Northwest Navigation '09

[King Cucaracha 0]

“Good evening and welcome to the SWF's Northwest Navigation,” begins The Franchise Mak Francis, “And we have a hot start to this great night of SWF action with former World Champion Va'aiga taking on the force of nature that is MANSON.”

 

“Va'aiga has to be hurting after losing the big gold belt to Tod James Stuart. He'll be in one of his typical bad moods. MANSON will be in an evil mood because... well MANSON is evil. You have to respect his integrity!”

 

“Why, King?”

 

“He makes no attempt to conceal his intentions. MANSON is one of the most honest men you'll ever meet,” replies The Franchise's long time broadcast partner and stone cold SWF legend The Suicide King.

 

The arena lights dim to a near blackout as middle eastern style wailing sounds around the packed house. A cloaked figure, flanked by his briefcase wielding manager (handler?) walks out into the entrance area.

 

“You shall see hell form from a clear sky,

You shall see darkness,

God is God,

God is God...”

 

Funyon lifts the arena mic to his lips, “The following match is scheduled for ONE fall. Introducing first, accompanied by The SWF's Finest Legal Mind, James Matheson, weighing in at 220lbs and hailing from Denver, Colorado, The God Machine MAAAAAAAAANSOOOOOOOOON!!!”

 

The lights raise as MANSON takes a slow, deliberate walk down to the ring, eyeballing a few abusive fans as his eyes dart around the arena. As he enters the ring MANSON stands in the middle, raising his arms to take off his metal entrance mask and disrobe, perfectly in time with the house lights going up. The audience attention turns back to the entrance area as they await the arrival of the Maori Badass. The SmarkTron flares into life again, bearing a simple message...

 

OPERATION OLD SCHOOL....

 

STRAIGHT 2 YO' DOOR!

 

And an image of a skull appears. Crosshairs form and close round it before the sound of automatic gunfire accompanies bullet holes appearing on the screen....

 

“PITO SUTE AKILAGI!

It ain't good, It ain't good cuz you'll get jumped in my hood!”

 

...and Va'aiga strides out purposefully. He throws the BOO-YAH! Combination and throws back the hood of his entrance robe. Va'aiga walks down to the ring and steps through the ropes. Funyon begins the introduction of The Maori as Va'aiga stares down his evil opponent, “And his opponent, weighing in tonight at 350 pounds and fighting out of Rotorua, New Zealand... He is the reigning DVS Intercontinental Champion and a two time former SWF World Heavyweight Champion... The Maori Badass VAAAAAAAAA'AAAAAAAAIGAAAA!!!”

 

The crowd explodes into a storm of approval for their Maori antihero but Va'aiga's concentration is more focused on his opponent and his legally inclined manager. Mak Francis comments on the relationship between The Maori and Matheson, “Matheson knows Va'aiga very well. He managed the Maori in his capacity as a member of The Unnamed for much of 2004. This could be a large advantage for MANSON.”

 

“Not that MANSON needs any extra advantages. He can beat The Maori in so many ways, Francis. As opposed to Va'aiga who generally only knows one way to win. The Lariat.”

 

“Yes but you have to admit King that it IS a very effective method.”

 

DINGDINGDDING!

 

Referee Eddy Long stands watching as the two monsters walks into the centre of the ring and square off. MANSON offers a cold, hard stare to The Maori who looks down at his cruiserweight opponent and stares back. The crowd hushes in anticipation until the calm is broken by MANSON opening up with a solid elbow that connects with The Maori's jaw. Va'aiga frowns, spits to a side and then fires back with an elbow of his own. MANSON takes a half step back, but his face still portrays no emotion as he takes the blow. Stepping into his next blow, MANSON adds a little extra momentum to a second elbow strike which makes the Maori Badass grunt in disapproval. Va'aiga is a little slow off the mark with a third elbow strike attempt and MANSON connects first this time, firing his third elbow at Va'aiga. The Maori responds by grabbing a side headlock and squeexing MANSON's neck, but The God Machine pushes Va'aiga off, sending The Human Predator into the ropes. Va'aiga rebounds and lowers a shoulder, driving it into MANSON's chest and sending the Savage Messiah to the mat. Va'aiga steps backwards and wipes his cornrows away from his face.

 

“Both men looking to hit those trademarked strikes of theirs, King.”

 

“Don't expect a technical classic from these two, Francis. Unless you regard kicking and punches as technique.”

 

MANSON stands, a little groggy from The Maori's forceful blows. Va'aiga quickly closes the distance and grabs MANSON's arm, quickly whipping the SWF's favourite sociopath against the ropes. MANSON rebounds and drops his head to avoid a loosely swung blow from the Maori. Regaining a little control as he bounces off the far side's ring ropes, MANSON extends his arm, just as The Maori extends his... MANSON looks for the Iron Cutting Sword... BUT VA'AIGA HITS THE ARM WITH HIS OWN EVIL, VICIOUS, NASTY, DIAMOND HARDENED ADAMANTIUM CUTTING LAAAAAAAARIAAAAAAAAATOOOOO! Both men collapse to the canvas holding their arms. The count is put on....

 

...

 

EIGHT!

 

 

NINE!

 

 

TEN!

 

DINGDINGDING!

 

And both men are counted down.

 

“What happens when the unstoppable force meets the immovable object?”

 

“Well, umm, THAT King.”

 

“The SWF. Answering life's great questions, one at a time.”

[King Cucaracha 0]

"The following is the Incredibly Rare TEN! MAN! Tag team contest set for ONE fall!" declares the dapper Funyon.

 

The crowd rises in anticipation at the announced attraction, but soon hushes down to a whisper once Amon Amarth's Pursuit Of Vikings begins to play. The lights dim while an assortment of spotlights displaying the flags of Norway, Sweden and Finland begin to dance all over the arena. The first to come out is... Legs Flamingo. He first appears quizzical at the sound of a song that doesn't quite rank in his usual range. But then he makes the most of it as he attempts to "saunter" down the ramp, matching the beat of the Swedish rock anthem.

 

"Introducing first; at a total combined weight of 1196 lbs, they are accompanied by Helle. The team of Legs Flamingo; as well as Tolland Blankhardt, Olaf Andersen, Arne Andersen and Rikard Fleihr: The Four - Norsemeeeeeeeeen!!"

 

The Andersens are first to come out, glancing at the dancing spectacle that's already halfway down the aisle. They are quickly followed by the rest of their unit in the form of Tolland and Fleihr who has his ever-present arm candy with him. The group walks the aisle with the presence of a thousand rock stars, all while ignoring the jeers of a crowd that have nothing but contempt for them. Arrived at the ring, Fleihr leads his flame-headed escort by the hand over to her assigned spot. After about an uneventful entrance as you can have from these men, everybody removes their robes or jackets when applicable. Before the opposition can arrive, Arne Andersen has to be physically restrained by his friend and leader when Legs Flamingo tries to hand him a plastic pink flamingo. The men are assigned a corner while their music briefly fades away.

 

In favor of the familiar opening notes of Bon Jovi's Living On A Prayer. Blue and white lighting starts to move over the audience. The crowd is confused at first, not sure who to identify this music to, but soon start cheering once the familiar faces of the GTA Fight Team appears on the SmarkTron.

 

"And their opponents; from Toronto, Ontario, Canada. At a total combined weight of 1186 lbs; they are the members of the Wrestling Clinic: accompanied by Tara McGovney, they are Antonio Carson, Michael and Matthew Jones, Daniel Smith; and the NEW SWF World Heavyweight Champion: Toooood - Jaaaaames - Stuart!!"

 

Unsurprisingly, the majority of the audience members begin to bob their heads at the sound of the rock classic. The intro allows for a few of those people to sing along until it explodes into the chorus.

 

"We'll give-it-a-shot!"

"Whoaaaaa, we're halfway there, whoooaaa-ooh!..."

 

The first Canadians to come out are the Jones Brothers, Matthew and Michael; thrilled to be in front of their first live crowd. Close behind is the group's lone female Tara McGovney, the proverbial ball of energy. Out of all her male cohorts, she's the most into it as she's hopping from side to side and slapping hands. Following them is the strapping Antonio Carson, who walks with his own definition of confidence while acknowledging the crowd with a few proud chest slaps. And completing the group are the two established members. The two trainers and members of the G.T.A. Fight Team; Daniel Smith, and new champion Tod James Stuart. The two elder Canadians pause at the top of the ramp to soak in a bit of cheers. Smith offers a pat on the title belt that's strapped around Stuart's waist and resumes his way down the ramp with his teammates. Stuart listens to a crowd that not only cheers for a guy they respect and appreciate, but one could also detect a hint of pride from them at Stuart having finally accomplished his all-too-important goal. The champion finally joins his partners in the ring, where he gets to do what he hasn't done in almost six years: raise championship gold to a cheering crowd.

 

"The last time Tod James Stuart got to hold up a championship belt was back in 2003, when he was the United States champion." begins Mak Francis. "That title has long since been decommissioned, and Stuart has undergone a major career boost in the past year after winning the Cold Front Classic tournament a few months back. But tonight is not about title defenses or the World title in itself, it's about settling an old score and giving a chance to shine."

 

"Stewie's been looking forward to throwing his little cast of simpletons to the wolves, and I for one can't wait to see the experience of the Norsemen get the better of them. And as for the inclusion of Legs Flamingo... well, we'll just call that one Landon Booking."

 

"We're getting ready to start here, and how apropos. Stuart's journey back to the top actually began at the hands of that man, Rikard Fleihr. At the same time, we get our first good look at the other members of the Wrestling Clinic."

 

"Looks like you're gonna have to wait, Stumpy. This one's gonna start strong."

 

After the Clinic's theme song has faded to a stop, referee Brian Warner has little trouble confining both teams to their separate corners and ordering valets and seconds to ringside, despite some obvious trash-talking from the European side. After he's done insisting to his partners that he's the one starting this match, Rikard Fleihr turns around to see none other than Stuart himself opposite him staring at him with a confident smirk.

 

"Ring the bell!!" orders Brian Warner.

