 

“You’d think someone nicknamed ‘Hollywood’ would have a more… pleasing entrance.”

 

“I wouldn’t think that, because I like to focus on what’s important. What’re Spike’s chances like tonight, King?”

 

“The following Cold Front Classic first round match is scheduled for one fall,” Funyon starts. “Introducing first, hailing from Long Island, New York, weighing in at 205 pounds… ‘HOLLYWOOD’ SPIIIIKE JEEEENNKIIIIINNSSSS!”

 

“Look at him,” King says while Spike climbs the steps and walks across the apron, climbing onto the middle turnbuckle. “How can you bet against someone with an attitude like that?”

 

Jenkins flips off the crowd with a slow, 180-degree turn. He unzips his sweatshirt and tosses it off before hopping into the ring. He spins in a circles, his arms extended on either side, offering two more middle fingers for the entire arena. The smile on his face, delighting in the hatred of the crowd, lasts while his music fades and he moves to his corner. ACDC’s “Thunderstruck” changes the crowd’s mood dramatically.

 

“You can bet against someone like Spike Jenkins when he’s facing someone as red-hot as Luke Breslin,” Mak says.

 

The guitar blends into chanting and cheers from the crowd. Flashing white lights, spotting the crowd, offer a stark contrast to Spike’s lighting. The first “THUNDER!” brings the crowd to an alarming high and pulls Luke out from backstage. His title is strapped snugly around his waist. He hops around, holding his arms out. He spins in circles, faster than Spike’s, and soaks up the crowd’s response.

 

“As much as Luke is enjoying his streak here in the early part of his career, all good things must come to an end,” King says. “And what better end is there than the very beginning of a tournament to determine the true best of the best in SWF?”

 

“So you think Spike’s got Luke’s number in this one?” Mak asks while Luke descends the ramp, high-fiving fans and pointing out to those whom he can’t reach.

 

“And his opponent, from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, weighing in at 256 pounds... he is one-half of the SWF Tag Team Champions… LUUUUUKE BRREEEESSSLIIIINN!!”

 

“Spike’s got this one in the bag. Look how confident Luke is! He must not realize just who he’s wrestling. Spike’s one of our best. It’s not some walk-in-the-park first round, kid.”

 

“Luke is aware of that,” Mak says while the Tag Champion slides under the bottom rope and hurries to his feet. “But the kid’s been through members of TKO on multiple occasions. He fought and defeated NYC. Those are four of the toughest guys around. If Luke can beat them, he’s got one hell of a chance against Jenkins.”

 

“Touching, really, his ability to beat big brutes…” King mocks. “But this is a singles match. No Leo Breslin. And this is for a shot at the World Title and Va’aiga. Luke already gave that up. To think that he can make it through this whole tournament is ludicrous. If anyone has a desire to meet Va’aiga, it’s Spike. And it’s not all about gold for him, either.”

 

“Luke’s ready for this one. He hands his belt to the outside and moves towards the ring’s center to meet Spike. Sexton Hardcastle calls for the bell, and we’re off.”

 

*DING DING DING*

 

Spike and Luke stalk one another in slow circles around the ring. They each look for an opening in the other’s defense. Spike makes the first move for a collar-and-elbow tie up. Luke falls for the bait, throwing up his arms to allow the faking Jenkins to duck under and around him into a waist lock. Jenkins attempts a quick toss, but Luke stays grounded and pulls apart the hands wrapped around his waist. He runs from Jenkins’ grasp and hits the ropes. Jenkins catches him on the rebound with an arm drag. Luke gets up immediately, but only to meet another arm drag. After another scramble to his feet, Luke finds himself in the preferable collar-and-elbow tie up he looked for at the beginning.

 

“Looks like a pretty even match so far,” Mak comments. “These men are the same height, but Luke outweighs Spike by 50 pounds. Let’s see if he can overpower him here.”

 

The two struggle in their grapple, exchanging the advantage with changes in footing. Luke is able to swiftly pull away and grab one of Spike’s arms, pulling it over his twisting body with an arm wrench. Another arm wrench puts Spike in a tough place. He rolls out of it in a flurry of movement that catches Luke off guard. Spike wrenches Luke’s arm to return the favor and then kicks him in the gut. A DDT takes Luke down swiftly. The top of his head hits the canvas and he rolls away from Spike to climb to his feet.

 

“Luke’s up, Spike’s waiting for him,” Mak starts. “Running start, Spike takes him up and over, dropping him onto his back!”

 

“He’s getting up again. Spike meets him face-to-face this time… beautiful belly-to-belly! Luke flies again!”

 

Luke brings himself to his feet rather quickly again. He approaches Spike and swings a wild fist. Spike ducks and shoots upwards with a European uppercut that sends Luke backwards. They meet against the ropes. Spike pulls Luke away and whips him across the ring. He bounces off and rockets towards Spike. A high spinning kick connects Spike’s shin with Luke’s chin. The Tag Champion crumbles to the mat.

 

“Things aren’t looking good for your superhero, Mak.”

 

“It’s only been a couple of minutes, King.”

 

“I know. It’s just fun to point these things out.”

 

Spike lingers over Luke before grabbing him and pulling him to his feet. Luke lets Spike bring him most of the way up before lifting his arms to tear Spike’s hands away. Luke kicks him in the gut. Spike’s bent frame leaves him open to Luke’s offense. Luke lifts a knee and sends it into Spike’s face. He is sent upward and stumbles back. Luke sidesteps him and sends a clothesline across his neck, taking him down.

 

“Spike’s down for the first time,” Mak says. “Let’s see if Luke can keep it going.”

 

“The kid’s watching Spike get up. He needs to stay stuck on him because, trust me, Spike can strike out of nowhere.”

 

Luke waits for Spike with raised fists. When Spike moves in, he leans back and lets a miscalculated swing fly by his face. Spike lands two open-palmed slaps on either side of Luke’s face, then spins around fluidly to deliver a back fist. Luke stumbles. Spike grabs him and whips him into a corner. Luke waits for Spike to come in with an attack, then ducks under the impending Yakuza kick, hanging Spike up between turnbuckles. From behind, Luke pulls Spike down, bending him awkwardly before dropping him with a reverse DDT.

 

“Luke keeps Spike down with a pin attempt,” Mak says.

 

“He doesn’t even need to exert the energy to kick out. Gets a foot on the rope after one…”

 

“Things just weren’t going Luke’s way until that move. He wanted to get this one in the bag.”

 

“Well, Spike’s got heartiness and ring presence. It’s all much more impressive than what the big men have been showing Luke.”

 

“Luke might be realizing that he has to abandon his more power-based style that he’s been using the past few weeks…”

 

Luke stands and brings Spike with him. He whips Hollywood across the ring and then spins him over and around with a snap powerslam on the rebound. Luke stands, but drops immediately with a jumping knee drop to Spike’s sternum. Spike rolls onto his stomach and puts his hands under him to bring him onto all fours. Luke bounces off the ropes at the right moment. Just as Spike gets to his feet, his hands still on his knees for support, Luke stops him and spins him around with a neckbreaker.

 

“Got the pin here, hooks the leg… Two… Th—”

 

“Not this time, Lukey!” King interrupts.

 

“Luke looks to have Spike in his sights now. He’s seemed to adapt back to singles competition, and even back to a competitor of Spike’s style.”

 

Luke pulls Spike off the ground and tosses him into the ropes. He waits for Spike in the center of the ring, and then catches him at full momentum. The two meet chests, but only for a second as Luke powers him off his feet and shoves him down onto his back with an impressive spinebuster that shakes the ring. Luke pumps his fist at his sides. His momentum and energy bring the crowd into the match. Their cheers give Luke even more motivation. He exits the ring onto the apron and begins climbing the turnbuckles, ready to show his fans even more.

 

“Luke put all his power behind that spinebuster, and it shows. Spike is motionless,” Mak notes.

 

“I wonder if he should have gone for the pin there.”

 

“Not before a flying… headbutt!”

 

“Spike’s out of the way! Luke crashes to the mat!”

 

“You seemed to be right about the pin. Not to say that the spinebuster didn’t take a lot out of Spike, but he tricked Luke there.”

 

“So much for the kid’s momentum, huh?”

 

“He was able to brace most of the impact mid-fall, but he fell from a pretty good distance with the height he got. That hurt…”

 

Luke rolls around on the mat, down but clearly not out. Spike gets to his feet slowly. He rests against a set of ropes for a bit while Luke climbs to his feet. Luke sees Spike inching towards him. He runs at him with a clothesline, but Spike ducks it and sticks his arm under Luke’s from behind, catching him in a half nelson. He keeps it locked for a few seconds and grounds himself in a solid stance. A heavy grunt accompanies the elevation Luke experiences. Spike drops him with dangerous quickness, draping Luke’s spine across his jutted knee with a painful backbreaker.

 

“Ouch!” King exclaims. “I hope Luke’s got a good chiropractor.”

 

“That was vicious. Spike’s standing over Luke now and… a double stomp right onto the chest!” Mak yells. “The pain in Luke’s spine was just amplified, I’m sure, and it’s stinging his core.”

 

“A pin! One! Two! Three—”

 

“Not this time, Spikey!”

 

“Hey…”

 

The close pin elicits a guttural growl from Spike. He looks at Sexton Hardcastle with bitter eyes, but the referee signals the closeness of the pin to the disagreeing competitor. Spike grabs Luke’s head with both hands and pulls his unwilling opponent to his feet. Luke’s arms hang at his side, a sign of his defenselessness. Spike grabs the arms and tucks them under his. The two men stand face-to-face, but Spike’s in the power position. He sends a headbutt directly into Luke’s face. The ruthless strike looks to knock Luke out, but Spike doesn’t let him fall. Instead, Spike holds the position. He steadies himself again and gathers strength before lifting Luke up and over with a suplex. Luke’s arms are held until the last possible moment, giving him little to no chance of breaking his fall. He lands on his back, eyes glazed and body spent.

