Snake Eyes Losing Matches

[Guest Rabbi_wilson13]

Well here's my match. Wrestlingwise is about equal it Edwin, but the good sir handled the debuts well and had a finish that left much more to be desired from the feud. Bravo. And now for your reading..ummm...something or rather, and with constructive criticism or pure hate being accepted in replies, mi match:

 

 

 

 

 

 

Guitar riffs…….beating drums….BAM! Pyro.

 

“If you like to gamble…..”

 

“Ace of Spades” blasts through the Mellon Arena as the fans are still on a buzz trip from the ICTV title match and refuse to settle down. But they slowly quiet as the arena lights drop, the music slowly shifts from rock to a fast paced violin and horn suite, the SmarkTron™ supplying the only light in the arena…

 

Clips of last summer begin to play, in black and white, showing the many conflicts between Edwin and Wilson. Wilson covered in hot dogs, Edwin escaping a burning toy store, Wilson and Magnifico getting married as Edwin struggles in the grasp of some nasty piano wire. It eventually cuts to, surprisingly enough, wrestling, as brief spurts of video show Wilson and Edwin’s many encounters, be that single matches, brawls in the ring or Carnival/WO tag matches. It eventually cuts to footage of Wilson stepping into a limo and it pulling away and the ensuing party by the Carnies. It fades to black before another event’s title eerily appears on the screen…

 

“SWF Crossfire”

 

The pyro from the Crossfire opening in shades of gray, before the pyro dies down and it cuts to Wilson walking down the ramp, shots of a hateful crowd as Curry voices over…

 

“Sweet Jesus.”

 

Wilson’s huge grin as he takes in the crowd…

 

“He’s back.”

 

Cut to the main event, half-second clips of action as Perfect Bo and Edwin MacPhisto try to upend HVille Thugg. Finally, the music quiets and Curry and NTD’s commentary is heard again. Edwin double underhooks Thugg and drives him from the top rope with the Walk-Off…

 

“—THE WALK-OFF! THE WALK-OFF! EDWIN MACPHISTO JUST HIT THE WALK-OFF FROM THE TOP ROPE ONTO THE HVILLE THUGG!” The two men fall away to the center of the ring, and there’s not a person sitting in St. Louis! The fans are leaping out of their seats, pumping their fists as chants and cheers rise up throughout the arena! “Edwin MacPhisto just hit Grand Slam’s finisher onto the Hville Thugg! Both men are down—and HERE’S THE COUNT!”

 

It skips to the numbers nine and ten and then the celebration as Edwin MacPhisto is crowned SWF Champion…

 

“SWF Storm, May 31, 2002”

 

Black and white footage of Chris Wilson making his in-ring return, the jumping piledriver on Rotten on the outside and an ‘Earth to McFly’ on Magnifico is intermittent with footage of Edwin’s title defense against Bo, ending in an Encore Cross in the center of the ring…

 

“SWF Smarkdown, June 4, 2002”

 

The opening promo, as Edwin stands on the stage in the foreground, Wilson in the center of the ring in the background…

 

“But honestly, Wilson,” continues Edwin, “what on earth do you want from me? I’ve got a busy night of sitting in the back and mixing drinks ahead of me!”

 

“Simple, my good friend Edwin,” responds Wilson. “I just felt like asserting my dominance over everyone else in this federation one more time, but tonight, I felt like focusing on you. What do you say that you call off your little Chihuahua Magnifico, and instead of letting him lose to me tonight, step up and have the honor yourself?”

 

“Wilson?? Challenging Edwin to a match? Is this what I’m hearing? I stand by my position: where the hell does he get off doing this?” proclaims Stevens.

 

It quickly cuts to Wilson and Magnifico’s intense brawl, including a ganso bomb, Platinum Nightmare and eventually the Finishing Touches before returning to a smug Edwin earlier:

 

“We’ve got some flags to sharpen.”

 

“SWF Storm, June 14, 2002”

 

Footage is shown of Chris Wilson and Stryke going against Edwin in a handicap match. Encore Cross on Stryke, double arm DDT and powerbomb on Edwin, and finally a Edwin rolling Stryke up after a chair shot from Thoth on the outside.

 

It fades to another title with Chris Wilson and Edwin MacPhisto in an intense staredown…

 

“SWF Smarkdown, June 24, 2002”

 

Clips of Edwin MacPhisto’s battle with JD are shown opposite Wilson’s struggle with Fallout and Erek Taylor as the SmarkTron™ splits down the middle. Eventually, Wilson and Edwin hit synchronized finishers as Erek is jammed with a Platinum Nightmare and Edwin pops JD with a Spinal Tap. ‘Grand Slam’ Mark Stevens closes out the footage with a simple call as the screen mends together again with a recap of Wilson and Edwin’s brawl on the stage:

 

“It’s Wilson versus MacPhisto at Snake Eyes!”

 

The black and white footage explodes into vibrant color as the music kicks up. Encore Crosses, Last Resorts, Air MacPhistos, superkicks, shoteis…in a mind-boggling collection of moves and half-second clips Wilson and Edwin relive their feud with the storm finally calming and a steady shot of Chris and Edwin stand at the edge of the pier, wind blowing each of their respective coats:

 

“We are the exactly the same person, I at least have the balls to admit what I am. I’m a monster. I’m a corrupted bastard who will do whatever it takes to be top dog and stay top dog.”

 

“I am nothing like you!”

 

Edwin’s denial echoes through the arena and is the last soundbyte heard as the lights slowly brighten, the sounds of a very anxious crowd the only thing heard before the camera swings down to the announce table where “Grand Slam” Mark Stevens and Bobby Riley sit, decked out in tuxedos and obviously ready for the main event.

 

“Well folks, its time for our main event,” says Stevens, stating the obvious. Riley lets him know that.

 

“Gee, and after that montage I thought we were going to be seeing Iceman/Insane Luchador. Thanks for clearing that up, genius.”

 

“Just lay off for once! Those clips gave you a recap of the feud, but barely scratched the surface. These two men do not like each other, folks, and they’re going to be going all out to win this thing. Part for the coveted SWF champion, part for pride. We’re sure to see a classic here tonight, seeing as these two know each other as well as two men can know each other and both are capable of tearing the house down.”

 

“Why don’t you give Wilson some credit for just being here?” questions Riley. “He came back last month at Crossfire and a month later he’s competing for the championship. That shows some determination from my new favorite wrestler, Chris Wilson.”

 

“So he’s your pick for the night?”

 

“Of course. And I know you got Edwin.”

 

“Hey, there’s no favoritism in the commentary of Mark Stevens.”

 

“Riiiight.”

 

As the two commentators bicker, the lights in the arena completely die out and a slow fog slowly starts to drift across the arena. It swirls around the ring, thickening on the stage as the crowd rises to its feet, a rousing ovation of hatred filling the arena.

 

“Ah….Ah…ah……..Ah……..ah…ah…………..”

 

“I am the king of the city, top down, windows up, puffing like diddy…”

 

St. Lunatic’s “Summer in the City” kicks up and a man is silhouetted in the fog on the Snake Eyes stage. The man steps out of the fog, revealing Chris Wilson with his long black trenchcoat, glittering Ruby Juliet Oakleys, black gloves and SWF Tag team championship in hand. He pauses for a moment, looking out into the crowd before slowly walking down the ramps. He reaches the ring, climbs up the steel stairs and steps through the middle ropes. The referee takes his belt from him and Wilson begins to disrobe as the Southern rap dies down…

 

The fog clears away but the lights do not come up, the haunting beginning of “Battleflag” by the Lo-Fidelity All-Stars starting to float through the arena, almost drowned out by the roars of an elated crowd. The SmarkTron™ fires up, providing the only source of illumination in the form of grey silhouettes fading in and out, silhouettes of a man with his arms outstretched, a man holding a microphone, and a man leaning on a lamppost. A light beat drops in and a charismatic British voice begins to speak, much to the delight of the crowd…

 

”Well, well, well…one month later and I’m on the other side of the fence. Now I’m defending my title against a mentally disturbed baddie who thinks he’s the best thing since sliced bread, as opposed to trying to win it from the same type of person. Alas, I’m going to apologize in advance to all of the fans watching: This is going to be very quick and not so painless for my esteemed challenger. So hallelujah, bitch, the devil’s in town, and he’s YOUR S- W –F champion!”

 

The music swells beneath Edwin’s words, and a pair of blue spotlights begin to swing back and forth across the entrance way, moving like pendulums in sync with the beat before breaking off in their paths and spinning around the arena. They’re completely symmetrical in their ripping arc until they come back to the entrance stage and meet, a stuttering drumbeat echoing as they collide and send forth a wall of sudden purple strobe lights.

 

“I said hallelujah, to my sixteen…”

 

The vocals of “Battleflag” drop in, and streaks of red and gold pyro erupt from the entrance ramp, prompting red and gold disco lights to whirl around the arena as the SmarkTron shows highlights from Edwin’s career. The man himself steps out into the spectacle, SWF World Heavyweight Title clasped around his waist. Edwin stares down at Wilson in the ring as he absorbs the audience’s applause, before making his way down to the ring, removing his coat, tossing it over the top rope, and sliding under the bottom rope to catch it on the other side. Edwin discards his accessories and hands his championship belt to the referee who holds it up in the air as Funyon steps into the ring. Not once the entire time does he take his eyes off of Wilson.

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, it is time for your main event!” Funyon gets one of the loudest pops of the night for that statement alone. “The following contest is scheduled for one fall and is for the S – W –F heavyweight championship of the WOOOOOOOOR-LD! First, to my left, the challenger.” Aforementioned cheers would be gone now. “Hailing from Miami, Florida, and weighing in at two hundred and seventy-three pounds, he is co-holder of the tag team championship….CHRIS WILSOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOON!”

 

The crowd lets Wilson hear it, but that doesn’t mean Wilson hears him as he just stares across the ring at the champion, who doesn’t even show a twinge of concern.

 

“And to my right…the champion.” The crowd turns from booing to cheering like someone turned a switch. “Hailing from lovely Amsterdam, England, and weighing in at two hundred and thirty-nine pounds, he represents the Midnight Carnival…the S – W-F Champion of the Wooooorld………EDWIN MAC-PHIS-TOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

The crowd breaks into loud chants of “MAC-PHIS-TOOOOOO!”, echoing Funyon as the ring announcer steps out of the squared circle. The referee looks at both men, sees he isn’t going to get any response, and makes the call that everyone has been waiting for all week:

 

DING DING DING!

 

For the bell. “And here we go,” begins Stevens as Wilson and Edwin stand motionless for a moment before beginning to circle each other, the distance between them varying until they each take a heavy step forward and lock up in the center of the ring. “Wilson and Edwin jockey for position and eventually Wilson manages to twist Edwin’s right arm around into a wrist lock with his right hand. He prepares to drive his elbow into Edwin’s shoulder, but Edwin kicks Wilson’s left leg out from under him and causes him to lose his balance. Not wasting the chance, Edwin whips him against the ropes and drives a shoulder into him as he rebounds. Wilson barely stays on the mat a moment before he’s up to his feet and Edwin has him whipped off the ropes again. Edwin tries for a hip toss, but Wilson catches himself and attempts to take Edwin down with a hip toss of his own. No go there either and Edwin tries to decapitate Wilson with a clothesline, that is easily ducked and the challenger shoves the champ away. Hot action here to start the match as Edwin twirls and throws out a high roundhouse that Wilson catches, before whirling Edwin around and shooting out his patented superkick that Edwin slaps away easily. He comes at a slightly off-balance Wilson with another clothesline, but that’s ducked as well and the two men turn to face each other, trying to catch their breath after this first little skirmish ended in a decisive draw.”

 

The appreciative fans give the two men a loud ovation for their work, but it isn’t even heard by the wrestlers that caused it as they are immediately circling each other again. Wilson lunges for Edwin but he can’t get a hold of him and Edwin manages to twist him around into a hammerlock. Wilson grunts as he spins out of it and gets Edwin caught in a hammerlock of his own. Edwin winces as he tries to spin out of it, but Wilson turns around, ducks down and puts his shoulder under Edwin’s right armpit, raises his right arm high in the air and snaps it down with a hard shoulder breaker. Edwin drops to the mat, holding his right arm and Wilson holds onto the rope as he begins to stomp on it.

 

“Genius!” compliments Riley as Wilson stands Edwin up and throws him into the corner. “Wilson must of watched the tape from JD’s match on Smarkdown, because he’s going to try and isolate that shoulder the same way JD did. Hopefully Wilson doesn’t blow it at the end and lose the match.”

 

“That plan almost worked out for JD,” remembers Stevens, “and Wilson deserves credit for following his lead. Wilson cocks back and laces a knife-edge chop into Edwin’s chest. The crowd lets out a ‘Wooo’ as Edwin flinches in pain. Wilson resets his right arm and prepares for a second chop, but Edwin fires out a shotei that catches Wilson square in the chest and staggers him. The crowd gives an ‘Ooo’ for that, but Wilson resets himself and sends another blast into the chest of Edwin. Edwin grits his teeth and responds with another stiff shotei to Wilson’s torso.”

 

“Ooooo!”

 

“Wooo!”

 

“Ooooo!”

 

The two men trade striking moves a few more times before Wilson prepares for his fourth knife edge, but Edwin grabs him around the shoulders and throws him into the corner, reversing positions. He pounds on Wilson with some rights as the crowd starts to get behind him before whipping the evil genius across the ring and following him closely, connecting with a thundering clothesline in the corner. Wilson doubles over and Edwin quickly slaps on a front facelock. Wilson has little time to escape as Edwin takes his stiffly over with a snap suplex. Floatover into a cover..ONE…

 

 

TWO and barely that as Wilson pops a shoulder up. Edwin doesn’t hesitate to grab Wilson and stand him up again and try to whip him against the ropes, but Wilson reverses it and the Brit’s the one sent flying into the ropes. As he bounces out, Wilson hooks his arm under Edwin’s right and flips him over with an arm drag takedown. As soon as Mac hits mat, Wilson keeps him pinned down while he lifts his knees up and drives them into his opponent’s shoulder. The crowd doesn’t like that very much as Wilson does it again, his kneecaps digging into Edwin. Eventually the referee separates him, but Edwin’s obviously feeling the pain as he rotates his shoulder while rising up to his feet.