 

Fleihr returns the smirk, adds a final pair of shoulder slaps for preparation and finally gets ready to lock up. The two meet in center ring with a stiff lock-up that sees no shift in leverage in the opening seconds. Fleihr takes control early as he snatches a quick armtwist. Rapid on his feet, Stuart turns into the move and reverses the hold to his own and grabs a quick headlock. Stuart grinds it in, but he finds himself shoved into the ropes by Fleihr. The Norseman plants his feet to the mat for a shoulder tackle, but it's Stuart that knocks him down instead! Wasting no time, Stuart bounces off another set of ropes, which lets Fleihr rolls over to his stomach while Stuart leaps over him... and stops... waits for Fleihr to get back up... and grabs a headlock! He tries to thrash out of the hold again, but goes back to the same strategy of shoving Stuart off to the ropes. Which is successful, but Stuart has to duck Fleihr's attempt at a clothesline, and then a back elbow. On the third bounce, Fleihr bends down for a back bodydrop but then he feels a breeze go by him as Stuart leaps over him with a leapfrog. He lands behind Fleihr and spins 180 and if you can't guess what comes next, shame on you.

 

Fleihr looks up to see his partners hurriedly pointing behind him, sending warnings his way. Tentatively, he turns around and barely has time to see Stuart's arm wrap him in... yes, another headlock! Stuart avoids further counters by twisting his body and bringing the Norseman leader to the mat with a takedown. Fleihr twists and turns and contorts... which eventually allows him to place an ankle on the nearest bottom rope, which forces the break.

 

"It's certainly been an interesting month for Tod Stuart." notes Mak Francis. "Everybody's still reeling from that thrilling title victory against Va'aiga. And Stuart's assured us that he wasn't going to rest on that victory alone, he plans to defend the championship against all comers. But first, he felt his students all deserved their share of the spotlight, which led us to this 10-man tag match."

 

Both men are back up. Stuart gets set to tie into another collar-and-elbow, but Fleihr greets him with a knee to the stomach. He then rears back and connects with a stinging knife edge chop!

 

“WØØØ!! Top THAT, son!" hoots the Norseman.

 

Fleihr's request is responded in force by the champion, with a barrage of elbows to the side of the head! Rather than opt for an Irish whip, Stuart traps Fleihr in an armtwist and backtracks towards his own corner. He extends his hand behind him, where Antonio Carson is the first to reach it and tags in.

 

"Here we go, our first look at the Wrestling Clinic." states Mak. "Antonio Carson, 5'11", 230, also a Toronto native. Studied a few years at York University before finally taking the big leap and training to become a professional wrestler. Carson is an interesting mix of agility and speed with a dash of power thrown in. Let's find out what he's got."

 

While Stuart regains his corner, Carson takes over the armtwist on the ever-begging off Fleihr. He teases a straight right hand to the head, but a warning from Brian Warner is enough to deter him. Instead, he rears back with the point of his right elbow... and unleashes a barrage of elbow thrusts down on Fleihr's arm! He punctuates the assault with a crisp armdrag that leaves Fleihr disoriented. Once he regains his feet, Stuart captures him in an Irish whip to the ropes, and connects with a Picture Perfect dropkick! Carson lands on top with a lateral press.

 

"One!"

 

 

"Two!"

 

 

"Fleihr gets the shoulder up on the first pinfall attempt of this match." notes Mak.

 

Bringing Fleihr back up to his feet, Carson traps him in another armtwist and drags him to the Canadian corner in order to tag in the elder Jones brother: Michael. Jones does a quick vault over the top rope, and offers a heavy toe kick to Fleihr's sternum. He further immobilizes him with an armtwist, which he converts into an Irish whip to the ropes. Jones welcomes Fleihr with another toe kick to the stomach, and immediately dashes towards the ropes in front of him. Bouncing back, he leaps off his feet and cracks Fleihr's face to the mat with a one-handed bulldog! Instead of opting for a cover, he reaches towards his corner and tags in younger brother Matthew. While he's climbing to the top rope, Michael brings Fleihr back to his feet and traps him in yet another armtwist that Fleihr must be getting pretty tired of having done to him by now. But this is purely to immobilize the Norseman, which allows Matthew to leap off the ropes and hit a double stomp to Fleihr's wrist! While Fleihr drops to his knees and winces in agony, Matthew first treats the crowd to an energetic pump of the fist and continues the offense with a series of forearm blows to the head. Backed up to the ropes, Fleihr is peeled into another Irish whip, but has presence of mind enough to reverse it. Sending the young Canadian to the ropes instead, Fleihr catches him with a hiptoss attempt but Matthew blocks it! With a cocky smirk and a

 

"No! Way! SAH!"

 

and a ruffle of Fleihr's blond locks; Jones leaps off his feet, wraps his legs around Fleihr's neck and takes him down with a hurracanrana! Fleihr struggles back up, only to walk into an armdrag!

 

Another!

 

And another!

 

Matthew looks to cap off the offense with another leaping rana, but Fleihr has had just about enough of these young punks and buries a pair of fingers in the younger Jones' eyes and rakes them to regain the advantage. Cradling his aching arm, Fleihr walks over to his corner and tags in the flashy showman of the Norsemen, Tolland Blankhardt. He wastes no time neutralizing Jones with a series of hard right hands to the head, which are enough to bring the Canadian to his knees. Grabbing hold of his weakened opponent, Blankhardt lifts up Jones and deposits him back to the mat with a scoop slam. Bending his arm, he aims the point of his elbow on the general vicinity of Jones' body and proceeds to drop a series of elbows to the sternum. He caps this off with a short jog to the ropes and a leaping elbow that drives the air out of the Canadian. Blankhardt lands on top with a nonchalant lateral press.

 

"One!"

 

 

"Two!"

 

 

Blankhardt scoffs at Jones' shaking fist and muscles up the kid, only to bring him to a neutral corner and ground him with a snapmare. He further stuns him with a boot to the side of the head. Stepping over him, he hops up to the second rope. After a quick bicep flex and basking in his allies' applause, Blankhardt leaps off with another attempted elbow, and yes, the pool is empty. Matt Jones has rolled aside in time and Blankhardt is cradling his arm in agony in what is slowly becoming a theme for the Wrestling Clinic. Jones capitalizes on his opponent by hammering him with several forearm shots, which serve to back the Finn into the corner. With an Irish whip well in hand, Blankhardt takes the forced trip to the opposite corner. Heeding his trainer's teachings of not wasting too much time, Jones quickly charges ahead. Seconds before impact, Jones leaps while doing a 180 and tucking in his limbs; resulting in a corner cannonball! With a mocking goodbye wave of the hand, Jones watches Blankhardt collapse to the mat, where's in perfect position to receive a flipping legdrop to the head! He shifts to a pincover, hooking the leg.

 

"One!"

 

 

"Two!"

 

Blankhardt kicks out and quickly retreats to the safety of his corner. Jones looks to follow up, but finds the image of Blankhardt begging off. Jones effectively takes the bait as he steps in to further his offense, but Blankhardt has both hands around his ring wear and yanks Jones into the turnbuckles. Under the watchful eye of the referee, the other three Norsemen (and ol' Legs) throw their hands up defensively while Blankhardt hammers Matthew with a series of back elbows. He then steps off for a second to stave off Warner's five-count, only to resume his dirty ways by wrapping his hand around Matthew's throat and squeeze away. Once again, Brian Warner is consistent with his warning. And right at the 4 count, Blankhardt releases his chokehold and directs Warner's attention to the Canadian corner. This gives the remaining Norsemen the opportunity to choke, claw and punch away at the helpless Matthew, which draws the ire of the Wrestling Clinic. Brian Warner now has to deal with Tara McGovney raging on the apron, Michael trying to enter the ring, a yelling Antonio and a seething Daniel. Although he doesn't say anything, our stoic champion can't be approving of this situation either...

 

Their damage done, the Norsemen release Matthew from the corner, letting him collapse to the mat and allowing Warner to put his foot down and return to the match. Catching his breath, Blankhardt extends his hand and tags in the largest Norseman: Arne Andersen. Switching places with his ally, Arne wastes no time as he drops a heavy knee to Matthew's ribs. After adding a few stomps for good measure; Andersen brings Jones to his feet, wraps him in a reverse gutwrench and cracks him in half with a backbreaker! He lands on top and half-heartedly hooks a leg.

 

"One!"

 

 

"Two!"

 

 

"Th-"

 

Following the kickout, Andersen contains any possible resurgences as he wraps his massive arms around Matthew's midsection and squeezes in a bearhug.

 

"Ya gotta hand it to Stuart's rag-tag little group of curtain jerkers." says Suicide King. "I kinda expected them to let the more established Stuart or Smith handle the brunt of the workload, figuring they'd coast through their first match relatively unscathed."

 

"Stuart's been in for all of 30 seconds at the beginning, but it's mostly been Carson and the Jones brothers." adds Mak Francis. "And right now, Matt Jones is in there taking the best that the Norsemen can offer and he's impressively hanging in there."

 

"This is mainly because of that hair thing Matty did earlier. Rik Fleihr doesn't really like it when opponents "get cute" with him. And now, experts at this that they are, the Norsemen are gonna cut the ring in half and utterly destroy this kid's dreams at the big time before our very eyes."

 

"Let's not forget that Legs Flamingo is also in this contest." reminds Mak.

 

"Yeah, what the hell is he even doing there? The only thing he and the Norsemen probably have in common would be him and Helle using the same bathroom to freshen up. This just reeks of another one of Landon's genius booking methods of throwing the proverbial crap on the wall and seeing what sticks."

 

Under the Clinic's urgings, the crowd had taken to encourage Jones with a dose of rhythmic clapping and foot stomping to motivate him into mounting a counterattack. After a solid minute of straining to stay alive in the bearhug, Jones repays the fans' support as he rears back and begins punching away at Andersen's head. That loosens the hold, but Jones takes it one step further to break it as he stuns the Norseman with an old-fashionned bell clap on the ears! Free from his predicament, Jones tosses himself into the ropes. We never find out his intentions, as Arne catches him on the rebound with a massive spinebuster! With a swoop of each hands in unison, Arne signals his intention to end this match early as he lays on top with a lateral press.

 

"One!"

 

 

"Two!"

 

 

"Thr--"

 

Brian Warner has to interrupt his count once he spots Tod Stuart dropping an elbow on the back of Andersen's head! Receiving the proper warning, Stuart locks eyes with opposition while backing away to his corner. Meanwhile, Arne brings Jones up to his feet, while tagging in his brother Olaf. The Andersen brothers each grab one of Jones' arms and peel him off the ropes in a double Irish whip. Bouncing off, Jones is doubled over once he receives the business end of two Norseman boots to the midsection. Grabbing each a handful of hair, the Andersens forcefully slam the back of Matthew's head on the canvas! Before the referee warns Arne to leave, Arne grabs his brother in a full nelson... but this is purely so that Olaf can launch into taunting theatrics and land a hard kick to the midsection, followed by a DDT. Arne retreats to his corner while Olaf rolls on top of Jones for the pin.

