##### ###### ### ########## ########## ########## #### ## ########## ########## ########## #### # #### ######## ##### ##### #### ## ##### #### #### #### #### ### #### #### #### #### ############# ######### #### #### ########### ######### #### #### #### #### #### ######### ######### ### #### #### ######### ######### ### ## #### ######## ######## ## # #### =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- ## =-=-=-= INTERNATIONAL INTERNET WRESTLING FEDERATION =============================================== S + A + T + U + R + D + A + Y N + I + G + H + T ----------------------------------------------- + LiVE + 3 May 1997 + IIWF Coliseum + [The opening graphics fade through to interior shots of the jam-packed IIWF Coliseum. Fireworks explode high in the rafters as the capacity twenty thousand strong crowd cheer in their excitement. The shot pans down past row upon row of sign-waving, merchandise-wearing fans, swinging wildly over the sea of faces illuminated by the kaleidoscopic colours cast by the beams of the powerful spotlights in the rigging above the squared circle. The shot eventually pans down past the ringside fans to the ring enclosure and the broadcast table, at which stand Tim Dross, dressed in his customary IIWF suit, and "Soundbite" Steve Roberts, who wears his IIWF leather jacket and a Birthday Bash t-shirt.] TD: Welcome everybody to the IIWF Coliseum! Welcome to another live and loud edition of IIWF Saturday Night, the hottest two hours of television in the world! I'm Tim Dross, and beside me, for now at any rate, is my broadcast colleague, "Soundbite" Steve Roberts. SR: "For now?" What's that supposed to mean, Dross? TD: It's no secret that you are treading on very thin ice indeed with the IIWF's administration at the moment, Steve, following your extremely inappropriate comments directed at Chris Quigley last Tuesday. SR: So I was called to a meeting with that brainless suit we're forced to call the IIWF President. So what? TD: It's my understanding that you were issued with a caution on Thursday, stipulating that if you make any more untoward comments about the athletes of the IIWF -- and particularly Chris Quigley -- you'll be indefinitely suspended. SR: Well, if it'll make you happy, Dross, I won't say anything rude about Chris Kick-Me tonight. But no stinking suit tells the Soundbite what to do. I know who my friends are. [Roberts takes a few steps towards the crowd barriers, and is nearly engulfed by clamouring fans wearing their "L'il Soundbiter" t-shirts. A chant of "Shoot, Soundbite! Shoot!" starts up. The camera pans around the crowd, showing a number of pockets of "L'il Soundbiters", all leaping up and down, punching the air and chanting. Cut back to Roberts and a bewildered-looking Dross at ringside.] TD: I find it incredible that even a minority of the great fans of the IIWF could support your recent comments, Steve Roberts. SR: I'm the best thing going today, Dross. You know it, these fans out here know it, and whether he wants to admit it or not, Spreadbury knows it. I'm not going anywhere, Dross, unless I choose to. The "Soundbite" has spoken. TD: Some would say that he has said rather too much, Steve. Fans, we're just seven days away from Birthday Bash, an event which promises to bring some of the most eagerly-anticipated matches in IIWF history. Chris Quigley will challenge Casey James for the IIWF World Heavyweight Championship; Requiem and Deathbringer will square off in a Master of Darkness match; Brody Thunder and Mad Dog Watkins will do battle for possibly the final time; Steve Kowalski and Joe Petrow will clash in a wild brawl; Creed challenges Lord Byron for his Intercontinental Championship; Tony Starks battles Otto Verhoeven... What a night it's going to be. And we'll be seeing nearly every competitor in those matches in action here tonight. We have a tremendous double main event lined up here in the Coliseum. SR: The Subway Stinker is going to team with Kick-Me to get beaten senseless by the Syndicate. Why wait until next week when Casey James and Tiger Claw can knock them around tonight? TD: While the Psycho and Quigley face their Birthday Bash opponents tonight, The other half of the main event similarly pits Creed and Tony Starks against the European Alliance, Otto Verhoeven and Lord Byron, in tag action. We should get a good idea of what to expect from next Saturday night's huge matches from those two encounters here tonight. SR: I'll tell you right now, Dross: the Syndicate and the European Alliance are gonna kick a whole lot of ass. TD: That remains to be seen. In other action, IIWF Cruiserweight Champion, the White Phoenix, goes up against Steve Kowalski here tonight. Kowalski has been campaigning for a title shot for weeks, and he finally has it tonight, just seven days ahead of his match with Joe Petrow at the Bash. We'll also see Cold Spell and the Harlequins lock it up tonight to determine just who will face the Prophets of Rage for the United States Tag Team Championship next weekend. SR: From what I hear, the Harlequins aren't even here, Dross. TD: It's entirely possible. Despite not applying to the IIWF President for leave, I understand that Harlequins Tragedy and Comedy may have tied the knot today, and, uh... SR: [interrupting] Let's just say that the kind of wrestling they'll be getting up to tonight isn't fit for free TV. TD: Well, it wouldn't surprise me to see the Harlequins here tonight in any case, Steve. They're looking for a chance to win back those US titles, and they've got to go through Cold Spell to get that chance. We'll also see Deathbringer battle Highwayman tonight, while his ally, Nightwing, goes up against the "Party Maniac" Marty Warnett. I'm told that we can expect some kind of announcement from the Highwayman later on tonight. SR: Oh, how exciting. TD: There's no need for that sarcasm, Steve Roberts. Also in action tonight, we'll see Night Patrol, the team that will challenge former stablemates Pain Inc. for the IIWF World Tag Team Championship next Saturday at the Bash, go up against the Zodiac Connection. On top of all that, we'll see Ronnie Paris face the "Enigma" Takezo Musashi, who has certainly been enigmatic as of late. SR: He's lost it, Dross. Simple as that. TD: But before all that, the man formerly known as Cheshire, Chris Herforth, whose hands were injured by Serge Annis on Wednesday night, is going to lock up with "Real Deal" Luke Steele, who suffered a loss at the hands of Mad Dog Watkins at the same event. This should be a great opening encounter -- so without further ado, let's get up to Sparkplug Lee for the introductions. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Chris Herforth vs. "Real Deal" Luke Steele -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= WRITER: JO [Sparkplug Lee stands in the middle of the ring, oblivious to the fact that the camera is on him.  He sways back and forth ever so slightly while snapping his fingers.  The microphone manages to catch part of the tune he is humming -- "Wannabe" by the Spice Girls -- which brings a snicker from the duo of Roberts and Dross.  Suddenly Lee snaps to attention after getting the cue from the producer, but manages to drop his cuecards in embarrassment.  He is thankfully saved, however, as "The Trick" by Prodigy starts playing in the background and the camera whips to the wrestler's entrance...] SL: The following contest is set for one fall. About to make his way     to the ring, from Germany, weighing in at 220 pounds, the man formerly known as Cheshire... CHRIS HERFORTH! [...and into the spotlight steps the former circus star to a fair pop from the crowd.  Noticeable to all is the thick bandages which wrap his hands as the result of last week's onslaught by Serge Annis.  After stepping through the ropes, Herforth adjusts his bandages and then raises his hands to the crowd in search of approval, which he receives immediately.] TD: Chris Herforth looking at those hands of his which are bandaged up here tonight in the wake of Serge Annis' attack.  You have got to     wonder what kind of damage was done to the ligaments and joints.     Just how much will his injuries effect him tonight? SR: Who cares, Dross?  I mean, he's only facing "Meals on Wheels" Luke Steele.  I could beat Steele with both hands tied behind my back. TD: And how would you propose to do that? SR: Simple. First, I'd give him a good swift kick to the... TD: [interrupting] Steve, please. SR: And then I'd give him the coup de grace -- moonsault... Asai Moonsault. Then the one, two, three, and you could take that to the     bank, Baby dolls! [The crowd begins to pop as "Black Cat" by Janet Jackson begins to play over the sound system.] SL: And introducing his opponent... weighing in at 275lbs, and hailing from Cleveland, Ohio... this is "The Real Deal" LUKE STEELE! [Steele emerges from the back to a good face pop from the crowd.  Dressed in his usual attire of long black and white tiger striped trunks, Steele steps forward, runs his hands through his long brown hair, and smiles at the reception.  After hitting the ring, he removes the red vest he was wearing, throwing it to the ring girl with a message of "Hear you go, Baby doll."] TD: What a matchup we have to kick off the broadcast here tonight, folks.  Two of the "new generation" of talent that has taken the IIWF by storm in recent months. SR: Yeah, yeah, yeah.  But new doesn't always equal good.  You know what I think about this match?   B-O-R-I-N-G! TD: Well I, for one, am looking forward two this encounter. One that promises good clean wrestling and an honest effort. TD: That's exactly why it's going to be boring. Hang on... I'm being told there is interesting activity going on in the locker room area right now. SR: So what do you think Becky's up to this time? TD: Steve!  Actually, Steve Summer is in the back with the breaking news. Let's get a quick update from him! [Cut backstage to the locker room area where Steve Summer is standing in front of the camera.  There are loud sounds of commotion in the background.] SS: Oh yeah!  Get him! Oh, uh... hi. Just seconds ago, I was ready to tape a Monday Musing with Derek Mota, and then all of a sudden Ike Sampson came in and nailed him with a clothesline!  New Generation rules!  These guys are trying to rip each other's throats out right now!  Owch!  Ike Sampson just said something like "Eat this, Golden Boy!" and just whacked him in the face with the lid of a garbage can! [Cut back to the arena.] TD: Okay, thanks Steve.  We'll be sure to come back to you with an update as soon as this match is over! [In the ring, Herforth extends his hand to Steele and Steele meets the offer with a clean handshake as the bell rings. The two athletes quickly move to a collar and elbow tie-up, with Steele using his weight advantage to move Herforth to the ropes.  Following a clean break, both wrestlers tie up once again, this time with Herforth managing to maneuver Steele into a standing side headlock which he grinds on forcefully.  Steele breaks the hold by sending Herforth into the ropes... Herforth ducks the clothesline attempt by Steele off of the rebound and cathes Steele with a nice Japanese armdrag on the return.  