 

“Wilson isn’t going to give Edwin a chance to rest,” assures Stevens as Wilson latches onto Edwin and the two men jockey for position once more. “Wilson takes the advantage and spins around into a rear waist lock. He tries to pull Edwin back over with a German suplex, but Edwin hooks his boots around the back of Wilson’s calves to halt that movement before flashing some elbows into Wilson’s head. He spins out of the waistlock, turning around towards Wilson…who bashes Edwin in the mouth with a savage headbutt before grabbing the lanky champ and bringing him crashing to the mat with a crunching armbar takedown on, guess what folks, Edwin’s right arm.”

 

“I told you that was his game plan!” beams Riley as Wilson stands Edwin up and whips him against the ropes. “Wilson prepares for a back body drop, but Edwin sees it as well as we do and hops over Wilson. Before the unprepared tag champ can react, Edwin pulls his legs out from under him and flips him over before hopping over and folding Wilson over with a double leg takeover. The ref drops down and counts. ONE..

 

 

TWO..

 

 

And Wilson manages to twist out of it and reach his feet as Edwin turns around. Wilson grabs a surprised Edwin and rolls him over with a small package! ONE….

 

 

 

TWO…

 

 

But Edwin turns it and now Wilson’s pinned to the mat! ONE…

 

 

 

TWO…

 

 

Both men break through and roll up to their feet. Wilson fires a clothesline at Edwin and misses, and always one for recurring themes, Edwin comes up behind Wilson and rolls him over with a schoolboy. The crowd eats up yet another pinning attempt as Edwin pressures Wilson to the mat. ONE…

 

 

TWO…

 

 

 

T…and Wilson breaks free, shooting his legs up in the air and flopping over away from Edwin. He gets up to one knee before rising the rest of the way to his feet, locking eyes with Edwin as the crowd gives the two men another hand.”

 

“These two sportsmen each have a wide variety of abilities,” explains Riley. “You’ve already seen some striking and now some more from the technical side of things. They’ve got some high-flying in them as well as some grueling brawling. I hope we get to see a little bit of the latter tonight.”

 

“I wouldn’t be surprised if it broke down to that eventually the way these two wants a piece of each other,” forecasts Stevens. “Wilson and Edwin lock up yet again, this time in a test of strength. Edwin catches Wilson off balance and pushes him back, but Wilson gets his footing, recovers and drives a knee into Edwin’s gut before taking over the SWF Champion with a textbook Northern lights suplex. He bridges it and the ref drops down to count. ONE…

 

 

 

TWO and Edwin kicks out rather easily. Much to early in the match for Wilson to be pulling that out.”

 

“It was just a simple reversal,” assures Riley. “Edwin stands up, and Wilson pounces, slithering his left arm around Edwin’s left shoulder in a half nelson. Wilson must be looking for the Platinum Nightmare, but its awful early.”

 

“Hold up a sec, Riley,” halts Stevens. “Wilson doesn’t even try to lace up Edwin’s right shoulder, instead snapping back and sending Edwin’s right shoulder crashing into the mat with a half nelson suplex. Wilson’s began working on isolating that shoulder again. Wilson keeps the half nelson locked up and stands up, bringing Edwin up with him. Edwin tries to power out with some right elbows, but Wilson effectively no-sells them and snaps back to complete a pair of rolling half nelson suplexes. Edwin collapses to the mat, holding his shoulder as Wilson slowly stands him up and twists him into an arm wrench. Unlike earlier, Wilson doesn’t get it reversed and he’s able to hammer Edwin’s right shoulder blade, dropping the champ to the mat. Wilson starts stomping on it again, not relieving the pressure.”

 

Wilson stands Edwin up and pushes him up against the ropes before whipping him opposite of them. Wilson stays put and as Edwin reaches him off of the rebound, Wilson bends over and back body drops Edwin up over the top, but he gracefully lands on the apron. Wilson spins around to take a right hand from Edwin, but he fires one right back and uses the delay to crawl out onto the apron with his adversary.

 

“The two competitors are now on the apron,” calls Stevens as Edwin rears back and blasts Wilson across the chest with an open palm. “Wilson recoils after Edwin’s below before slapping down with an open hand of his own. Edwin cringes, holding onto the rope for balance and sends another shot into Wilson’s chest. Wilson responds in the same way, teetering back but grabbing the top rope to catch himself before pulling back and connecting with a blast that makes a gun shot through the arena. Edwin can’t quite steady himself and falls onto his back on the apron. Wilson charges at him, but Edwin digs his feet into Wilson’s stomach and flips the maniac past him, Wilson flying into the air before having his chin come crashing down on the top turnbuckle and the rest of his body spilling to the outside.”

 

“Cheater!”

 

“That was basically a monkey flip, Riley. Hardly cheating.”

 

“Yeah, well…let’s keep the action on the inside. Official, take control of your match!”

 

The official doesn’t hear Riley, and if he did he’d be ignoring him as he lets the two men go at it on the outside, allowing the fans a show. As Wilson stands, leaning on the barricade, Edwin jumps off the apron and connects with a double axe handle across his back. Wilson is knocked into the barricade and Edwin keeps his offensive going, catching Wilson across the face with two brisk slaps before rolling the tip of his elbow across his face with quite a bit of force. Wilson drops down to the cement and Edwin pulls him up, continuing the fluid motion with an Irish whip right into the steps. Edwin rushes at him but Wilson has enough sense to grab Edwin around the waist and lift up, cracking Edwin’s head into the ringpost before dropping him carelessly to the mat.

 

“Quick thinking by Wilson to stop Edwin’s spurt of offense,” calls Stevens as Wilson picks Edwin up and turns towards the stair-less ringpost. “Wilson’s chance to get some of that brawling you discussed in, Riley. He whips Edwin across along the ring-

 

CLANG!

 

-bouncing Edwin’s head off of the steel and toppling him to the floor.”

 

“He’s hardcore!” shouts Riley as Wilson follows Edwin and pulls him up to his feet, the front row fans shouting profanities at him all the while. “Wilson grabs Edwin’s right arm and cracks it off of the ring post, Edwin dropping to his knees in pain but Wilson simply pulling him back up and repeating the move, Edwin’s armpit forced into solid steel with all of Wilson’s strength. Edwin clutches his shoulder, and as he does so, Wilson grabs him by the back of the head and bounces his forehead off the steel again. He’s still hardcore!”

 

“Oh please. Wilson, however, is turning up the heat on Edwin. He grabs Edwin around the scruff of the neck and again runs with him along the side of the ring towards another ringpost and releases him a few feet away, Edwin’s head glancing off as Wilson connects once again. He’s going to give Edwin a concussion and I think Edwin’s starting to bleed a bit.”

 

“He shouldn’t really worry,” comments Riley. “It adds a little something to his complexion. Wilson spots the blood, and just like a shark, he’s going into a frenzy. He grabs Edwin’s arm again and smashes it off of the post as a stymied Edwin can do little to defend himself as Wilson grabs his head and spikes it off the ringpost again. I told you these guys could get brutal.”

 

“No doubt about that,” agrees Stevens as Wilson pulls Edwin to the edge of the steel ramp. “Wilson is apparently looking for the kill right here as he kicks Edwin in the gut, doubling him over…standing headscissors…and Wilson wraps his arms around Edwin, trying to pull him up for a piledriver. Edwin clears his mind enough to jab some rights into Wilson’s stomach and push off his knees…

 

THWACK!

 

…sending Wilson tumbling over to the cement with a back body drop before dropping back to the floor himself, Wilson’s body making a sickening thud as it connects with those thin mats hiding harsh cement.”

 

The crowd pops loudly as the referee finally decides that enough is enough. He begins to count both men out. ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

Edwin struggles to one knee, Wilson still writhing in pain…

 

THREE!

 

 

FOUR!

 

Wilson rolls up to his hands and knees as Edwin rises the rest of the way to his feet.

 

FIVE!

 

Edwin stumbles drunkenly toward the ring…

 

SIX!

 

Wilson shoves himself up to his feet, wavering a for a moment…

 

SEVEN!

 

Edwin connects with the apron, pulling himself in as Wilson does the same, using the ropes to ease his burden. The ref waves off the count as both men enter the ring, Edwin with trickles of blood streaming down his face. Both men reach their feet, but Wilson’s in the corner and Wilson doesn’t waste that chance, charging in with his shoulder lowered. He catches Wilson in the gut, driving the air out of him before grabbing his arm and whipping him cross ring to the other corner. Wilson hits hard and bounces back out, just as Edwin charges and leaps, catching Wilson in the face with a running dropkick. He covers, lateral press. ONE…

 

 

TWO..

 

 

And Wilson kicks out, but Edwin keeps the pressure on, slapping him in a side headlock. He sprints forwards a few steps and leaps, smashing Wilson’s face into the mat with a bulldog. Wilson tries to bounce back up to his feet, but Edwin already is continuing his offense. He whips Wilson off of the ropes, but he telegraphs the back body drop and Wilson almost happily clubs Edwin’s right shoulder before grabbing his arm and dropping to the mat…locking Edwin in a fujiwara armbar in the center of the ring!

 

“Wilson’s busting out the submissions now,” declares Stevens as the referee drops to the mat, asking Edwin if he wants to give. “Edwin’s face is a grimace of pure torture as he tries to slide on his belly-“

 

“Like a snake!”

 

“Yes, Bobby, like a snake. He’s got to get near to a rope with that left arm, because Wilson is cranking back on that right one like nobody’s business. Wilson’s face looks almost as pained as Edwin as he puts as much pressure as he can onto that arm, ripping and tearing at the shoulder. Edwin’s inching closer to the ropes, but its taking a lot of time and a lot of damage is being done.”

 

“Edwin should just tap,” decides Riley. “It be quick, painless and he’d have a rematch to lose down the road.”

 

“I don’t think Edwin’s going to quit that easy,” guarantees Stevens. “Wilson is leaning back incredibly far as he tugs on that shoulder, and that takes some weight off of Edwin as he squirms towards the ropes. The crowd begins to rally, showing their support as Edwin digs in, gritting his teeth and urging himself on.”

 

MAC-PHIS-TOOOOOOOOOOOO!

 

MAC-PHIS-TOOOOOOOOOOOO!

 

MAC-PHIS-TOOOOOOOOOOOO!

 

“Just tap, dammit!” snaps Riley. “You can’t make it you wiry little bastard!”

 

“I disagree. Edwin’s only a few inches from the bottom rope, and even as Wilson stretches back that right arm with an intensity rivaling anything we’ve ever seen, Edwin strains out and lunges, fingertips falling a few inches short of the rope! The crowd lets out a collective moan as Edwin gathers himself again and lunges out, fingers clasping on to the bottom rope and causing the referee to force Wilson to release the hold. Yes!”

 

The Mellon Arena pops loudly as Wilson is forced to let Edwin go, rising to his feet and staring down at Edwin, who’s right arm hangs limply at his side as he uses his left arm and the rope to work his way back up to his feet. Edwin gets up to his feet, the blood flow basically stopped, and stares over at Wilson before charging at the madman, all of the fans cheering him as he throws hard left hooks into his jaw. Wilson takes a few shots before plowing a forearm into Edwin’s face and whipping him into the ropes. As he rebounds, Wilson gathers him up and squashes him to the mat with a Samoan drop, reaching back and hooking the leg as he lies on top of Edwin. ONE…

 

 

 

TWO…

 

 

 

T..and Edwin kicks out, Wilson not wasting any time getting up to his feet. He pulls himself up onto the top rope and waits for Edwin to rise up. As soon as he does, Wilson launches himself, leading with the “Rim Rocka” flying knee. Edwin sidesteps it, and Wilson hits the mat hard, his leg giving out underneath him. Wilson lets out a cry of pain before reaching his vertical base and turning, just Edwin explodes with a springing sidekick that flattens the former World Champion to the mat. He covers, hooking a battered Wilson’s leg. ONE..

 

 

 

TWO..

 

 

 

T..and Wilson kicks out this time, with Edwin now leading the deadly dance. He stands Wilson up, and using mainly his left arm, whips Wilson against the ropes. Edwin charges at him looking for a lefty clothesline, but Wilson ducks it and both men end up hitting the ropes opposite each other at the same time. The ropes stretch and each man is fired back at the other, meeting in the center of the ring with a ring-shaking double clothesline!

 

“Both men are down!” shouts Stevens, the competitors prone on the mat, searching for some energy.

 

As Wilson and Edwin lie motionless on the mat after the double clothesline, but the crowd finds something to entertain them as they begin to boo loudly as a certain Australian associate of Wilson slowly walks down the ramp. Stryke stands at ringside as Wilson and Edwin both make it up to their feet and begin to trade right hands in the center of the ring. Edwin brushes away one of Wilson’s hooks and jacks a shotei into his chest that sends Wilson stumbling towards the corner. A hard roundhouse is all it takes to drop Wilson down to one knee. Edwin moves in for the kill, but he sees Stryke jumping up on the apron out of the corner of his eyes and decides not to let him get involved, charging at an unprepared Stryke and knocking him to the floor. He turns around right into Wilson, who lifts Edwin up, holding him for just a moment before slamming him back to the mat with a wicked spinebuster. The crowd boo’s loudly as Wilson picks Edwin, cinches him up and lifts him into the air. He doesn’t slam him down to the mat, but instead sits him onto the top rope.