 

“Spike is just having his way with Luke now,” King says.

 

“It looks to be that way, King. Luke’s got to figure something out.”

 

“Spike’s going upstairs! He’ll show Luke how it’s done. Please, Spike, give me The Ratings Grabber!”

 

“Away he goes! Luke rolls just out of harm’s way!”

 

“What a copycat…”

 

“Looks like Spike should have gone for the pin this time. A slip-up from both men, and they’re both reeling now.”

 

The two wearied competitors strain to get to their feet. Spike’s a bit slower, his body still absorbing the aching impact of his missed move. Luke stumbles deliriously from Spike, all the way to the set of ropes furthest from him. He gathers himself before running towards him. His strides only cover three-quarters of the ring before Spike meets him with a desperate, dangerous soccer tackle. Luke collapses on top of Spike’s body. What looks like a crumbling mess transitions smoothly into Spike’s Border City Stretch. The crossface applied to Luke becomes that much worse with his arm trapped behind Spike’s neck.

 

“That tackle might have been desperate,” Mak begins, “but the ensuing submission move is just what Spike needs to really put this match back in his corner.”

 

“I think Spike planned that out. Did you see how efficiently he turned that trainwreck into the Border City Stretch? Luke is in a world of hurt right now.”

 

Luke’s legs writhe, and his feet press against the mat in a slow effort towards the ropes. Spike’s feet serve as stoppers, but Luke’s resilience moves the mass closer to the ropes. He screams in pain, and the crowd cheers enthusiastically to hurry Luke’s effort. Spike offers his own screams, louder than Luke’s, sometimes louder than the crowd, screams of dominance and intensity. Luke’s free arm is just inches from the bottom rope. With one final thrust of his feet, he is able to move himself and Spike far enough to grip his fingers halfway around the rope. Sexton immediately backs away from Luke and gets to his feet, yelling for Spike to release the hold. He does, and Luke falls onto his chest and face, breathing heavily.

 

“Luke is happy to be out of that predicament, but he has been drained, I’m sure. Spike didn’t give that distance up easily. It was a battle,” Mak comments.

 

“Spike’s just watching him now. He knows how weak Luke is after experiencing that.”

 

“A stomp, right onto Luke’s back! And he rolls onto his side, trying to get away, but there’s really nowhere to go.”

 

Spike only taps Luke with his foot this time, and sends him over onto his back. He stands at Luke’s head. Two consecutive boot scrapes force Luke to curl up a bit into a defensive position. The crowd boos Spike’s belittling offense. He replies by flipping off the crowd and backing off to the other side of the ring. A casual lean against the ropes doesn’t confuse anyone. Spike’s devious smile only lasts a few seconds. It turns into a dangerous scowl as he watches Luke uncurl a bit. Spike takes off and drops down with a baseball slide. His feet crash into Luke’s ribs. The impact shoves Luke out of the ring, flying a foot or two away from the apron. He lands on the outside mats with a discomforting thud.

 

“Spike just sent Luke out of the ring!” King screams. “That was awesome!”

 

“The crowd certainly doesn’t like it. Spike is mocking them and Luke.”

 

“TWO!” Sexton Hardcastle screams.

 

He looks around the arena with a satisfied grin. He holds his hands high above his head and begins clapping. The crowd responds with thunderous boos that only seem to push Spike to inflict even more pain. He slides under the bottom rope. His feet find the ground outside the ring. Luke is on three limbs, his left arm grabbing at his midsection in obvious pain. Spike stalks after him, moving in and delivering a strong kick to the ribs. Luke falls onto his side again. Spike pulls him up and sets him on his knees. A vicious spinning kick barely connects, but only because Luke drops himself to the ground in anticipation of the impact.

 

“FOUR!” Sexton yells from the ring.

 

“That might have taken Luke’s head off,” Mak says. “Even if he didn’t avoid it completely, I’m glad he still has his head on his shoulders.”

 

“FIVE!” Sexton extends his arms over the top rope.

 

Spike grows tired of kicking Luke while he’s down. He pulls him to his feet and smacks him across the face a few times, almost jokingly, certainly mockingly. Luke’s eyes are jolted open by the deliberate attempt of humiliation. Spike grabs his arm and tries to whip Luke across the outside of the ring, but Luke reverses it. “SIX!” Sexton yells, but it’s mixed with the sound of Spike crashing into a set of steel steps.

 

“Luke manages to reverse the momentum there,” Mak says. “And the crowd loves it!”

 

“Spike is sliding up those steps. He knows he can’t let Luke get away with much, and he won’t.”

 

“SEVEN!”

 

Luke runs with all the speed he still possesses. His legs rise like a hurdler’s. They fly over the second step, but Luke’s extended arm connects with Spike’s throat. The running, jumping clothesline sends Luke’s back over the unforgiving edge of the step. “EIGHT!” Luke’s hands find the barrier, and he manages to land on his feet with a little assistance. Some fans pat him on the back as he walks away from them. Luke rolls under the bottom rope. Spike uses the steps and the edge of the ring to bring himself to his feet.

 

“SPIKE!” King yells.

 

“NINE!”

 

“He’s crawled back just in time! If he was any further from the ring, Luke would have won by count out.”

 

“But he didn’t. So… shut up.”

 

“It was awfully close, King. Looks like Spike made a bad decision by taking this match to the outside.”

 

Luke uses the ropes to bring himself to his feet. He still looks out of sorts, but realizes he has an opportunity to seize. Spike is slowly raising himself off the ground. Luke meets him and presses him against the ropes. He whips him to the others side of the ring, and runs towards him on the rebound. Luke jumps up and brings a knee with him, sending it into Spike’s chest. Spike drops onto his back and grabs at his chest after the heavy strike. Luke backs up and presses against the ropes, using the added momentum to gain more height when he jumps. He drops back down, crushing Spike’s head with his clenched fist.

 

“A nasty fist drop,” Mak says. “And a pin…”

 

Sexton drops to the mat and raises his arm. He slaps the mat twice. Spike manages to raise a shoulder just before the third slap resonates through the arena. The cheering crowd is sobered a bit by Spike’s escape. Luke wants to keep his momentum going, however. He lifts Spike off the mat and sends him into the corner. Luke follows almost immediately behind him. A shoulder into Spike’s ribs squeezes him between the second and third turnbuckle. Luke backs out. Spike slumps in the corner, looking somewhat ravaged after Luke’s onslaught.

 

“Heavy strike after heavy strike. Knee, fist, shoulder, breaking Spike down,” Mak says.

 

“Well, damn, the kid still isn’t done,” King says disappointedly.

 

Luke mounts the second ropes on either side of Spike. His left hand is lost in Spike’s shaggy blonde and black hair, holding the head in place as the right hand is slowly raised, the closed fist sending the crowd into a frenzy of anticipation. The audience counts along with Luke’s quick, strong, and consistent punches. Spike endures ten solid punches to the same location on his skull. He looks delirious. Luke hops off the ropes and turns around, pumping his arms up and down to raise the crowd’s volume. They consent, and the noise is soon at a peak.

 

“Our crowd is really enjoying this pummeling. I can’t blame them.”

 

“That’s rude, Mak. Spike is an SWF classic.”

 

“Spike tried to embarrass Luke early with unnecessary offense. Luke’s getting his revenge.”

 

“Tried to? I’d say he did a damn good job.”

 

Luke turns back around to see Spike stumble a few steps out of the corner. He is unable to drop onto his stomach as Luke catches him. Both arms become trapped behind Spike’s own back as Luke bends him over slightly. He drops and takes Spike with him, his exposed face smashing into the mat with Luke’s double-arm DDT. Luke turns Spike onto his back and hooks the leg for a pin attempt.

 

“ONE!” The crowd yells along with Sexton’s count. “TWO! THREE!”

 

“Whoops! Crowd got ahead of itself there!” King laughs.

 

“That was more of a spasm than an escape on Spike’s part,” Mak notes.

 

“So technical, so meticulous. You suck.”

 

Luke uncovers Spike and rests on his knees. He climbs to his feet and brings Spike up also. An Irish whip sends Spike running. He bounces off the ropes and returns to duck a heavy boot Luke lifted with intentions of beheading his opponent. By the time Luke’s foot drops and turns around, Spike slingshots off the ropes and catches Luke with a full-on lariat. Spike drops to one knee afterwards. He takes some time to regain himself while Luke gets his head back on straight and makes his way to his feet.

 

“Spike dodged another brutal strike from Luke there, and was able to knock Luke down,” Mak says.

 

“Spike better come up with something if he wants to walk away with a W.”

 

“That was a much stronger lariat than I thought Spike would be capable of at this point. He’s been battered.”

 

“Desperation and adrenaline come together to make some brilliant offense at times.”

 

“That was… well said.”

 

“You still suck.”

 

Spike and Luke come to their feet around the same time. But Spike looks to have a better plan laid out. He meets Luke with a boot to the gut. Luke bends and gets his head shoved between Spike’s legs. Spike hooks the arms above Luke’s back, but a desperate and instinctive Luke tries dropping to his knees and wiggling out of the move. One arm is released, but Spike only does so to send a heavy forearm across Luke’s back.

 

“Look what he’s come up with! Endwell!”

 

“All’s well that… Endwell!”

 

“God, you suck so hard.”

 

Luke gets his other arm free during Spike’s attempt to regain control. In Spike’s frantic efforts, he allows Luke’s head to pop free. Out from between Spike’s legs, Luke explodes up with a European uppercut that sends Spike backwards a couple of steps. Luke kicks Spike in the gut. He turns quickly and catches Spike’s head, dropping onto his ass and pull. The ultimate collision is Spike’s face into Luke’s broad shoulder. Spike bounces off and Luke scrambles on top of him.