Steele is quickly up, only to fall prey to another armdrag take down and then a third, which Herforth follows up by holding on to Steele's arm and applying an armbar with his legs.] TD: Great speed shown here by Herforth.  He's got the bigger Steele off balance. SR: That's actually good strategy on his part.  I mean, he's giving up four inches and over fifty pounds to the "Square Deal", so speed might be his only advantage.  Well, that and a good steel chair. [Steele has managed to get to his feet and applies a hard left boot the stomach of Herforth and follows by snapmaring the smaller man over by his bandaged hands.  Herforth immediately screams in pain, but Steele shows little remorse, grabbing Herforth's hand and stomping them into the mat with his boot.  Herforth rolls over in pain, and Steele acknowledges the referee's request for a break as he checks on the injury.] SR: What's Steele doing?  Kick the man some more! TD: Steele is showing good sportsmanship here by allowing Herforth's hands to be checked out. SR: Yeah, but only after he stomped on them.  That proves the boy can' be that clueless -- follow up! [Herforth slightly shoves the referee away as he gets to his feet in a show of his willingness to go on.  Steele imediately is on the former Chesire with a hard right hand and a chop across the chest, and then sends him to the ropes only to catch him with a beautiful flying dropkick. Steele then sets Herforth up for a piledriver, hoisting him up only to have Herforth to kick and force Steele to set him down and try it again. The second attempt is reversed by Herforth with a back body drop, which leaves Herforth shaking his hands from the exertion in lifting the bigger Steele up and over.  Herforth is quick to forget his pain and nails Steele with a series of kicks to the chest and a hard backward kick which sends Steele crashing to the mat.  Herforth then springs over the top rope to the outside ring apron, and, as Steele rises to his feet, he uses the top rope to hit Steele with a beautiful springboard somersault dropkick.  The crowd pops loud for the acrobatic move, and Herforth seems to feed off this energy.  He quickly heads to the top rope, balances high on the top turnbuckle, and catches the rising Steele with a sunset flip from the top which results in a two count.  Undaunted, Herforth hits the ropes once more and catches Steele with a beautiful spinwheel kick.  The subsequent cover and grapevining of the leg results in a near fall with Steele kicking out at the last possible instant.] TD: That one was close, folks!  I thought for sure that there was no way     that Steele would kick out of that one. [Herforth manages to get to his feet and comtemplates his next move after stomping a hard right boot to the head of Steele.  Instead of a high impact move, Herforth uses his brain and tries to catch Steele off guard with a nice rolling small package that nets another two count.  Herforth quickly gets up, picks Steele up from the mat, and irish whips him to the corner.  Steele, having hit the turnbuckle hard with his back, slumps down in the corner, ripe for the picking.  Herforth sprints to the opposite corner, prepares himself, and then dashes across the ring and attempts a cartwheel kick to the corner -- only to find nothing but air as Steele slips out at the last instant!  Steele is quick to attack, offering up several stiff European uppercuts and a slingshot suplex that leaves both men breathless in the middle of the ring.] TD: What a match brought to you here, live from the IIWF Coliseum in Portland, Oregon.  This match has been everything that I thought it     would be and more! SR: I'll give both men credit, Dross.  This match hasn't quite been the snooze-fest I predicted it to be.  Of course, a little blood, a few chair shots, and maybe "Cop a Feel" Luke Steele going headfirst through a table would make this match that much better!  And biscuits!  Couldn't be a great match without biscuits! [Both wrestlers lie exhausted in the middle of the ring, chests heaving at the exertion put into this match.  As the referee puts the count on the pair, the crowd begins to cheer for both men to get up.  THREE... FOUR... Herforth shows the first signs of stirring... SIX... SEVEN... and is the first one to his feet.  A tired Luke Steele slowly stirs near Herforth's feet.  Shaking the cobwebs from his head, Herforth realizes that the advantage is his and makes his way to the nearby corner and slowly climbs to the top rope.] TD: This could be it, Steve Roberts!  If Herforth hits this maneuver,     it'll be all over. SR: Steele is slow to recover in the ring.  I hear from Becky Larue that he's the same way in the bedroom! [Herforth perches up on the turnbuckle as he waits for Steele to rise to his feet.  The noise level of the crowd grows in anticipation as Steele gets to his feet...] TD: Here comes Herforth with a hurricanrana from the top! NO! Luke Steele catches him in mid air and turns it into a makeshift POWERBOMB! [The referee quickly moves in for the count as Steele follows the move with a cover and a grapevine.  The crows counts with the count -- 1 - 2 - 3! Ding! Ding! Ding! The crowd yells excitedly as Steele rises to his feet, throwing his hands in the air to celebrate his victory, then slumping down in the corner over the turnbuckle in exhaustion.  The crowd's cheering quickly changes to an apprehensive murmur as "The Epitome of Evil" Serge Annis rushes the ring and begins to hammer on the defeated Chris Herfoth.] TD: What in the world?! That's Serge Annis -- why in the world is he out here? SR: To add insult to injury!  I like it!  Annis obviously wasn't satisified with merely injuring the hands of Herforth last Wednesday -- he wants to destroy him here tonight on Saturday Night! TD: Annis is all over Herforth, beating him with lefts and rights.  Why is it that every time we get a good clean match like the one we just had, some nut has to run it and ruin it with a barbaric act? [In the ring, Serge gets tackles from behind by Luke Steele, who was caught off guard by Annis' attack but now is quick to help out Herforth. He nails Annis with several hard left hands, and Annis quickly slides under the bottom rope to the sanctuary of the floor.] TD: Thank goodness for Steele's help. Annis was bent on destroying Herforth! SR: I don't think Serge is done though... [The camera cuts to Annis, who has just deposited Sparkplug Lee to the floor, relieving him of his chair.  Chair in hand, Annis crawls back in the other side of the ring, facing the back of the unaware Steele who now kneels and checks on Herforth.  Annis brings the chair crashing down hard on the back of Steele's head, knocking him out cold.  The crowd groans a sickened groan as the sound of the chair shot echoes throughout the IIWF Coliseum.  Annis isn't done, however, and starts nailing Herforth with the end of the chair. He stretches out the hand of Herforth and sets to bring it down on the extended fingers of the former Chesire when...] TD: Oh my! It's Billy Shakespeare!  He's in the ring and right behind Annis and he's got a chair of his own!   What's he doing here? SR: He's obviously here to help Annis in ridding the ring of filth! I like this new side of Little Billy! [Shakespeare raises his chair and strikes Annis in the back, moments before Annis could drive his chair onto the hands of Herforth.  Annis drops his chair in a mixture of shock and pain, and turns to face his attacker.  Shakespeare, his face an errie mask of tragedy and comedy, stares at Annis and then rears back to swing his chair once more.  Annis has nothing of it, and quickly rushes through the ropes to the arena floor.  He quickly heads to the back, with the boos of the arena crowd haunting his retreat.] SR: What's up with Pukespeare? I thought he'd seen the light!  TD: It's not over yet Steve -- Shakespeare still has that chair! [Shakespeare stands in the ring over Herforth, chair in hand, and the crowd falls silent in anticipation.  Shakespeare simply drops the chair at his feet and bolts to the back to a mixed crowd response.  Both Herforth and Steele manage to get to their feet and stand in the middle of the ring.  Both athletes are a bit unsure of the events of the past few moments, but both shake each other's hand in a show of mutual respect and exit the ring together.] TD: What a show of respect by both men.  SR: If I were Herforth, I would have clocked Steele after getting my bell rung.  Of course, if I were Herforth, I would never have found myself on my back staring up at the lights, but that's another story... TD: Well, my hat is off to both wrestlers!  What a show they put on here for us to start off tonight's show, even if it was marred by Annis afterwards. Let's go back to Steve Summer with an update on the Ike Sampson and Derek Mota brawl in the dressing room! [Cut back to the dressing room.  Ike Sampson is sitting on the bloody form of Derek Mota, hitting him repeatedly with lefts and rights.] SS: Hey Tim, these guys have been going at it for a while now, they're playing for keeps here! [Sampson grabs Mota's hair and starts ramming his head into the floor!  Mota looks to be nearing the point of unconsciousness.  Mota uses his last bit of energy and hits Sampson with a low blow!  Both men are lying crumpled on the mat, unable to move.  Sampson finally lifts his head and eventually starts struggling to his feet.  Mota is clutching his head with one hand, and also starts getting up.  The camera turns to Duncan Macbeth, who has just come into the dressing room area.] DM: Look a' th' twa fools... like wee gillies in a schoolyard, fightin' o'er who has th' biggest toy truck.  Well, th' teacher's just arrived, an' it's time t' hand out detention! [Mota and Sampson continue trading punches, and are both Clotheslined by a charging Duncan Macbeth!] SS: Duncan Macbeth is here!  He just knocked down Sampson and Mota like a pair of bowling pins! [Macbeth grabs a hold of Mota and Irish Whips him into the wall!  Sampson hits Macbeth with a knee to the back and says "I'll show you extra baggage!". Sampson starts kicking Macbeth in the stomach, and with the help of Derek Mota, they Body Slam him into the ground.] SS: Here comes the Jobber Justice Squad!  They must be getting tired of breaking these guys up!  I'll bring you more updates after this mess has been cleared up! [Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: It's chaos back there, Steve. SR: It's a damned sight more interesting than this next match, Dross. Can't we stay with the brawl? TD: This next match promises to be a great technical extravaganza. SR: It promises to make me puke. Between Nightwing's injun hogwash and Warnett's cradle robbing... TD: You just don't give anyone a chance, do you? SR: Depends on the anyone. TD: What about Sparkplug Lee? SR: No chances for him. Grade A loser. TD: Well, he's about to do the ring introductions. SR: Betcha ten bucks he messes up. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Nightwing vs. Marty Warnett =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= WRITER: MF [Sparkplug enters the ring with a flourish.] RA: Ladies and, er... ummm... gentlemen, yes, gentlemen... SR: Told you. RA: This next contest is scheduled for one fall. Introducing first, weighing in at 235 lbs and hailing from Cherokee, North Carolina, here is Nightwing! [An eagle screech is heard, and Chiqoit is seen flying up in the rafters of the Coliseum. Nightwing walks down the aisle to "Native Son," and the fans cheer. Nightwing looks up to the eagle, and calmness seems to spread across his face.] TD: It almost seems as if he's got a symbiotic relationship with that bird. SR: Isn't that illegal? TD: What? SR: I mean, you can't do that with an animal and not get in trouble... TD: No, a _symbiotic_ relationship... Like they share one mind. SR: Sam-boo... Quit it with the big words, Dross. RA: His opponent weighs in at 245 lbs and hails from Cardiff, Wales. He is the Party Maniac, Marty Warnett! ["Cold Gin" begins to play and the crowd erupts into a huge pop. Marty appears at the head of the aisle, making movements very much like Chris Quigley, then waves off. He wals down the aisle, slapping hands with the fans. At one point, he motions to jump over the crowd barrier, and laughs a bit when the crowd gets excited.] TD: The fans love him! SR: Blow-hard... TD: I bet Warnett at least knows what symbiotic means. SR: Shut it, or you'll know what the words Asai Moonsault mean. [Warnett enters the ring and gets ready for the match. The ref calls for the bell, and Nightwing drops his hands, walks right up to Warnett, and offers his hand. Warnett looks to the crowd, who cheer, and shakes the native American's hand. The two then circle each other, Warnett feinting forward to try and get Nightwing to act. The two men lock up and Nightwing comes out on top with a headlock, which is reversed into a hammerlock by Warnett. Nightwing grabs Warnett around the neck and flips backward over Warnett's shoulder, freeng himself, then throws him into the ropes. Warnett returns, and Nightwing fall to the mat, allowing arnett to pass. Nightwing hops up and executes a nice armdrag on the second return, then locks on an armbar. Warnett checks for an escape, spins and flips on the mat, and escapes the hold, but keeps a hold of Nightwings arm in a top wrist lock. Nightwing counters with a Tomahawk chop to Warnett's head. Warnett falls to the mat.] TD: We're seeing a new side to Nightwing here tonight. He's usually more aerial than this. SR: Enough with all this flippy crap... Kick him in the nuts! TD: *sigh* [Nightwing locks on a reverse chinlock, and Warnett fights to his feet, relieving the pressure. Warnett turns into the hold, and places Nightwing's chin on top of his head, then drops to his knees, Nightwing holds his jaw and staggers away, and Warnett throws him into the ropes. Nightwing comes back, and Warnett hits a hanging clothesline, then makes the cover...1 - Kickout by Nightwing. Warnett locks on a front face lock and drags Nightwing up, then sets him up in the corner. Warnett leaps up to try for a monkeyflip, but Nightwing pushes Warnett, sending him flying backward. Warnett hits the mat, and hits the back of his head his head as well. Nightwing follows up with a nice elbow drop, then drags Warnett up again. Nightwing locks on a front facelock, then hits a swinging neckbreaker, causing Warnett to clutch the back of his head in pain. Nightwing again locks on a reverse chinlock, which seems to have more effect this time.] TD: This style actually kind of suits Nightwing! He almost seems to be out wrestling Warnett! SR: My ass could outwrestle Warnett. [The fans rally behind Warnett, who tries his best to fight to his feet. After a few minutes he does, and throws an elbow into the midsection of Nightwing. Nightwing doubles over, and Warnett hit a quick DDT, getting a good pop. Both men lay on the canvas for a moment, and Warnett is the first up. He drags Nightwing to a vertical base, and executes a judo style takedown, tripping Nightwing's legs with one leg, and pushing Nightwing backwards with his arm. Nightwing falls to the mat, hitting his head a bit hard as he does. Nightwing rolls around a bit, and Marty plays to the crowd, signalling for the Quickstriker the way Quigley does.] SR: Oh boy... One of those use the other guy's finisher things... Except I hate both guys... Warnett _and_ Quigley, that rotten... TD: Steve... I personally know you can't afford to be suspended, so you'd better watch what you say. SR: Okay, big brother Dross. [Warnett grabs Nightwing's legs for the hold, but Nightwing rolls over quickly, knocking Warnett off balance. Nightwing kips up, and runs with a flying clothesline, which Warnett just barely ducks. Nightwing hits the mat, and Warnett says to the crowd "Crappy finisher anyway, wanna see the Powerchord?" The crowd pops, and Warnett plays them a bit, getting them to pop more. Finally, Warnett signals for the crowd to wait, and the disappointment can be felt that Warnett is not going to display the Powerchord. Instead, smiling, he drags up Nightwing and throws him into the ropes. Nightwing, before reaching the opposite side, leaps up, springboards off the second rope, and comes back with a reverse plancha. He hits Warnett, and rolls the Welsh superstar up in a full cradle. Caught off guard, Warnett is trapped. The ref counts...1 - 2 - 3! Warnett kicks out just a split second too late! The crowd pops for the winner, who stands on the second turnbuckle with his arms raised. Warnett gets to his feet.] TD: What a match! SR: What a sleeper. TD: Come on Steve, that match was so even that it was just one unexpected move that brought the decision. SR: One word... Yawn. [Nightwing hops from the turnbuckle and sees Warnett standing there. He walks forward, once again leaving himself open to offer a hand of friendship to Warnett. Warnett looks at Nightwing almost angrily, but the open show of sportsmanship quickly calms him, and soon a big grin spreads on his face. Warnett shakes Nightwing's hand heartily, and there is a buzz as a figure leaps over the crowd barriers.] TD: That's Takezo Musashi. What's he up to? SR: Great. Another one of these, "I'll beat you up, but I still respect you," types. [Musashi enters the ring and suddenly, unexpectedy, executes a thrust kick to the back of Nightwing's head. The crowd boos loudly, but that doesn't seem to faze The Enigma, who continues to kick down the native American. After about three kicks, Warnett grabs Musashi's shoulder and spins him around, yelling, "what the hell are you doing?" Musashi's eyes seem glazed, and Warnett shoved him a bit. Suddenly, it seems as though cloud cover behind Musashi's eyes clears, and he focuses on Warnett. With a confused look on his face, he looks at Nightwing, then back to Warnett. Shaking his head, Musashi leaves the ring and walks up the aisle.] TD: What just happened there? SR: I have no idea, but I think I might like it. TD: Musashi looked as though he wasn't aware of the fact that he just attacked Nightwing. That was pretty strange. SR: Better than all this sportsmanship crap going on... Look at this... [Warnett helpes Nightwing up, who holds his head and winces in pain. Warnett explains what happened, and Nightwing nods his head. Warnett hold up Nightwing's hand in victory, which brings a good sized pop from the crowd, and both men leave the ring and walk up the aisle together.] TD: That's the kind of thing I like to see. Egos aside, and mutual respect. SR: You're such a loser, Dross. Nobody wants to see that. They want to see anger, hate, blood, violence, sex, and women in skimpy little tight dresses that leave nothing to the imagination carrying whips with handles shaped like... TD: [interrupting] Welcome to the world of Steve Roberts, folks. Tag team action coming up next with two former champions. SR: Yeah, for like a week. TD: Steve, a title reign as short as a week is still a feat here in the IIWF. The competition here is more intense than ever before... _all_ the competition. SR: Whatever. All I know is that Night Patrol were at least _interesting_ competition before they went pansy. Now they like the cheers of the fans and don't even abuse people. TD: Which is more indicative of police in general, I would think. SR: Huh... Where are you from, Gomer? TD: Never mind. Sparkplug seems to be ready for the introductons. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Night Patrol vs. Zodiac Connection -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= WRITER: MF [Lee enters the ring while a group of fans in the front row start up a chant of "HE'S HARDCORE!" Lee bares his teeth.] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, this next tag team contest is scheduled for one fall. Introducing first, at a total combined weight of 575 pounds and hailing from the streets of Hollywood, California, here are Scorpio and Taurus, The Zodiac Connection! [The fans pop as Scorpio and Taurus come down to the ring alone, high fiving fans as they walk the aisle. Taurus is decked out in his big bull mask, and makes motions of charging evey so often. Finally, the two atheletes enter the ring.] TD: The Zodiacs seem to be adhering to the ruling regarding managers tonight, opting to leave the Gemini twins behind. I have heard, however, that the twins are watching from a monitor in the back just in case things get out of hand. SR: Any idea where? I'll help them get something _in_ hand, like a... TD: [interrupting] Steve, do you want to be warned about your comments again? SR: Shut up, geek. RA: Their opponents, weighing in at a total combined weight of 530 pounds and hailing from Houston Texas, here are Lt. David Keene, Sgt. Jack Blazer, the Night Patrol! [The theme from "Dragnet" throbs over the PA, and the two members of the Night Patrol appear at the head of the aisle. Keene high fives a few fans, and Blazer walks solemnly down the aisle. Both reach the camera man at the ringside area, and begin barking into the lens, fogging it up.] SR: That is disgusting. TD: Somebody pass that cameraman a paper towel. [Night Patrol enters the ring and begins their pre match stretches. The ref checks both teams for foreign objects, especially Night Patrol's several pockets. Satisfied, he calls for the bell, starting the match. Keene and Scorpio square off as Blazer and Taurus stand on the apron. Scorpio and Keene circle each other, both men reaching in in an ameteur style. Finally, the two lock up, and Scorpio locks on a hammer lock, but catches an elbow to the face from Keene. Scorpio lets go, and Keene turns to whip him into the ropes, Scorpio comes off the opposite side, and Keene goes for a clothesline, but his arm is instead caught by Scorpio, who lets his momentum carry his legs up and around Keene's other arm in a crucifix. Keene fights against the weight pulling him down, and finally falls back, but not due to Scorpio's efforts. Scorpio is caught in a Samoan backdrop, and Keene makes a quick cover that is broken before the ref begins the count. Keene gets to his feet again, and drags Scorpio up in a headlock.] TD: We're seeing quite some action here from the two cruiserweights of these teams! SR: Oh, the good old days when Keene would just kick him in the package... [The screen splits to show the Gemini Twins watching that match on a monitor on one side, and the actual match on the other.] TD: There's the twins, watching the match, and they don't look too happy. SR: I'll give 'em both something to grin about... [Keene has the