 

“What business does Stryke have out here?” wonders Stevens aloud as Wilson begins to climb up onto the second rope. “His distraction gave Wilson the opening he needed to set up whatever he’s going to try…and that looks like a top rope Diamond Cutter! Wilson tries to wrap his arms around Edwin’s neck, but our champ realizes that wouldn’t be particularly good and he fights back with some hard shots.”

 

“Oh come on,” pleads Riley. “Just take it like a man. Do it for the fans!”

 

“Edwin isn’t obliging you as he reaches up, grabs Wilson around his front waistband lifts him into the air and pushes off, sailing through the air and quickly having gravity take over as he drops….AIR MACPHISTO!!!!!”

 

The Steel City crowd completely explodes as Edwin hits the powerful top rope falcon arrow. He clutches his right arm for a moment before draping his left arm over for the cover.

 

“Edwin might have gotten the last use of the night out of that mangled right arm,” predicts Stevens, “but it may be enough as the ref drops down to the mat, the crowd chanting along. ONE….

 

 

 

TWO….

 

 

 

 

 

THREEEEE…NO!!!!! Stryke just pulled the ref out of the ring! Dammit! Edwin had this thing won!”

 

Edwin simply gazes down at Stryke as he gently kicks the referee to make sure he’s down.

 

“I’m glad someone finally did something about this officiating,” sighs Riley in relief. “It’s just been horrible all evening. We should all thank Stryke.”

 

“I’m not going to thank Stryke,” assures Stevens, as four men begin to rush down the ramp, the crowd’s boo’s at the Aussie turning into cheers for the Carnies, “but these gentlemen just might! Raynor, Rotten, Magnifico and the newly initiated Z are all charging down the ramp toward Stryke, who turns and starts to hightail it around the ring.”

 

“Four on one?! And you were complaining about Stryke pulling some dinky ref out of the ring. Shame on you, Mark. Shame on you.”

 

“Stryke takes the Carnival on a merry chase around the ring, back to the bottom of the ramp…WAIT A SECOND! “Deathwish” Danny Williams! “TNT” Taylor Nicholas Thompson! Frost! Three champions in the JL are coming out of either side of the ramp and along with Stryke engaging in a pier six brawl with the Carnival. What the hell is this?!”

 

“It’s a set up!” booms Riley, “And a brilliant one at that! These three men have obviously made wise career decisions and joined up with Stryke and Wilson-“ Riley stops talking as he’s bumped by a large figure coming out of the crowd behind him. “Hey buddy, what do you think you’re doing?”

 

“Oh my god,” whispers Stevens as the man slides into the ring and Edwin slowly turns, “it’s the Boston Strangler! Edwin looks up, face a mixture of confusion and fear before he fires off a shotei that glances harmlessly off of Strangler’s wide chest before the New England native pulls back and rams a chain-wrapped fist into Edwin’s already slightly bleeding head. Don’t tell me he’s with these two now as well!”

 

The crowd boos even louder as Strangler picks up the downed Wilson. As he does so, another man sprints down the ramp, faster than any other man in the WF… “Last Breath!” calls out Riley as the man who came down the ramp hops up onto the turnbuckle and Strangler picks up Edwin for and puts him in an inverted facelock. “What a second…”

 

“TYLER MCLELLAND!” shout both announcers in unison, just as Edwin is dropped from the elevated reverse DDT position.

 

“The man formerly known as Outcast and the Prophet,” states Steven in complete shock, “has just hopped up on the top turnbuckle. Magnifico sees him and hops up to interfere, but ‘Deathwish’ Danny Williams cuts him off at the pass, grabbing the helpless Mexican and slamming him to the cement from the apron with a sickening Deathbomb.”

 

“What in the world is going on here?!” questions Riley to the world as Tyler kicks off of the top rope. “Outcas…err…the Prophet…dammit, Tyler, is sailing through the air…FOUR-FIFTY SPLASH ON EDWN! And right after he took the chainshot and Last Breath from Strangler. Strangler is out of the ring, shoving the referee in as Tyler rolls out of the ring and heads towards the action, the brawl between the Carnies and Wilson’s supporters spilling into the crowd and back up the ramp.”

 

“Those were heinous attacks by both Tyler and the Strangler, neither who were supposed to be here tonight,” declares Stevens. “But now Wilson is crawling over towards Edwin, finally recovering from that Air MacPhisto, and he flops an arm across his chest, the referee slowly getting into position and slowly counting as the crowd screams bloody murder...this can’t end like this! ONE…

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREEE….AND EDWIN KICKS OUT! HOLY HELL! This place is a rocking now!”

 

Wilson rolls over and looks at the ref like he just insulted his mother and slowly pushes himself up to his feet, grabbing MacPhisto by his died locks and pulling him up with him. The chaos around the ring has subsided, the brawls moving into the crowd or to the sides of the ramp. Wilson stands Edwin up and cranks on a hammerlock, lifting Edwin high up into the air before dropping him right down onto his right arm with a hammerlock drop.

 

“Edwin’s really starting to bleed,” notes Stevens. “Between Wilson’s work on the outside and Strangler’s chain to the same area, Edwin’s losing some blood for sure. Wilson continues to work on that arm, though I think its pointless at the moment. That thing is going to be worthless for the remainder of the match.”

 

“Finally you’re making a little sense. Wilson picks Edwin up again, slips on a hammerlock and repeats the previous move, slamming Edwin to the mat with that hammerlock drop that’s really going to polish off Edwin’s limb.”

 

Wilson stands Edwin up and whips him into the corner. He charges in with a hard spear, dropping Edwin off his feet in the corner. Wilson stands in the center of the ring, a big smile on his face and motions for Edwin to come out at him. Edwin comes staggering out and Wilson immediately tries to takes a swing at him…

 

“Edwin just ducked Wilson’s right hand,” shouts Stevens, “and now he slaps on a rear waist lock. Wilson tries to get out of it, but Edwin starts bringing him back with a German suplex, holding it at its peak as the crowd chants:

 

ONE!

 

 

TW- And Edwin’s arm can’t hold him any longer, so he smashes Wilson to the mat with a slightly-delayed German suplex. It wasn’t exactly the prettiest thing in the world, but it got the job done and now Edwin rolls Wilson over, unable to bridge it, and covers him. ONE…

 

 

 

TWO…

 

 

 

 

TH..and Wilson kicks out for another near-fall for our champion.”

 

“Oh he can have all the near falls he wants,” concedes Riley, “but it’s going to be the man who gets the first actual ‘fall’ we’ll be calling SWF Champion. That will of course be Wilson.”

 

“We’ll see about that,” retorts Stevens as Edwin slowly stands Wilson up. “He forces Wilson into the corner, possibly so Edwin himself can take a breather, and pounds on the challenger to his title with some hard rights. He drives some knees into Wilson’s stomach before shoving him out of the corner and following up with a bulldog, attempting to spin Wilson around into the Midnight Special, but Chris manages to turn a complete about face, lace his arm around the one Edwin has on the back of his neck and go back to back, slithering his other arm around Edwin’s free arm and turns away from the corner…oh don’t tell me…”

 

“Yes!” exclaims Riley as Wilson starts to bend over, Edwin in position for a backslide and trying very hard to get out of said position. “Wilson is looking for the Encore Cross on the maestro of the move himself…the evil genius pitches himself forward…AND SPIKES EDWIN TO THE CANVAS WITH THE ENCORE CROSS!”

 

“Plagiarizing bastard!” insults Stevens as the crowd lets Wilson hear it. “Wilson has a sickening smile on his face as he rolls Edwin over and away from the bloodstain he made on the mat, hooking his leg waaaaay back and covering. ONE…

 

 

 

 

TWO…

 

 

 

 

 

THRE…but Edwin kicks out of his own finisher, much to Wilson’s dismay!”

 

“What kind of slow count was that? Get Stryke back out here to deal with that ref. The nerve…”

 

“Oh shut up,” pleads Stevens as Wilson glares at the ref and slowly works his way up to his feet. “Wilson isn’t very happy with the officiating either, but that was a perfectly average count. He’s just jacked because he can’t close the deal on this match. He bends over to pick up Edwin, but the wily Brit pulls his legs back, kicks forward and kip ups to his feet, just giving himself enough time to grab Wilson and yank him back down-

 

KIP UP DDT! That move may just give Edwin the time he needs to recover.”

 

Both men lie on the mat, trying to search down deep for a way to get up to their feet. The referee starts the count, sensing that neither man may be able to continue.

 

ONE!

 

“MAC-PHIS-TOOOOO!”

 

TWO!

 

“WIL-son SA-ucks!

 

THREE!

 

MAC-PHIS-TOOOOO!”

 

FOUR!

 

WIL-son SA-ucks!

 

FIVE!

 

SIX!

 

Edwin slowly rolls over onto his side and grasps onto the middle rope, preparing to pull himself up to his feet.

 

SEVEN!

 

Wilson gets to one knee as Edwin pulls himself up and the ref waves off the count.

 

“Edwin should just go get counted out,” suggests Riley. “It’s going to be a lot less embarrassing than when Wilson finally pins his ass to the mat.”

 

“I’m sure that’s how you’d defend your world title, Bobby…Oh wait, you never had one…”

 

“Shut up! I was robbed!”

 

“Enough. Wilson and Edwin begin to trade blows in the center of the ring, each man taking multiple seconds between strikes as they steady themselves. Edwin throws a particularly lazy blow out with his left and Wilson catches it, confidently spinning around to Edwin’s right side with his back to Edwin’s side. He reaches up and grabs Edwin’s right arm, preparing for another shoulderbreaker, but Edwin pulls himself free and turns around with a southpaw clothesline that nearly decapitates Wilson. Edwin knows he can’t give Wilson any time to recover, pulling him up to his feet and whipping him against the ropes. Using the momentum from the rebound, Edwin picks Wilson up and spikes him to the mat with a spinebuster. The crowd pops loudly because they and I know both know what Edwin is planning as he slowly pulls Wilson back up, chaining the move right into a powerbomb, completing a slow yet still effective Love Rollercoaster! He collapses on top of Wilson, covering him…ONE…

 

 

 

 

TWO..

 

 

 

 

THRE….and Wilson barely has enough in him to kick out.”

 

“That was close,” admits Riley, “but I’m sure Wilson’s just biding his time. Edwin stands Wilson up and sets him up for a stunner before running at the corner…he’s trying for a Spinal Tap!”

 

“If Edwin can hit it, this will be over! He scales towards the top, but Wilson manages to stop his forward progress and begins to lay Edwin across his shoulders in anticipation for an almost sideways Death Valley Driver, but Edwin somersaults over and his feet find solid footing with the mat and he’s back to back with Wilson. Chris reacts first, spinning around and attempting to lock a now profusely bleeding MacPhisto in a full nelson. Edwin twists out of it, keeping his left arm wrapped around Wilson’s right and looking to hook their other arms together in perfect harmony for an Encore Cross, but that isn’t happening as Wilson drives his elbow into the back of Edwin’s right shoulder, giving him enough of an opening to escape. He spins around, slipping a front facelock on for size and hooking his leg around Edwin’s, preparing to lurch backwards for the Last Resort, but Edwin knees Wilson in the stomach and drives him back into the corner, the force of the charge enough so that Wilson releases him.”

 

“Dammit, Wilson, hold on! You’re almost there!”

 

“Wilson gingerly comes bouncing out of the corner and Edwin kicks him in the stomach, doubling Wilson over. He slides over top for a standing headscissors, and uses his left arm to underhook Wilson’s, but he can’t quite get his right arm through the correct motion for a double-underhook, so he simply pulls Wilson a little bit farther away from the corner and jumps in the air, pushing down on Wilson with the weak right arm…WALK OFF! WALK OFF! WALK OFF ON WILSON!”

 

“What’s he hitting your move for?” inquires Riley. “Oh, that’s right. Because he can’t hit his on account of the arm. Muhahaha…”

 

“One armed or not, that may be enough as Edwin covers Wilson, pulling back on his leg as the crowd counts along. ONE!…

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!…….

 

 

 

 

 

THREE….and WILSON KICKS OUT AT THE VERY LAST INSTANT! Man, that was close again!”

 

Riley breathes a sign of relief. “”That was close, but close isn’t winning anybody any titles. Edwin’s up to his feet and he’s starting to climb up to the top, albeit very slowly. Wilson groggily gets to his feet, the official checking on him after Edwin’s version of a washed up former champion’s finisher-“

 

“Grrr…”

 

“…and now Edwin sets himself up on the top and leaps off, whirling in the air and coming down towards Wilson with the twisting back elbow press, but Wilson shoves the ref into his path and gets out of the way!”

 

Edwin comes crashing into the ref, taking him down to the mat. Wilson begins to reach down into his pocket, not wasting the opportunity.

 

“Wilson should get DQed for that,” suggest Stevens as Edwin hobbles up to his feet, looking down at the referee. “But that official is in no shape to do anything of the sort. Oh Lord…Wilson has busted out his patented piano wire and he’s coming up behind Edwin…but the Mac Daddy sees him and steps back, knocking the back of his head into Wilson’s nose, causing Wilson to release the wire with one hand, and giving Edwin a chance to wrap his left arm up around Wilson’s head. Wilson can do little to stop him as Edwin runs towards the corner, spinning up around before coming crashing down with a Stunner…

 

SPINAL TAP! SPINAL TAP! Wilson took away Edwin’s ability to perform the Encore Cross effectively so Edwin’s reaching down deep into his bag of tricks and moveset to win this thing. Edwin rolls over Wilson, the crowd counting ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

THREE!

 

 

FOUR!

 

But the ref is still down and unable to make the count! Dammit! Edwin has Wilson down for a freakin’ ten count!”

 

“Yeah he does,” snorts Riley. “Wilson knows there’s no ref so he’s just resting. No biggie.”