 

“THUNDERSTRUCK!” Mak yells.

 

“ONE!” The crowd screams along again. “TWO! THREE!”

 

*DING DING DING*

 

“What the hell!?” King screams as Luke drops down and rolls out under the ropes closest to the announcing area. He grabs his belt and makes his way around the ring towards the ramp.

 

“Luke Breslin beats Spike Jenkins! One half of our Tag Champions is one step closer to facing Va’aiga for the World Title!”

 

“This is a fluke.”

 

“Luke is undefeated. He’s beaten some of SWF’s best. What else does he have to do to get you on his side?

 

“If he wins this tournament… I’ll think about admitting that he’s half-decent some of the time.”

 

The crowd’s mindset is clearly different than King’s. They cheer raucously for Luke as he ascends the ramp backwards, pointing out to his fans and watching Spike recover inside the ring. The scene fades as Luke exits behind the curtain.

[Toxxic 0]

 

"Welcome back to SWF's Cold Front Classic!" Mak Francis exclaims. "Coming up next is another first round match, seeing the Cruiserweight Champion, Taiga Star, take on a man that is no stranger to her, in Kevin Riggs."

 

Suicide King turns to his broadcast colleague. "Kevin Riggs. Why does that name seem familiar?"

 

"He came in with X-Punk, back in the summer, remember? When the DVS made themselves known."

 

"Oh yeah," King ponders, "Didn't he run home to his mommy or something?"

 

Their conversation is interrupted by Funyon, who is in the ring, ready to introduce the next match.

 

 

"Ladies and Gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall, and is an opening round match in the Cold Front Classic!!"

 

The crowd cheers in anticipation.

 

"Your referee for this contest is Brian Warner, and the Cruiserweight Championship is not on the line."

 

The referee waves as he is introduced, though no one seems to care much.

 

"Introducing first weighing in at two hundred and twenty five pounds and hailing from..." Funyon reads the card in his hand, "The country that is better than the United States, CANADA..."

 

The rowdy New York crowd boos at this, making Funyon wait to finish.

 

"...KEVIN RIGGS!!"

 

 

Oh Canada hits and the crowd continues booing. A red laser-sketched maple leaf appears on the ramp as Riggs emerges from the back. He stands in the centre of it, raising his arms up, taking in the atmosphere. He practically struts down the ramp, taking time to rile up the crowd, telling the women that they are ugly whores, and telling the men that they stink like certain unwashed female body parts.

 

Riggs hops up onto the apron and jumps over the top rope, glaring at Funyon. When Funyon asks what the problem is, Riggs tells him to move aside so he can go past. He climbs up on the corner turnbuckle and points to the crowd, telling them that he is better than them all.

 

 

Funyon continues with the introductions. "And introducing his opponent. She weighs in at one hundred and none of your damn business pounds and hails from Helltown, Haverhill Massachusetts, and is your reigning SWF Cruiserweight Champion... TAIGA STAR!!"

 

 

The first few riffs of Be a Man rip through the arena as the lights go crazy. After the pause, ultraviolet lasers beam from the entrance as Taiga Star emerges, holding the title in her hand. She slaps the hands of the fans as she descends the ramp, though she seems to be more focused on the match that lies ahead.

 

She tosses the title belt over the top rope, and Riggs scrambles to grab it, but Referee Warner stops him from doing so. Taiga rolls in under the bottom rope, grabs the title, and pops up in the middle of the ring, holding it proudly overhead to the pop of the crowd.

 

The referee takes the title from her and hands it to the timekeeper. He then situates the wrestlers in their respective corners, checking them both for international objects, paying special attention to Taiga's monster boots. Satisfied they are free of weaponry, he calls for the bell.

 

 

DING!!

 

 

Taiga and Riggs circle each other in the ring, unsure of how to start the match. Riggs offers up a knucklelock. Taiga reaches for his hand... which she doesn't gets, because Riggs is quite taller. He laughs at this, pointing to his head, as Taiga looks to the audience. She looks to the left, she looks to the right, she smiles before she stomps Riggs' foot!!

 

He hops around, grabbing at it. Taiga takes advantage by hooking on a side headlock, followed with a takedown. She cranks away on it as Riggs swings his legs to and fro to escape. He turns over somewhat and gets to his knees. Then he stands, picks Taiga up to throw her... but her arm is hooked tight, and the move leads to another side headlock takedown.

 

Riggs is frustrated to be in this position again. He swings his legs again, gets to his knees, to his feet, tries again to throw her off... and he gets the same results, back to the mat with Taiga's arm locked around his head tightly.

 

 

"It seems as if Riggs didn't learn his lesson the first time," says King, "seems as if Canadians aren't as smart as they think they are."

 

 

Riggs swings his legs again, but doesn't try to get up this time. Instead he manages to hook Taiga's head with his leg, and gets her in a leglock! Taiga takes a moment before rolling herself backward, causing his legs to separate just enough for her to get her head free. She pops to her feet and the crowd cheers.

 

Riggs is not happy though, and he shows it by lunging for his opponent. She rolls out of the way, tripping him by pulling a leg out from under him. This leads to some serious mat grappling. Taiga tries to grab a leg. Riggs attempts to lock in an armlock. Taiga flips him over and grabs a foot. Riggs' other foot is used to kick her away.

 

Taiga comes right back, grabbing a knee. Riggs grabs one of her legs and locks on an ankle lock. At the same time, Taiga gets one of his legs and locks it around her neck, horse-collar style. Having each other in submission, the referee asks if either wrestler wants to give up. Riggs answers with a no. Taiga answers with a no. Both continue to crank away and shout at each other to let go.

 

Riggs rolls over, taking Taiga with him. He sees that he is near the ropes now, and reaches out with his free leg for the rope break. The referee makes the count, and neither wrestler releases until the last second.

 

After getting to their feet and hearing the crowd cheer for the series of moves they had performed, they go right back at it. Taiga feigns high and as Riggs blocks, Taiga goes low. No, lower than *that*, down to his legs, pulling them out from under him. He lands on his ass. Taiga runs off the ropes to kick him in the head, but he lays down and she gets nothing but air. He trips her this time, and she lands on her face.

 

Riggs runs off the ropes and over her. On the rebound Riggs ducks under Taiga. On the next pass, she tries to take him down with a shoulder tackle... which he brushes off easily, laughing, mocking her. He tells her to try again. She does, with the same results. Riggs looks around and laughs, with his hand over his eyes, looking around, as if he can't see her because she is below his field of vision.

 

Taiga takes care of this height difference issue by stomping on his foot again. This time, when she runs off the ropes and tackles him, it is much more effective. Having him down, she struggles to grapevine the legs, as Riggs struggles to not let her do it. He makes it to the ropes, and yells at the ref to make her release. Taiga does... and kicks him in the knee for her troubles.

 

Riggs gets to his feet, shakes out his leg, and the two wrestlers faceoff in the middle of the ring again. This time Riggs goes low, wrestling Taiga's legs out from under her. He struggles to lock in a Sharpshooter! Taiga's short legs and adamant squirming make it difficult however. She turns over and manages to hook Riggs' head, where she rolls him up into a sneaky pin!

 

ONE!

 

TW...

 

Riggs kicks out quickly. He doesn't even get to his feet, opting instead to keep the match on the mat. He places her foot in her opposite knee and wrenches back on the ankle. Taiga shouts out and attempts to grab ahold of one of Riggs' legs. When she finds she can't quite reach, she resorts to grabbing a handful of his hair.

 

He yells at the ref to make her let go, eventually removing her hand himself. Taiga wiggles and squirms, mere inches away from the bottom rope. She puts her hands down and lifts her upper body off the mat, trying to throw Riggs off balance, but it has no effect. She flaps back down to the mat only to discover that the bottom rope is within reach. Riggs doesn't release the hold until the last second. When he releases and gets to his feet, he kicks Taiga's knee in return for the knee-kick he received earlier. Taiga gets to her feet, shaking out her leg. Their next faceoff draws a loud pop from the crowd!

 

 

"And the crowd is showing their appreciation for the the technical grappling displayed by these two. Taiga Star may be known for her hardcore and brawling, but she knows how to take it to the mat when necessary." Mak Francis says.

 

"It's those Canadians, all they do is mat work." King says.

 

"And the crowd here seems to appreciate that."

 

King scoffs. "I think they just want it to be over."

 

 

Riggs and Taiga start going after each other's legs again. Riggs gets the upper hand (upper leg?) quickly, grabbing ahold of both legs and turning her over into a full crab. Taiga struggles to get to a rope, but Riggs has her right in the middle of the ring. After realizing that there is no way she is getting the rope break, she tries a different strategy.

 

Reaching behind her, she slips a hand around one of Riggs' ankles. She manages to bend her other arm back and grasp his other ankle. With a shout, she pulls her arms forward, which pulls his legs backward, which trips him forward, which makes him land on his face!

 

Taiga capitalizes by wrapping up Riggs' legs in her pet hold, locking both his legs around one of hers, leaving one leg free to stomp on the back of his head! Riggs reaches up to shield himself, and Taiga grabs his arms. Riggs tries to struggle out, but he is too late, as his face becomes one with the canvas with a brutal CURBSTOMP~!!

 

 

"There we go, that was just unnecessary!" exclaims King.

 

Mak is surprised by his concern, as it is very unlike him.

 

King sees this on Mak's face. "What? It's just that Canadians don't need to be made even uglier!"

 

 

Riggs is dazed, but still determined to get out of the hold. Taiga mocks him, asking if his face is okay. "Awww, does your face hurt? BECAUSE IT'S KILLING ME!"