headlock on Scorpio locked tight, and Scorpio tries to throw him off the ropes. Keene holds on, halting the attempt in the middle of the ring. His balance falters, and Scorpio uses the opportunity for a waistlock belly to back suplex. The twins cheer as the screen returns to normal and Keene hits the mat hard. Scorpio leaps over to his corner for the tag. Taurus enters to the sound of mooing from the crowd, and assumes a three point stance in the corner. As Keene gets to his feet, Taurus charges and hits him in the midsection. Keene flips head over heels over Taurus' back and lands on the mat hard. Taurus three-points again, and again hits Keene as he gets up. The crowd is popping like mad for the assault, and Taurus closes in on Keene. Taurus drags him up, and the weary Keene tries for a few shots to Taurus' midsection, but hey seem to have no effect. Taurus tosses Keene to his corner, and Keene tags in Blazer. Brenda Hawkings appears at the head of the aisle, looking concerned.] TD: I hope Brenda isn't planning on coming to ringside... SR: I'd prefer it if she just came here to the table... [Blazer enters the ring and is actually dwarfed by the massive Taurus. The two lock eyes for a moment, then begin brawling in the center of the ring. Shots are traded, and Blazer actually comes out on top. Taurus falls to one knee, and Blazer switches his attack to double axehandle blows to the back of Taurus' neck. Taurus goes down, and Blazer yells to the crowd, which gets a good pop. Blazer drags Taurus up and throws him into the corner, then follows him in, hitting the big man with a splash. Taurus slumps to the mat, and Blazer throws in a few stomps to the head. Hawkings claps at the head of the aisle. Blazer drags Taurus up again and executes a huge belly to belly suplex, then goes for th pin. The ref counts... 1 - 2 - Kickout by Taurus. Blazer drags Taurus up again and brings him to his corner, then tags in the recovered Keene. Keene leaps to the top rope while Blazer holds Taurus' ribs exposed. Keene leaps off with a dropkick, hitting Taurus in the side. The big man hits the mat, clutching at his ribs. At the head of the aisle, Hawkings claps and gives the thumbs up. Satisfied, she moves to turn around and head back to the locker room area. The spotlight trained on her moves up the aisle a bit to illuminate the evil sneers of Kane and Wulf.] TD: Oh no. SR: Aw, yeah! Now _these_ guys know how to have fun! [Both of the Disciples have nightsticks stuffed in the belt loops of the jeans they're wearing, and Kane is holding a pot of coffee. Wulf yells, "Here's something to help digest those donuts, pig!" and Kane throws the contents of the pot at Hawkings. Hawkings ducks at the last minute, and the coffee harmlessly splashes on the ground, steam still rising from the piping hot liquid. Hawkings scrambles past the Disciples into the backstage area. Kane and Wulf look at each other, grin, and pull out the nightsticks. Both men run to the ring and attack. They clock Blazer first, then Keene. Both men hit the mat to join Taurus, and the ref leaps out of the ring as he calls for the bell. Scorpio leaps into the ring, but is quickly dealt with by Kane, who winds up and thumps Scorpio with the 'stick. Scorpio falls over the top rope to the floor while Taurus is rolled out of the ring by Wulf. With that done, Kane and Wulf begin raining blows down on the Night Patrol.] TD: This is madness! Where's the Squad? SR: They must still be fighting with Mota, Macbeth and Sampson. [Wulf stops his assault to turn to the sound booth and make a signal. Body Count's "Cop Killer" blares over the PA, and Wulf smiles. He turns back to Blazer, who is all but unconscious, and straddles him. Wulf reaches into one of the back pockets of his pants and pulls out a barbecue fork, then grabs Blazer by the hair. The ring mics pick Wulf yelling into Blazer's face, "Gonna mark you, PIG."] TD: What does that mean? And what's he doing with that fork? SR: Shut up, weenie... Wulf's going to carve up some bacon tonight! [Just as Wulf appears to begin his work, the Gemini twins run down to the ring with Cancer, who is wielding two steel pipes. Cancer enters the ring and methodically brings the pipes down on the backs of Kane and Wulf, who immediately roll from the ring and head up the aisle a bit. The twins check on Scorpio and Taurus, while Cancer stands on point in the ring. Kane and Wulf point and curse, making strange gestures and spitting every so often.] SR: You know what that means, don't you? TD: No. SR: Damn... Neither do I. [Kane and Wulf leave the area as the chaos in the ring calms down.] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, your winners, as a result of a disqualification, Night Patrol! [Scorpio, who is getting to his feet, looks up and yells "What!?"] TD: What? Indeed... The Connection had nothing to do with that attack. SR: Yeah, but it didn't exactly hinder them, did it? TD: You saw as well as I did that the Zodiacs got hit with those clubs as well! SR: Oh, yeah... heehee! TD: Why is it that you get all giddy like a schoolgirl whenever an act of unbridled violence occurs? SR: Maybe because that's what I had for lunch... TD: What, unbridled violence? SR: Nope, a giddy little schoolgirl... Ha! [In the ring, the members of Night Patrol both get to their feet slowly, holding their heads. Blazer staggers a bit, and holds onto the ropes for support. Both men check each other, and Keene gives the thumbs up to the crowd, which brings many cheers.] TD: Well, the Night Patrol seem to be okay, but I guarantee that they'll be hurting for a while. I understand that we're going to go backstage once more with Steve Summer where I'm told the three-way brawl with Sampson, Mota and Macbeth is still raging! [The camera is now stationed outside the IIWF Coliseum, where the three men have taken the fight.  The camera shows the sun setting on the horizon before zooming in on the action.] SS: These guys just won't quit!  Man, you should've seen Derek Mota take out the Barnacle Brothers!  The JJS broke things up for about two minutes until the guys took off outside and started fighting again! [Macbeth and Mota grab Sampson and throw him into the windshield of a car, making it shatter all over the parking lot!  Macbeth then turns around, kicks Mota in the gut and Power Bombs him onto the pavement!  A large crowd of people have accumulated around the brawl and are threatening to break through security.  Macbeth is yelling at Mota and is greeted with a road sign to the head by Sampson!] SS: I can't believe these guys are still going at it!  They can't wait for the triangle match next week!  And I don't care if they slug it out this week 'cause I'd rather watch these guys over the run down Old Generation guys any day! [Sampson steps back from Macbeth just as Mota flies off a car with a moonsault onto the young Scot!  Sampson then hits Mota with a crowbar to the back!] SS: Holy! [Once again the JJS comes out to break up the action.  This time they break things up easily as all three men are completely exhausted.  They separate the men who have been bloodied from this wild brawl.] SS: It looks like they finally broke things up!  You can guarantee that it's gonna be just as wild next week in the triangle match!  Back to you, Mr. Dross! [Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: Okay, folks, it's time for our next match. More tag action is coming your way, as the Harlequins, who were deposed by the Prophets of Rage from their status as United States Tag Champs just last Saturday Night, go up against Cold Spell, with the winner going on to face the US champs next Saturday Night at the Bash. There's quite a bit of history between these two teams. It was just over a month ago that we first heard rumours that Icehawk had a crush on Harlequin Comedy, and she moves quickly to cool his ardour, attacking him with a fireball. Icehawk has now gotten over his infatuation, but partner, Edmund Fitzgerald, is still fuming over the attack. He'll be looking for payback tonight... that is, if the Harlequins have shown up. SR: You can't expect even those painted fools, Tragedy and Comedy, to work on their wedding night. I would say that she'll be riding Space Mountain all night long, but I suspect it's more like Space Molehill. TD: Steve Roberts, will you please watch your mouth! SR: Dross, I'm hardcore. No suit's gonna tell the Soundbite what to do. TD: We'll see about that. Let's go back up to the ring... =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Cold Spell vs. Harlequins =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= WRITER: DS [Sparkplug Lee steps into the ring and raises his microphone:] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, the following tag team contest is scheduled for one fall, with the winner of this match going on to face the Prophets of Rage for the United States Tag Team Championship next Saturday night at Birthday Bash! [Pop!] Introducing first, at a combined weight of 500lbs... ["The Wreck of Edmund Fitzgerald" begins to reverberate around the Coliseum. Big face pop!] ...here are Icehawk and Edmund Fitzgerald, otherwise known as... Cold Spell! [A volley of fireworks erupt around the entrance area as the two men step out into the aisle. Icehawk walks to the ring ahead of his partner, wearing the infamous White Sox hat, covering his singed hair. He slaps hands with as many fans on both sides of the aisle as possible, and Fitz walks slowly behind, nodding to the clamouring fans.] TD: These two men are like chalk and cheese, Steve Roberts, but in the ring they're a well-oiled machine. [Icehawk approaches ringside, leaps up the steel ringsteps, vaults to the top turnbuckle and then flips into the ring with a stunning somersault. Big pop! Fitz, meanwhile, is more staid as he slowly climbs the steps and ducks into the ring, performing a few stretches as Icehawk bounds to the top buckle in the opposite corner and tosses his cap to the fans, revealing his still slightly-charred hair.] RA: And introducing their opponents... hailing from Sleepy Hollow, Illinois, at a combined weight of 545lbs, here are Harlequins Tragedy and Chaos... the Harlequins! [Mixed pop as "Vow" by Garbage starts up over the PA. All eyes turn towards the entranceway, but nobody emerges. Icehawk and Fitz stand facing the aisle, Icehawk beckoning the Harlequins out into the arena, Fitz simply standing with his arms folded, a menacing look on his face.] TD: I can only assume that the Harlequins have not showed up here tonight, folks... Hang on. [The video wall at the head of the aisle suddenly buzzes with static, then cuts to a close-up of the lovely Harlequin Melody.] HM: Helloooooooo IIWF! Well, I guess everyone's just waiting to see the Tragic One and Chaos whip Cold Spell's frozen butts all the way back to Scandanavia... but Tragedy and Comedy have more pressing matters at hand! [aside] Psst! Chaos! HCh: Huh? Oh yeah, hi everybody! Sorry we can't be there but Comedy has something important to say to Icehawk. [The camera pans over to Comedy who is decked out in a long white dress.] HC: Hey pervert-boy! I know you've been "burning" for me for a while. You're just like the rest of the creeps I dated before I met *sigh* the most wonderful man a girl could have! My Tragedy! Now I know, you've been trying to be just like him. Doing the Tragic Ending and thinking that'll get me to love you. Well, I hate to tell you this. No actually, I'm gonna _love_ telling you this! Your chances with me were non-existent to begin with. Well, they're in the negative numbers now. Just check this out! [Melody starts humming "The Wedding March" as Comedy shows off a gold wedding band.] HC: It's Mrs. Tragedy now! Trag went and made an honest woman out of me! HAHAHA! So it looks like you're just going to face up to the fact that you're gonna die a lonely, lonely man. While I will be living it up! And laughing at the big joke that is you! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Seeya! [Comedy turns to Tragedy and plants a big kiss on him as the screen goes black. Big mixed pop from the crowd.] TD: Well, there you have it, folks... The Harlequins aren't here tonight. I'm sure the IIWF President is going to have words with the Harlequins next week. SR: So we're not getting a match? TD: It would appear not. SR: Oh, what a shame. [Icehawk and Fitz turn to talk to the referee. After much animated discussion, the official beckons Sparkplug Lee up the ringsteps and speaks to him. Sparkplug then raises his microphone and makes his announcement:] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, the referee has ruled that, due to the failure of the Harlequins to appear for the match, Cold Spell should be awarded the match by default! Therefore, Cold Spell will advance to face the Prophets of Rage next Saturday Night at Birthday Bash! [Big pop! Icehawk and Fitz, however, don't look too pleased, and again approach the official.] SR: What the hell are they complaining about, Dross? They got the victory without having to lift a finger. TD: Cold Spell are a competitive team, Steve -- and they want to get their hands on the Harlequins. Hang on -- what's going on? [There is a commotion on one side of the ring as two figures emerge from the crowd and step over the crowd barriers. Both are huge -- one stands at nearly seven feet, and the other is only six inches or so shorter. The huge man appears to be all muscle from top to bottom. He has very stocky, tree trunk, Vader-like legs. He wears a blue and black singlet, with black boots, and black kneepads, and his head is completely shaved, covered with a white mask. The other man is equally muscular, and has just above shoulder-length black hair, which hangs out in front of his brown eyes. He wears all black knee-length wrestling tights and boots, a black elbowpad on his left arm, and a black shirt with a white "IIWF" on it. They look up at the ring, and Cold Spell look down at them.] TD: That's Violence Unlimited, Steve Roberts! The huge man is Mutilator, and the smaller guy -- and it sounds ridiculous calling a man who weighs more than three hundred pounds a smaller guy -- is Jaguar. SR: I know who they are, Dross. Are we gonna see some heads roll here, or what? [The crowd gives a mixed pop as Mutilator and Jaguar climb to the apron and enter the ring. Icehawk appears to be angered by their appearance, and makes a move to attack, but is held back by the stoical Fitz. The two huge men, both of their faces obscured, whether by hair or by mask, square up to the two members of Cold Spell. Jaguar towers over the diminutive Icehawk, while Mutilator stares down at Fitz, who meets his glare unblinkingly. The crowd begins to buzz in anticipation, waiting for somebody to make a move.] TD: This is a volatile situation right here, folks. Cold Spell are just seven days away from a huge title match, and they don't want to start mixing it up with a team like Violence Unlimited. Mutilator's brutality is notorious. SR: Whoa! [Icehawk, quick as a flash, blasts a kick into Jaguar's midsection. Huge pop! Apparently simultaneously, Fitz and Mutilator start going at it, Fitz hitting his huge foe with stinging blows to the chest and head. Icehawk bounces off the ropes and launches himself at Jaguar -- who catches him in mid-air! Big heel pop! In an impressive display of strength, Jaguar presses Icehawk above his head -- and then drops him all the way from the ring to the arena floor! Huge heel pop!] TD: Oh my! Icehawk could be out cold! This is terrible! [Fitz, meanwhile, has forced Mutilator into the ropes, but when Jaguar jumps him from behind, he is quickly subdued. The fans are on their feet as Mutilator hoists Fitz up into position for a piledriver, and turns around as Jaguar climbs to the second buckle. Cameras flash all over the arena as Violence Unlimited perform a devastating spike piledriver on Fitz, before kicking him out of the ring. Security swarm down to ringside to tend to Cold Spell.] TD: What a disgusting display! Mutilator's calling for the microphone... security are helping Fitz and Icehawk back to their feet... They seem to be okay... [The crowd jeer loudly as Jaguar climbs to the second buckle and mockingly waves Cold Spell away as they are helped up the aisle. Mutilator, meanwhile, takes the microphone:] M: First of all, you morons, SHUT YOUR YAP while I talk, and while this man talks.  [Huge heel pop! Mutilator hands the microphone to his partner.] J: The IIWF has always been a great wrestling federation.  They've had the best of them, like the "Outlaw" J.W. Hardin, Joe Petrow, Chris Quigley, Dan Kauffman, a man from _MY_ hometown, and even Robski. [Both men bow their heads in a moment of silence, as Robski died shortly after a match in MLWO on January 1, 1997.] M: But as of today, there is a new team here in the IIWF that will take the world by storm.  After watching from afar, we decided the time was right. Okay, now you know we're here.  The _reason_ we're here is still unclear to most of you, but it can be summed up in three reasons. J: Number One, we are here to take that set of gold straps they call the IIWF Tag Team Titles. M: Number Two, we are here because we are better than any of the tag teams in this federation. [The crowd continue to jeer.] J: Shut up! [Big heel pop!] And the third and most important reason... we're here to hurt people. M: _Nobody_ is considered safe anymore.  We will stay away from only a few people... those people are blessed with luck.  You can expect us to cause trouble and do as we please, because that's just what we are... two people who do what they want...and when they want. TD: [over the headset] Not in the IIWF, you don't. SR: [over the headset] Shut up, Dross. J: We are...Violence Unlimited. M: Very soon, probably after our first match, we will unveil our new manager. This man will guide us a long way down the road.  Guys like Brian Lau can come out and scout us all they want, but no matter how much money they wanna give us to be in their groups, our manager could buy us back. J: Money and pain... best way of living in the world.  Cold Spell... hehe... Zodiac Connection, Harlequins, Pain Inc., High Plains Losers, W & W Express, nobody is safe from Violence Unlimited.  It's time to play the pain game. M: For what we've done in the past, we are already condemned, and it's fer damn sure we're going to hell.  The thing is, once you get in the ring with Violence Unlimited, you're gonna think you're in hell too, because the pain we cause surely can't be human. J: We are hereby issuing a challenge to the entire IIWF.  No tag team is exempt from this challenge.  This challenge can be set for two Saturday Nights after Birthday Bash.  The challenge is an open contract to anyone willing to take it, we don't care who.  That team is promised one thing. They are promised fifty thousand dollars to face us, _plus_ their normal pay. The fifty thou should be enough for the hospital bills you'll pick up during the time after the match. [Another big heel pop. Jaguar flips the bird at one jeering fan in the front row.] M: As for the PPV, we're not getting a title shot just yet, but as you saw tonight, Cold Spell can't hold a torch to Violence Unlimited. We could have kicked their asses clear to next Saturday night, but no, we chose not to. Cold Spell, Prophets of Rage, you'd better watch your backs, because _anything_ could happen, and it could happen very soon.  And that match will include Violence Unlimited in some way. J: There could end up being a problem for the team that takes our challenge. They would have to have the pleasure of our favorite kind of day.  A cold... day... in hell.  Unfortunately, that's the _only_ way it can be. [Big heel pop!] TD: [over the headset] What the hell are they talking about? SR: [over the headset] They lost me. M: You've been in the presence of Violence Unlimited.  The whole IIWF will learn something after these upcoming weeks. You will learn... [Jaguar gets an evil look in his eyes, and speaks slowly and softly:] J: To... FEAR... US. ["Violent Mood Swings" by Stabbing Westward starts up over the PA, and Violence Unlimited exit the ring to a round of boos. They get in fans' faces the whole way to the back, as the crowd gets really angered.] TD: I'm disgusted, Steve Robrerts. These two men just walked out here as if they had the divine right to do anything they please. You can bet Cold Spell will have something to say about that. SR: Yeah, something like, "Please, Mr. Mutilator, Mr. Jaguar, don't hurt me again!" TD: Well, let's go over to Becky LaRue for this week's LaRue's Lair, with a very special guest. ["Ode to Becky LaRue" by Gutshot begins to play and she swivels her way out to her set, her lycra gown shimmers with a galaxy of sequins.  She waves a gloved hand to her bevy of cross-dressing admirers and gives a quick laugh to a sign asking "Becky... Will you wear your birthday suit to the Bash?". She sits gracefully.] BL: Last week I promised you that I'd bring in the most important man in     the IIWF.  I know most of you thought that I meant Brian Lau... but not this time.  No, so close to the IIWF's birthday, I wanted to bring in the man who made it all possible:  Scott Weinb... JUST JOKING! I, of course, mean the big Kahuna himself... A number one... the man in the office at the end of the hall:  Daniel Spreadbury. [The crowd is silent for a moment, then it dawns on them just who the unassuming gentlman who enters is.  Big crowd pop!] BL: Have my teethmarks healed yet? DS: Let's just say this, Becky: I've been gnawed on by just about     everybody I've worked with. Some I've enjoyed more than others, but     your little display ranks right up there with the time Moondust     wanted to show me is tattoo. BL: *YUCK!*  One year old.  Did you ever dream that the IIWF would see     this birthday? DS: Not even in my worst nightmares. BL: What were you thinking when you hired Larry Morton?  That's probably     your worst decision since loaning your V.P. the keys the your Volvo. DS: Larry Morton is a consummate professional. I'm currently discussing     with him ways in which his role as an announcer could be expanded.     And as for my Volvo, it's never been the same since I gave Steve     Roberts a ride home one week. BL: Speaking of whom, does Vice President Owens do anything besides     flirt with the secretaries and write himself phony perscriptions for     pain killers from the IIWF pharmacy? DS: I'm getting him counselling for that, Becky. I hardly think it's     appropriate for an international television audience to hear about     that, though. BL: How about it?  