 

"One!"

 

 

"Two!"

 

 

"Th-"

 

Warner's count is once again interrupted, this time by Antonio Carson delivering a basement dropkick to Olaf's head! The smallest Norseman is stunned by the blow as he rolls off his opponent. Seeing neither man on his feet, Brian Warner begins his count.

 

"Oooone!"

 

 

 

"Twoooo!"

 

 

 

"Threeee!"

 

 

 

"Fooouuur!"

 

Both men begin to stir, as Olaf is quicker to begin the climb back up to his feet.

 

"Fiiiive!"

 

Matthew begins to take a knee, while Olaf is back up, thus interrupting the count. Olaf rears back with a mighty right hand, but Jones blocks and nails his own! Olaf gives it another go, but Jones blocks and punches him again. This time, Olaf is too dazed to try it again, which leads to Jones hammering him with a short series of forearms. He peels off the Norseman in an Irish whip that gets suddenly reversed. Jones ducks under a clothesline, and then a back elbow attempt. On the third bounce, Olaf tries to catch him in a sidewalk slam, but it gets countered into a flying headscissors! The fire coming back inside him, Jones is back on his feet with a mighty double pump of the fists and ready to go on the offense.

 

Sadly, those plans are cancelled when Olaf rakes him in the eyes.

 

Jones, thrashing on the mat and clutching his damaged oculars, is helpless as Olaf forcefully brings him to the second rope and begins choking him with the aid of the strand. Breaking at the referee's count of 4, Olaf first treats the crowd to an Up Yours gesture, and then leaps over the ropes and lands on the apron with a legdrop to the back of Matthew's head! This is known as the Crescent Moon. Returning to the ring, Olaf shoves Jones' carcass back to center ring and taunts his opponent into tagging out. In doing this, he takes a second to turn to his corner and bask in his allies' praises and the crowd's disdain.

 

"Typical Norseman strategy." says King. "They got the match at the pace they want it at, and they're gonna take their time taking apart the Clinic one by one."

 

"Olaf is the more braggadocious of the group." reminds Mak. "He has been prone to overconfidence in the past, and has made mistakes that cost the Norsemen."

 

Tonight is a good night for Olaf Andersen. Facing opponents he deems inferior and taking delight in doing so. His three regular partners remind him so with confident applause and thumbs up. At first he's wondering why Legs Flamingo is tapping Rikard Fleihr on the shoulder and pointing at the opposite side of the ring. And also wondering about the crowd's sudden increase in noise. But then, the horrified faces of the Norsemen once they realize the situation soon tell the story.

 

"Oh crap..." says King.

 

"Mistakes," continues Mak. "Like not realizing that your odds have just taken a hell of a nosedive. Ladies and gentlemen, Matt Jones has tagged in Daniel Smith. And if I may borrow the expression: shit's on."

 

Finally turning around to see the massive Daniel Smith standing in front of him, Olaf Andersen's face is an incredible combination of fear and confidence. Kicking fear aside and shoveling on confidence, Olaf charges ahead with a mighty roar... but is met with Smith's hand around his throat! In a vain effort to free himself, Olaf has to wait for Tolland Blankhardt to run in for the save attempt, only to be met in the face with Smith's boot. Arne is next in, but he won't get to do a damn thing because Antonio Carson plows into him with a tackle that sends both men out of the ring! Once the distractions subside, Smith is finally free to imprint Olaf into the mat with his seated chokeslam, the Miracle On Yonge Street. He wanted to add the double chest slap, but he has to move aside and watch Rik Fleihr drop an elbow by mistake on his partner! For his troubles, Fleihr receives an unforgiving Domi Special: he gets whipped to the corner, squashed with a corner splash, taken down with a short-arm clotheslin and receiving an elbow drop to the chest. This is enough to raise the ire of the flame-haired Helle at ringside, who has taken to removing her heeled shoes and climbing on the apron. But before, Brian Warner can admonish her for doing so, Tara McGovney takes it upon herself to do it! The Clinic's lone female student yanks Helle's feet out from under her!

 

"Let's go, honey!"

 

Trapped in a headlock, Helle is forced to hear the crowd cheer as Tara drags her back to the dressing room area. Meanwhile, back in the ring, Smith has control over the Norseman leader. With Fleihr trapped in a front facelock, Smith tags in his regular partner; Tod James Stuart. Fleihr gets sent by Smith to the ropes with a whip. Bouncing back, he gets taken down face first with a drop toehold. Varying from the usual version of the move, Smith remains on all fours while immobilizing Fleihr's legs. This gives Stuart enough space to boost himself off his partner's back and land an extra-high elbow drop to the back of Fleihr's head!

 

"Impressive height by the champion!" says Mak. "They've been working on the one recently, they call this the CN Tower Leap!"

 

"How dreadfully cute." deadpans King.

 

While Smith regains his corner, Stuart creeps up behind Fleihr... and throws the hands up. The crowd cheers in expectation of the Silent Scream... but Stuart can't help but be distracted at the referee's prodding and wild gesticulating.

 

"What!!" offers the annoyed champion.

 

"HE'S legal!!" replies the official, while pointing at the Norseman corner.

 

Everybody's attention turns to the corner and we see... Legs Flamingo. Dancing. Instant Replay reveals that while Daniel Smith was dealing with Rik Fleihr, Olaf Andersen's was crawling to his corner and tagged in an unsuspecting Legs. Despite his protests, the numbers game dictated that he was entering the ring whether he liked it or not. Turning the negative into a positive, he saw the opportunity to share the ring with the fun-loving champion and Just Felt Like Dancing. And indeed, Stuart offers an amused smirk at the spectable before him, even slightly bobbing his head. Performing a full rotation and splits, Legs points at Stuart and invites him to show what he's got. Instead, Stuart replies by pointing at his watch and a "Let's move this along" motion. He stops Legs' show with a kick to the midsection. He appropriates him in the Burning Hammer fireman's carry, sweeps out his legs and slams him with the Brain Go Splat! Rather than go for the surefire win, he backs up to his corner and slaps hands with both Jones brothers, aided by a "Go up!" gesture.

 

The brothers obey as they each dash to a separate neutral corner, climbing up a set of turnbuckles each. In a perfect display of coordination, the brothers leap at the same time. Michael is the perfect image of a flying splash, while Matthew morphs into a flying legdrop. The result is a thunderous impact on Legs Flamingo, the first official victim of the SkyDome Assault! The Joneses stay on top of him while the official is in position.

 

"One!"

 

 

"Two!"

 

 

"Three!!"

 

 

The bell rings as the Bon Jovi mix fires up for the second time. The men (and woman) in blue & white re-enter the ring while Funyon makes it official.

 

"Here are your winners: The Wrestliiiiing - Cliniiiic!"

 

"Another victorious night for our new World Champion." notes Mak Francis. "And for the G.T.A. Fight Team and for the Wrestling Clinic. Coming up later tonight, we'll find out just who may become Stuart's first ever challenger when Michael Alexander collides with Luke Breslin for a shot at the title down the line."

 

The Clinic's celebration is not unlike its founder himself: modest, but proud. Trading chest slaps and man-hugs, Tod Stuart steps aside so that his students can have their first taste of the winning spotlight.

 

For him, a new challenger awaits...

[King Cucaracha 0]

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome back to the Spokane Arena. Up next, we have a tag match that tries to take care of more than one pair of unfinished business.”

 

“That's our booking committee. Efficient and ruthless. Like the Dutch!”

 

Mak Francis looks at his broadcast partner quizzically, but there are some things that aren't worth the time to question. Besides, who knows. He might be right. He's been around; he's seen things.

 

“Thoth, since returning to the SWF in strong fashion, has put losses and disappointing finishes onto his record. On our last broadcast, he couldn't even end a match against Dance Dance Dragon cleanly. Some of this can directly be attributed to the... bumbling antics of his longtime partner, Nathaniel Kibagami. Well, tonight, he has a new partner in Mister Bruner.”

 

“Weighing in at over 450 pounds,” adds the Suicide King, “Tracey Bruner's style can be considered the polar opposite of Kibagami's. Whereas Kibagami spazzes out and occasionally finds a bone, as it were, Bruner is more of a slow, intimidation, punch you once so you don't need to be punched again, kind of person.”

 

“How are those polar opposites?” Suicide King only shrugs as “Call the Ambulance” starts to play.

 

“God, what a man,” mutters King, as Bruner steps from behind the curtain, out into the gleaming spotlights. “Look at how he's built.” Indeed, it is so. Bruner is one of the largest men to ever compete in the history of the SWF. And he carries himself like he knows it; his methodical walk to the ring designed to strike awe and fear into the hearts of the fans. And should any opponent be standing in the ring as he makes his approach, that man would tremble.

 

Luckily for them, Bruner is making his entrance first today. However, what fortitude must it take to walk toward the ring to face such a man?

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, this tag team match is scheduled for one fall! First, from Brooklyn, New York, weighing-” Funyon speaks the next couple words with emphasis- “Four hundred and fifty five pounds... Misssssster Bruner!”

 

By now, Bruner has entered the ring. The glasses stay on, held tightly in place. Who knows what we would see if we were to look in his eyes. What is he thinking? The music fades as the first of many of this match's X-factors are introduced.

 

“You've got the touch... You've got the powerrrr... YEAH!”

 

“And introducing his partner, from Kobe Japan, weighing in at 251 pounds... THOTH!”

 

Thoth is once again being accompanied to the ring by crazy whackjob, Nathaniel Kibagami. However, the former Balancer's attention is not on the serpentine machinations of a crack addicted baby. No, today they are on the man who will be his partner in the first tag team match he has had since his return to the SWF. A man he is not familiar with, which means a man who trust could be precariously misplaced. Oh well, at least he's more about business than the guy who is wearing two different socks. Thoth steps through the ropes, eyeing his partner. The wrestling ring is full of strange times, and who knows what this large... incredibly large man will do. Bruner reciprocates by craning his neck slowly, very slowly, to peer at Thoth. Bruner doesn't really seem to like Thoth's attitude, but he'll tolerate it for the time being. At least, that's the impression Thoth is getting.

 

“And introducing their opponents, first... blah blah blah... Dance... Dance... Dragon!”

 

“Triple D is certainly looking for revenge after Thoth ended their match prematurely, and added insult to injury by having Kibagami count a fall!”

 

But revenge is not enough excuse for a FREAKING CHOREOGRAPHED DANCE INTRO SAY WHAAAAAAAAAAT?!