 

The crowd laughs, and even Referee Warner can't hold back the smirk. This makes Riggs pretty angry. It gives him the extra energy to make it to the ropes. He clings to the bottom one for dear life, yelling at the ref to get her off him. When the ref gets to five, he physically untangles Riggs' legs from Taiga's. Riggs pulls himself up to the second rope. Taiga gives a shoving kick to his back, choking him in the ropes. She pulls him into the middle of the ring and lock in the TEXAS CLOVERLEAF!

 

 

"Taiga Star has used this move to win matches in the past. Let's see if she can do it again." Mak says.

 

 

Riggs struggles to free himself from the devastating hold. He grabs handfuls of canvas, trying to drag himself to the ropes. A bit of calculated wiggling brings him within reaching distance. His fingers just barely brush against the bottom rope. Taiga sees this out of the corner of her eye, and pulls him back into the ring.

 

This triggers off a new round of flailing and kicking. He bends left and right. He lifts himself up on his hands and screams. He pounds the mat, not to tap out but to get the crowd behind him. Some do, but most prefer to boo him, encouraging him to tap out.

 

All this moving around finally get Riggs back to the ropes. He gets a firm grip on it and pulls himself forward. Taiga counts along with the ref. Upon getting to four, she punches Riggs' knee a few times before letting go. Riggs cradles the bottom rope and his leg at the same time. Taiga actually waits for him to get to his feet.

 

 

"Slow it down kids, slow it down." King states flatly.

 

 

Riggs hobbles back into the centre part of the ring, where Taiga is waiting for him, offering up a collar and elbow lockup. He obliges and finds himself being taken down from the waist, back to the mat. Grappling ensues (surprise!), with each wrestler vying for any limb they can get their hands on. Armbars are wiggled into leglocks into headlocks into arm-and-leglocks.

 

They face off, in another stalemate, both on their knees in the middle of the ring. Taiga lands a stiff chop on Riggs. Riggs does the same in return. Taiga grabs his hair and rears back to deliver the mother of all headbutts. Which never connects, as Riggs defends the blow by raking her eyes!

 

 

"Leave it to a Canadian to resort to the eye rake." says King.

 

Mak is surprised. "Are you defending the eye rake?"

 

"No, it's an effective move. I just wish it not to be associated with the Canadians."

 

 

Taiga is rubbing her eyes as they are tearing up. Riggs gets her legs locked up and leans on them. He gets one leg and tries to bed it backward. He gets slapped in the head for his efforts. It doesn't stop him though as he pulls the leg straight and lands a knee-d-t. Then, by the same leg, he swings her around and around, limping slightly as he does.

 

She is screaming and flailing but it is no use as she spins around and around. Her hair flies about and she almost loses her shirt. Riggs let her go and she flies across the ring, landing in a heap near the corner. Riggs raises his hands, praising himself for the move, making the crowd boo hostly at him.

 

Taiga gets to her feet just in time to be thrown down again by her hair. The referee reprimands this move and Riggs asks "What move?"

 

Riggs picks her up by the foot and drives her knee down to the mat. He then takes her legs and wraps them up with... a Sharpshooter! Taiga struggles, rolling from side to side. She then reaches to grab Riggs' foot, then the other, to take his feet from under him again... But Riggs is expecting this and he stomps on Taiga's hand! The referee asks if she wants to give up and she replies with a objectionable four letter word. On her elbows, she pulls herself across the mat and gets to the bottom rope. before the referee can count to four, Riggs pulls Taiga back into the ring and locks it on tighter.

 

 

"Why does every Canadian use the Sharpshooter?" King wonders aloud.

 

 

Taiga screams and pulls at her hair, raises herself up on her arms but it only increases the pressure. She tries to twist around but can't. She goes for his feet but he moves them away. She screams even louder. The syllable fades, as does Taiga. She goes limp, arms hanging uselessly beside her. Riggs screams at the ref, telling him to end the match because he won.

 

Referee Warner raises her arm, and it flops bonelessly back to the mat.

 

ONE!

 

He raises her hand again and watches as it falls again.

 

TWO!!

 

Riggs is screaming along with the crowd, even though they are not screaming for the same outcome. The ref raises her arm one more time, lets go, watches as it... almost... just... barely... practiclly... does... NOT touch the mat, but hovers just inches from the canvas!!

 

 

"She's still in it!!" Mak says, mirroring the excitement of the crowd behind him.

 

 

Taiga slaps the mat, very slowly. The crowd picks up the rhythm, starting The Clap, stirring up the energy Taiga needs to hulk her way out of it. She makes it to the ropes! Riggs refuses to release, and doesn't until Ref Warner threatens to ring the bell right then.

 

He lets go and tries to walk away... but Taiga gets her hands around his ankle. He balances with his other foot, then goes to kick her with it... but Taiga grabs this one too, which makes him fall. She takes his leg and wraps it around the bottom rope! The referee counts and she releases at four and a half. She then takes the same leg and wraps it around the rope in the other direction. Again the ref counts, and again she lets go at four and a half.

 

Riggs rolls away, and Taiga stays under the bottom rope. They both take a breather, flexing legs and rubbing knees. Taiga is first to move, rolling quickly to where Riggs is. Before he realizes it, she is on him, waling away at his knee with lefts and rights, forearms and fists. When Riggs tries to stop her, she pops to her feet and stomps him in the face!

 

The referee questions the tactic but it is all but ignored by her. She is busy hooking his legs in her arms, turning him over, and locking in another Texas Cloverleaf!

 

Riggs is screaming louder than before, his thrashing is not as effective as it was. Taiga cranks back on it, practically sitting on his back. With the last of his strength he claws, inch by inch he struggles for that elusive rope break. The ropes seem so far away. That last two inches, that's all he wanted...

 

Until Taiga drags him back into the centre of the ring!

 

He is denied!

 

He is also still in a crippling Texas Cloverleaf.

 

That, and combined with the abuse throughout the match, makes Riggs TAP OUT~!!!

 

Referee Warner calls for the bell!

 

 

DING!!!

 

 

Funyon makes the announcement as Be a Man reprises over the system. "Ladies and Gentlemen, the winner of the match, and continuing in the tournament, TAIGA STAR!!"

 

Taiga is obviously limping as the referee raises her hand. She grabs her knee and shakes her leg out a bit. The referee returns to the ring to hand her the Cruiserweight title. She holds it overhead and the crowd pops. She looks down at Riggs, watching him wince as Ref Warner examines the joint. She smiles and shows no respect, but at the same time, she doesn't attack him. She just rolls out of the ring with her belt and limps along the barrier, shaking hands of the fans as she slowly makes her way back.

[Toxxic 0]

"Ladies and gentlemen, the Cold Front Classic tournament continues." says Funyon. "With this opening round contest, set for ONE fall!"

 

Without further ado, we hear The Beatles' hit Helter Skelter come alive in T.U. Center as the New York crowd starts to perk up. With the Smarktron displaying the letters "G.T.A." in a snazzy Toronto Gothic blue and white font, a series of spotlights began sweeping the arena and dancing around the stage and ramp area. Can't blame a guy for wanting to improve on his very basic entrance.

 

"Introduing first, making his way down the aisle." continues the announcer. "From Toronto, Ontario, Canada. Weighing in at 237 lbs; one half of the GTA Fight Team: Toood - Jaaames - Stuart!!"

 

The founder of Toronto's Wrestling Clinic has heard the cheers, and is all smiles as he walks out underneath the Smarktron, wearing what's sure to gain this crowd's favor: a t-shirt depicting the logo of the Albany River Rats. He knows it, everyone knows it, but cheap local heat usually works on either side of the fence. Striding down the ramp with a couple of energetic fist pumps to get the crowd going, Stuart slaps hands with a few front row fans before reaching ringside and walking up the ring steps. He wipes his feet on the apron and proceeds through the ropes where he'll greet the rest of the crowd with a confident raise of the fist while perched atop a second turnbuckle. After tossing his t-shirt to one lucky fan, his music fades to a stop for several seconds. Which makes way for the opening notes of Disturbed's Ten Thousand Fists gracing the speakers. Meanwhile, the lights have dimmed and a red-tinged maple leaf has been visually emblazoned on the Smarktron and the entrance ramp.

 

"And his opponent. From Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada; weighing in at 223 lbs. One half of Team Canada: this - is - X-Puuuuunk!"

 

Fully clad in red and white, the DVS member walks onto the ramp while proudly waving the Maple Leaf. This does not help endear him to an already patriotic New York crowd, who take pleasure into booing the younger Canadian.

 

"Something is seriously wrong with mankind today when a native of Canada simply has to toss on the local hockey team's t-shirt that he probably swiped from the gift shop." says Suicide King. "And become the freakin' hero of the moment. While ANOTHER Canadian is not afraid to be proud of his heritage and is not afraid to DISPLAY it for all to see. And yet, people here are already breaking out the lanterns and pitchforks. And this is a nation where we had to vote between a senile old fart and the palest black man I've ever seen; both who are making people gobble up all their promises about 'change' or whatever. And people wonder why I'm bitter."

 

"So who'd you vote for?" asks Mak Francis.

 

"Nader." retorts King with perfect biting sarcasm.

 

"Well, these two men in the ring didn't have to worry about making such a decision. They know each other pretty well, as they have competed against one another before. That was when an unprepared Team Canada fell victim to the G.T.A. Fight Team just a few months ago."

 

"And I'm still sour on THAT one too, Stumpy. But now, the playing field is even. This tournament is for a shot at the World title, meaning there's so much more at stake. You see no tag team partners at ringside, and this time Tod "Pandering" Stuart will not have the advantage of being informed of his opposition a week in advance. This time, X-Punk is ready and he wants to bring some SWF gold to the DVS camp."