 

Edwin rolls over and tries to awaken the referee, having limited success, as he starts to stand and trying to bring the referee up with him. But Edwin makes the mistake of turning his back on Wilson again, and a half-conscious Wilson’s twisted instincts kick in, and he dives forward and rams his forearm into Edwin’s crotch from behind, dropping the Crown Prince of Flash and Panache with a Low Blow of Pain and Aching. Wilson slowly rolls out of the ring, dropping to the floor and heading towards the announcer’s table. He moves slowly around to the other side and takes the timekeeper’s chair, heading back to the ring.

 

“Wilson just grabbed that steel chair and is heading back to the ring,” warns Stevens as Edwin slowly begins to get to his feet, still feeling the effects of the low blow. “Wilson slides into the ring just as Edwin reaches his feet, slowly turning around-

 

CRACK!

 

-and Edwin is absolutely destroyed with a stiff chairshot to the head that collapses him to the mat!”

 

“Wooo!” cheers Riley as Wilson leans on the chair, winded as Edwin writhes on the mat, the blood flow resuming from his ruptured forehead. “Wilson is just taking a little breather as the ref is finally starting to stir a bit, but he’s not anywhere near knowing what’s going on. Wilson decides to hurry anyway, dragging Edwin up and leaning him against the ropes. Wilson rears back with the chair, swings wildly for a death blow-

 

CRACK!

 

- but Edwin slides out of the way and Wilson catches the top rope, the chair bouncing back up and hitting him in the face! Wilson, you’re a moron!”

 

The capacity crowd once again reaches their feet cheering as Wilson lies on the mat, seeing stars and the arena lights as the referee gets up to his feet. Edwin slowly crawls over towards Wilson, weakly covering him as the referee drops down and counts, 20,000 screaming fans helping him out. ONE…

 

 

 

TWO…

 

 

 

 

THR…and Wilson throws his shoulder from the mat, escaping the weak cover as the official eyes the chair suspiciously then kicks it out of the ring.

 

The Pittsburgh crowd reaches its feet as Edwin and Wilson stagger up to theirs, Edwin’s face slowly becoming a crimson mask as the two men begin to slowly circle each other yet again, each realizing the other has quite a few weaknesses if they can just exploit them.

 

“These two men don’t have much left in the tank,” declares Stevens, “so something has got to give here. They lock up in the center of the ring, Wilson quickly taken advantage by pressuring Edwin’s bad right arm and twisting him into a hammerlock that drops our champion to his knees in pain. Wilson seems triumphant, but Edwin reaches up and takes him down with a snap mare and breaks the hold on his arm. Wilson rolls through and comes up to his feet, turning and taking a swing at Edwin who ducks it, locks his left arm around Wilson’s right and twists back to back while reaching back with his right arm, managing to at least feign locking Wilson up with his useless limb. He tries to slide Wilson over for the Encore Cross, but he just can’t contain him with only one arm and Wilson spins out, sliding his legs around Edwin’s ankles and crumpling his legs beneath him, taking MacPhisto down to the mat with a drop toe hold…and he latches on a full nelson while keeping their legs entangled…FINISHING TOUCHES!”

 

“Oh goodness, this is it!” giggles Riley as Edwin screams in pain, arms reaching out for the ropes that seem oh so far away. The crowd gets to their feet, trying to rally their fallen champion. “There’s no way Edwin’s getting out of this. Haha..new champ, new champ, la la la la la…”

 

“This isn’t over yet,” cuts off Stevens sharply. “Edwin’s only a couple feet from the ropes and he’s digging his arms into the mat and pushing, trying anything he can to get to the salvation of the outside. Wilson wrenches back, putting as much pressure as he possibly can on Eddy Mac’s neck. He grunts as he applies more torque, doing everything he can to increase the pain output. Edwin starts to fade, face completely covered in his own blood as he strains out, his lanky arm only a few inches away…”

 

“But Edwin’s done!” promises Riley as MacPhisto’s arm drops limply to the mat, the crowd cheering, but fearing the worst. “Wilson shouts at the referee who immediately drops down and slowly picks up Edwin’s arm, and releases it.

 

ONE!

 

This crowd doesn’t realize that its over, still roaring as the ref does it a second time, the hand doesn’t even begin to linger, flopping back down to the mat.

 

TWO!

 

New champion…hehe…The referee picks up Edwin’s arm one final time, lifts it in the air and lets go…the arm starts to fall…”

 

“BUT DOESN’T HIT THE MAT AS EDWIN MACPHISTO STAYS ALIVE!” shouts Stevens excitedly as the sold-out crowd hits the roof. “Wilson can’t believe it, and frankly, neither can I, and now Edwin has caught about his fifth wind of the match, firing out…AND GRABBING THE BOTTOM ROPE! All right!”

 

“Unbiased commentary, as always,” hisses Riley as the referee forces Wilson to break the hold. “Edwin’s still half-comatose as he tries to use the ropes to pull himself up to his feet, but Wilson grabs Edwin’s legs from underneath him and yanks out, dropping the damned Carnie right on his face. He drags Edwin out to the center of the ring, a trail of blood following, and latches on a half nelson on Edwin’s bad right shoulder and attempts to latch on to the other, but Edwin fight back, reaching back and grabbing Wilson’s ankle and throwing himself forward, which rolls Wilson over and flattens him between Edwin and the mat and frees the Crown Prince from the half nelson.

 

MAC-PHIS-TOOOOOOOO!

 

MAC-PHIS-TOOOOOOOO!

 

MAC-PHIS-TOOOOOOOO!

 

The crowd reaches yet another apex cheering on Edwin as he rises up to a crouch, Wilson drunkenly getting to his feet behind him. Edwin points to the sky and half the crowd catches, screaming a very not in unison “Whiiiipback!” as Edwin leaps into the air, kicks his feet back as an unsuspecting Wilson gets caught square in the chest and dropped to the mat with a whipback kick!

 

“Whipback kick!” squeals Stevens as Edwin forces himself up to his feet and steps over a fallen Wilson, jamming his foot into his back and reaching down. “I think Edwin’s trying for...yes, he grabs both of Wilson’s arms and yanks back….FIRST CIRCLE! BOOYAH!”

 

“Silence!” demands Riley as its Wilson turn to scream in pain as the standing surfboard submission begins to take its toll. The crowd becomes a giant living organism, pulsing with a vibrant life as Edwin reasserts his claim to the title. “The official asks Wilson if he wants to give up, and he grits his teeth and shakes his head no, albeit not that strong of a no. Not looking good for Wilson. I was so excited, too…”

 

“Aww…poor Bobby…”

 

Edwin pulls back, trying to pluck Wilson’s arms off. Wilson has no chance at the ropes, as he currently resides directly in the center of the ring. Wilson manages to block the pain out long enough to realize that, and he manages to shift all of his weight over to his right side…

 

“Wilson starts to roll towards the right,” narrates Riley, “and I think I know what he’s doing. He yanks Edwin’s worthless right arm forward and Edwin loses his balance, tipping for a moment before coming crashing down to the mat. Wilson rises up and brings a double axe handle crashing down across his neck before slipping on another full nelson, legs so slowly locking in with Edwin’s…

 

FINSIHING TOUCHES! AGAIN! YESSSSSSSSSSSS!”

 

“Edwin once again has to make the long trek to the ropes,” points out Stevens, “and I’m not sure if he can do it. Edwin is not going to give his title up to this madman.”

 

“This has to be looking familiar, aye, Marky-Mark?” laughs Riley evilly with flashes of last year’s Armageddon pay-per-view flashing through everyone’s heads.

 

“Shut up, Riley. Edwin is straining for the sanctity of that bottom rope, but its an eternity away and he slowly beings to fade. Wilson wrenches back again, using every ounce of strength in his well-honed body to make Edwin writhe in agony. Edwin’s hand reaches out, and it looks like he’s going to tap, but instead he reaches up and rakes the eyes of Wilson! Wilson lets out a yelp of pain, but doesn’t release it the hold, only pulling back even more as Edwin continues slipping away.”

 

“Edwin appears to be gone again,” states Riley happily. “The referee drops down and lifts his arm again and lets go.”

 

ONE!

 

“Edwin’s reached down deep, but I don’t think there was anything left,” utters Stevens as the referee once again raises Edwin’s arm in the air and releases it.

 

TWO!

 

“Wilson hasn’t taken any pressure off, not wanting to take any chances as the referee lifts Edwin MacPhisto’s hand a final time…..and it drops.

 

THREE!”

 

The crowd begins to boo loudly as the bell tolls…

 

DING DING DING!

 

Wilson releases the hold and stands up, arm raised by the official as Funyon grabs the microphone. He’s barely audible over the roar of a very unhappy and partisan crowd, as well as the beginning of “Summer in the City”:

 

“The winner of this bou-“ Funyon is cut off by the fans, and he gather himself before booming even louder…”The winner of this bout and NEW S – W –F HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION OF THE WOOOOORLD…..CHRIS WILSOOOOOOOOOOOOOON!”

 

The belt is slid into the ring and Wilson accepts it over his shoulder. As if that eight pounds of gold was all it took to stagger him, Wilson stumbles towards the corner, using the top turnbuckle for support, as Edwin MacPhisto lies motionless on the mat in a puddle of his own blood.

 

“A valiant effort by Edwin,” approves Stevens. “It was a see-saw match from epic proportions, with interference from both the Carnival and Wilson’s new running mates, including a returning and obviously very angry Tyler McClelland and Boston Strangler, and near-falls so close I thought this match was over a half-dozen times, but in the end, it was Chris Wilson’s night.”

 

“It’s always Chris Wilson’s night,” assures Riley. “He just proved what a washed-up piece of trash your boy MacPhisto is. He never deserved to be champion.”

 

“You’re talking out of your ass again, Riley,” replies Stevens as Wilson steps through the ropes and slowly begins his walk up the ramp, the crowd still screaming for his blood. “Tonight Chris Wilson barely won, but this isn’t the last these two are going to meet. Edwin will get his chance for revenge, and if its anything like the match tonight, I hope to have the pleasure of calling it as well.”

 

“Well, maybe if they get a cool stipulation. Japanese Deathmatch, anyone?”

 

Wilson stands on the top of the ramp, strapping on his championship belt as the Pittsburgh crowd boos their hearts out one last time. Slowly, the men that already attempted to destroy Edwin and the Carnival walk out onto the ramp. Stryke, the Boston Strangler, “TNT” Taylor Nicholas Thompson, Frost, “Deathwish” Danny Williams and Tyler McClelland stand confidently across the stage in a row, Wilson in the center with his heavyweight championship belt around his waist. The copyright slowly begins to form in the center of the ring.

 

“I shudder to think about what these men can achieve together,” forewarns Stevens. “Well folks, we’re out of time. For the always-arrogant Bobby Riley, I’m ‘Grand Slam’ Mark Stevens. I hope you enjoyed Snake Eyes, because I know I did. Have a good night, and we’ll see you on Storm!”

 

Cue the fade to black…

[Guest Longdogger_Pete]

Arrrrgh. Well, I didn't expect to win but I gave it a shot anyway. Here it is folks in case you were interested.

 

The Mellon Arena in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania is alive with excitement as the second hour of the SWF Snake Eyes pay per view telecast winds down. Commentators "Grand Slam" Mark Stevens and Bobby Riley are at the edge of their seats, so hyped are they about the matches yet to come. Twenty thousand screaming SWF fans pack the Pittsburgh venue, taking flash bulb pictures and bearing their homemade cardboard signs. The excitement level in the arena was in fact so high that in the deep, dark recesses of the Clan's backstage locker room, rumor has it, Thoth allowed himself to crack a smile.

 

"Folks, we have been through hell here tonight on SWF Snake Eyes!" begins play by play announcer Mark Stevens.

 

"Yeah, and we're not talking about the effects of El Luchadore Magnifico's chili recipe!" chimes in color commentator Bobby Riley.

 

"Now, Riley, that was uncalled for," protests Stevens, defending his ex-teammate in the Midnight Carnival. "Anyway, we've got a great match coming up next here at Snake Eyes. Two feuds collide as Sacred defends the SWF Intercontinental Television Championship in a fatal four way match!"

 

"Sacred and Fallout have been at each other's throats for quite some time," Riley adds. "Sacred's been sporting a meaner edge in the last few weeks, and it's going to be exciting to see how he holds up in tonight's match."

 

"Also in the match are former teammates Longdogger Pete and Erek Taylor," notes Stevens. "Ever since Erek interfered in Pete and Ash Ketchum's shot at the tag titles last week on Storm, something hasn't been quite right between these two. Well, they get their shots at the title tonight as well, but they may have to tear each other apart to do so!"

 

"Old friends at odds... personal vendetta... another wild night in the SWF!" exclaims Riley gleefully. "I love it!"

 

"You will get yours..."

 

The audience pops and then falls silent as all the lights in the arena dim.

 

"You will get yours..."

 

The music is unmistakenly "Cold Contagious" by Bush, and the audience visibly reacts, knowing who will be emerging next.

 

"You will get yours..."

 

All eyes look to the stage area, where a thin white mist has begun settling along the floor.

 

"You will get yours..."

 

There is a pause as the song holds position, followed by a massive white pyrotechnic explosion in front of the stage.

 

"YOU WILL GET YOURS!"

 

Just like that, the floodgates are opened, and thick clouds of fog roll along the entrance ramp. The crowd's silence turns into wild applause as a lone figure steps through the smoke. He wears ripped blue jeans, dark sunglasses, and a black leather jacket over a tie-dye T-shirt. He bears a serious, focused expression as he walks briskly down the ramp and his music continues to play.

 

"You have no right to calm me down

You were never that around

And I have missed

I have missed

 

Cold contagious

All the mighty mighty men

What you save is

What you lose out in the end

Cold contagious

Cold contagious...!"