 

Yeah, say what. No matter the occasion, no matter the injuries or vendetta, there must always be a hot thumping dance intro that is perfectly in tune and sync. No exceptions allowed, for what then is Dance Dance Dragon?

 

Just another dragon. But this dragon dances his ass down to the ring, and pops onto the apron, just stopping short of bouncing through the ropes. Thoth may have gone to the outsides of the ring, but Mister Bruner remains a solid, imposing force within it. Dance Dance Dragon awaits his backup.

 

Courtney Love indirectly announces the entrance of the dancing lizard's partner. Taiga Star enters the sight of the arena goers, sporting a neoprene cast that matches the rest of her black outfit. Taiga walks down the ring, a scowl pasted across her face. She rubs her hand across the length of the cast, feeling its unnatural toughness, impliability. For the first time since suffering the injury, she stands an entry ramp's length from the man that caused her injury. For his part, Thoth tries to put Bruner between him and her, as if he were a column in an ancient building. Dance Dance Dragon smiles. What they lack in size, they make up for in sheer motivation to win. Taiga will take her pound of flesh, just mere minutes from now.

 

“This match contains a lot of those combustible elements we're all fond of. Thoth is the one that's handcuffed to the powder keg, and Taiga Star is holding the match. And... Dance Dance Dragon breathes fire.”

 

“Nice save, Mak. Would have said it if you didn't. Hopefully for Thoth, Bruner can play some part in the stop, drop, and roll equation.”

 

Taiga enters the ring, trying to move towards Thoth's position on the outside. Unfortunately, Bruner isn't budging for anyone. She backs off to confer with triple D about the opening moments of the match. Thoth hops up onto the apron, but remains there, looking up longingly at his partner as if to say, “Please, please, please start the match.”

 

Bruner continues his stance until such time as the bell rings, wherein he removes his outer jacket. His nostrils flare as he takes the first visible breath in some time. This motion, this gesture, is not wasted. When you are as large as Mister Bruner... expectations are different. You have to pick your spots. A mystique of fear needs to remain feared.

 

Taiga Star decides to start the match, the desire to perform, compete, and smack a few heads around bouncing around inside her like a superball... even if she's going to have to jump really high to smack that head. Bruner drops into a shallow crouch and spreads his arms wide. With wide height comes wide wingspan. If he can corner her, he can dismantle her. Bruner maneuvers with the ultimate goal of controlling more than half of the ring. Taiga holds her stance, her demeanor, but the aura that Bruner projects, one that says “Your bones will be broken” pushes her back reluctantly. Back, until she flinches from her back pressing against the turnbuckle. Taiga leans back. The shadow looms over her as Bruner's massive frame blots out the spotlights. He rears forward to snatch her up, but Taiga tucks and rolls, getting behind the big man, and creating open space for her to run around in. Mister Bruner whirls around with frightening speed, but Taiga is already moving in, having created her opening. She aims pointed kicks at Bruner's legs, getting some loud smacks, and drawing “Ooh's” from the crowd.

 

Unfortunately, it is a little known fact that the louder a kick to the leg is, it means the less force that is being delivered to the target. A truly good leg kick is quiet, other than the soft thunk of the kick connecting with the meat of the target's thigh. The kicks stumble Bruner, but do not topple him, as he whirls around and strikes Taiga with the tip of his hand. The blow does not cripple, but it stings; and Taiga Star is knocked off balance. All the impetus Tracey Bruner needs to hit a short-distance lariat, knocking down Taiga Star.

 

“The large size of Tracey Bruner is too much for Taiga Star's attempted offense. Rapid fire strikes will slow him down, but will not stop him,” shouts Mak Francis, as Bruner goes to work stomping on the black cast of Taiga Star. She tries to wrench and hide it from his assailant, but he continues to stomp away on it, focusing Taiga's attention on the pulsing pain, while Thoth jumps with excitement at that all the heavy lifting is being done for him. Bruner rears back into the ropes, which propel him forward with enough speed to allow him to jump suddenly, dropping a vicious, meaty leg on the cast. He leans over and tries a cover, and gets one... two... but Taiga lifts her shoulder, a place where Mister Bruner did not have full coverage. Bruner scowls, and lifts Taiga up by her hair. He shoves her back, and at the same time, grabs on to her casted arm, hurling her headlong toward the ropes. She bounces back helplessly into Bruner's raised boot, and falls hard onto her back. Bruner shrugs his shoulders as he bounces off the ropes near his corner and-

 

Thoth slaps his partner's back, hard. The referee claps his hands once, signifying a tag has been made.

 

“Thoth is tagging himself into this match... I don't really know if that's a good idea.” Bruner stops suddenly in his tracks, as Thoth hops through the ropes, patting his tag team partner and the back and grinning broadly. Bruner scowls, almost ready to take his partner's head off... and... he thinks better of it. Let it be known that Bruner has Mercy, and he chooses to use it. Thoth attacks rapidly and furiously, his lack of focus offset by the fact that Bruner already softened her up.

 

“Thoth can lay the boots in now that Bruner's done all the heavy lifting, it seems,” says Mak Francis, condescendingly. The Suicide King offers a counterpoint: “It's a tag match. Not to mention that Mister Bruner clearly has offensive capabilities that Thoth does not. It really is in Thoth's best interest to pick his spots.”

 

Thoth moves closer on his downed prey, wrenching the left arm back until it reaches the tension point in the shoulder. He leans on it, then puts pressure farther down the arm, at the point of the cast. Taiga cries out, unable to move her arm to relieve the pressure; the pain. She kicks her legs, trying to get away, but Thoth has the hold cinched in tight. No one is going anywhere; the referee asks Taiga Star if she wants to give it up. She shakes her head while breathing heavily, trying to keep her focus in check while Thoth continues to apply pain. She reaches over with her other arm and plasters Thoth in the face. He doesn't release the hold, but the second fist catches Thoth in the point of the jaw, and he reels back, his arms going slack. Taiga gets to her feet as Thoth backpedals into the corner, trying to shake off his temporary limb paralysis. A good shot to the chin can rattle the nerves, the electrical pathways from the brain to the extremities. Thoth tries to get to his feet, but Taiga has already closed the distance in the corner.

 

“With all the damage to her arm, Taiga should seriously consider tagging out and recovering. But I don't think she's going to pass up this chance for revenge,” analyzes Mak.

 

Thoth gets up to a standing position, only to be doubled over by a practiced shoulderblock to the gut. Taiga backs up, her feet not moving as fast as her mind wants them to. She wants to deliver another shoulder before the previous one has even connected, but to do them properly, she has to build up some space, some running room. Three shoulders connect, and now four, and now the wind has been taken out of Thoth; his shaky legs not able to hold him up. He looks longingly to Bruner, a “Why?” look pasted upon his face. Bruner, to his part, wears sunglasses. His eyes cannot be seen. The former Balancer's face is quickly obscured by Taiga's righteous, vengeful boot. It rubs viciously over the bridge of his nose, and the soft parts of his face. He can't even get his hands up to defend himself. Taiga grins, her eyes wide, savoring this. The feel of the hard boot against soft flesh... Taiga eagerly runs to the opposite corner, then charges back just as quickly, delivering one last boot to the face. Thoth falls over onto his side in the corner, and Taiga drags him out, and makes a cover. One... Two- Thoth kicks out. Without a single look of disappointment or disdain, Taiga lifts Thoth up, and throws a blow with her right hand. Thoth reels back, but Taiga steps in, and throws another right. This continues until Thoth is backed into a corner, to which he responds with a stinging slap to Taiga's face. The crowd reels, and Taiga looks like she's about to throw another fist, but he reaches around Thoth's face, and grabs a side headlock. Thoth holds his arms out, trying to gauge his position and range in regards to Taiga, then throws her off hard to into the ropes, crouching down, waiting for the rebound. Taiga goes high with a lariat, but Thoth goes low with a drop-toe hold. He floats around into a front chancery, leaning over and using his body weight to try and keep Taiga down. She gets up, fighting like a pitbull, and runs forward, realizing that the ring isn't infinite, eventually Thoth will be pressed against something. That just happens to be Dance Dance Dragon's corner, whom she tags in. Dragon comes in like the proverbial house afire, knocking Thoth down with several clotheslines before going for a passionate cover:

 

 

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

Thoth kicks out at two! Dragon beats Thoth to his feet and runs across the ring, catching Bruner off-guard with a sucker punch to the chin! Bruner begins to step over the ropes, but the referee rushes over to stop him from getting into the ring; with the referee distracted, Taiga enters the ring, and they both whip Thoth across the ring, lifting him off the canvas as he rebounds and dropping him with a double-hiptoss! Thoth’s momentum carries him into a sitting position, and then Taiga delivers a boot to the face, as Dragon delivers a kick to the back! Taiga steps back out of the ring, just as Referee turns back around and falls atop him to apply a lateral press:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

KICKOUT!

 

 

 

 

“The referee shouldn’t have even counted that!” bellows King, as Dragon pulls Thoth to his feet. “That pin attempt only happened as the result of illegal double-teaming!” Dragon backs Thoth against the ropes and grabs him by the wrist to whip him across the ring, but Thoth reaches back with his free arm and successfully makes a blind tag to the long arm of Mister Bruner. Thoth reverses the whip attempt and lowers his head to deliver a back-bodydrop as Dragon comes off the ropes; the Bemani Bruiser easily evades him with a running leapfrog, but he inadvertently jumps right into the waiting arms of Mister Bruner, who holds him captive in a bearhug as Thoth runs to the ropes, leaping into the air as he rebounds, and drives a running high knee into Dragon’s back!

 

“Tremendous teamwork right there!” shouts Mak, as Bruner pulls Dragon to his feet. “He leaped right into Mister Bruner, who had already legally made the tag… And now, he’s in trouble!” Bruner drags Dragon over to the edge of the ring and drapes his neck over the middle rope and leans into him with his massive girth until the referee gets to a count of four.

 

“Well, we know that Bruner’s going to want to dish out as much punishment as possible,” says King, as Bruner pulls Dragon to his feet and off the canvas, before forcefully driving him back down with a scoop slam; he jogs towards the edge of the ring and leaps into the air as he bounces off the ropes, arm extended to deliver an elbow drop, but Dragon rolls out of the way and scrambles over to his corner to tag in Tagia Star! The Haverhill Hellcat enters the ring and darts over to Bruner, catching him while he is still on his knees with a running kneelift; her momentum carries her through to the edge of the ring, where she bounces off the ropes, this time driving a running high knee to the side of the still-kneeling Bully’s head! Taiga runs past Bruner to the ropes again, leaping into the air as she rebounds to snare the disoriented big man by the back of the head and drive him face-first into the canvas with a short bulldog!