 

In the meantime, the music has finally stopped and both competitors are suddenly drilling each other with stares. Stuart with his confident smirk; and X-Punk with eyes of venom, who still apparently hasn't digested the result of his meeting with the Fight Team. After referee Brian Warner orders him to lose the flagpole, the DVS high-flyer rids himself of his unneeded t-shirt as both men quickly begin studying one another. Bell rings.

 

The wrestlers begin to circle each other, but X-Punk can't resist piling on a layer of trash-talk before getting started.

 

"You're STILL nothin', Toronto! I'm ready for you! I'm gonna run CIRCLES around you, chump!"

 

"...Right. Circles. Can we do this?" replies the Torontonian, none too fazed by the remarks.

 

Both men finally size each other up for the opening clinch... but just as X-Punk steps forward, Stuart quickly takes him down with a snapmare and a low dropkick to the shoulderblades! Tod quickly regains his feet and will find out this has the exact reaction he's looking forward. Wincing at first, Punk gets back up and his eyes turn to flames once he spots Stuart. He charges forward, but Stuart sidesteps him and helps him along the way with a slap to the back. Stuart bends over for a back bodydrop, but X-Punk easily leaps over that hurdle with a well-timed jump and continues his course. On the second bounce, Stuart catches him with a hiptoss attempt, but X-Punk does a full flip and lands on his feet! Stuart tries to contain the high-flyer as he lunges forward with a clothesline, but Punk ducks under the blow and once again tosses himself into the ropes. Bouncing back, he leaps onto Stuart's shoulders in hopes of taking him down with a hurricanrana, but Stuart alley-oops him off! Punk is quick to land on his feet, but not quick enough to avoid Stuart blasting him in the back of the head with a clothesline! He quickly shoots the half, and applies the lateral press for his first cover of the match.

 

"One!!"

 

 

"Tw--"

 

Despite being rocked by the blow, X-Punk is quick to raise the shoulder. Stuart maintains the advantage by forcing Punk to his feet and trapping him into a front facelock. Wasting no motion, Stuart slips his opponent's arm above his head and snaps him back down with a crisp suplex. Maintaining the hold, Stuart rolls over to his stomach and regains his feet, ready to suplex his opponent again. Although X-Punk proves that he's indeed ready as he wiggles his legs free and lands behind Stuart. He traps the slightly larger Canadian in a rear waistlock and pushes him into the ropes, hoping to trap him into a roll-up. Stuart holds onto the top rope, which causes Punk's momentum to send him rolling backwards. He quickly regains his balance and charges forward with a clothesline. Stuart ducks under the blow, trapping Punk into the uranage hold. He drives the back of Punk's head into his knee, but before he can chain the move into an S.T.O., Punk furiously hammers elbows into the side of Stuart's head and eventually breaks free. He takes a second to re-orient his train of thought, but once he spots Stuart approaching once again, he leaps off his feet and connects with a resounding enzuiguiri kick to the side of the head! Before the sufficiently stunned Stuart can collapse to the mat, Punk quickly lifts him up into a fireman's carry and drives him into the canvas with a Death Valley Driver! Instead of going for a cover, he opts to rain down a series of rapid-fire legdrops to Stuart's head, capped off by a jog to the ropes, and one final six-foot-tall leaping legdrop.

 

"Nova! Sco-SHAAAH!!" declares X-Punk with a pair of proud chest slaps.

 

With his most devious sneer on his face, Punk taunts his opponent by placing a foot onto Stuart's chest, followed by one on his stomach. Stuart is the proverbial stepping stone while Brian Warner swoops in for the unusual pin attempt.

 

"One!"

 

 

"Two!"

 

 

"T--"

 

The official has to interrupt his count when X-Punk leaps off of his human perch, only to execute a picture perfect backflip into a splash onto Stuart! This time, the lateral press is added for good measure.

 

"One!"

 

 

"Two!"

 

 

"Th--"

 

It is not to be as Stuart rolls his shoulder up. This earns Brian Warner a stare from the Canadian.

 

"Too slow, Stripes!!" bellows X-Punks.

 

"You worry about him and I'll worry about the speed of my counts, kid!" replies the official.

 

"You don't tell ME what to do, Stripes!!" replies back X-Punk, standing eye to eye with the official. "Or you'll have to worry about ME!"

 

"You wanna win this match? Then you ease up on the threats and you get that finger outta my FACE!"

 

This firm putting-of-the-foot-down earns the referee a small dose of approving cheers from the crowd, while X-Punk decides to focus back on his opponent and contain him with another snap legdrop to the head. Noticing Stuart is in a suitable position, Punk once again throws himself into the ropes and seamlessly rolls forward into a Rolling Thunder! Confidently applauding himself on the move, Punk leans back for another pin attempt.

 

"One!"

 

 

"Two!"

 

 

"Th--"

 

Another shoulder up leads to another spat between wrestler and referee.

 

"You're KIDDING me!!"

 

"No, sir. Two!!" says Brian Warner, flashing the peace sign.

 

"Let's try this again, Stripes!!"

 

"By all means."

 

Punk leans backwards once again, and you can't help but wonder if this will somehow backfire on him.

 

"One!"

 

 

"Two!"

 

 

"Th--"

 

"Stuart counters him!" notes Mak.

 

Using his free arm and one leg, Stuart hooks both of Punk's arms and shifts his weight into a pinning combination of his own!

 

"One!"

 

 

"Two!"

 

 

"Thr--"

 

Using all of his leg strength, X-Punk manages to jerk his body out of the hold. Slowly he regains his feet. Before he can blame this distraction on the referee once again, he feels his arm snatched away and twisted in an uncomfortable position. Tod Stuart cranks on the arm wringer and fires off three stinging kicks to the chest that doubles over his opponent. Planting the sole of his boot into Punk's face, Stuart drops to his back and drives his boot into his head, connecting with the Slapshot! Punk holds his jaw together, hoping that nothing has been dislodged. He doesn't have time to spot Stuart coming into view and neutralizing him with an inverted Atomic Drop! Stuart then tosses himself into the near ropes and blasts X-Punk with a running lariat! Punk tries to stagger up to his feet immediately afterwards, but Stuart quickly finds the occasion to complete his earlier attempted Combination STO. He forces Punk back into the uranage and wastes no time driving the back of his head into his knee, and completing the move with an STO! Taking a second to catch his breath, Stuart then re-applies the lateral press.

 

"One!"

 

 

"Two!"

 

 

"Thr--"

 

As expected, the resilient X-Punk lifts his shoulder up to the skies. Stuart puts an end to his aspirations of getting up by dropping a crisp forearm à la Bret Hart right onto the forehead of his younger opponent. Forcing him up to his feet, Stuart has X-Punk backed into a corner, ready to unleash a mighty Irish Whip. He does so with fervor, attempting to send the Nova Scotian into the opposite set of turnbuckles, but it's reversed! Stuart takes the intended trip to the corner instead. Shaking his thoughts into coherence, X-Punk dashes forward for what turns out to be a blind charge as Stuart lifts up both feet and rams them into Punk's face! While he checks for missing teeth, Stuart props himself up on the second rope, ready to welcome his opponent with a Tornado DDT. Stuart cinches in the front facelock and leaps off... but X-Punk has him well-scouted as he spins a full 360 while carrying his opponent and forcefully deposits him back into the corner! He breaks free from Stuart's grasp with a series of hard right hands to the ribs, and another to the side of the head in order to further stun him. This leads to a brief slugfest between both men that ends with Stuart getting the advantage and connecting with a heavy right that sends X-Punk staggering. Never one to say die, Punk charges forward once again... only to run into Stuart's outstretched boot! Before Punk can stagger forward once again, Stuart reaches forward and captures him into the Silent Scream! Brian Warner is about to get on both men's case regarding the fact they are both in the ropes, but X-Punk struggles mightily to escape the potent submission choke. So much so that Punk's attempt to walk forwards in any direction results in Stuart getting pulled out of the corner. The referee's queries of submission are met with nothing but raspy and gargling swears. Despite the sudden blurring of his vision and the oxygen rapidly escaping his brain, X-Punk spots the one thing he was hoping for: the ropes. Rather than trying to reach out and grab the nearest strand with his hand, Punk manages to throw his entire body weight ahead, resulting in BOTH men collapsing through the ropes and onto the outside!

 

"I've gotta hand it to X-Punk." says Suicide King. "He's been consistently impressive in his showing tonight. He's been keeping Tod Stuart on his toes all throughout this match, as opposed to their last meeting a while ago."

 

"And as Brian Warner begins his outside count; we've just seen X-Punk (1) masterfully avoid getting choked out by the lethal and dangerous Silent Scream." replies Mak Francis. "We're witnessing a pretty even contest so far (2), it's just a matter of time until someone makes the first mistake and the other gets to capitalize on it. Both men are just now beginning to get back to their feet."

 

Trading right hands and elbow strikes (3), Stuart soon gets the upper hand. After hitting a three-elbow combo to the head, Stuart preps Punk for another Irish whip, this time (4) towards the steel ring steps, which is successfully delivered. X-Punk however puts on the brakes and with a mighty leap, lands on TOP of the steps! Stuart charges forward, but Punk gracefully (5) backflips off the steps and lands behind Stuart. Just as the Torontonian turns around, he gets met with the resounding SMACK of a superkick! He takes another second (this costs him the count of 6, however) to regain his bearings, but then he perks up at the sound of Brian Warner soon screaming out "Seveeeeen!!". Fully intent on defeating this smug Toronto motherfucker lying at his feet, X-Punk actually opts to muscle his Toronto opponent up to his feet and toss him back into the ring at the count of 8. Brian Warner acknowledges as such by halting his count and waiting to see if Punk will follow suit.