Do we want to know or do we want to know? [The crowd goes wild.  Becky looks to the President for more, but he has nodded off to sleep.] BL: *ahem*  MR. PRESIDENT! DS: [Waking] Huh?  What?  No Bobby... I don't care if this is the Nineties, I don't do that kind of thing.... BL: No one falls asleep on Becky LaRue. DS: Sorry.  This job keeps me up late hours. BL: It's as if you keep the hours of an over-worked university student... DS: Rather.  BL: Recently we've seen Steve Roberts involve himself in a number of     in-ring happenings.  What is your opinion on this? DS: Personally, I have a great deal of respect for Steve Roberts -- he's     not afraid to speak his mind. But he's paid to call the matches, not     get involved in the action around here. This past week, he     overstepped the mark with his comments about Chris Quigley. I spoke     with him on Thursday, and I believe we have reached an     understanding. SR: [over the headset] Understanding my ass! TD: [over the headset] Steve, please. BL: What do you look at when bringing a new wrestler into the fed? DS: Good teeth, a wet nose, clear eyes... and low wage demands. BL: Sounds like you're buying a work horse.  Oh.  Never mind. What would     this wrestler need to do to become a champ in the IIWF? DS: Pin the guy wearing the belt, or force him to submit. BL: In that case I should have been champion long ago. Hehe... snort! How do you explain Ned Norton? DS: No explanation is necessary, surely. Ned Norton is one of the finest     technicians in this sport today. BL: Um, yeah.  How much a cut of the merchandising do you get? DS: I'm not at liberty to divulge that information. But in truth, not a     lot. Most of the profits from merchandise are ploughed back into the     fund for your wardrobe. And I'm curious to know how that money's     being spent -- how much did that get-up cost you? $30 from a charity     store? BL: Not quite.  You haven't checked my expense vouchers lately, have you? I probably shouldn't have said that. DS: You're right.  You shouldn't have. BL: Who is your favorite wrestler? DS: Now, Becky, I'm not in the business of picking favourites. BL: Okay, if you're going to be diplomatic, then what wrestler makes you     cringe the most when he enters your office? DS: Steve Kowalski, without a doubt. I don't know how many times I'm     going to have to sit there and take his bad attitude. Fining him     doesn't help. And I'm still investigating his claims to being a     Cruiserweight. I'm not at all happy that he's managed to manoeuvre     his way into a title shot here tonight. BL: Ever thought of starting a ladies' division? DS: While I wouldn't want to belittle the achievements of the great     champions of women's wrestling around the world, the IIWF has looked     into the possibility of starting a ladies' division on a number of     occasions, but it has been decided that we should stick with our     strengths. BL: How about midgets? DS: You're kidding, right? BL: Remember, it not the size but how you... never mind.  Um, what is this about penguins? DS: Penguins are the aquatic birds of champions. I have nothing further     to add. BL: What is the next year going to bring for the IIWF? DS: Change, Becky. The changing of the guard. With the opening of the     Hall of Fame this coming Wednesday, we will witness the first era of     the IIWF pass into the history books. We've come a long way in one     year, and the road ahead is clear. With the talent that's entered     the league in the past six months, and the continued efforts of the     scouting division to bring in the very best athletes in the world,     the IIWF will soar to ever greater heights, as the veterans of our     sport vie for pride of place with the newer competitors, who are     making their presence felt very strongly. BL: You don't actually _miss_ Dan Kaufman, do you? DS: Dan and I have an understanding: he doesn't call me, and I don't     call him. That way, everybody's happy. BL: Any hint as to who is going into the Hall of Fame? DS: I don't want to give too much away, but I can confirm that there     will be two inductees into the Hall of Fame on Wednesday. One is a     great former World Heavyweight Champion, and the other is remarkable     for having held two different titles during his tenure in the IIWF.     I look forward to a great evening's entertainment. BL: You mean Yawnbringer and Shakespeare have retired? DS: You know better than that, Becky. BL: Am I _ever_ going to get my raise? DS: Which raise? This week's, or last week's? BL: Anything you'd like to say to everyone here in the Coliseum or     watching at home on television? DS: My words are largely irrelevant, Becky... BL: You don't say. DS: ...since the athletes and broadcasters of the IIWF send out the     message of what the IIWF is about, what it has achieved, what its     aspirations are, far more clearly than I ever could. I merely wish     to thank all the fans here in Portland, and all over the world, for     the support they've given the IIWF over the past year. And I promise     you one thing: you ain't seen nothing yet! [He stands and exits, waving to the fans.  He pulls a handful of Deathbringer keychains from his pocket and throws them to the fans. Immediatly a thousand red glowing eyes begin to flash.]  BL: There you have it, the man with his finger on the pulse of the IIWF. And you wonder how we manage to stay afloat at all.  Watch me on Wednesday when I'll be wearing a gown that makes this one look     positively puritan.  [She suddenly realizes something]  Damn.  I     forgot to ask about the "Managerial Eunuch" policy.  Maybe next     time.  Back to you, Timmy.  Is it true you aren't wearing any pants     beneath that table? [Cut back to an embarrassed Tim Dross at the ringside broadcast table.] TD: Er, thank you, Becky LaRue. Up next is the cruiserweight clash between the "Enigma" Tazeko Musashi and Ronnie Paris.  Ronnie's been in a bad way since the attack on Maggie Collins a few weeks back, and the Enigma has been far from his normal self recently as well.  It should be an interesting match... Steve? SR: Nope.  I'm fine.  You go ahead. TD: Let's go to ringside for the official word. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Ronnie Paris vs. "Enigma" Takezo Musashi -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= WRITER: MP [The camera zooms around ringside and in on the fluorescent Sparkplug Lee, who pushes it back out of the way with a grin, before raising the microphone to his mouth.] RA: The following match is scheduled for one fall, with a fifteen minute time limit.  Introducing first, weighing in at 210lbs and hailing from Texas, here is... Ronnniiiiieeeee Parrrrrrrriiiiiiiiissss!! [Big crowd pop as "We are the Champions" by Queen starts up over the PA system, and the spotlights focus on the entrance to ringside.  After a moment's delay, Ronnie Paris appears, looking unkempt in jeans and T-shirt, and slowly looks around the crowd before making his way towards the ring, slapping a few of the fans hands on the way.] TD: Looks like Ronnie Paris is still suffering from some serious personal problems.  I've never seen him this down. SR: Huh.  He thinks he's got problems.  I've said it before... what about the Soundbite? TD: You brought it on yourself, and you know it. SR: Yeah?  What happened to free speech?  To liberty?  What happe... whoa! [As Ronnie Paris reaches the top of the aisle, the Enigma streaks out behind him, catching him in the back with an incredible flying kick that sends him crashing into the crowd barriers!  Huge mixed pop!] TD: And the Enigma isn't wasting any time waiting for the introductions here, he wants this match started now! [The Enigma quickly pulls Paris up by the hair, running him towards the steel steps.. huge mixed pop as the impact resonates around the arena!] TD: I guess we underestimated exactly how troubled the Enigma is at the moment.  The Tazeko Musashi of a few months ago would never have gone off the rails like this. SR: I know what you mean.  The screaming, shouting... the random violence... hey, there may be some hope for the guy yet. [The crowd pops wildly as the bell rings and the Enigma sends the reeling Ronnie Paris into the ringsteps a second time, before hoisting him up onto his shoulders...] TD: What's the Enigma got planned here?  Oh.. oh no... [Huge crowd pop as the Enigma shrugs off the protestations of the official and walks towards the crowd... lifts Ronnie Paris up... and hotshots him across the crowd barriers!  The Enigma pulls him up again, and rolls him into the ring, following him in and making the cover... the referee counts - 1 - 2 - kickout by Ronnie Paris!  Big crowd pop!  The Enigma pulls him up to his feet again, pulling his arm behind him in a hammerlock...] SR: What?  No... throw him to the outside! TD: And an armbar slam by the Enigma... followed by another hammerlock.. the Enigma's switching to technical wrestling! SR: Oh, come on.. after such a promising start as well. [The Enigma keeps the hammerlock locked on tight, dropping a knee down across Paris' shoulder.  Paris starts to push himself up, and Musashi locks on a facelock, keeping hold of the arm as well, before flipping Paris right back down onto the arm in a modified fireman's carry!  The Enigma hooks Paris' over arm, and slowly pulls him into a pinning position... 1 - Paris manages to get his shoulder up.  The Enigma rolls, forcing Paris' shoulders to the canvas again... 1 - 2 - a big kickout by Paris breaks both men up, but the Enigma is up first, taking the still dazed Paris back to the canvas with an armdrag, before pulling him back into a bow and arrow submission.  The referee checks Paris, but he shakes his head, trying to twist out of the hold...] TD: We shouldn't be to surprised about this, the Enigma is famed for his aerial skills, but anyone who knows anything about him knows he has a wide variety of skills at his disposal. SR: And anyone who knows anything about widdle Wonnie... no, forget it. TD: Have you considered therapy, Steve? [Paris manages to get his knees underneath him, but it doesn't seem to have any effect on the hold.  Then, suddenly, he twists backwards, locking one of the Enigma's arms twisting behind him, pulling him over into a backslide... the Enigma's shoulders hit the canvas, and the referee counts.. - 1 - 2 - kickout by the Enigma!  Both men roll to their feet, and the Enigma launches a dropkick..] TD: Paris side-steps at the last second, and the Enigma hits the canvas!  Paris has the legs, what's he going to.. slingshot into the turnbuckles, and he pulls the Enigma into a small package as he rebounds back! [The referee counts... - 1 - 2 - kickout by the Enigma!  Both men spring up again, and Paris quickly regains control with first a single leg takedown, before moving across the Enigma's body and into a side headlock.  The Enigma fights up to his feet, but a quick twist from Ronnie Paris sends him spinning back to the canvas again!  Paris continues to work the Enigma on the mat, locking an arm and slowly forcing his shoulders down... - 1 - the Enigma kicks out, and uses the momentum to force his way back to his feet.  