 

The figure climbs into the ring and stands in the center for a moment, surveying the audience. Then he climbs the far turnbuckle, ascending quickly to the second rope and holding his arms out in the air, posing for an expectant audience. The ring announcer, Funyon, gets on the microphone to introduce the fans' hero.

 

"The following contest is a FATAL FOUR WAY match scheduled for ONE fall, and it is for the SWF Intercontinental Television Championship! Introducing first, in the ring, from Miami, Florida, weighing in at 272 pounds... LOOOOOOOOONGDOGGERRRRRRRRR PEEEEEEEEETE!"

 

"Great crowd reaction for this mat veteran," reports Stevens, "who calls himself the One Man Wrecking Crew."

 

"He ought to call himself the One Man Laundry Crew," opines Riley, "because this guy's wrestling career is all washed up!"

 

Stevens slaps his forehead and groans. "God, Riley, that was the lamest attempt at a joke I've seen since Cutthroat tried to join X Force 9!"

 

"Really? I've been practicing, you know. How about this one? A priest, a doctor, and Jay Dawg walk into a bar together..."

 

The fading of Pete's entrance music gives Stevens a much-needed reason to cut off Riley in midsentence. "Now is really not the best time, Riley. It's time for the next opponent to enter."

 

"Can I break away? Push me away...

Watch me fall, just to see

another side of me.

Push me away, you can't see,

what I see,

on the other side of me..."

 

Multicolored lights brighten the arena with every color of the rainbow as "Downfall" by Trust Company pulses out of the powerful speaker system.

 

"No one can see anything on the other side of me!

I walk! I crawl! Losing everything, ready for a downfall!"

 

Once again, a loud pyrotechnic explosion on stage gives way to an outpouring of smoke across the stage. This time, instead of walking through the smoke, a pair of giant fans blow the smoke away from the stage to reveal Erek Taylor, clad in the cargo pants that are his customary wrestling attired. Once again the crowd pops big time for this major babyface.

 

"Now making his way to the ring," announces Funyon, "from Anaheim, California, weighing in at 195 pounds... EREEEEEEEEEK TAYYYYYYYYYYLORRRRRR!"

 

"Erek Taylor has really been on a tear here in the SWF since his debut just a few short months ago," says Stevens. "He scored some decisive upset wins over the likes of El Luchadore Magnifico, Thoth, and Sacred himself, cementing a name for himself as a top light heavyweight talent in the SWF."

 

Erek begins purposefully walking down the ramp, taking it slow to give his music more time to play through. Suddenly, Longdogger Pete slides out of the ring and begins running full speed toward Erek, catching the lightweight off guard with a swift hard right punch. Erek's entrance music cuts off abruptly as a fight ensues a little earlier than anticipated.

 

"Whoa!" hollers Riley. "These two just couldn't wait for the match to start!"

 

Pete continues to throw hard right overhand punches at Erek, each one striking Erek's upper body with full force and causing the smaller man to recoil backwards. Pete lays into Erek with blow after blow, until Erek buckles from the stress and drops to the ramp. Pete grabs Erek's arm and wrenches it upward, forcing Erek's body to snap upward, back into a standing position. Pete rears back for another punch, but Erek takes to the air, catching Pete's chest in a speedy missile dropkick that staggers the big man several steps. Realizing Pete's guard is down, Erek presses his advantage by jumping into the air again, wrapping his powerful legs around Pete's neck and twisting to force Pete's body to crumple to the floor in a beautiful headscissor takedown.

 

"Erek's really laying into LDP!" Riley exclaims.

 

"Textbook headscissor from the High Flying Prince," notes Stevens.

 

"Oh, come on, Stevens," Riley protests. "'Textbook?' What textbook did you study, Boredom 101? That move was awesome!"

 

Pete lies on his back, and Erek tries to keep his momentum going by pulling Pete's legs apart, then using them as leverage as he performs a double leg drop atop Pete, both legs landing across Pete's groin and "crotching" the heavier superstar. Pete rolls out of the way to avoid any further abuse from Erek, and clambers back to his feet. Erek and Pete lock up arms right there in the ramp as Pete tries to use his superior strength to wear down his opponent before the match even begins.

 

"SCUM OF THE EARTH! COME ON!"

 

The heavy metal sound of "Scum of the Earth" by Rob Zombie and the eerie green glow of the lights precede Fallout's arrival on stage, dressed merely in his normal wrestling gear, a black tank top and denim shorts, dispensing with the usual Clan robe on this particular night. Pete and Erek continue their battle to exert influence on one another and are sufficiently distracted so as to not notice Fallout's entrance. All their loss as Fallout runs down the ramp and barrels over both men, dropping them with a well-placed spinning heel kick.

 

"Well, now we've got three guys fighting it out," Riley observes, "and the match still hasn't started! At least, not officially!"

 

"Scum of the Earth" quickly fades from the speaker system as Fallout continues to display his physicality. Fallout takes out his aggressions on the first man to get up, which happens to be Erek Taylor, striking Erek's chest as hard as he can with a vicious knife edge chop!

 

"WHOOOOO!" shouts an electrified Pittsburg audience.

 

Ignoring the crowd, Fallout lands another chop across Erek's chest.

 

"WHOOOOO!"

 

At this point, Erek tries to fight back, firing off a kick toward Fallout's midsection, but Fallout catches Erek's leg, and twists it around into a dragon screw leg whip that forces Erek's body down to the ramp, thrown off balance by Fallout's counter. Fallout doesn't have long to celebrate as Pete stands up, grabbing Fallout by the collar of his shirt, lifting, and literally flinging him off the ramp, using pure brute strength. Fallout falls to the floor three feet below the ramp and rolls to try to absorb some of the punishment. Pete then lifts Erek to his feet and attempts to level the High Flying Prince with a hard punch, but Erek ducks, and hurries to get out of Pete's way, striding briskly toward the questionable safety of the ring, with Pete in hot pursuit. Erek rolls into the ring underneath the bottom rope, and Pete climbs in a moment later. Finally, somewhat relieved, the referee signals to the timekeeper to ring the bell, officially starting the match.

 

DING DING DING!

 

"NOBODY EXPECTS SACRED'S INQUISITION!"

 

"Seasons in the Abyss" by Slayer briefly plays through the Mellon Arena's speaker system, but the music is short lived as SWF Intercontinental Television champion Sacred runs down the ramp at top speed, wearing only a pair of black baggy pants and carrying the ICTV title belt over his shoulder. He drops the belt as he reaches the bottom of the ramp and rolls into the ring, intent on doing some serious damage to his opponents.

 

"And there we have the ICTV champion!" announces Stevens. "All four men have finally entered this arena!"

 

"Yeah, but they aren't all in the ring yet!" points out Riley. "Fallout's still rolling around on the floor somewhere!"

 

As Sacred enters, Pete and Erek look at each other for a moment, just the briefest of glances, but it was enough for each one of them to see what the other had in mind. Sacred stands and faces the two former X Force 9 members, but suddenly Pete and Erek each grab one of Sacred's arms and in a tandem maneuver, Irish whip the helpless Sacred toward the ring ropes! Sacred bounces off the ropes, and as he runs in the opposite direction, hurtling back the way he came, Pete and Erek each step back and extend an arm outward, knocking Sacred to the mat in a double clothesline!

 

"Nice teamwork from LDP and Erek Taylor!" notes Stevens. "Maybe they'll be able to work together after all!"

 

Pete moves to attack Sacred some more, but Erek gets the literal drop on the Miami Menace, sticking out a foot and knocking Pete forward in a drop toe hold, sending Pete sprawling out on the mat.

 

"Maybe you spoke too soon, there, Stevens," replies Riley sarcastically.

 

At this point a finally recovered Fallout runs into the ring and begins whaling on Erek Taylor, the only adversary who happens to be standing. Fallout lays into Erek with a series of kicks to Erek's shins, apparently concentrating on weakening a particular area, with the theory that Erek can't retaliate much if he can't stand. Erek starts to buckle forward, and Fallout grabs him by the shoulders, quickly tossing Erek backward over his head in a snap suplex that leaves Erek on his back several feet away and in tremendous pain. Fallout quickly gets back up, ready to face the next man who stands up, and that ends up being Longdogger Pete. Fallout runs toward Pete, but the big man is too strong for the Clan member, and Pete catches Fallout in midstride, using his momentum to lift him into the air, dropping him down over the ropes. Fallout gets tangled in the ropes a moment, and then, upon freeing himself, tumbles to the floor outside the ring. Pete spins around to see an angry Sacred rushing toward him and quickly blocks with a big boot to Sacred's face to make short work of the current titleholder.

 

"Hey, I just noticed something," says Riley. "LDP is the only man out there larger than a cruiserweight!"

 

"Really?" asks Stevens, inwardly groaning at Riley's obvious statement. "And how long did it take you to notice that?"

 

Pete makes the first cover attempt of the match as he drops down over Sacred and hooks the ICTV champion's leg.

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

THR-- No good, as Sacred manages to get his shoulder up to avoid defeat. Sacred gets up, but doesn't stay up long, as a powerful right hand from Pete levels the champion right back down. Pete, a little too sure of himself, tries for another cover.

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

WHAM! This time Erek Taylor breaks up the three count with a baseball slide right into LDP's ribs! Pete rolls off Sacred and scrambles back to his feet. Erek continues to charge Pete, but Pete catches Erek's charge and lifts the High Flying Prince into the air, dropping him back to the mat in a classic and well executed pumphandle slam! Disoriented, Erek Taylor rolls out of the ring to get his bearings, while inside the ring, Longdogger Pete and Sacred square off.

 

"Pete and Sacred are the only two men in the ring!" announces Stevens. "Who's going to take advantage first?"

 

"Probably the fans," replies Riley. "Folks, this is a perfect time for you to get up and take that bathroom break you've been looking forward to!"

 

Stevens is unamused. "Riley..."

 

"Yeah?"

 

"Shut up."

 

Back in the ring, and answering the earlier question from Mark Stevens, it appears that Sacred is pressing an advantage over Longdogger Pete. Sacred goes to work on the hardcore veteran with some well-timed forearm smashes that look painful, but Pete tries to suck up the punishment as best he can. When Sacred tries for an Irish whip, Pete reverses it, sending the lighter Sacred running for the ropes instead. Pete tries for a boot to the face, but Sacred ducks the high kick on his return trip and keeps running, bouncing off the opposite set of ropes. Sacred comes running back toward Pete and jumps into the air, coming at Pete with a flying forearm. Sacred strikes Pete's upper body, but Pete merely takes a step backward, holding fast, effectively "no selling" Sacred's forearm smash. Sacred doesn't give up there. He runs for the ropes again, this time bouncing off them of his own volition. Sacred's feet leave the mat as he leaps toward Pete, head down, gaining altitude and finally colliding, throwing his entire body into Pete's ribcage in a move Sacred calls the Kamikaze. Pete falls backward, landing awkwardly on his side. Sacred also hits the mat hard, in scarcely better shape then Pete, but Sacred is first to react, reaching out toward Pete and pulling him into a sudden school boy roll up pin!

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

TH-- NO, Pete manages to kick out, a little surprised by the skill of the ICTV champion and none the worse for wear.

 

Outside the ring, Erek Taylor makes the attempt to catch his breath, but is given very little time to do so, as Fallout wastes little time in attacking him, taking out the High Flying Prince with a quick and agile spinning heel kick. Erek Taylor is stunned as he drops to the floor, exactly the position Fallout wants him in. Fallout pulls the prone Erek a few paces closer to a set of steel stairs outside one corner of the ring. Fallout starts to lift Erek up, grabbing Erek around the waist, and then launches him backward in a release German suplex that drops Erek flat on his back across the top of the stairs! The crowd gasps as Erek recoils in pain, crying out suddenly and rolling off the stairs to the floor.

 

"Wow!" shouts Stevens. "Look at the punishment Fallout is dealing to Erek Taylor!"

 

"Say it with me, folks," replies Riley. "Fallout is hardcore!"

 

Fallout picks Erek back up, this time dragging him toward the timekeeper's table, and despite multiple verbal objections, Erek doesn't respond with any sort of physical defense, his strength drained from the fall into the steel steps. The timekeeper and several officials, naturally clear out of the table area before Fallout gets there, not wanting to take their chances. Fallout takes a deep breath and heaves Erek atop the table (knocking the ring bell off the table in the process), leaving him to lay, flat on his back across the table's surface. Erek offers no resistance as Fallout tears into him, pummeling Erek with vicious knife edge chops to Erek's exposed sides. When Fallout tires of this action, he picks up the ring bell from the floor, and bashes Erek over the head with it! The bell issues a loud CLANG! noise before going silent, and the blow is enough to knock Erek unconscious.

 

"He's hitting Erek with everything but the kitchen sink!" comments Riley.

 

Stevens shakes his head in amazement. "I guess Fallout's strategy is to utterly eliminate one opponent and then simply move on to the next!"

 

"Wait, what's he doing now?" Riley wonders aloud.

 

With Erek unconscious, Fallout decides he hasn't dealt enough punishment out just yet. Fallout places one leg up on the security barricade separating the timekeeper's table with the floor section of audience, and then hauls himself atop the barricade. The nearby audience members pop for Fallout standing on the barricade in such close vicinity, but dozens of yellow shirted security officers do their best to keep the crowd away from Fallout.

 

"I'm not sure what's he up to," Stevens replies, then, upon realization, mutters, "No way!"

 

As flashbulbs begin exploding all around Fallout to capture the spectacular moment, Fallout faces the crowd, his back to the table... and leaps backwards, flipping backward in midair as he hurtles toward the table... a moonsault off the barricade! Fallout crashes through the table, leaving the piece of furniture, and most likely also Erek Taylor, broken in half!

 

"OH, MY GOD!" cries Stevens. "FALLOUT HAS JUST DECIMATED EREK TAYLOR!"