 

“This could be upset city!” shouts King, as Taiga falls atop Bruner for a cover, but Bruner kicks out forcefully before the referee can even get in position to count the shoulders, sending her flying across the ring. The Anti-Diva, not to be deterred, runs over to Bruner and clubs him in the back of the neck with an overhead forearm smash!

 

“Well, Taiga’s certainly got the right idea with trying to keep Bruner from getting back to his vertical base,” notes Mak, as Bruner shoves her backwards to get her clear of him.

 

“Positively,” agrees King, as Taiga responds with a running dropkick to the face. “I mean, she can’t compete, strength-wise, either way, but as long as she can keep Bruner from taking advantage of his size, she’s at least got a chance to try and wear him down a little bit.” Taiga hammers Bruner in the side of the head for all she’s worth, trying in vain to prevent him from getting back to his feet. With a last-ditch attempt to catch Bruner before he re-establishes his vertical base, the Haverhill Hellcat runs to the edge of the ring, ducking a clothesline as she bounces off the ropes, and then leaping into the air as she rebounds a second time, only for Bruner to catch her in the middle of her would-be cross-body block attempt, like she were nothing. He turns around as he contemplates how badly he’s going to demolish her…

 

 

WHAM!

 

 

… And Dance Dance Dragon leaps from the top turnbuckle with a missile dropkick to Taiga’s back that sends them both falling backwards! The referee counts the shoulders:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

“He should not even be counting that!” roars King

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

Bruner kicks out forcefully at two!

 

 

 

 

“He should not even have counted that!” snaps King. “That pin only came as the result of an illegal double-team maneuver!” Taiga beats Bruner to his feet and runs to the edge of the ring, leaping off the canvas as she bounces off the ropes…

 

 

BANG!

 

 

… But this time, the Bully snatches her out of the air with a bearhug, and quickly spikes her to the canvas with a spinebuster! Bruner staggers over to the corner and tags Thoth back into the ring; the former Balancer runs into the ring and begins to deliver kicks to Taiga’s upper body with reckless abandon! Thoth then measures Taiga for an elbow smash! He gets back to his feet and steps on her face, making a double biceps pose as he waits for the referee to count:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

Taiga kicks out at two! Thoth makes the quick tag to Bruner who, replenished by the mystical rejuvenative properties of the ring apron, returns to the ring; the former Balancer holds Taiga against the ropes as Bruner runs across the ring, leaping into the air as he rebounds to crush Taiga against the ropes!

 

 

“Whoa!” shouts Mak, as Bruner pulls Taiga up for a scoop slam. “We’ll be lucky if the ring stays together, with moves like that!” Bruner pulls Tagia to her feet and tags Thoth back in; the Bully holds her in place as Thoth measures her for a standing sidekick that knocks her flat!

 

“And this is the sort of double-teaming that the Dragon and Taiga had to avoid,” says King. “And now, they’re caught. They could run, but they couldn’t hide forever!” Thoth measures Taiga for another elbow drop, and then remains nonchalantly in that prone position, with just his elbow covering her, as the referee makes his count:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

Taiga kicks out at two! Thoth gets to his feet and makes another quick tag, as Taiga attempts to crawl over to her corner; he then grabs her by the hair and pulls her to her feet, whipping her into a neutral corner as Bruner returns to the ring. The bodyguard grabs Thoth by the wrist and whips him into the corner after her, where he blasts her in the face with a running forearm smash in the corner, and then grabs her by the back of the head, shoving her back towards the center of the ring…

 

 

WHAM!

 

 

… Where the Bully levels her with a big boot! Bruner pulls her to her feet, only to take her over with a snapmare, pointing her towards her own corner.

 

“This really is unnecessary,” complains Mak, as Bruner grips underneath Taiga’s chin and applies a neck vice. “They already have the match in their favor, and they should be continuing with the double-team moves they’ve been doing. Why is Mister Bruner taunting Dance Dance Dragon like this?”

 

The taunting which Mak is referring to refers to the way that Mister Bruner is presently holding onto Taiga’s wrist with his free hand, while still maintaining control of his modified neck vice, and waving it towards her corner, just out of reach of her tag team partner.

 

“Well, they don’t call him the Bully because he needed another nickname,” says King.

 

“Come on!” Bruner barks at Dragon. “Why don’t you tag your partner?” Dragon reaches out as far as he can, but Bruner holds Taiga’s arm just out of his grasp; Dragon decides to try a different tactic, leaning through the ropes to give himself a better chance of reaching his partner…

 

 

WHAM!

 

 

… And Bruner takes his hand off of Taiga’s chin, and lunges forward to sucker-punch Dragon with a right cross to the jaw!

 

 

“Beautiful move by Mister Bruner!” praises King. “He played Dragon like a tune there!” As the referee keeps an agitated Dragon from entering the ring, Bruner drags Taiga over to his corner, and instructs Thoth to hold her up; the former Balancer grabs Taiga from behind as Bruner runs across the ring…

 

 

WHAM!

 

 

… And runs into his partner, as the Haverhill Hellcat pulls herself free in time!

 

 

YEAAAAAAAAAAH!

 

 

Bruner turns to locate Taiga and runs towards him, but she rolls out of reach and over to her corner, where she makes a desperate lunging tag to the Dragon! The Bemani Bruiser leaps into the fray, bounding to the top turnbuckle and diving into the ring with a missile dropkick that sends Bruner stumbling backwards into his corner, where he makes the tag to Thoth; Thoth surges into the ring, but the Strong-Style Party Animal sidesteps him, lowering his head as Thoth bounces off the ropes, and sending the former Balancer hurtling through the air with a big back-bodydrop! Dragon pulls Thoth to his feet and leads him over to the neutral corner, where he straddles the middle ropes, and signals the crowd to count along with a ten-punch!

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

THREE!

 

 

FOUR!

 

 

FIVE!

 

 

SIX!

 

 

SEVEN!

 

 

EIGHT!

 

 

NINE!

 

 

TEN!

 

 

Dragon then hops back down to the canvas and signals Taiga, who has herself been revitalized by the apron, into the ring to help him; they each grab one of Thoth’s arms, and whip him across the ring to the other turnbuckles, grabbing him as he bounces out of the corner to whip him back to the corner he started in!

 

“Now where’s the referee’s count in all this?” bellows King. Taiga and Dragon whip Thoth across the ring once more, and then link arms to run towards the former Balancer, and knock him off his feet with a double clothesline! Dragon drops down for a cover:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

THR— NO!

 

 

 

 

“I can’t believe that the referee even counted that!” grips King, as the referee orders Taiga back onto the apron. “I am so sick of this biased officiating, allowing pinfalls off of blatant double-teaming!” Dragon pulls Thoth to his feet and whips him across the ring, but the former Balancer reverses on him; Thoth runs over and leaps into the air to deliver a running high knee, but the Masked Dance Assassin ducks out of the way…

 

 

WHAM!

 

 

… Only for Thoth to spin around the moment his feet touch the canvas, and knock Dragon senseless with a rolling elbow! Rather than go for the pin, however, Thoth stumbles over to his corner and tags in the big man.

 

“Uh-oh!” groans Mak, as Bruner eases up onto the middle ropes. “That’s close to five hundred pounds up there!”

 

“If he hits this, it’s all over!” Bruner leaps from the turnbuckles, leg extended to deliver his patented guillotine legdrop…

 

“Bombs away!”

 

 

CRASH!

 

 

“He missed it!” shouts King, as Dragon rolls out of the way, crawling atop a stunned Bruner to try and steal the win:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

Bruner kicks out so aggressively at two that Dragon lands on his feet! The Bemani Bruiser runs to the ropes as Bruner gets to his feet, and leaps into the air, only for the Bully to trap him in a bearhug!

 

 

“Smart move by Bruner,” says King, as Dragon fights to try and get free. “By holding Dragon in this bearhug, he won’t be able to expand or contract his chest, therefore his muscles can’t get the oxygen he needs!” Dragon punches Bruner repeatedly in the side of the head, but the big man will not let go. Finally, Dragon slams both his hands to the sides of Bruner’s face in a bell clap, to get him to break the hold! Dragon rocks Bruner with multiple forearms to the chin, and then runs back to the ropes, leaping into the air as he rebounds and lands on Bruner’s shoulders; Bruner tries to get his feet underneath him, so that he can get Dragon into position for the powerbomb…

 

 

WHAM!

 

 

… But the Anti-Diva sneaks in from the apron and dives for the back of Bruner’s knee with a chop block, causing him to fall backwards, with Dragon landing in a seated position on his throat!

 

“What a nice move by Taiga Star!” cheers Mak. Taiga makes her way back to her corner, thinking that Dragon is going for a cover, but he taps her on the shoulder instead, gesturing towards their opponents’ corner.

 

“A nice move?” barks an incredulous King. “That’s the result of another illegal double-team!” Dragon and Taiga run across the ring and knock Thoth off the apron with a double running punch! “This is ridiculous!”

 

“Hey,” replies Mak, as Taiga and Dragon pull Bruner to his feet, “you’ve got five seconds to get in and out of there!” They whip him across the ring, ducking a double-clothesline as he rebounds, and then clipping him with a double-basement dropkick to the knees as he rebounds a second time!

 

“It’s been over five, Francis!” complains King, as Dragon positions himself in front of the kneeling Bruner with a three-quarter facelock. Taiga makes a base with her hands for Dragon to step onto, and then boots him backwards, as he sails overhead to drive Bruner backwards into the canvas with a Dance Dance DDT!

 

 

“Oh, has it?” Mak asks innocently. “I’ve lost track, who is the legal man, anyway?”

 

“Lookit, they’re still doing it!” gripes King, as Dragon runs to the ropes; Taiga lowers her shoulder as he rebounds and launches him into the air with a big back-body drop that sends Dragon crashing down on Bruner’s chest. “This is an atrocity!”

 

 

“Backdrop into a senton! Beautiful maneuver!” shouts Mak, as Dragon goes for a lateral press:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

TH—

 

 

 

 

Thoth dives in at the last second to break up the pinfall! Taiga runs over to intercept him, but the former Balancer sidesteps her, and uses her momentum to toss her over the top rope, and out to the floor!

 

 

“Yeah!” cheers King, as Dragon rolls out onto the apron. “Thoth’s giving them a taste of their own medicine!” Dragon climbs up to the top rope, and waits on Bruner to get back to his feet.