 

"If I reach 10, you're screwed! In or out, Punk?" asks the official.

 

"Shut the fuck up!! I come in when I'm good and ready, Stripes!" brushes off the young Canadian.

 

Spotting Stuart slowly regaining his feet, X-Punk hops onto the apron and firmly grips the top rope. Just as his target sights lock onto Stuart, Punk bends his knees and seamlessly springs off the ropes...

 

"X-Punk now going for that Springboard Tornado DDT he likes to use." describes Mak. "...but he's caught!!"

 

"This could be the mistake you were referring too earlier, Mak Truck." says King. "X-Punk had a chance to take a simple count-out victory, instead he chose to throw Stuart back in the ring. We now find out if that pride is gonna bite him in the beaver tail."

 

Stuart manages to catch Punk in a semi bearhug, and quickly uses the momentum to spin around and drive X-Punk back first into a set of turnbuckles! He hoists him on the top rope, but Punk quickly fights back with a series of right hands. Stuart believes that elbows are harder than fists, and proves his belief right when he retaliates with some strikes of his own that manage to stun his opponent. Stuart then climbs to the second rope and locks Punk into a front facelock, in hopes of a superplex! X-Punk will have none of that, as he begins hammering Stuart's ribcage with more right hands that serve to prevent his forced trip to the mat. That still hasn't broken Stuart's grip, as he successfully manages to lift up Punk. The feeling of his own legs dangling in mid-air is enough to cause Punk to fight back more furiously as he plants a harder right to Stuart's stomach, followed by a series of headbutts. Once Stuart is sufficiently scrambled, Punk now takes hold of the suplex position and is the one to lift up Stuart... dropping him face first all the way to the mat! His body flops and spins around in just a way that could be beneficial to X-Punk, as he steadies himself and ascends all the way up top.

 

"This could be the break X-Punk was hoping for!" states Mak Francis. "If he's up there, it can only mean he's going for what he calls the Mission X, which is basically a flawless 450 Splash! If he hits this and gets by Tod Stuart, he's taken his first step towards immortality!"

 

As one last gesture to the fans, X-Punk proudly signals for his finisher with the universal "I'm Gonna Do The 450" rolling motion, soon followed by an "Up Yours" gesture. Using impressive leg strength, X-Punk leaps off. Like clockwork, time slows down as his body performs an impeccable 450 degree spin, intended to crush the lungs of his opponent... but the pool is empty! Tod James Stuart has rolled towards the corner and successfully avoided the move! Ever the opportunist, Stuart clamps onto X-Punk's head and legs, and rolls forwards into an Oklahoma Roll! Brian Warner is quickly into position.

 

"One!!"

 

 

"Two!!"

 

 

"Three!!"

 

X-Punk had been trying like mad to wiggle himself free, but the impact from the missed 450 was still too great and he was still too stunned. The result is the ringing of the bell, and the playing of a theme song that's not his.

 

"The winner of this bout, is Toood - Jaaaames - Stuart!!" confirms Funyon.

 

"Tod Stuart ekes out a close victory," says Mak. "In a match that could've gone either way. As a result, he becomes the third man tonight to advance in the Cold Front Classic tournament, and is one step closer to gaining a shot at the World Heavyweight championship."

 

Immediately following the surprise roll-up and pin, Stuart has rolled to the outside of the ring, where Brian Warner meets up with him to raise his hand in victory. And just like before this contest began, both wrestlers are exchanging stares. This time, they're quite different from one another. Stuart beams with contained pride at his accomplishment with a look that simply says "Thiiiiiiiiiis close."; while X-Punk's demeanor translates to "I was on top of the world, and now I just pinned by a freakin' wrestling hold!".

 

"Right now," says Suicide King. "If I'm Tod Stuart, I'm gonna go rest up and have a protein shake or something, because this is definitely not the end of the road. Sure, he's the third of eight competitors that will move on, but that's just the first step. If I'm Tod Stuart, now I stay in my dressing room and I'm glued to that monitor to scout the rest of the field."

 

"Sound advice from the Gambling Man, and if you're Tod Stuart then that's as close as we'll get to see you being a Canadian. And thank God the good residents of Canada will never have to be treated to your citizenship. Stick around, we got Taiga and Riggs coming up!"

 

...

[Toxxic 0]

 

In front of the entrance way, a DDR hologram shines down and ‘Hung Up’ by Madonna begins, bringing out the Dance Dance Dragon to the cheers of the crowd, as they all stand to welcome him to New York.

 

“This is Night One of the Cold Front Classic and next is Dance Dance Dragon, victim of a sick, unprovoked attack at the hands of Manson at October’s All Hallows.”

 

“It won’t be an easy go in the Cold Front Classic for Dragon, however. He’s set to face Manson in the opening round and we know he won’t let things go Dragon’s way.”

 

“I’m sure he’d love to get his hands on Manson sooner rather than later, though.”

 

“Still, Manson may be more than he can handle right now. There’s been another change in Manson that everyone should be aware of, which Triple D has been unfortunate enough to be on the receiving end of.”

 

However, despite the multi-colored strobes flashing and the rapid pace of the song setting the stage for his usual DDR exhibition, he doesn’t stop, leaving a bevy of dancing beauties behind him, as he heads straight for the ring. However, a cloaked and masked Manson chases and strikes him with his crooked baseball bat from behind!

 

“It’s Manson! The metal baseball bat catches Dance Dance Dragon! DQ him!”

 

“The match hasn’t even started yet! You can’t be disqualified for that!”

 

Dragon struggles to stand, stumbling as he does so, as the menacing figure of Manson hovers above him. Turning back toward Manson, he catches a headbutt to the face, the metal edge of Manson’s mask opening up a gash across the forehead, slicing open Dragon’s mask and causing blood to begin trickling down underneath. Dragon seeks refuge in the ring, his mask already shredded, as Manson dumps the cloak, mask, bat, and all, and slides inside, where Sexton Hardcastle calls for the bell.

 

~DING DING!~

 

Dance Dance Dragon stands, but is obviously unable to fight, as Manson flies in and batters him with fists to the face, dropping him to the mat. Manson mounts and continues his assault, finally abandoning his attack in favor of a cover.

 

“ONE!

 

 

TWO!”

 

“Shoulder up!” shouts Mak.

 

Manson quickly brings Dragon up and hits him with a right to the face, causing him to stumble into the ropes and out of the ring, looking for some reprieve, but Manson reaches through the ropes and attempts to bring him back inside. However, from the apron, Dragon grabs the top rope and kicks Manson in the head with a falling roundhouse, knocking him to the mat. Dragon desperately crawls back inside, his vision clouded and barely able to stand, and as Manson stands, he stumbles toward the turnbuckle and heads up top.

 

“Moonsault by Dragon!”

 

He flips back as Manson turns, looking for a moonsault, but Manson dodges and leaves Dragon to the ground. Dragon lands on his feet, though, and drops to a knee. A shocked Manson goes for a Lariat as Dragon stands, but he ducks, jumps and hits a Tornado DDT as Manson turns back around!

 

“Tornado DDT! He’s fighting against the tide, but is still at a severe disadvantage!”

 

Manson is up quickly, not allowing Dragon time to follow, but he catches a running front dropkick to the chest regardless, sending him flying. He comes up as Dragon closes in, but turns into a rolling solebutt to the gut, halting Dragon. Following a knee lift, standing Dragon up, Manson lifts, turns and drops him with the Rocky Mountain High sit-out spinebuster! He remains in the cover and calls Hardcastle over to count.

 

“ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

THRE--“

 

“And another shoulder up by Dragon!”

 

Manson releases Dragon and stands, kicking the turnbuckle, before turning toward the entrance. As Dragon comes to, from behind the curtain down the ramp walks an unknown figure. As Manson distracts Hardcastle, though, it becomes all too clear, as the camera pans over and a Halliburton briefcase comes sliding into the ring behind Hardcastle’s back.

 

“Wait. T-That’s James Matheson! What the hell is going on, King?!”

 

“I… have no idea, but James Matheson is here and has slid that Halliburton into the ring! What is he here for?”

 

“We haven’t seen him in nearly two years, I believe, but he’s here at the Cold Front Classic!

 

Matheson climbs up onto the apron and draws Hardcastle’s attention away from Manson, who brings the steel briefcase into his hands. As Dragon stands, Manson runs forth and bashes him with the briefcase, knocking him out cold, and quickly sends it sliding back out of the ring. James Matheson hops back down, satisfied, as Manson drops into a cover. Hardcastle turns back toward the action all too late and begins the count.

 

“Manson takes Dragon down with the briefcase! Did… James Matheson just help Manson?!”

 

“ONE!

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

THREE!”

 

 

~DING DING DING!~

 

“It’s official, by hook or crook, Manson moves on at the expense of Dance Dance Dragon, but there are more questions than answers raised tonight,” says Mak, as Matheson quickly joins Manson.

 

“Your winner… by pinfall… and moving on to the next round of the Cold Front Classic… MMMAAAANNNNNNSOOOONNNN!”

 

“All that matters is Manson wins and survives, the best gift I can ask for.”

 

“There definitely appears to be a grudge between Dragon and Manson, but one thing is clear, and that is Manson and Matheson in cahoots,” says Mak, as Manson and James Matheson stand over Dragon, who lays still on the mat, blood seeping through his mask, as we cut to commercial.

Edited December 8, 2008 by Toxxic

[Toxxic 0]

The cameras pan around the Times Union Center before returning to ringside. Mak Francis and the Suicide King are in their appointed places, and Funyon can be seen lumbering into the ring for his next moment in the spotlight, which is honestly a mixed blessing at best for all concerned. “Well, King,” Mak begins, only to be quickly clipped by the Suicide King.