 

While Stevens hyperventilates, of course, a slow motion replay airs of Fallout's spectacular aerial spot, and following the replay, a cameraman tries to get a close up shot of the wreckage. It isn't pretty. Both Erek Taylor and Fallout lie broken within the twisted remains of the table, and it appears both men are unconscious.

 

"Well, Fallout proceeded in eliminating someone, all right," Riley notes, "but he may have just eliminated himself in the process!"

 

Meanwhile, the camera once again cuts to follow the action in the ring, as both Sacred and Longdogger Pete are back on their feet. Sacred ducks a punch from Pete and darts behind the big man, wrapping his arms around Pete's waist and pulling backward in an attempted suplex. However, Pete's weight is too much for Sacred, who can't seem to get the big man off his feet. Pete elbows Sacred in the gut to remove him temporarily. Pete wrenches Sacred's arm forward to pull Sacred closer, and then Pete uses the momentum of the arm wrench to lift Sacred's feet clear off the mat. The One Man Wrecking Crew holds Sacred in place a moment, then lets go in a hard hitting Manhattan drop. After waiting a moment for his opponent to stop flailing his arms around in pain, Pete grabs Sacred's legs, drops to the mat himself, and wraps his own legs around his opponent's, locking in a figure four leg lock submission hold.

 

"There's Pete with the devastating figure four!" Stevens exclaims.

 

"WHOOOOO!" hollers Riley, but his outburst is met with only a confused look from Stevens.

 

Sacred struggles to escape the submission, but Pete has the figure four locked in solidly. Sacred flails his arms about but can't break out of the hold. Pete holds on tightly... he knows he's wearing his opponent down and it is only a matter of time before Sacred taps out.

 

Redoubling his efforts, Sacred puts all his strength into breaking free of the hold. Instead of struggling in vain to get toward the ropes, he lifts himself up with all his energy and actually manages to turn himself over! This move causes Pete to involuntarily break the hold. Sacred, now on his hands and knees, makes every effort to crawl away from Pete, but Pete quickly gets to his feet, and then, placing a massive hand around the back of Sacred's neck, Pete shoves Sacred hard, propelling him forward... headfirst into the turnbuckle post! Sacred rolls away quickly, but the damage has been done, and Sacred ends up lying on his back a few feet away from the post, writhing in pain.

 

Pete decides the time is right to capitalize while he has the chance. Wasting little time, he ascends the very same turnbuckle, climbing up from rope to rope until he reaches the top. As he stands up at the top rope, Pete looks around at the twenty thousand cheering audience members, then smiles, and extends one hand in the air, thumb and forefinger outstretched in an 'L' position.

 

"Here it comes, Riley!" Stevens exclaims, getting excited.

 

"Damn, Stevens," mutters Riley. "Don't sound so orgasmic over there."

 

Pete turns his attention back to the ring, bends his knees as he faces the downed Sacred, and then leaps, sailing through the air with his leg outstretched to perform his sole aerial specialty move, the Longdogger Legdrop!

 

But just before Pete lands the move... SUDDENLY SACRED IS PULLED OUT OF THE WAY! Fallout reaches into the ring and pulls Sacred by his legs, moving him completely out of the way of Pete's leg drop! Pete lands on the mat, with nobody home, and buckles over in pain.

 

"NO! SACRED GOT MOVED OUT OF THE RING BY FALLOUT!" hollers Stevens. "WHERE THE HELL DID FALLOUT COME FROM?"

 

"Looks like he crawled out of what was left of that table!" answers Riley.

 

Fallout pulls Sacred completely out of the ring, until Sacred is standing just outside the ring, albeit very unsteadily. Fallout leans Sacred against the ring apron and bottom ring rope and begins pounding away at the ICTV champion. Sacred tries to counter with a forearm smash on Fallout, but Fallout jumps up, wrapping his legs around Sacred's head and forcing Sacred down to the floor with a hurricanrana! Fallout then climbs into the ring, where Longdogger Pete is still down on the mat, and thinking quickly, Fallout hurries over and drapes an arm over Pete's midsection for a cover attempt! The referee quickly drops to make the count.

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

THRE-- NO! Pete gets his shoulder into the air to break the pinfall attempt! Fallout, not taking 'no' for an answer, shoves Pete's head and shoulders back down to the mat to try again.

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

THR-- WHACK! Pete punches Fallout directly in the face! Fallout rolls off Pete, automatically breaking the count, and clutches his nose as a trickle of blood begins to appear on Fallout's face.

 

"Damn!" comments Stevens. "And now Fallout has been busted open!"

 

"This match just soared to new levels of cool!" replies Riley.

 

Fallout gets to his feet. Pete tries to grab at him, but Fallout darts out of the way, using his quickness as a weapon against Pete. Fallout darts back toward Pete, who swings with another hard right, but Fallout ducks under him and hops into the air, reaching behind him with his hands and grabbing Pete by the head, dropping Pete backward in a devastating neckbreaker drop!

 

"Oooh... that had to hurt," says Stevens.

 

Fallout isn't finished there. With Pete's momentum halted, Fallout moves to deal even more damage to the Miami Menace. Fallout picks Pete up by the collar, enough to get a better hold on him, and then quickly whirls around, dropping Pete back to the mat in an Impaler DDT with enough force to shake the ring!

 

"MELTDOWN!" hollers Stevens as the crowd pops for Fallout's finisher.

 

"That's gotta be it, Stevens," comments Riley. "Ring the bell, folks; he's done. Fallout's the new champion!"

 

Fallout's chance of becoming a three time Intercontinental Television champion is improving by the second, and he wastes no time seizing the opportunity, succeeding his finisher with a cover on Longdogger Pete.

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

THREE... NO! This time it is Fallout that is pulled off Pete to break up the cover... by EREK TAYLOR!

 

"WHAT!" shouts Stevens.

 

"How the hell is he still standing?" demands Riley loudly.

 

Fallout suddenly stands up, enraged, and turns to face Erek, but Erek quickly whips around him, knocking Falllout back down to the mat with a scissor sweep! Next, Sacred climbs back into the ring, but Erek grabs him with a Tazzmission from behind, and modifies it into a sleeper drop, shoving Sacred downward with sufficient force to knock Sacred to the mat! Fallout gets back to his feet, but before he has any time to react, Erek is on him again, knocking him backward with a reverse DDT! The audience goes nuts, cheering wildly with each offensive move that the popular Erek Taylor pulls off as he picks up momentum in the match.

 

All four men are in the ring now, but the only one standing is Erek Taylor. Erek goes for a cover on Fallout, hoping to put an early end to the match.

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

TH-- NO! Fallout gets his shoulder up. Erek attempts to continue his assault on Fallout but is suddenly yanked backward by Longdogger Pete, who just got up from the mat. Pete lifts Erek Taylor into the air, pressing him high over his head...

 

"MUSCLEHEAD SLAM!" shouts Stevens. "Here it comes!"

 

SMACK! Before Pete can attempt the military press slam, Sacred appears out of nowhere, leaping into the air with a jumping high kick known as the Harlem Side Kick! Sacred scores right in Pete's midsection, and Pete loses his grip on Erek. Pete also loses his balance, and both Pete and Erek tumble to the mat. Erek actually rolls several feet away, inadvertently mowing down the referee in the process!

 

"Ref bump! Ref bump!" chants Riley.

 

"That's two signature moves now from LDP that have gone awry tonight!" declares Stevens.

 

"Yeah, yeah, boo hoo," mutters Riley.

 

Sacred notes that the referee has been knocked down and decides to capitalize upon the situation. Sacred quickly slides out of the ring, apparently looking for some kind of weapon.

 

Meanwhile, inside the ring, Pete gets up, but before he gets anywhere, he is met with a strong super kick from the still bleeding Fallout to slow his progress. Pete gets angry, and counters with a hard right punch. And another. And another. Fallout begins to weaken under the repeated forceful blows from LDP, and he staggers back toward the ropes. Fallout tries to counter, pulling a spinning heel kick out of the ether, but amazingly, impressively, Pete catches his leg! Fallout then spins around with the other leg, trying for an enziguri... but Pete catches that leg too!

 

"Denied!" exclaims Stevens.

 

Sure enough, Pete clutches Fallout by both his legs, and with nowhere else to go but down, Pete slams Fallout hard into the mat with the Longdogger Denial. Pete goes for the cover on Fallout, but then notices the unconscious referee! Quickly he makes an attempt to rouse the referee, but before the referee begins moving... WHACK! CHAIR SHOT! CHAIR SHOT! Pete is leveled with a chair shot across the head from Sacred!

 

"I think the fans heard that shot all the way in the back row!" comments Riley.

 

"This is insane!" exclaims Stevens. "Sacred wants to retain his title so badly that he's got to go to these lengths to hang on to it!"

 

Sacred comes around with the chair again, once more swinging it at Pete's head. WHACK! This time, Pete crumples to the mat, still conscious but trying his best to hang on. WHACK! A third chair shot from Sacred finally knocks the big man out. The referee begins to regain consciousness, impeccable timing on the referee's part, and Sacred quickly tosses the chair away, and watches as it slides under the ropes and falls out of the ring. Then Sacred hooks Longdogger Pete's leg to go for a cover attempt.

 

For a long moment nothing happens. After several seconds, the semi-conscious referee finally notices the cover being made and decides to count... a long slow semi-conscious count.

 

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

THREE-- NO! NO! EREK TAYLOR KICKS SACRED OFF PETE! Sacred whirls his head back at Erek... and Sacred looks absolutely livid!

 

"Oh, Sacred is PISSED now!" says Riley, stating the obvious.

 

Sacred gets slowly to his feet, but Erek doesn't back down. Erek grabs Sacred and hurls the ICTV champion toward the ropes in a hard Irish whip! Sacred ricochets off the ropes and returns toward Erek, but Erek is ready for him. Erek kicks Sacred in the midsection, causing Sacred to buckle forward. Erek holds Sacred's head down, wrenching it around until the two of them are back to back, and then Erek drops backwards, shoving Sacred's face into the mat with his shoulder in the reverse stunner finisher known as the FAME AND FURY!

 

But, NO! WAIT! THAT'S NOT WHAT REALLY HAPPENED! Erek had Sacred set up for the Fame and Fury, with Sacred's head buckled forward, but when Erek spun around, Sacred deftly and incredibly slid his head out of position, straightened up, and spun Erek back around to face him! When Erek faced forward again, Sacred began to drop Erek forward in a DDT, but jumped at the same time and fell forward atop Erek!

 

"HOLY SHIT!" exclaims Stevens. "I've never seen anything like that before! Sacred has reversed Erek's Fame and Fury... into the CRUEL FATE!"

 

Sacred's finisher took a lot out of him, but no matter, because his time is at hand. Sacred, winded, takes a few deep breaths, and then manages to get his arm draped over Erek Taylor. The referee is a little more prepared this time, and is ready with the count!

 

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

THREE! NO! NO! SACRED HAS BEEN PULLED AWAY... BY LDP! LDP IS LIFTING SACRED INTO THE AIR!

 

This time the crowd gets into the act. "HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT!"

 

Pete looks barely able to stand, yet he holds Sacred in the air with one hand! And then suddenly.. WHAM! Pete chokeslams Sacred to the mat with all the force he can muster, which is quite a bit!

 

The chants quickly change to chants of "L-D-P! L-D-P!"

 

Pete isn't finished there. Pete lifts Sacred back up into a standing position, then kicks him hard in the midsection. Sacred buckles forward, and Pete drops backward, slamming Sacred's face into the mat!

 

"CLOGGER!" exclaims Stevens. "CLOGGER! LONGDOGGER CLOGGER ON SACRED!"

 

Pete hooks Sacred's leg and the referee begins the count.

 

 

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

THREE!

 

 

The ring bell doesn't go off since it was used as a weapon earlier in the match, but it doesn't matter, because the audience sure knows who won! The crowd begins going crazy for Longdogger Pete, and "Cold Contagious" begins playing through the arena again as Pete stands victorious.

 

"The winner of this contest," announces Funyon, "and the NEW SWF INTERCONTINENTAL TELEVISION CHAMPION... LOOOOOOOOOOONGDOGGERRRRRRRRR PEEEEEEEETE!"

 

"Unbelievable!" shouts Stevens. "Longdogger Pete came back under incredible odds, and beat three other guys, finally pinning Sacred to win the ICTV title!"

 

"I don't believe it!" chimes in Riley. "Sacred was robbed!"

 

The referee slides out of the ring long enough to pick up the ICTV title belt off the floor. The referee then climbs back in and hands the belt to Pete. Pete accepts the prize and ascends a turnbuckle, holding the belt high in the air for the cheering audience to see.

 

After several moments posing with the belt, Pete climbs down from the turnbuckle, turning around to leave, and... WHACK! Erek Taylor strikes Pete with the steel chair, knocking him down!

 

"What the hell?" shouts Stevens. "What's he doing?"

 

Erek raises the chair in the air and drops it down over Pete's head, causing another loud SMACK as the audience cheers quickly turn to jeering.

 

"Erek, this match is over!" Stevens continues. "Enough already!"

 

Mercifully, a group of referees are quick to emerge from the back, running into the ring to hold Erek back, preventing him from inflicting any further damage to Pete. The officials begin escorting Erek back up the ramp as the new Intercontinental Televison champion struggles to get back to his feet.

 

"Looks like their feud is far from over, Stevens!" Riley notes.

 

"I don't understand what went wrong, Riley," says Stevens. "What came between these two? Why does their hatred run so deep? Hopefully we'll find out more next week on Storm, but coming up next, it'll be our stellar MAIN EVENT! Edwin MacPhisto will be defending the SWF World Heavyweight Championship against Chris Wilson! Don't go away; we're live in Pittsburgh for SWF Snake Eyes!"