 

“Okay, so Thoth interfered to break up the count,” says Mak, as Thoth exits to the apron. “And, for a few seconds, you had everybody in there! So, who are you going to fault now?”

 

“Nobody,” replies King, as Dragon prepares to leap from the top rope, “but you can’t blame Thoth; these guys couldn’t compete with Thoth and Bruner one-on-one!” The Masked Dance Assassin leaps from the top rope and lands on Bruner’s shoulders, looking for a Dragonrana…

 

 

BANG!

 

 

… But the Bully sprawls out, and drives Dragon into the canvas with a fallaway powerbomb!

 

 

“Whoa!” shouts Mak. “He got caught in midair!”

 

 

“What a move by Mister Bruner,” adds King, as Bruner gets to his feet and stumbles over to his corner, making the tag.

 

“He could have covered him and had the pin right there,” croaks Mak, as Thoth rushes in to pick apart the leftovers; he lifts Dragon into a tombstone piledriver position, and then cradles the legs as he falls to his knees, driving Dragon headfirst into the canvas!

 

 

“Riot of the Blood!” shouts Mak, as Thoth slides his knee across Dragon’s throat, and the referee dives into position to make the count:

 

 

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

“Forget about it!” shouts King.

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

“This one’s over!” agrees Mak.

 

 

 

 

THREE!

 

 

 

 

DING! DING! DING!

 

 

 

 

“The Touch” begins to play again, as Thoth gets to his feet; the referee moves to raise both men’s hands in victory, but the Bully chases him off. Thoth, on the other hand, will gladly accept the honor.

 

“Very impressive win by Thoth and Mister Bruner,” says Mak. “Dance Dance Dragon and Taiga Star put up a good fight but, in the end, they were just too overmatched! Let’s get the official word!”

 

“Here are your winners,” booms Funyon, “the team of Thoth, and Big Bully BRUUUUUNER!”

 

 

“Looks like Dragon and Taiga are going to have to wait a little longer for their revenge,” says Mak. “We’ll get the ring cleared, and then we’ll be right back with more action!”

[King Cucaracha 0]

“In trying to figure out the intrigue and potential ramifications of this match, I seem to have forgotten how genuinely good it’s sure to be,” Mak Francis totes as the scene returns to The Spokane Arena. Mak and his partner relax at their announcers’ table as some fans fool around behind them.

 

“You’re thinking about the future, Mak. Let’s think about tonight,” King says.

 

“How can you not look deeper into this match? It’s layered with delicious plots.”

 

A bell rings through the arena as Metallica’s “For Whom the Bell Tolls” begins. Michael Alexander’s video montage plays on the big screen. Blue and white strobe lights dart over the crowd. Guitar breaks out and Michael Alexander emerges onto the stage.

 

“The following contest, scheduled for one fall, is a number one contender match for the World Championship!” Funyon announces. “Introducing first, from Greenville, South Carolina, weighing in at 221 pounds…. MICHAAAEL AAALEXAAANNDEERRR!

 

“There’s not as much going on as you’re making it sound like,” King critiques.

 

“Michael Alexander is a former World Champion. He won that championship quite quickly, by most standards. Luke Breslin is still somewhat new blood in this federation, and he’s already won the Tag Titles with his brother, Leo. Michael Alexander and partner MANSON defeated The Breslins at A Side Effect to Global Warming, cementing their place in the tag team division and proving to us that The Breslins are not an unstoppable team.”

 

By this time, Alexander is rolling into the ring. He finds his corner and lifts a boot onto the second turnbuckle to tighten his laces. He switches feet and repeats, all the while ignoring the booing crowd, a calm and collected look across his face.

 

“Luke gave up a shot at the World Championship at Genesis in order to challenge for, and consequently win, the Tag Titles. Now, a couple of months later, Luke is once again on the doorstep of the World Title, and Alexander is right there with him, also yearning the gold straps that Luke and his brother hold.”

 

ACDC’s “Thunderstruck” begins to pick up as Mak falls into silence. As the song quickens, Luke Breslin appears on stage, his gold strapped around his waist. He looks out over the crowd and points to different pockets of fans, screaming “THUNDER!” to them as he slowly descends the ramp.

 

“And his opponent,” Funyon begins, “hailing from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, weighing in at 256 pounds… he is one-half of the SWF Tag Team Champions… LUUUUKE BRREEEEESSLIIIIINN!”

 

“Okay, so there is some interesting back story here. But aside from the personal struggles to either regain or gain the World Title, these two men are two wonderful in-ring competitors, and I for one am looking forward to this match.”

 

“Do I still work here, Mak?”

 

“Yes. But I’m not sure why…”

 

Luke stands outside the ring and looks through the ropes at his opponent, still standing nonchalantly in his corner. The Tag Champion takes his strap off and slides it into his corner under the turnbuckle. Luke hops onto the apron and steps into the ring, remaining far from Alexander. Referee Sexton Hardcastle stands in the center of the ring, looking curiously back and forth between the two men. He finally signals for the bell.

 

*DING DING DING*

 

“Want to just take this one, Mak? You seem to be doing fine on your own, and I could go for a nap…”

 

“I’m curious to hear what you think of this match, King.”

 

“I think it’s a one-on-one match between Michael Alexander and Luke Breslin for a shot at the World Title.”

 

“You’re hopeless.”

 

After a brief stare down, Luke and Michael each take four big steps towards the center of the ring and lock into a collar-and-elbow tie-up. Alexander is able to slip out of Luke’s grip and slide under Luke’s extended arm, spinning around him to apply a waist lock. Luke grabs for Alexander’s hands to unlock them. His lower leg is hooked by Alexander, however, and the near-shove given to Luke manages to trip him and take him down. Alexander spins atop Luke’s back and places him in a headlock. Luke is able to get onto all fours. The leverage Alexander possesses keeps him in control for the time being.

 

“It’s hard to say who has the upper-hand on paper in this match,” Mak says.

 

“I think it’s Michael Alexander.”

 

“So you have an opinion now?”

 

“I have a desire to hear your voice less. So I’ll use mine more.”

 

Luke’s leg strength pulls him to his feet, but Alexander is able to hold a front face lock. Luke charges forward. The headlock breaks and Luke is quick to send a fist into Alexander’s ribcage. Another fist keels Alexander forward. Luke crouches a bit before exploding upward with a European uppercut. Alexander slouches in the corner as Luke backs up to the opposite corner. He runs across the ring and dips down just in time to connect with a spear, but Alexander slyly hops his BUTT onto the top turnbuckle. Luke’s shoulder goes between the turnbuckles and slams into the steel post. Alexander rolls over Luke’s back and pulls him down, attempting a quick rollup pin, but a weak grip allows Luke to roll out of it.

 

“Luke favoring that shoulder there…” Mak comments.

 

“Alexander’s up quick and… dropkick to the face of the seated Breslin!”

 

“Alexander is quick to grab that arm Luke slammed into the post and… lock in an arm bar.”

 

“And Luke is slithering and worming towards the ropes just like the… slithering wormy worm that he is.”

 

“If anyone’s a worm in this match, it’s Alexander. When it comes to Slaughterhouse Five, that’s a group of deviants.”

 

Luke does indeed worm his way to the ropes. Alexander’s hold, while technically flawless and surely painful, is not enough to contain Luke, the rest of his limbs and his core able to move him to safety. Referee Hardcastle hurries Alexander to release the arm bar. Alexander backs away. Luke uses the ropes to pull himself up. He practically leaps away from the rope and swings wildly at Alexander. The blocked punch evolves into a double arm wrench. Luke is bent awkwardly at the waist, trying to alleviate the pressure put on his slowly worsening shoulder.

 

“Michael Alexander is no deviant. He’s the Professor of Pain. And class has only just begun for Luke.”

 

“It looks like you have a favorite now.”

 

“I think I just remembered how predictable Luke Breslin is.”

 

Luke drops to his knees, willingly taking the pain for the opportunity to hack at Alexander’s legs, sweeping him off his feet and onto his back. Luke’s arm goes with him until the impact on the mat, at which point the hold is released. The awkward position above Alexander’s body doesn’t give Luke many choices. He instinctively mounts the chest and begins pummeling at Alexander’s face and skull. Alexander tries his best to block the punches, but the majority sneak through and deliver a hefty impact.

 

“Was that predictable?” Mak asks.

 

“No, but it’s boring.”

 

“What? You love when a person is pummeled.”

 

“The pummeler must be more interesting than the pummelee. That’s not the case.”

 

“Our crowd seemed to like it.”

 

The cheering crowd waits in anticipation as Luke pulls the weakened Alexander to his feet. He whips him into the ropes and waits for the return, flipping Alexander around and crushing him into the mat with a snap powerslam. Luke remains on top for the pin. Alexander kicks out just before two. He begins getting up on his own accordance, albeit a bit slower than Luke. Still, Alexander is able to stand toe-to-toe with Luke once again, but takes a raised knee to the gut. Luke is quick to wrap his arm over the bent head of his opponent, grabbing a bundle of waistband and snapping Alexander over with a suplex.

 

“Luke delivers these textbook moves, yes. You’ve got that much right, King. But he does so in such a deliberate, powerful fashion that even the most basic move can still pack a punch.”

 

“Let’s see what he has for us here… bounces off the ropes… up in the air… fist drop to Alexander’s skull.”

 

“And he’s pulling Alexander back to his feet, not going for the pin here…”

 

Luke whips Alexander across the ring and steps backwards to bounce off the opposite ropes. The two men meet in the middle again, this time Luke hopping off his feet again to deliver a high knee that catches Alexander in the chest, just under the chin. Alexander falls hard. He grabs at his chest. Luke heads to the apron and ascends the turnbuckles.

 

“Fans are looking forward to this as much as I am! Luke’s jumping from quite a distance here and… head-to-head?!” Mak exclaims.

 

“That flying headbutt… is a bust! Alexander snuck out of the way after Luke leapt!”

 

“And that… that was a long flight at top speed with a crash landing. The entire front of Luke’s body seemed to take that impact. He didn’t have the time necessary to pull his arms in, because Alexander snuck out that quickly.”

 

“The Mad Scientist is back on his feet!”

 

Luke is still writing in some considerable pain on the mat. The ensuing assault by Alexander sends all the pain throughout his body to one point. Alexander delivers stomp after stomp to Luke’s right shoulder. Any recovery allowed after the impact with the steel post and Alexander’s arm bar is flushed away as Alexander centralizes Luke’s pain. Luke’s face is painted red, his eyes squinting and his teeth gritting with each vicious boot to the joint. Even as Luke tries rolling out of the way, Alexander simply sends the boot in at a different angle, nailing the shoulder from a different direction and adding a deeper dimension of pain.