 

“Yes, the last one was an interesting match, Francis, but now we're down to the real match on this card. Two of my favorite people going head-to-head in the first round! Michael Alexander and Tracey Bruner. If Maddix had any brains, this would be a main event, but leave it to the Cockroach to screw up even the most simple booking!”

 

“These two are certainly a great pairing for any match, King,” Mak agrees. “But that's the spice of a tournament like this: you never know who will end up against who...we could very well see Bruner against his own tag partner next round, or even Alexander against Manson!”

 

“Yes, the possibilities are endless, but wouldn't it be better to remove all the dross from the tourney in the first round, and leave all the headliners for round two? I mean, come on...”

 

“This is all done by lot, King,” Mak says, spouting the company line. King snorts.

 

Funyon has made his way into the ring and now lifts his microphone. “Laaaaaaaaaaaaaaaadies and Geeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeentlemen! This match is also in Round 1 of the Cold Front Classic! It will be 1 fall...”

 

A resounding bell heralds the beginning of “For Whom the Bell Tolls” by Metallica, and a video montage of Alexander’s previous in-ring exploits, focusing on brutal submissions and general viciousness interwoven with a new branching double-helix fractal graphic. The montage has been updated to include bits that feature Toxxic, MANSON, and Insane Luchador. Blue and white strobes flicker in the arena, and as the guitar kicks in...

 

Funyon continues, “First, from Greenville, SC, weighing in at 221 lbs., he is the Mad Scientist of the Mat, MIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIICHAEL AAAAAAAAAAAAAALEXAAAAAAAAAANDER!”

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

Alexander steps out onto the stage, and the flicker lighting stops dead. He gazes out over the crowd, smirks, and makes his way to the ring. His face is marked by grim determination, even though his smirk does not waiver. He walks up the steps and hops over the top rope. Alexander moves over to his corner, checking his boots and ignoring the jeers.

 

Funyon then segues into his next intro. “And his opponent, from Brooklyn, NY, weighing in at 455 lbs., he is ½ of NYC, MIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIISTER BRRRRRRRRRRRUUUUUUUUUUUUUUNER!”

 

The base and raw growls of Busta Rhymes' “Call the Ambulance” rumble through the Center's speakers, heralding the arrival of the man they call Mister Bruner. The big man steps onto the ramp in his impeccable suit and walks to the ring, slowly ascending the steps. Bruner steps over the top rope into the ring, glaring at Alexander as he does so with a smile on his face that you can tell doesn't touch his eyes, even with his everpresent sunglasses.

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAHHHHHHHHHHHH – BROOKLYN! BROOKLYN!”

 

“This is going to be interesting, King,” Mak muses. “Both of these guys are pretty much despised by most of our fans, but it seems like Bruner's NYC roots are garnering a little support.”

 

“That just shows the ignorance and idiocy of this crowd, Francis. These two men deserve praise; they're two of the most dangerous men in the SWF and this crowd should respect that.”

 

“Respect and affection aren't necessarily the same thing, King.”

 

“What about fear?”

 

“Let's just get on with calling the match, shall we? Alienating our fans isn't something you should try so hard to do, King.”

 

“As if most of them could spell 'alienate' or even knew what it meant...”

 

“King...”

 

Referee Matt Kivell asks both men if they're ready, and when they respond, he calls for the bell as Funyon exits the ring. Bruner looks at Alexander and smiles, making a breaking motion with his hands. Alexander smirks, and says something about Bruner should take his theme music's advice so he will have transport to his physical therapy. The two men glare at each other as the bell rings.

 

“It doesn't look like this is going to be a friendly contest, King.”

 

“Good, Francis. Those always suck; it's better when there's a healthy dose of mutual dislike involved.”

 

DING! DING!

 

Alexander circles warily, while Bruner just stalks forward, cracking his knuckles. The two men go into a collar-and-elbow, which Michael uses to shift into a standing armbar. Bruner looks both amused and annoyed by this, but quickly becomes merely annoyed as Alexander takes advantage of his position to snap off a series of crisp kicks to Bruner's right leg. The big man grunts angrily, grabs his opponent with his free hand with amazing alacrity, and uses his raw power to toss Alexander away like a rag doll. The Evil Genius rolls back to his feet, frustration and a little astonishment showing on his face.

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! BROOKLYN! BROOKLYN!”

 

“Alexander tried to start things off with a little catch-as-catch-can, but he might as well try to wrestle a whale for all the good it did against Bruner!” Mak says.

 

“Michael's going to have to have a better gameplan than that, Francis,” King admonishes. “If he doesn't, this is going to be a short match that ends with Bruner going on.”

 

Bruner shakes his leg a little and smirks at Alexander, motioning for him to come on. With a snarl, Michael charges again, looking for another tieup...but then dodges behind the Bully and fires off another series of sharp kicks to the back of Bruner's right leg. As Bruner turns and tries to grab him, the Evil Genius ducks out of his grasp and charges into the ropes and springs back for a flying forearm...but the big man moves with eerie swiftness, turning to catch the Mad Scientist in a bear hug spinebuster! All the air is smashed from Alexander's lungs in an instant, leaving him easy prey for a elbow drop from the Bully! The mat is still shuddering from the impact as the big man stretches over for the pin.

 

“Bruner's going for the pin!”

 

“Not going to happen, Francis. You're not going to pin Michael Alexander with an elbow drop!”

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

 

ONE!

 

NO!

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

“Michael tried to go for those kicks to weaken the leg of the Big Bully, but it doesn't seem to be having enough of an effect,” Mak observes.

 

“Sometimes that's a slow process, Francis. I just hope it's not so slow that Bruner has beaten Michael to a pulp before it works.”

 

“And I'm a little off-balance when I hear people cheer for Tracey Bruner,” Mak adds. “Who cheers for a self-identified bully?”

 

“Everyone does, Francis. At least as long as he's looking. Plus, he's also from NYC, so there's the hometown thing. Or maybe these people just have some taste?”

 

Michael squirms out from under the nonchalant pin easily, but is still a little slow getting his wind back. Bruner gets back to his feet and stomps over to where Alexander has just made it up to his knees. Bruner smiles broadly as he plants a vicious boot into the side of the Evil Genius' head, sending him tumbling across the ring. The Bully ambles over to his crumpled opponent, then hoists him up. With a slight grunt of effort, Mr. Bruner begins to use the hapless Mad Scientist like a human barbell, pressing him several times.

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

 

“Bruner is just showboating right now, King. This could get him into trouble with a guy like Alexander.”

 

“Well, as much as I hate to say it, it seems to be going pretty well for Bruner right now.”

 

As he lifts him for the last rep, Bruner walks him deliberately over to the corner for a snake-eyes...but Michael Alexander sees this coming too, and squirms for all he's worth, upsetting Bruner's grip and dropping back to the mat! With Bruner's balance upset, the Evil Genius takes advantage with a nasty dropkick to the back of the Bully's right knee, buckling it. A surprised Mr. Bruner drops awkwardly down to one knee, grunting in pain as his right knee suddenly takes all of his weight. The big man begins to rise, but the Evil Genius follows up, perhaps somewhat desperately, and springs onto the ropes to deliver an assisted heel-kick enzuigiri! Only Bruner's proximity to the ropes stops him from collapsing to the mat. However, he does slump dazedly into the ropes.

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

“Michael with the escape, followed by the dropkick to the knee and a nasty enzuigiri! And you said that attack on the knee wasn't working, Francis!”

 

“I think he profited more some surprise than a weakened knee there, King.”

 

The Mad Scientist grins wickedly, charging into the ropes opposite his opponent's slumped form. As he rebounds, Alexander dives into Bruner's right leg with a vicious chopblock. The big man tumbles backward, hitting the mat hard. Michael Alexander gets back to his feet, threading Bruner's tree-trunk of a right leg over the bottom rope as he steps out between the ropes. The Mad Scientist steps onto Bruner's leg from the ring apron, and springs over the top rope and down onto Bruner's leg with a vicious double-stomp. A snarl of pain and anger erupts from the Bully as he rolls away from the ropes.

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

“Now we're seeing some classic Michael Alexander, Francis. The bigger they are, the harder they fall! That knee's not looking so good now, eh?”

 

“This is definitely par for the Alexander course, King. And damn good strategy against a mountain like Bruner. If the treads won't turn, even a tank is vulnerable.”

 

Michael swiftly closes again with Bruner and grabs the big man's right ankle, going for his patented knee bar...but Bruner mule kicks, launching Alexander through the ropes and out of the ring! The Mad Scientist hits the floor awkwardly. The Big Bully slowly gets to his feet as Matt Kivell begins to count...

 

One...

Two...

Three...

 

“Good Lord, King! Alexander fell right on his head and neck out there! Bruner just kicked him off like bull tossing a rookie rider! With that kind of power, will Alexander even be able to get the Gordian Knot tied on Bruner?”

 

“This doesn't look good for Alexander now. That fall looked bad, Francis. He might not be able to make it back in...”

 

Alexander is not really getting up, only slowly getting back to his knees and holding his head and neck gingerly. Tracey Bruner shakes his right leg, still finding it wobbly after that outburst of offense. He carefully puts weight on it, measuring how much he can trust it.

 

Four...

Five...

Six...

 

“All Tracey Bruner has to do at this point is stand there, and he advances to the semi-finals,” Mak states. “He's in.”

 

“Unless he decides he's not done with Alexander yet, Francis.”

 

“Would he run the risk with what looks like a sure thing here?”

 

“Depends on how much Michael has pissed him off, I guess.”

 

Bruner looks out to check on Alexander's progress. Alexander has still only made it up to his knees, leaning heavily on the guardrail. All Tracey needs to do is just wait patiently, and he gets one step closer to Va'aiga's World Heavyweight Title. The big man's aggressiveness and anger war briefly with his common sense. Sadly, in a tale at least as old as human history, Bruner stalks over and goes outside after his opponent. Matt Kivell admonishes him to bring it back to the ring, but the Big Bully ignores the referee as usual. Kivell restarts the count.