[Guest Suicide King]

Actually, LDP, I'd have to say that I really enjoyed your match. You have no idea how close it was for me to have to judge between you, Erek, and Fallout. In the end it came down to minutiae sadly since you all wrote good matches.

 

Nice job as well Wilson... certainly nothing to be ashamed of. Edwin is whupass.

[Guest Longdogger_Pete]

Really? That's cool. Good to hear I'm on the right track at least. Thanks King.

[Guest Tod deKindes]

Blah. What could have been...

 

---

 

*** Backstage at the Igloo, we see Z roaming the halls, in preparation for his upcoming match. He stops when he sees someone in the distance … the camera pans over to check … and it's Tod deKindes. His leg is up on an anvil case as he's busy stretching his calves, limbering up for his match. Z flashes a smirk and walks up to his former SJL comrade. ***

 

Z: Hey Todster! This is it, this is the big leagues! Here we are, SWF Snake Eyes, our FIRST ever pay per view with the big boys! You have NO idea how … *nervous* I am! We're in a match with Danny Williams and TNT, we're gonna get killed!!

 

Tod: (puts his leg back down) Whoa, hold up. First of all, it's a fatal fourway. For all we know, it could be ME kicking your ass!

 

Z: Wha-- Hey!

 

Tod: Or you kicking mine …Whatever … But the thing is, we've known these two other guys for months. We've been up and down the road with them. You beat Danny Williams for the SJL European title once. *I* beat Danny Williams for the European title! I once beat TNT in a BRUTAL two out of three falls match! You … you won some other matches. Anyway, my point is, you got nothing to be worried about. We all didn't make this trip to the SWF for nothing. All four of us, we're gonna give these people a damn good show, and whoever's left standing is gonna get a shot at the U.S. title.

 

Z: But hey um … you and I, we've always gotten along pretty good. What if it's you and me left in the match at the end?

 

Tod: Easy. (puts on his trench coat) …Your ass is mine.

 

Z: (stammers) What?!?

 

*** With a smirk on his face, Tod puts on his silver framed shades and walks off towards the Gorilla positon, followed closely by Z. ***

 

Z: Yeah, well, WE'LL SEE ABOUT THAT!!

 

…

 

Mark: Well, that was interesting.

 

Bobby: Notice how these kids are just about ready to stab each other in the back for success?

 

Mark: Who says you've never tried the same thing?

 

Bobby: Your job is not to worry about what I'm doing, pal!

 

Mark: That's an understatement if there ever was one.

 

Bobby: You say that, but deep down inside you know you love having me around.

 

Mark: *coughs* Right, let's take you to the ring.

 

…

 

*** We cut to the ring, where Funyon gives a nod of the head to the arriving referee Mark Hebner. He raises the microphone up to his lips, reading off his note card. ***

 

Funyon: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is an Elimination Rules Fatal Fourway Match to determine the number one contender for the SWF United States title! Introducing first, participant number one …

 

*** "Calculating Infinity" by Dillinger Escape plans eases its way out of the speakers and into everyone's heads, as the Smarktron displays a finely crafted video of random shots of wrestling matches and graphics, all to the image of this man … ***

 

Funyon: From Louisville, Kentucky; weighing in at 238 lbs …'Deathwish' - Dannyyyy - Willliaaaaaaamms!!

 

*** Williams walks out to a slow but confident pace, giving out an short but approving nod to the crowd. He hops up to the ring apron and leaps over the top rope. He warms up in the ropes and paces around a little, before finally settling to a corner and awaiting the competition. Calculating Infinity fades to a stop, allowing the not as smooth sounds of Slipknot's "I Am Hated" firing up on the speakers … ***

 

Funyon: Participant number two … From Muenchen, Germany; he now resides in Toronto, Ontario, Canada. Weighing in at 227 lbs. … Tod - deeeeeeeee - Kin - deeeeeeesss!!!

 

*** Tod paces out violently, his stride obeying his theme song's rhythm. With leather trench coat on, silver shades hiding his eyes and long dark hair streaming wetly down his face, he stops midway through the ramp to acknowledge a "Todhead Fan Club, SWF Division" sign and then resumes his course on the way to the ring. He slides under the bottom rope and hops up to a random second turnbuckle, unleashing a mighty roar to the crowd. He exchanges a quick look with Williams and then removes the unnecessary trench coat and shades, tossing them to a nearby ring girl. He stretches in the ropes, as HIS theme song comes to an end … ***

 

Funyon: And now, participant number three …

 

*** A quick guitar riff and the manly calls of "Oi! Oi! Oi! Oi!…" by the late great Bon Scott echo throughout the arena, signaling the start of AC / DC's "TNT" … ***

 

Funyon: From Anaheim, California; weighing in at 267 lbs … He is the TNT - Tayor - Nicholaaaaaaaaaas - Thompsooooooon!!

 

*** As the AC / DC song "TNT" rages on, the wrestler of the same name walks out from behind the curtain, emptying a water bottle on his head. He hunk of recyclable plastic into the crowd, splashing a few unfortunate victims in the process. As his accompanying pyro goes off, he bolts into the ring, striking a quick pose at all four turnbuckles. He waves off his other two opponents so that he can do his pre match stretching. ***

 

Bobby: These three men in the ring, it was only a few months ago, they were involved in a brutal feud that saw Taylor Nicholas Thompson turn his back on Tod deKindes to ally himself with Dannny Williams, but then TNT wasn't happy with that so he turned on *Williams* instead! And right there, my pick to win this match, Taylor Nicholas Thompson! He's got the size, the strength and the desire to win it ALL!!

 

Mark: Amazing athlete indeed, but you can't take away anything from the other three competitors.

 

*** TNT's music comes to a stop. ***

 

Funyon: And finally … From Trenton, New Jersey, he weighs in at 229 lbs … The man known as … ZEEEEEEEEEEE!!!

 

*** The swinging sounds of Faith No More's "Epic" hit the speakers. The Man Known As Z shoves the curtains aside and trots down to the middle of the ramp. He stops to give out a quick bowing salute to the crowd and then resumes his way. He enters the ring, looking at his three other opponents. While everybody is eyeing each other, referee Mark Hebner gives out a few final instructions, while all four men are in a different corner. ***

 

Bobby: Stevens, believe me when I tell you, these four men can GO and when this bell rings, you can expect all HELL to break loose in a matter of seconds!

 

*** The bell goes off. All four men pounce on each other. Thompson attacks Z while Tod and Williams tangle in another corner. Thompson hammers Z in the corner while Tod is pushing Williams out of a lock up into the opposite corner. Both sides look at each other, as they do a double Irish whip. While Z goes charging to the other corner, Williams reverses his whip, sending Tod running. Tod leap frogs the charging Z and into a flying forearm on Thompson, while Z connects with an Arm Grenade on Williams. Tod peppers TNT with right hands to the side of the head. Irish whip to the ropes, followed by a gutshot on TNT. Tod throws himself in the ropes and connects with a swinging neck breaker. He bounces off another set of rope and comes driving down with a solid knee drop right on the forehead of TNT. Cover. ***

 

*One!*

 

*Two!*

 

*** Kick out by Thompson. Meanwhile, Z is hammering Williams in the corner with right hands of his own, but Williams quickly reverses that by shoving Z to the corner and burying a couple of shoulder blocks to Z's gut. Williams tries an Irish whip, but every body ends up staggering to the middle of the ring in a four way slug fest. Double Irish whip from Tod and Z on TNT and Williams. Double duck of the clothesline and double duck of a back elbow. Thompson holds onto the ropes to stop himself, but Tod comes right back at him and clotheslines him out of the ring with authority. Z catches Williams by the hair and sends him flying high above the top rope and out onto the floor, colliding with Thompson. ***

 

Mark: Tod deKindes and Z are taking out the trash early on!

 

Bobby: I hardly think Taylor Nicholas Thompson qualifies as trash. What is wrong with you?!

 

*** Tod and Z exchange a look in the ring and nod to each other. Tod grabs Z by the arm and Irish whips him in the ropes. Tod backs up near the ring ropes and alley oops a charging Z right to the outside, onto TNT and Williams! While everybody's getting up to their feet at ringside, Tod points to the sea of humanity and asks the crowd for approval. As they roar back in unison, Tod throws himself in the ropes and comes flying off with the grace of a cruiserweight, using a breath taking sommersault cannon ball plancha onto everybody. The crowd pops at that little high flying sequence. ***

 

Mark: The new guys are racking up the Air Miles here tonight!

 

*** While Z hammers on Thompson, Tod throws Williams back in the ring. As Tod climbs back into the ring, Williams uses that split second to roll up Tod in a small package. ***

 

*One!*

 

*Two!*

 

*** Kick out by Tod, as Z and TNT eventually roll back into the ring, resuming their battle. Meanwhile, Williams tries to gain control over Tod with a forearm to the back of the head. Arm wringer by Williams. Tod quickly reverses to his own wringer and into a hammer lock; but Williams is one step ahead and reverses the hammer lock to his OWN. Tod quickly surveys his options and tries to get out of the hold with whatever means possible. He leg scissors Williams, sending him falling face first to the mat. Tod floats over into another head lock, regaining control. But Williams is quick to reverse out of the headlock and back into a hammer lock. Williams works the hold into a headlock … and then back into another hammer lock. He forces Tod to one knee and takes him into a pinning combination with a modified Oklahoma Roll. ***

 

*One!*

 

*Two!*

 

*** Tod squirms out of the hold, kicking out of the pinfall in the process. ***

 

Mark: Danny Williams is keeping Tod deKindes grounded thus far.

 

Bobby: Of course he is, Mark Stevens!! Neither Tod, Z nor even TNT can outwrestle Danny Williams! Tell me, can you paint a better painting than Picasso?!

 

Mark: Well, no.

 

Bobby: Can you direct a better movie than Steven Spielberg?!

 

Mark: Not really.

 

Bobby: Can you write a better story than Stephen King?! Can these three guys wrestle better a better match than Danny Williams? I DON'T THINK SO!! Well, except perhaps TNT …

 

Mark: Nonetheless, speaking of TNT, he's having his way with Z, over in the other corner.

 

*** Thompson hammers at Z in the corner with powerful right hands. But then, in a rare display of … power (?), Z turns the tables on TNT and shoves HIM to a corner, hitting him with right hand after right hand, punctuated by a few knife edge chops and the ever accompanying Wooo's from the crowd. That doesn't seem to faze the explosive one however, as Z is hurled back into a corner with authority. Thompson lifts up Z's smiley face t shirt and comes off nailing some pure chest slapping chops of his own, as they resound throughout the whole arena. Hard Irish whip to the opposite corner by Thompson causes Z to literally bounce his spine off of the turnbuckle pads, holding his lower back. He grabs a front waist lock on Z and drives him down hard with a belly to belly suplex. Cover, Mark Hebner scrambles to get in position. ***

 

*One!*

 

*Two!*

 

*Th-- …

 

*** Kick out by Z, as Thompson disputes that count. Meanwhile, Williams and Tod are still in their own part of the ring, trading holds, counter holds and re-counter holds and holds to counter THOSE holds; along with the occasional striking attack involved. Irish whip exchange between the two. Williams ducks a clothesline and a back elbow from Tod, but he quickly puts on the brakes and catches his standing sidekick attempt. He spins Tod around, into a schoolboy from behind. ***

 

*One!*

 

*Two!*

 

*** Kick out by the German One. Another Irish whip exchange between the two. Williams puts his head down in hopes of a back body drop, but that proves to be a mistake, when Tod puts the brakes on and shoves Williams' head between his legs. He lifts him up and plants him back down with authority using a jumping piledriver. Tod drops a few quick elbows in succession and then caps it off with a fist drop right on the forehead. Lateral press for the cover. ***

 

*One!*

 

*Two!*

 

*Th-- …

 

*** Williams still has a lot left in the tank, and kicks out at two and a half, making the most of that three count. Tod brings up Williams to his feet and Irish whips him into a corner. Running charge hits, as Tod connects with his trademark corner spear. Both of Williams' arms are hooked, as Tod sends him flying high overhead with his underhook release belly to belly suplex. Williams staggers back to his feet moments afterwards but Tod puts him back down with a snapmare and a dropkick to the back of the head. Cover by Tod. ***

 

*One!*

 

*Two!*

 

*Th-- …

 

*** Kick out by Williams. Tod steps aside to avoid an Irish whip exchange between TNT and Z, and then picks up Williams. He lifts him up in a fireman's carry position, and then drives him down with impact, using a solid Death Valley Driver. He climbs up to the top rope, no doubt with intentions of delivering his trademark swanton bomb. However, an errant shot from Z sends Thompson falling against the ropes … right next to Tod, causing him to crotch himself. Williams rolls out of the way, as TNT staggers right in front of Tod, unaware of the german grappler's pained genital woes. Z charges at the Explosive one, but TNT alley oops him right above his head, and into a flying head scissor on the unexpecting Tod! Z looks around, not sure of what the hell he just done, only to walk right into a solid clothesline from TNT. Meanwhile, Williams crawls over and hooks the leg on Tod. ***

 

*One!*

 

*Two!*

 

*** Kick out. Thompson yanks Z up to his feet, pulling him by his stringy blue hair. He locks both of his arms together, and drives him down with authority with a double arm DDT. Still holding onto the arms, he raises Z back up and lifts him up and over into a double arm butterfly suplex. He rolls back onto his stomach, still holding the arms together, and then finally drives Z down hard with a double underhook powerbomb. TNT stands tall, proud of his work, when suddenly Williams arrives from behind with a waist lock. He lifts up the huge Californian and drives him down with a scintillating German suplex. He maintains the waist lock … and puts him down with another German … waist lock is held once again … and there's a third German suplex. Williams finally releases TNT, but Tod comes in with a gutshot on Williams and a snap suplex. He holds on to the front facelock and raises back to his feet. Another suplex variant, this time Williams is dropped on his stomach. Both men raise up again, as Tod lifts up Williams one more time, only to deposit him stomach first across the top rope. What Tod doesn't see is Z staggering back to his feet … ***

 

Mark: I believe Tod deKindes calls that triple suplex the Sara Sequence!