 

“This is bordering on assault,” Mak says.

 

“And that pummeling Luke dished out… that was okay?”

 

“This is cold and calculated. This is a straightforward attack on an important part of Luke’s arsenal. His whipping arm… his heavy-hitting arm… his Thunderstruck shoulder…”

 

“So you’re saying Alexander is a genius?”

 

“He’s… smart.”

 

The stomping relents as the crowd’s boos fill the arena. Luke finds himself on his left side, his right arm pressed firmly against his body. He’s rests near a set of ropes. Alexander makes his way onto the apron. His hands grip the top rope and he hops up to bounce off the second rope. Significant height, speedy descent, and beautiful aim makes for a flawless impact as Alexander’s feet fly between the bottom and middle rope, connecting with Luke’s right shoulder. Luke lets out a yell. Alexander finally lets go of the top rope and slides the rest of his body back into the ring. He gets to his feet and stands over Luke.

 

“Was that much more than an altered stomp?” Mak asks.

 

“Absolutely not. But it was pleasant to watch and served its purpose, yes?”

 

“He’s got a handful of Luke’s hair… pulling him up for more…”

 

“Applying the waistlock from behind… German!?”

 

“Up and over and… not that fluid and flawless… a little off there, huh, King?”

 

“Not at all, you fool! He angled that suplex so that Luke landed more on his shoulderblade, and that impact sent all the pain back to his shoulder!”

 

King’s assessment is correct. Luke lets out another yell when he lands, and finds himself on his back with his right arm still, his left hand holding the opposite shoulder hopelessly. Alexander stands over Luke’s body. He drops himself very deliberately, an elbow pointed downward to land directly on the shoulder. Alexander hooks Luke’s leg and waits for the pin.

 

“ONE!” King exclaims. “TWO!”

 

“Luke gets out with a grunt!”

 

“That was an ugly noise.”

 

“He went against what his body wanted. He probably shouldn’t be moving that shoulder at all, much less using it to try and push off a 220-pound man.”

 

“Well, the way this is going, he’ll either have to strain that shoulder plenty more, or stay on the mat one more second and lose this match.”

 

Alexander takes himself off Luke the rest of the way, grabbing him again the pulling him slowly to his feet. Luke’s intentional resistance angers Alexander. He grabs the dead arm and pulls it up. Alexander pulls the arm and brings Luke towards him, charging his own shoulder forward at the same time to bring the two together. Alexander’s strong shoulder seems to cripple the weakened one. Luke drops to his knees. Luke’s left arm is holding the hurt shoulder once again. After a quick bounce off the ropes, Alexander returns with a raised knee. His full-speed impact with the hard knee to the hurt shoulder puts Luke onto his back.

 

“How many body parts can Alexander use as a weapon against that shoulder?”

 

“How many times until Luke realizes his left hand isn’t going to protect that shoulder? Especially not against a man like Alexander.”

 

“There has to be serious damage done to that shoulder. Even if Alexander were some untrained ruffian, that shoulder would be injured. But this man is a trained professional, an anatomical assassin, if you will, and Luke is in deep… maybe too deep.”

 

“Yes, he is bordering on pathetic now.”

 

“I didn’t say that.”

 

“I know. I did.”

 

Alexander grabs Luke again, and the reluctant Tag Champion comes to his feet. He toys with him a bit, smacking his face gingerly a few times. The mocking can hardly be resisted. Alexander soon is in a corner, the wearied body of his opponent standing before him. Alexander hops up to take a seat on the top turnbuckle. He wraps an arm around Luke’s neck and stands for a second before hopping off, spinning around for the tornado DDT.

 

“Luke tosses him off!” Mak yells.

 

“THAT hurt him? Christ, how can he do anything else?”

 

“Well, he tossed the man near-half across the ring. Now Luke’s rushing in for an attack!”

 

“Drop toe hold! Alexander is quick tonight!”

 

“And he just slides effortlessly over Luke, locks the arm, and applies a crossface! That shoulder is being strained… again!”

 

“Luke fell right into that one.”

 

“He didn’t have much choice. He had a small window to attack after only tossing Alexander, and he can only really use his legs at this point to make any sort of meaningful impact.”

 

The crossface has Luke stuck between a rock and a hard place. The expletives can hardly escape from his mouth considering the compromised position of his face. Pain is evident, the reddened face spotted with sweat and strained veins. Alexander’s concentration and determination is stained by the cocky smirk he wears. He looks around him, through the ropes at the venomous fans who spew their distaste for him.

 

“Can’t he just submit already?” King asks tiredly.

 

“I don’t think that’s in the Breslin nature.”

 

“I’m getting antsy.”

 

“I thought you’d be enjoying this.”

 

“After a while, one man dismantling another looks more like burning ants with a magnifying glass.”

 

“What a horrid analogy…”

 

Luke’s leg strength begins to help him. He seems more focused on escape. Any heart-wrenching, pain-laced gasps are replaced with concentrated, seething breaths. His feet dig into the mat, and he inches little by little towards the nearest ropes. The process is arduous, and Alexander begins to show signs of frustration. His cocky expression is replaced by a perturbed one. Fans begin seeing this, seeing the hope rekindled. Their boos towards Alexander slowly transform into cheers towards Luke. They chant his name in unison. Encouraging applause begins raining down from even the highest, furthest seats. Finally, Luke’s hand is able to barely grip the bottom rope. Sexton Hardcastle urges Alexander to break his hold. After one final wrench with all his strength, Alexander releases.

 

“Luke still has fight left in him, King!”

 

“He’s not fighting a cardboard cutout. He’s just prolonging the inevitable.”

 

“Alexander back to his feet… a hard stomp to that shoulder again!”

 

“Look at Luke. He’s… well, he’s fuming.”

 

“Absolutely he is!”

 

The near-constant look of pain etched across the face the entire night looks different. After the stomp, Luke sits up. He gets to his knees, unassisted by his right arm, and is about to stand before Alexander kicks the shoulder again, sending him down. Luke repeats his steps, and Alexander follows suit. Luke begins getting up the third time. The determined look is still on his face. Alexander sends another boot to the shoulder, this time accompanied by an uncharacteristic scream and a follow-through that keeps Luke on the ground and puts Alexander’s foot through the ropes and on the apron. He steps all the way through and onto the apron.

 

“Alexander’s up to no good here,” Mak announces.

 

“He’s grabbing that bum arm… pulling it through over the bottom rope.”

 

“And the good arm… well, the better arm… is going under that rope… along with Luke’s… head…”

 

“Alexander’s feet are half-off the apron… and he’s… inching backwards… he’s fallen! Oh, that clever Alexander!”

 

“He is using Luke’s body, his arm, his shoulder… to keep him from falling all the way to the ground… like a mountain climber with rope… and the strain on that shoulder is indescribable.”

 

“I’ll give it a shot. The pain is like a million searing-hot needles and branding irons being applied to the inside of Luke’s shoulder by laser-shrunken Iraqi torturers.”

 

“Your mind… it’s…”

 

“Laden with only the best descriptive analysis in wrestling today. Why do you think my paycheck is bigger than yours?”

 

The referee’s five-count forces Alexander to break the hold. He drops carelessly the remaining inches to the mat outside and gets to his feet. Alexander doesn’t let Luke roll deeper into the ring, towards temporary escape. Instead, he grabs both arms and pulls Luke across the edge of the ring, towards a corner. Alexander stands outside, ignoring the beginnings of the referee’s ten-count. He takes the dead arm, nowhere near capable of resisting, and places the hand next to the steel post. The shoulder is about two feet from the post. Alexander grabs both wrists and pulls them with all his might, yanking Luke’s whole body forward, ensuring that the shoulder lines up directly with the post. Luke has no choice but to scream again. His defensive determination shatters.

 

“Hardcastle is up to five…” Mak sputters. “But… it doesn’t matter. The damage is done. That count meant absolutely nothing to Alexander, because he knew exactly what he was doing, how long it would take… nowhere near ten seconds. And he’s back in the ring.”

 

“He finally grabs Luke by the ankles to pull him somewhere. Mercy?”

 

“Convenience. Here comes a pin attempt. This might be considered mercy…”

 

“One. Two. Three. Let’s go ho—what the hell?!”

 

Luke’s shoulder pops up just an instant before the referee’s hand slaps the mat a third time. He remains on the mat, still appearing lifeless. Alexander gets to his feet in a fluster and immediately puts his next plan in motion. He watches at Luke begins to move. The hurt competitor sits up. Alexander moves to the corner and turns his back to it, hopping onto the second turnbuckle while Luke gets to his knees, unaware of Alexander’s perched position. The Evil Genius leaps as Luke is in the process of getting to his feet, diving high into the air and dropping an elbow into the top of Luke’s shoulder. Luke stumbles backwards, howling in pain and propping himself against a set of ropes.

 

“Alexander on the hunt again,” Mak starts. “Grabs looks arm for a suplex. The bad arm, of course…”

 

“Luke’s good arm has the rope gripped tight though.”

 

“And Luke’s leg is hooked around Alexander’s. He’s not leaving the ground this time.”

 

With the leg hooked, Luke releases the rope and sends a punch into Alexander’s ribs. A second, stronger punch causes Alexander to hesitate enough for Luke to grab some waistband. He exerts all his strength, letting out a guttural bark of sorts, but the reverse suplex is sloppy, more of an raising and consequential, inadvertant drop. Alexander is not suplexed straight backwards, but only halfway up before Luke’s body buckles under the pain of his shoulder. Alexander is dropped precariously onto the apron, his spine hitting the edge before he crumples off it and onto the mats outside.

 

“Luke has to be more careful! That could have broken Alexander’s spine or neck. Isn’t he supposed to be a professional?” King chides.

 

“Professionalism was thrown out the door early in this match, King. Luke knows that, and he doesn’t give a crap about Alexander’s well-being at this point.”

 

Luke drops to his knees and walks on them to the center of the ring. He turns himself and drops onto his ass, sitting still, holding his hurt shoulder, watching Sexton Hardcastle begin a ten-count. Alexander slowly gets to his feet, grabbing the hanging apron and using it for support. “THREE!” Hardcastle shouts as Alexander gathers his bearings. Luke gets to his feet, still holding his shoulder. Alexander lifts his head just in time to see Luke running full speed and dropping, sending his feet through the bottom and middle ropes to nail Alexander in the face with both boots. He is forced backwards a step or two and then drops onto his back once again on the outside. Luke is wincing on the mat, the impact his shoulder took putting him through more pain. “SIX!” Hardcastle reaches.