 

One...

Two...

Three...

 

“Looks like Michael did piss him off enough, Francis. Not good.”

 

“This is a mistake, King. As much as it galls me to say this, Bruner could have just waited for the countout, then gone after Alexander after he'd won.”

 

“You're right, Francis. No one ever said Bruner was a genius. Except me. I say he's a genius, so he won't hurt me.”

 

The big man grabs the dazed Evil Genius and presses him up quickly. This time he doesn't showboat, either because of his injured leg or simple raw aggression, and drops Alexander throat-first across the guardrail. The Mad Scientist collapses back to the floor, choking and gasping.

 

Four...

Five...

Six...

 

“Alexander's going to be lucky to get through this match without some serious injury, King. It looks like Bruner's out for blood.”

 

“But why did it have to be Michael's? Couldn't he have just gone after you?”

 

“What?!”

 

Bruner picks Michael up like a sack of flour and rolls him back into the ring. The Bully follows him back in and goes for another cover! Kivell drops to count!

 

“Bruner's going for the pin! This could be it!” Mak yells.

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

THREE-NO!

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

“Michael just barely had enough to get out of that, but was it really worth it?” King muses. “That's just going to piss Bruner off more, and that's never good.”

 

“You know as well as I do that Alexander wants that SWF Title back, and he has something to prove after his loss to Va'aiga.”

 

Michael only barely manages to get a foot on the rope, as Bruner didn't bother to drag him away from the ropes. Bruner growls at the Kivell as the referee tells him why the count has stopped. The Bully clambers back to his feet and drags Alexander up with him...by the throat. The Mad Scientist's eyes bulge as Bruner's grip tightens for the inevitable end of any such situation...a bone-crunching chokeslam! Even though Bruner's right leg seems to wobble, the impact is no less devastating.

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

 

“Big Bully Bruner just planted Alexander with that chokeslam! And it looks like Bruner is ready to follow up...” Mak says. “Is it wrong for me to find it somewhat cathartic to see a comeuppance for Alexander?”

 

“As if the chokeslam wasn't bad enough...” King laments. “And yes, it is. But it's only natural to relish the misfortunes of your betters, Francis.”

 

The Evil Genius lies inert on the mat as Tracey Bruner backs into the turnbuckle and climbs to the second turnbuckle. Facing the his opponent, the Big Bully leaps out and stretches his legs to deliver what would certainly be a terminal legdrop...but Alexander rolls away at the last second! Bruner hits the mat like an avalanche.

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

“Alexander is desperately clinging to this match, King! Maybe that mistake by Bruner will give him an opening, but I honestly don't know what he can do with it.”

 

“He better come up with something, Francis.”

 

Bruner growls in pain and frustration as he slowly gets back to his feet. Alexander is just a tad faster, as he is not suffering from a somewhat hobbled leg. He charges, leaping up to hit with a nasty calf kick, which staggers the Bully, but does not even come close to knocking him down. Bruner recovers quickly and goes for a nasty lariat...which unfortunately leaves Alexander an opening for a clip-and-roll counter he developed to deal with a certain lariat -wielding Maori. Bruner grunts in surprise as his right leg is clipped by an intricate drop-and-roll by Alexander, and the Bully drops to the mat through sheer unbalanced momentum...and the Mad Scientist is already tying the Gordian Knot!

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

“The Gordian Knot! Just that quickly, the tide may have turned!” King shrieks happily.

 

“FUCK 'IM UP, BRUNER, FUCK 'IM UP!”

 

“I don't know, King...can Alexander even put enough pressure on those column-like legs of Bruner? And Bruner's so strong, I don't know how Michael can keep him from getting to the ropes...”

 

The Big Bully snarls as he rolls his bulk over to the ropes. Alexander's additional pull means very little to his raw power and tree-trunk of a leg. Bruner grabs the rope and Kivell calls for the break. Alexander elicits a couple more grunts of pain, until Kivell counts to four, at which point the Mad Scientist breaks the hold.

 

“Some damage was done there, but will it be enough to let Alexander sneak by Bruner?” Mak asks.

 

“Not if Bruner manages to get his hands on Alexander again, Francis,” King answers.

 

Michael Alexander's face is a grimace of frustration as he gets back to his feet. Unfortunately, Bruner is not much slower. In desperation Michael tries for another flying forearm...and this one connects before Bruner has a chance to catch him. However, its effects are momentary at best. The Evil Genius goes back to his basics, with a quick dropkick to Bruner's bad wheel. The big man staggers, but he is not stunned or off-balance enough to go down again. He makes a grab for Alexander, who manages to dodge, trying to get in position to go after the leg again. Alexander doesn't notice until it's too late that the grab was a feint, and the back of Bruner's ham-hock of a fist collides with the side of his head.

 

“FUCK 'IM UP, BRUNER, FUCK 'IM UP!”

 

“Alexander keeps trying, but it seems like the power and size of Bruner are too much for him to overcome, even with a weak leg, King.”

 

“Francis, I agree that it doesn't look good, but never count a guy like Alexander out. We've seen him pull victory out of thin air before.”

 

“But his track record against big men is spotty at best, King, and Bruner is the biggest one we've got right now.”

 

The Evil Genius slumps to the mat. Mr. Bruner smiles now as he drags his stunned opponent back to his feet. The Big Bully then drives a brutal knee into Alexander's midsection, lifting him momentarily into the air. The Mad Scientist almost collapses again, but Bruner drags him into a standing headscissors. Bruner pants heavily as he hoists his opponent up onto his shoulders. The big man's right knee seems to wobble a little, but he still sends Alexander back to the mat with a thunderous powerbomb!

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

 

“Holy Hell, the Powerbomb! We know what's coming next! I hope for Alexander's sake his health insurance premium and disability insurance are paid up!” King squeals in dismay.

 

Stepping back, his leg still a little wobbly, Bruner glares pointedly towards the corner. He stomps over to it and begins his ascent. There is a moment when one might expect planes to circle, but not so much. The big man is slower than he normally is, as he is still nursing his right leg. He finally stands upon the top turnbuckle. The crowd is chanting wildly.

 

“FUCK 'IM UP, BRUNER, FUCK 'IM UP!”

 

“It is not looking good, King. Alexander hasn't moved since Bruner plastered him across the mat with that Powerbomb, even though Bruner had to take time to climb up there. Bruner might be living up to his entrance music yet again.”

 

Michael Alexander still lies where Bruner planted him, and the Big Bully displays his teeth in a broad smile as he leaps down for the big splash...but Alexander rolls out of the way at the last instant! Bruner crashes to the mat like a rogue 747! The impact shakes the ring.

 

“Alexander rolls out of the way! He's still in this!” Mak shouts.

 

“He better have some way to put Bruner away, because nothing else he's done has had a lot of effect, Francis!”

 

Mr. Bruner lies there, the air smashed out of him by his own weight. Alexander stumbles back to his feet. He looks at Bruner, seeming to rifle through a catalog of ways to attempt to put this man-mountain away. Before Bruner can even start to shift his weight, the Mad Scientist pounces onto his back, grapevining Bruner's right arm across the Bully's throat and threading his own arm inside that loop. Scissoring his legs around the big man as best he can (which only makes it somewhat difficult for the big man to roll over, honestly), Alexander tightens the Blackout hold with every ounce of strength he can muster.

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

“The Blackout! I haven't seen Alexander use this since he came to the SWF! It's cutting off the air and blood flow to Bruner now, right after that blown splash!” Mak says.

 

“Michael better hope this keeps Bruner down, because if Bruner can get up, he can just fall on Alexander and win...” King warns. “And I don't see Bruner tapping...has that ever happened?”

 

Tracey Bruner has had the wind blasted from his lungs by his own bulk. Before he could begin to breathe comfortably again, his air supply is shaved off as well as the blood flow to his brain. The match to this point had already left him somewhat winded, and the botched splash knocked what little reserves he had out. He gasps, but even the little air he is able to choke down does nothing to ease the dull throbbing that seems to be filling his head all too quickly. It is a drumbeat that echoes deeply, and requires a certain accompaniment lest it go too far...

 

TAP! TAP! TAP!

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

DING! DING! DING!

 

“I-I don't believe it, Francis. Did Bruner just tap?!”

 

“King...I...wow. That's something you just don't see.”

 

Michael Alexander just slumps off of Bruner's back, rolling away. Both men lie still for a few moments, trying to get their second wind. Funyon raises his microphone at the signal of Matt Kivell. “The winner of this match, who goes on to the semi-finals of the Cold Front Classic...MIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIICHAEL AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAALEXAAAAAAAAAAAAAANDER!”

 

The Evil Genius stumbles to his feet, gulping down air almost as greedily as Mr. Bruner, who has managed to roll over and sit up somewhat. Alexander grins wickedly as Matt Kivell raises his hand. Bruner glares at the Evil Genius. Discretion being the better part of valor, Michael rolls out of the ring as the Big Bully clambers back to his feet. Bruner contines to glare enough to burn a hole in his sunglasses as the Mad Scientist makes his way back up the ramp, grinning all the way.

 

“Well, Michael may have gotten the check in the win column tonight, but I don't think Mr. Bruner is going to take this in stride, King.”

 

“Damn right he's not, Francis. I just hope Michael doesn't get the mafia treatment like Dace Knight did a few months ago. We need him to win this tournament and get the title off that mindless Maori.”

 

“I hope nobody gets that treatment again, but Bruner looks ready for that and more right now, King.”

 

A snarl curls the Big Bully's lips as we...

 

 

FADE OUT.