 

Bobby: Weak!

 

*** Since Z doesn't know any fancy locomotion moves, he simply opts to throw his foot into the air and connect with a NASTY superkick on Tod. ***

 

Mark: And that's what Z calls the Blizzard Of Oz!! He absolutely rocked him there!

 

Bobby: The cover!

 

*One!*

 

*Two!*

 

*Thr-- …

 

*** Nope, kick out. Z sees TNT still reeling from Williams' triple german, and traps him in a small package. ***

 

*One!*

 

*Two!*

 

*Th-- …

 

*** Z notices Williams who's also still down and rolls him up from behind. ***

 

*One!*

 

*Two!*

 

*Th… --

 

*** Z tries to rally the crowd behind him, but his arms are quickly locked up in a full nelson, as Tod arrives from behind and scores with a nasty dragon suplex. Thompson tries to pounce on the german one, but Tod ducks a clothesline and grabs a waist lock, attempting a german suplex. TNT knows what THAT's like as he tries to block it. Tod hammers a couple of stiff forearms to the upper back of TNT, and then completes the move. He bridges into a pin. ***

 

*One!*

 

*Two!*

 

*Thr-- …

 

*** Thompson lifts his shoulder up in the nick of time. He tries to get up to his feet, but Z comes crashing down on him with a leg drop right against the wind pipe. While Williams and Tod are staggering around and about the ring, Z quickly climbs up to the top rope … and dives off … ***

 

Mark: There's the Shotgun Moonsault on TNT!!

 

*** Z quickly crawls over and hooks whatever he can … ***

 

*One!*

 

*Two!*

 

*Three!!*

 

Mark: And he's got him!!

 

Bobby: WHAT??!

 

Mark: TNT is out of here!!

 

Bobby: You have GOT to be kidding me!!

 

Funyon: *ahem* … Taylor Nicholas Thompson has been eeeee - liminated!!

 

Mark: With Bobby's pick now out of this match, we are now one down and two to go!

 

*** Thompson pounds the mat and kicks the ropes in frustration, as he yells some obscenities at referee Mark Hebner. Hebner tries to stand his ground by puffing his chest and pointing at his referee patch. TNT will have none of it however, and shoves the referee aside. He picks up Z and lifts him up in an Argentinian back breaker position. He spins around with Z on his shoulders, and then drives him down hard with a devastating Burning Hammer. ***

 

Mark: Come on now, get him out of here!!

 

Bobby: Taylor Nicholas Thompson has just CREMATED Z with a move he calls the Detonator!!

 

*** As Z lies unconscious, TNT is finally escorted out of the ring. Meanwhile, Tod and Danny Williams are oblivious to the whole situation, as they're exchanging some right hands. As Z is rolled out of the way by Mark Hebner, an Irish whip exchange occurs between the other two, sending Williams running to the ropes. Williams ducks a clothesline but then he gets caught and brought back down hard with a scintillating powerslam by the german grappler. Tod bounces off the ropes and comes back down with a snap leg drop on Williams; repeat twice. He throws himself in the ropes one more time, with a fist drop aimed right at Williams's head … however, Williams suddenly moves, allowing Tod to land his fist drop on nothing but canvas. Tod clutches his hand, trying to shake off the pain; but all Williams sees is an opportunity. ***

 

Mark: Tod seems to have hurt something in his arm there …

 

Bobby: Even though Danny Williams is not high on my list of favorites, WATCH as he takes Tod deKindes' arm and literally RIP THE LIMB OUT FROM HIS SHOULDER!!

 

*** Williams holds Tod's wrist and drives down a few calculated elbows and punches into his arm. One arm wringer later, and Tod lets everybody within earshot know of his sudden discomfort. Williams applies an arm bar, and forces Tod all the way down to the mat. He drives a couple of knees behind the shoulder and then he cranks on the arm bar. Tod refuses Mark Hebner's offers to give up the match … ***

 

Bobby: We all know Tod deKindes has a history of an arm injury in the past, hell, it even caused him to lose the SJL European title!

 

Mark: Now that was actually the referee's decision, Bobby!

 

Bobby: NONETHELESS, this is the same type of move that cost Tod deKindes the European title, but will it cost him a shot at the *U.S.* title currently held by Chris Raynor!? It is only a matter of time!!

 

*** Tod manages to get up to his feet, although still in the arm bar. There's many scientific ways to counter out of an arm bar, but Tod simply opts to fold up his left arm and bash Williams on the side of the head with a solid forearm. Williams recoils back, holding his jaw. Tod seizes the occasion and Irish whips Williams to the ropes. Williams ducks three oncoming attacks. First, he ducks the ever present clothesline. Second, the always following back elbow; and thirdly he ducks under another superkick attempt. On the fourth bounce off the ropes, Tod puts his head down, in hopes of a back body drop. Williams puts the brakes on a quickly hops over him into a sunset flip attempt. Tod puts his knees down and hooks both legs in the process. Mark Hebner scurries into position … ***

 

*One!*

 

*Two!*

 

*Th-- …

 

*** Williams shifts his weight, reversing the sunset flip pin into his own. ***

 

*One!*

 

*Two!*

 

*Thr- …

 

*** Tod rolls backwards, and counters with a jackknife roll into another pin. ***

 

*One!*

 

*Two!*

 

*Thr-- …

 

*** Williams bridges up and tries to counter it into a backslide. Tod walks over to a corner and pedals up the turnbuckles, landing right in front of Williams. He quickly scores with an inside cradle. ***

 

*One!*

 

*Two!*

 

*Thr-- …

 

*** Both men are quickly up to their feet, but Tod does the first thing that comes to his mind, as he grabs a head lock, and then quickly turns it into another hammer lock. Williams reverses to his own hammer lock and then back into a head lock, followed by a take down. Meanwhile, Z has just gotten his senses back, but he's still pretty woozy from TNT's Detonator. He leaps into the air, with an elbow drop aimed right at either Tod deKindes or Danny Williams, but Williams quickly sees it and moves, allowing Z to drop the elbow squarely on Tod. Williams hammers Z with a few series of right hands to the side of the head. Irish whip to the ropes. Z ducks a clothesline, but Williams comes right back with a solid fist to the gut, followed right immediately with a stiff DDT. Williams falls on top for the cover. ***

 

*One!*

 

*Two!*

 

*Thre-- …

 

*** Z gets his shoulder up at the last second. Williams stands behind the slowly rising Z, as he holds out his hands in the Bob Backlund original "I'm Gonna Put The Cross Face Chicken Wing On Him" pose, minus the psychotic look in his eyes. What he doesn't see is Tod creeping up behind HIM. Williams locks on the Cross Face Chicken Wing on Z, but Tod quickly grabs *Williams* in a katihajime hold (at least he tries to, despite Williams' arm positionning). ***

 

Bobby: What in the blazes in this?!

 

Mark: It's a triple submission hold!! Or a double!! I can't tell anymore!

 

*** Somehow, the move all end up turning into rear waist locks on Z from Williams and on Williams from Tod. A little miscommunication ensues, but Z's feet end up leaving the ground … as well as Williams … ***

 

Mark: And that's a triple suplex!!

 

Bobby: Wait a second … one guy is suplexing another guy, who's already suplexing the third guy … This is weird!!

 

*** All three men are on the mat, barely sucking in wind. Most of them start to squirm, them being Tod deKindes and Z. The two crowd favorites are now exchanging right hands to the head. Irish whip echange between the two, with Tod gaining the better advantage of that one. Z ducks the ever present lunging clothesline and a back elbow, but right there, the two collide … No one goes down. Both men look at each other and throw themselves into the ropes again . Another double shoulder block … Still no effect. ***

 

Bobby: Any minute now, expect Mark Stevens to spout off a ridiculous sentence about the unstobbable force and the immovable object.

 

Mark: Well, there's always … -- … Hmm, all right then …

 

*** Both Z and Tod throw themselves into the rope to try and make each other flinch … but neither won't go down. Tod once again throws himself off the far side ropes. He ducks Z's clothesline and back elbow attempt (popular choice of offense in this here match) but right there and then he gets tossed all the way outside to the pretty blue mats. Z turns around to try and play to the crowd, but he walks right into a kick to the gut, a standing head scissor, and a devastating Deathbomb from Williams! ***

 

Bobby: DEATHBOOOOOOOMB!!

 

Mark: Z has been folded up in HALF!!

 

Bobby: And there's the cover!!

 

*** Williams shakes come cob webs loose and hooks a leg for the pinfall cover. ***

 

*One!*

 

*Two!*

 

*Three!!*

 

Mark: He's got him!!

 

Funyon: Z … has been eee - liminated!!

 

*** While Mark Hebner rolls the nearly unconscious Z out of the ring, Williams walks around the ring, trying to briefly recoop. Tod is still at ring side, but he notices that it is now down to himself and Danny Williams. Tod climbs up the apron, and grabs hold of the ropes, concentrating for his next move … as soon as Williams walks right into the path of a springboard dropkick. Williams staggers up to his feet, but he once again finds himself in Tod's clutches, as he tries to imprint his head into the canvas with another death valley driver. However, Williams slips out of the fireman's carry position and somehow grabs Tod's right arm into an arm wringer. Still holding onto the limb, Williams runs towards and hops over a random set of ropes, snapping Tod's arm against the top rope. Tod lies on the mat, clutching his arm as Williams is quick to slide back into the ring. He grabs Tod's arm, traps him in a La Majistral cradle and rolls him over into a pin attempt. ***

 

*One!*

 

*Two!*

 

*Thr-- …

 

*** Tod somehow squirms out of the hold, kicking out in the process. Even though Williams has nothing but respect for Tod deKindes, he can't help but stomp him in the head once or twice. He picks him up by the hair and kicks him in the gut. He hooks the front face lock and drops Tod down with a nasty Sheer Drop Brainbuster. Instead f going for another cover, Williams walks over to the nearest corner and hops up to the second rope. He aims an elbow drop with careful precision and drops it right on the heart of Tod. Cover. ***

 

*One!*

 

*Two!*

 

*Thr-- …

 

*** Desperate kick out by Tod. Irish whip exchange, Tod ends up ramming the turnbuckle hard back first. Williams charges at him and nails a solid back elbow ala Kevin Nash (although he didn't frame it, which might affect its effectiveness). He sits up Tod on the top rope, no doubt prepping him for a superplex of some sort. He climbs up to the second turnbuckle and grabs on to the front facelock and throws Tod's arm up over his head. But Tod starts to fight back, however, with short punches to the ribs, which is clearly affecting Williams. Tod frees himself with a series of headbutts, and then he shoves Williams back down to the ground. Only Williams lands right on his feet, more specifically on that left ankle of his … He quickly collapses, holding that very same foot. ***

 

Mark: Danny Williams seems to be hurt, here!

 

Bobby: That's an old injury surfacing back up for Williams! An injury he suffered at the hands of Tod deKindes, no less!

 

*** Tod sees the advantage opening up and hops back down to the safety of the canvas. Williams tries to limp back to a standing position, but Tod wastes no time. He picks him back up in the fireman's carry position and immediately DRIVES him down with that elusive death valley driver. Danny Williams ain't moving, which allows Tod to climb back up the turnbuckles and score with his swanton bomb. He leans backwards, hooking the leg along the way for the pinfall. ***

 

*One!*

 

*Two!*

 

*Thre-- …

 

Mark: No!! So very close!!

 

*** Tod looks behind him and sees Williams' arm fully extended up in the air. He picks him up by the hair and hammers with a series of right hands to the side of the head. Irish whip exchange, which is reversed by Williams, who sends Tod running. Tod ducks a potentially harmful elbow strike and then he leap frogs as Williams drops down to his stomach. Tod puts the brakes on and swiftly turns the tables, as he whips Williams into the ropes. Tod quickly goes for a back body drop, but Williams stops short, capturing Tod in a standing headscissor. ***

 

Bobby: He's going for the Deathbomb again!!

 

Mark: This could be it right here!!

 

*** Williams lifts up the german grappler, but he quickly counters the powerbomb with a sunset flip. Though Tod can't hold on quite to the move however, so Mark Hebner chooses not to count for that one. Everybody is somehow back up to their feet. Williams grabs a quick front face lock in order to score with another scintillating DDT, but Tod reverses out of it, knees Williams in the gut and throws his arm between his legs; appropriating Williams up in the pumphandle position. He screams out a "victory is imminent" type of german war cry and then PLANTS Williams down with his Spirit Breaker. ***

 

Mark: And that's Tod's move!! He could take it right here, the cover!

 

*One!*

 

*Two!*

 

*Three!!*

 

*** Bell rings, as the victor's theme fires up … ***

 

Funyon: Ladies and gentlemen, the winner of this Fatal Fourway match … Tod - deeeeeeee - Kin - deeeeeessssssss!!!!!!

 

*** Still shaking off some pain in his right arm, Tod climbs up to the second rope and lets out a mighty victory roar to all of his Todheads in the crowd tonight. ***

 

Mark: A huge victory here tonight for Tod deKindes, his FIRST showing ever on an SWF Pay Per View!!

 

Bobby: Oh sure, his career is just beginning now, but he has NO idea whatsoever of what awaits him in the times to come!! Tod deKindes is about to find out that this journey … is NOT all that it's cracked up to be!!

 

***A new career is underway in the SWF, as Tod deKindes celebrates his first win; on Pay Per View no less. As Mark Hebner tends to Danny Williams, Tod slides out of the ring and slowly heads back up the ramp as his theme song echoes throughout the Igloo …***