 

“Alexander is… in trouble?” King asks, confused.

 

“He’s getting up, albeit slowly. That was a very painful dropkick right to the face. His face is bloodied, check it out.”

 

“That’s sick, the way you get off on that.”

 

“I’m just pointing it out.”

 

“Well, when you’re wrestling with such reckless disregard, there’s bound to be a bloody nose.”

 

Luke gets to his feet in the ring, a few feet from the ropes, as Alexander gets to his. He stumbles towards the ring, putting his hand to his face to check the flow of blood. He looks surprised and angry. He slides under the bottom rope just as Hardcastle shouts, “EIGHT!” Luke zeroes in on him in an instant, stomping away at the back that just took two quick impacts. Alexander’s spine takes a beating. Luke finally relents and moves to the nearest corner. He steps onto the second turnbuckle. Alexander gets to his feet, grabbing at his lower back. He turns just in time to see Luke flying at him, his left arm extended. The shorter, weaker flying lariat still does some damage, taking Alexander of his feet. Luke lands awkwardly after hitting Alexander, taking as much precaution as possible to keep his shoulder away from anything.

 

“Luke improvises, considering his state, and takes Alexander down again,” Mak says.

 

“If he can’t even do him moves correctly, should he really be out here?”

 

“He’s not going to give up. But he’s also not going to further compromise his health.”

 

Luke gets to his feet at nearly the same speed as Alexander. He turns to meet him and gets a swift boot into the gut. Luke wraps his left arm around Alexander’s neck and drops backwards, taking him down with a snap DDT. Alexander’s skull bounces off the canvas and he rolls onto his back. Luke rolls with him, staying on top for the pin. Hardcastle drops to the ground.

 

“One!” Mak says excitedly. “Two! No, not quite!”

 

“It’s a shame, really. Luke actually thinks that a couple of sloppy, half-strength moves are going to keep Alexander down for three.”

 

“I’m amazed he still has the fight in him to do any of this.”

 

Luke gets to his knees and then stands. He allows Alexander to get up at his own pace, staying behind him. Luke bounds backwards to hit a set of ropes just before Alexander gets to his feet. He jumps up and hooks Alexander’s neck, pulling him down and driving the face into the mat with a bulldog. Luke turns Alexander over slowly with his good arm and rests atop him. “ONE!” the crowd chants. “TWO!”

 

“No luck, again,” King says dryly. “Bummer.”

 

“Luke is pretty ambidextrous in the ring, apparently.”

 

“You can tell he’s using a weaker arm that’s not used nearly as often. Otherwise, he’d be able to keep Alexander down for at least two-and-a-half seconds.”

 

“Luke’s just watching Alexander get up again, and each time he’s getting up slower.”

 

“I don’t blame him for going in to get Alexander. The Evil Genius would find some way to get that arm in a trap.”

 

Alexander is up within fifteen seconds. His hand rests on the side of his head. He tries keeping himself centered. With his mind surely shaken, he has a hard time catching another boot sneaking into his gut. Luke turns, more sluggish than usual, and in a different direction than usual. He grabs Alexander’s head with his left arm. The Thunderstruck is weaker than the crowd is used to. The lessened impact on the opposite shoulder still deals out significant damage to Alexander, who falls off the shoulder and drops to the mat. The crowd still cheers excitedly, hoping the altered Thunderstruck can still do the trick.

 

“He hit it!” Mak exclaims.

 

“Hardly…”

 

“Crowd senses a win here. Luke with the pin… TWO! THREE!”

 

“YES! Alexander escapes!”

 

Alexander’s escape prompts most of the crowd to change from cheering to booing. Luke looks moderately surprised, but still determined. He uses his left hand to grab Alexander and pull him up with an almost agonizing lethargy. Alexander has a tough time staying steady on his feet. Luke moves Alexander into a corner with a few left-hand punches. Luke backs up quickly across the ring to the opposite corner. He runs across to the slumping Alexander and ducks down, sending his left shoulder into Alexander’s midsection. Luke backs out and Alexander keels over. He takes a sharp elbow to the spine, sending him to his knees.

 

“I guess Luke is in so much pain, he forgot what his attempted spear earlier in the match started,” King says.

 

“The man knows he can’t hold back. Limiting his moveset any more than it already is would be folly.”

 

“People still use that word? Folly?”

 

“Sure, jackass. Luke’s using that left hand to steady himself with the top rope. A knee into Alexander’s face! The blood is flowing again!”

 

Luke has Alexander slumped uncomfortably in the corner. He sends another knee in, this one hitting even harder as the head is pressed against the middle turnbuckle. A third knee seems to knock Alexander out cold. He lays still. Luke moves to the opposite corner again. He rushes in with another burst of speed and sends the same knee into the same bloodied face yet again.

 

“I’m glad Luke is enough of a master of improvisation that he can still make Alexander suffer,” Mak says. “He practically has a dead upper-body, yet Alexander lies there, motionless and bloody.”

 

“It’s not that hard to make a nose bleed. And it’s hardly technically savvy or impressive.”

 

“And I suppose ramming an injured shoulder into a steel post is technical?”

 

“Mm-hmm.”

 

Luke’s left hand grabs Alexander’s ankle to pull him out from the corner. He only manages to get a couple of feet out before dropping on top of Alexander again. He hooks a leg this time for good measure. ONE! Hardcastle’s hand slaps the mat. TWO! Some of Alexander’s blood drips onto the mat while more is smeared onto Luke. THRE—Hardcastle catches Alexander’s hand wrapped around the bottom rope. Luke smacks the mat with his left hand out of frustration.

 

“What more can he do?!” Mak flusters.

 

“Give up!”

 

Luke gets to his feet, assisted again by the ropes. He still looks to be in considerable pain. His careful offense is not enough to keep his shoulder immobile. He leans against the ropes for nearly a minute. It doesn’t take long for Alexander to show significant signs of life. He sits up and reaches for the ropes adjacent from Luke. The lower half of his face is almost completely covered in blood. Luke backs away from Alexander to the other side of the ring. He watches him intently. Alexander turns away from the ropes and begins walking towards Luke. The Tag Champion bounces off ropes and runs forward, lifting his left arm for a clothesline. Alexander keenly ducks under the arm, stopping Luke’s progress and turning quickly to catch the arm while it’s still raised. A half-nelson is applied almost immediately. Alexander doesn’t hesitate to lift the right arm up as well, applying a full-nelson that changes the tide of the match instantly. Luke’s agonizing screams bring the crowd to silence. His painful explosions only motivate Alexander further.

 

“This full-nelson is even painful to watch,” Mak comments. “Imagine the torque on that bad shoulder.”

 

“I am. Breslin should tap out…”

 

“He’s moving constantly, which is smart. The more Alexander is allowed to stay still, the more he’s able to hold the same position and apply the most damage.”

 

The silencing screams are evidence of Luke’s unexplainable pain. Most of the crowd shows concern. The rest try to rally Luke, but he doesn’t seem able to hear them over his own racket. All Luke can do is try and reposition himself and use his legs to get near a set of ropes. But Alexander has the leverage. He applies extra pressure to the hurt shoulder every time Luke shows signs of significant movement. The extra pain causes Luke to practically crumble, allowing Alexander to reposition to his advantage. The struggle becomes more and more hopeless for Luke, and soon he stands still in the center of the ring, seething in pain and anger. Alexander, sensing the weakened prey, releases the left arm, keeping the right locked in a half-nelson. He lifts Luke almost entirely by his dead arm, and Luke lets out the most blood-curdling and distressing scream of the match. He is dropped by a half-nelson suplex, left like roadkill in the middle of the ring.

 

“That pain might have been enough to knock Luke out,” Mak says.

 

“That’s probably for the better,” King returns. “Alexander hooking the leg for the pin.”

 

“Alexander’s got the World Title in his sights… TWO… THREE—”

 

“HOW!?”

 

Luke’s shoulder flies up. He bites his bottom lip to hold in another scream. Alexander sits up next to Luke. A sly smile crosses his face. He gets to his feet, still smiling, turning slowly to look over the crowd. They begin booing him, not liking the new look on his face. He nods to himself, looking more confident and reassured than he has the whole match. Luke begins to stir, his face showing little other than pain. He sits up, then gets to his knees, then, slowly, to his feet.

 

“What’s Alexander going to do? He looks… evil.”

 

“He’s an Evil Genius, Mak. Just… wait…”

 

“He’s stalking Luke from behind and… Event Horizon?”

 

“YES! Event Horizon! Thunder drive that Thunderstriking bastard’s shoulder to HELL!”

 

“Alexander grabs from behind and… no, Luke hooks his leg back around Alexander’s to stay grounded…”

 

Alexander tries to lift Luke again, but the hooked leg and some steadfast determination keep Luke on his feet. Luke sends his bad arm backwards, his elbow digging deep into Alexander’s midsection. He steps off Luke a bit and bends at the waist just enough for Luke to catch the neck and drop with a suddenness that even catches the crowd off guard. Alexander’s face is smashed into Luke’s hurt shoulder, and Luke lets out a shrieking yell of both pain and triumph. The Thunderstruck connects fully, but Luke’s wincing eyes tell the other side of the story perfectly well. Alexander bounces off the shoulder and falls backwards like a bag of bricks. He lands on the mat and stays still as Luke crumples on top of him.

 

“The crowd is going insane again!” Mak yells.

 

“What the hell?!”

 

“THUNDERSTRUCK! …TWO… THREE! LUKE IS THE NUMBER ONE CONTENDER!”

 

“No freaking way…”

 

*DING DING DING*

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, the winner of this match,” Funyon starts as Luke rolls off Alexander, “and the NEW number one contender for the World Championship… LUUUUKKE BRRREEEESSSSLIIIIINN!”

 

Luke rolls all the way to the edge of the ring, under the bottom rope. He sits up on the apron, his legs dangling, and drops his feet to the mat. He takes his Tag Title up with a weak grip and makes his way towards the ramp. Alexander stirs and sits up. He watches Luke walk up the ramp slowly, his back to him. Luke is slumped over a bit. When he is about halfway up the ramp, Leo Breslin runs out from backstage. He takes the gold strap off his brother and throws it over his own shoulder before taking Luke’s left arm and wrapping it around his neck. He turns and catches a glimpse of Michael Alexander standing on the bottom rope, his hands holding tightly onto the top rope as his body leans forward. He glares at the crippled Breslins. Leo glares back, the tension mounting as Luke is escorted backstage with his hurt shoulder. The scene fades.