A stiff forearm shot, and the Enigma locks Paris wrists, slowly forcing Paris' arms from around his neck and into an overhead wristlock..] TD: Both men now, struggling for control.. both men are almost equal in size, but it's Paris who's currently at a disadvantage... [Paris' back starts to arch as the Enigma forces his wrists down... into a standing wristlock, before barring the arm and taking Paris to the canvas!  The Enigma keeps the armbar locked on, and stands up, before dropping a legdrop across the arm and moving into a crucifix armbar!  The referee checks Paris again...] TD: No submission.  Paris is a tough competitor. [Paris rolls to his knees as the Enigma switches, changing the armbar into a hammerlock once again, and Paris slowly backs into the ropes.. reversal by the Enigma, and an Irish whip!  The Enigma tries a hip toss, blocked by Paris, who reveres the momentum for a hip toss of his own, and the Enigma blocks that!  A quick fist to the midsection doubles Paris over, and the Enigma lifts his leg across Paris' neck, using it to backflip over... straight into a lariat by Paris!  Big pop!] TD: Well, both competitors are giving us an excellent display of wrestling and counter-wrestling here, when we were probably expecting more of an aerial confrontation. SR: Or a brawl.  When's Kowalski coming on? TD: The cruiserweight title we be on the line later on tonight. SR: Joy. [Paris pulls the Enigma up to his feet and into a facelock, hooking the arm.. and taking the Enigma to the canvas in with a fast snap suplex!  Pop!  Paris covers... - 1 - 2 - kickout by the Enigma!  Paris pulls the Enigma back to his feet, before backing him into the ropes and sending him across the ring with an Irish whip... knee lift doubles the Enigma up, and Paris follows through with a quick Russian legsweep, rolling into a pin...] TD: Paris is starting to take the momentum in this match now, and he's also starting to up the pace as well.  Could be a dangerous tactic... [Paris drops a legdrop across the Enigma's neck, and makes the cover... - 1 - 2 - kickout!  Paris pulls the Enigma up again, and gets rolled straight into a small package!  Pop!  The referee counts... - 1 - 2 - Paris reverses... - 1 - 2 - both men break, and roll to their feet, before charging each other... Huge crowd pop!] TD: Double clothesline!  And both men are down! SR: Great.  We'll probably see more action now than we have in the last five minutes. [The referee starts counting both men down, but only reaches three as Paris rolls to his knees.... Paris closes on the downed Enigma, pulling him up once again...] TD: Shoulderbuster out of nowhere by the Enigma, and Paris is in pain! SR: Paris _is_ a pain... [The Enigma quickly drops over Paris, pulling his arm up into a reverse armbar... Paris clutches at his hair in pain as the Enigma pours more pressure on his shoulder joint...] TD: This is a very painful submission hold the Enigma has applied here, Paris had better act fast or he could find himself in serious trouble... SR: The only thing is, if he tries to get to his feet, he'll end up putting more and more pressure on his shoulder as he does so.. [The Enigma leans back, pulling the arm back hard, and the referee checks with Paris, who once again refuses to submit...] TD: If Paris can make the move, he might just be in grabbing distance of the ropes... SR: Nope. Too far away, and he's on the wrong side of the Enigma... [Paris looks up towards the ropes, and slowly starts to push his knee under him, his face a mask of pain... he reaches across with his free hand, not for the ropes, but for Musashi's head...] SR: What exactly is the guy trying to do?  Has he got no sense whatsoever? [Paris springs into action, pushing himself up to his feet, rolling over the Enigma's back at the same time to reverse the hold, and springing over the top rope to the outside, the Enigma's head in his free hand...] TD: Hotshot!  He caught the Enigma with a hotshot!  How did he manage that one? SR: Credit where it's... nah.  I'm not that impressed... TD: That was almost a copy of Paris' Texas Twister right there, but is he in any shape to take advantage of it? [Paris slowly pushes himself to his knees on the outside, trying to rub some life back into his shoulder as the referee starts to count... the Enigma remains flat out inside the ring...] TD: Paris is taking a long time getting up here, that move took a lot out of him... SR: I told you Dross, if you try to stand up, you put more pressure on the hold.  Paris is probably in a world of hurt right now. TD: But so is the Enigma. Paris' hotshot as him stunned. [Paris slowly pushes himself back to his feet as the crowd urges him on.  He leaps to the ring apron as the Enigma starts to get to his feet as well... and quickly lunges at the Paris with a forearm that has him reeling backwards on the ring apron!  The Enigma facelocks him...] TD: Snap suplex by the Enigma... blocked by Paris! [Paris blocks a second suplex attempt by the Enigma, and drops his shoulder, slamming it into Musashi's stomach...] TD: And Paris over with the top with a sunset flip... oh my! [Paris somersaults over Musashi, and accidentally catches the official with his boot as he does so!  The referee collapses to the canvas as Paris rolls Musashi into the pin...] SR: Referee down!  Referee down!  Disqualify that man! TD: It was accidental, Steve, the referee simply got caught in the wrong place... [Paris holds Musashi in the pinning position as the crowd pops wildly... and the Enigma breaks it up by catching Paris with a ear clap with both heels.  All three men are down on the canvas, but the Enigma is the irst to make the move.. he takes a look at the referee, and then moves cross to Paris...] TD: The Enigma pulls Paris up... spinning neckbreaker puts him straight back down, and now it's Paris in serious trouble... [The Enigma walks over and shakes the referee, before picking Paris up and sending him down to the canvas again with a reverse neckbreaker... the crowd at the entrance to the aisle gives a big mixed pop.] SR: Sounds like we've got company... [The Enigma slowly starts to climb the turnbuckles as Billy Shakespeare runs down to ringside, carrying a steel chair...] TD: The Enigma is setting Paris up for a finish here... and there's the Starsault Press!  He hit it!  SR: The referee's still down, though... he can't count... [The Enigma doesn't even attempt to make the pin, instead rolling Paris onto his stomach and away from the ropes, twisting his leg around his own...] TD: Step-over toehold... into an STF!  The Enigma has an STF on Ronnie Paris! SR: But the referee is barely moving! [Huge mixed pop as Shakespeare rolls into the ring, bringing the steel chair crashing down across the back of the Enigma's head, breaking up the hold... he stands up, and as an afterthought, drops the chair next to Paris before rolling back out of the ring...] TD: What the...?! Shakespeare may have just cost the Enigma the match! SR: He may have just cost Paris the match, you mean... he's setting him up!  If the referee sees Paris with the chair, he'll disqualify him for sure! [Paris slowly starts to make a move in the ring, at about the same time as the referee dazedly starts to get to his feet... Paris looks down at the prone Enigma, and then at the steel chair, and throws it out of the ring... huge pop and laughter as Billy Shakespeare runs back down, tearing his hair in frustration. Paris starts to pull the Enigma to his feet, but is caught by a quick blow to the stomach that doubles him over...] TD: This is terrible.  Look at poor Chuck Sanders.  He doesn't have a clue what's happening... [Shakespeare runs around ringside, retrieving the chair... the Enigma backs Paris into the ropes, setting him up for an Irish whip... Paris reverses just as Shakespeare leaps onto the ring apron with the chair... huge crowd pop!] TD: Oh my! The Enigma just collided with Billy Shakespeare, sending him flying off the ring apron! SR: We have impact! [The Enigma a looks around and stumbles backwards, and Paris catches him from behind, pulling him up into a high angle back suplex before rolling over on top of the Enigma... huge crowd pop!] TD: That's the Paris-plex!  He's hit it!  The referee's out of position! [Chuck Sanders slowly, dazedly makes the count... 1 -- 2  -- the Enigma struggles -- 3! Sanders signals for the bell as Paris rolls to his knees a smile breaking out on his face. Ding! Ding! Ding!] RA: Here is your winner, via pinfall... Ronniiiiiiiie Parriiiiiiiiiss! [Huge crowd pop as Paris leaps to the turnbuckles, arms raised in the air. The Enigma slowly rolls to his knees, cursing himself.] TD: What a move by Paris, and what a win for the young man.  The Paris-plex gives him the victory over a former cruiserweight champion in another incredible IIWF matchup. SR: And look at Shakespeare in the aisle!  He can't believe what's happened either! [Shakespeare pauses for a second, but decides against a confrontation, leaving the ringside area as the Enigma leaves Paris to celebrate in the ring.] TD: That's twice tonight we've seen Shakespeare out here. First he comes to the aid of Luke Steele and Chris Herforth, and he's just tried to cost Paris the match... What's going on in that head of his? SR: Not a whole lot, Dross. [Paris makes his way up the aisle, slapping hands with fans as he goes. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] SR: And next up we will be holding two auditions for the network's hip new TV series "Great Costumes in History". TD: Stop your tomfoolery, Steve. There's no need to tease Highwayman and Deathbringer over their taste in clothing. They're both hundreds of years old, so it's only natural their fashion sense will be a bit behind the times. SR: Hundreds of years old, eh? So what's your excuse? Did ya rip that suit off a corpse? And how about that toupee? Did your great grandfather scalp it off an Indian? TD: [sigh] Let's go over to Sparkplug Lee for the ring introductions. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Deathbringer vs. Highwayman =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= WRITER: RD [The spotlight falls on centre ring, where Lee is trying to untangle himself from the mic cord. After several minutes of awkward struggling Sparkplug finally raises the mic to his lips.] RA: Ladies and Gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall! Introducing first, hailing from Leeds, England; accompanied to the ring by Nightwing; weighing in at 285 lbs; here is Adam Smith, the Highwayman! ["Stand and Deliver" by Adam and the Ants resounds throughout the arena as the Highwayman appears at the head of the aisle. He whips out a pair of flintlock pistols, spins them around his fingers, presents them to the air with a flourish and fires! Big roar of approval from the crowd. Highwayman heads down the aisle followed closely by Nightwing, who clasps hands with a few of the fans as he goes. The pair climb through the ropes and into the ring.] RA: And his opponent! Hailing from the Dark Side, and weighing in at 324lbs; here is Deathbringer! [The lights dim to their lowest ebb and swirling mist spews forth down the aisle. "The Reaper" by Gravedigger resonates eerily throughout the Coliseum and the crowd responds with a growing awed pop. Deathbringer stalks ponderously down the aisle, his face shadowed by a cowl. The camera focuses for a moment on the gleaming blade of Deathbringer's scythe.] TD: There it is, Deathbringer's most cherised possession; and the weapon that will play such a prominent role in the Master of Darkness match at Birthday Bash. Like Requiem and his guitar, Deathbringer seems to attach some sort of spiritual significance to his scythe. SR: [snigger] Deathbringer is a little too over-fond of his scythe if you ask me; I hear that's why there isn't a Mrs. Deathbringer. TD: Steve, you're treading on very thin ice with the IIWF board of directors. Learn when to shut... Oh my goodness, what's this? [Suddenly the lights flicker and go out completely, prompting a gasp from the crowd. Moments later they flicker back on and bathe the arena in light, revealing Deathbringer to be standing right in the centre of the ring! Massive pop from the crowd. Highwayman and Nightwing take a step back, looking a little awed.] SR: You'd think those morons would be getting tired of that act by now, but noooo... these fans in Portland would stand still for a street mime act. [Highwayman signals to Sparkplug Lee for the mic.] HWM: Distinguished gentlemen, fair maidens of the IIWF Coliseum, lend me your ears! [crowd pop] The noise has it that there is a "New Generation" versus "Old Generation" movement developing. Allow me to tell you how and when it started.  January 8th, Wednesday War Room saw a newcomer called Highwayman debut against former three-time Intercontinental champion Tiger Claw and pin him in 16 minutes. A veteran of some thirty-six matches pinned by a complete newcomer! The following week, Nightwing showed Harlequin Chaos that the "New Generation" will not stay down, and earned himself a very hard fought victory. _That_ was the birth of the "New Generation" movement, _not_ three newcomers fighting amongst themselves. Now tonight, four months later, I intend to put another nail in the coffin of the "Old Generation".  Tonight I will give Deathbringer a taste of what he should expect from the "New Generation" when he gets in the ring with a very good friend of Nightwing and I at Birthday Bash, the _true_ Master of Darkness... Requiem! [Highwayman bows extravagantly. The lights dim once again and the "Music of the Unknowingly Damned" drifts over the arena. The crowd explodes into cheers as Requiem appears at the head of the aisle, wrenching hauntingly dissonant, yet elegaic music from his guitar. A single white spotlight focuses on the big man, who is followed closely by his sister Gabrielle. The noble woman is attired in a stunning low cut silk blouse and matching mini-skirt, the garments clinging revealingly to her voluptuous figure and drawing many ogles from the male members of the audience. Requiem climbs between the ropes, with Gabrielle remaining on the outside. She looks up at the ring and allows her gaze to linger on Deathbringer for a long moment, though her stern expression betrays no feeling of emotion.] TD: Steve, I don't want to start any trouble here but I couldn't help but notice Gabrielle, uh, sort of eyeing Deathbringer up there... Steve? SR: ...Low-cut blouse... Mini skirt... Legs... Mmmmm. TD: Folks, once again the Soundbite has been struck dumb by the only thing known with the power to do so. SR: Huh? [Requiem takes up a position next to Highwayman and Nightwing, and the three clasp hands like old friends. Highwayman hands Requiem the mic.] REQUIEM: Deathbringer, I have come to return your coin to you. [Requiem throws the coin at Deathbringer's feet. The camera focuses on the coin as it flips through the air, and as it lands on the mat it can be clearly seen that Deathbringer's face has been scratched off the surface.] REQUIEM: And I have come with a message for all the fans of the IIWF. Highwayman, Nightwing and myself. Most importantly, I have come with a message for all the IIWF superstars, and you also, Deathbringer. SR: I cannot believe that this amateur musician can have anything remotely interesting to say. TD: You might be surprised, Steve... REQUIEM: Tonight you see before you three men who share a unique bond. Tonight you see before you three who are comrades-in-arms. Nightwing, the Highwayman and I all know the meaning, and the value, of honour, but too many here in the IIWF do not. Too many are willing to go to any means necessary to achieve victory, whatsoever the cost. Too many, perhaps, for one man alone to stand up to, whatever his ability. But there is safety in numbers, for if our enemies unite against us, so too shall we unite against them. Deathbringer, we have joined together as The Alliance and we stand against you as one, just as we will stand together against whosoever opposes us as we strive to attain our destinies here in the IIWF. Tonight, Deathbringer, though you may face the Highwayman alone in the ring, you will face us all in spirit. TD: Interesting, another stable froms amidst the chaos of the IIWF. I wonder how they will fare, considering the growing number of stables these days. SR: Y'know what the real reason for this alliance is, Timmy boy? These guys are motivated purely by fear: fear that they havn't got the strength to stand by themselves in this federation. REQUIEM: [Turning to face Highwayman] Adam Smith, you know that Nightwing and I are with you tonight, just as we shall always be with you. Fight well. Fight bravely. [Clasps the Highwayman by the shoulder briefly] Fight with honour, my friend. [The lights dim once again and the strange echoing of the "Music of the Unkowingly Damned" begins anew. Requiem and Nightwing depart from the ring and head back up the aisle. Gabrielle follows them reluctantly, lingering in the aisle awhile. She glances back over her shoulder and once again her cold gaze passes over Deathbringer. Just as her brother dissapears backstage, Gabrielle slips over the crowd barrier and is quickly absorbed into the mass of fans.] TD: What? Did you see that? What is this woman up to? SR: Who cares? How about we just kick the freaks out of the ring and let Gabrielle stand in there until the time limit expires? TD: I don't think so, Steve. [The two powerhouses face up in centre ring, Highwayman remaining undaunted by Deathbringer's deathly cold gaze. The ref signals for the bell: Ding! Ding! Ding! The two dead men continue to stare at each other for a few moments, then Highwaymen hauls back and deals Deathbringer a mighty blow! Big pop from the crowd! Deathbringer staggers back a little, but there is no pain registered on his face. Deathbringer retaliates with a strike of his own. Highwayman is knocked back by the force of the blow, but he too seems to absorb the impact without ill-effect. Highwayman runs to the ropes and bounds off; Deathbringer follows suit with the opposite ropes, and the two collide in centre ring! Niether man manages to budge the other with the bodycheck and the crowd pops in surprise.] TD: Wow! Deathbringer is the bigger man of the two, but there seems to be little difference in the power of these two outstanding competitors. SR: But Deathbringer has a far greater ability to withstand pain, Timmy boy. Highwayman will start to feel the impact sooner rather than later, and that's when it will be all over for this reject from a "Blackadder" episode. [Deathbringer grabs Highwayman by the throat and begins to choke him with both hands. The ref puts the hard word on Deathbringer, who breaks the count by lifting Highwayman into the air and smashing him down into the canvas with a double-handed chokeslam! Huge pop from the crowd!] SR: That's it, it's all over. Quicker than even I expected. [Deathbringer comes crashing down on Highwayman with a punishing elbow to the throat, then rolls over him for the cover: 1 - 2 - kickout by Highwayman! Deathbringer gets up and begins to stomp on Smith's midsection, before dragging him to his feet. Deathbringer batters Highwayman back against the ropes with a series of powerful right-handed uppercuts, but Smith shakes off the effects and retaliates with a hard right cross! The crowd cheers! Deathbringer however, merely stares at Smith coldly before hitting him with a big boot to the chest. Highwayman topples over the ropes and hits the arena floor awkwardly.] TD: Highwayman seems to have trouble gaining any momentum in this encounter. SR: It's just too difficult to hurt Deathbringer enough to set him up for a really strong move. The big guy's ability to absorb punishment is his greatest asset. [Deathbringer is content to remain motionless in the ring, surveying Highwayman coldly as he crawls around the arena floor and onto the ring steps. The Dark Destroyer is roused into action as Smith attempts to climb through the ropes. Deathbringer wraps his long arm around Highwayman's neck, charges across the ring and slams  the pistoleer's forehead into the mat with a bulldog! Shocked pop from the crowd. Deathbringer drags his opponent over to the turnbuckles...] TD: Oh my goodness, what's Deathbringer gonna do? [Deathbringer climbs up onto the top buckle, dragging Adam Smith with him. He hauls him up into the tombstone position...] SR: He's going for the Burial! It's all over, it's finished for the Highwayman! [The crowd pops anxiously. Suddenly Highwayman shifts his position, locks his legs around Deathbringer's head, and reverse frankenteins him down into the mat! Tremendous pop from the crowd and both men are layed out motionless on the canvas.] TD: Did you see that, Soundbite?! What an awesome maneuver from a near 300 pound man! SR: Big deal. Y'know Takezo Musashi got the idea for the Starsault Press from watching tapes of my old matches? [The crowd pops anxiously as they await a move from the comatose powerhouses. Suddenly Deathbringer sits bolt upright to a massive crowd reaction! Moments later Highwayman does likewise and the cheers grow louder! Highwayman leaps to his feet, charges over to Deathbringer and slams the back of his head back into the mat! Smith maintains his momentum, bounds off the ropes and flattens the Dark Destroyer with a legdrop! The crowd pops wildly! Highwayman wastes no time and gets straight back to his feet, stomping on Deathbringer's legs. Eager to maintain his momentum, Smith lifts one of Deathbringer's legs up and drops a knee into it painfully.] TD: Highwayman is a house on fire right now folks! He's not gonna let up on Deathbringer for a moment. SR: As much as I hate to say it, Smith is practicing good tactics here, Timmy boy. If he takes out Deathbringer's legs the big guy will be quite vulnerable. [Highwayman drops a second knee into 'Bringer's leg and a third, the cheers of the crowd growing louder each succesive time. Smith drags the Dark Destroyer to his feet, and the dark one seems a bit unsteady on his weakened leg. Highwayman pulls Deathbringer in close, and blasts him with a short-arm clothesline. Maintaining his grip, Smith drags Deathbringer in close once again and hits a second short-arm clothesline, this time cutting the big man down. Highwayman drops across him for the cover: 1 - 2 - Deathbringer heaves Highwayman clear off himself to escape the pin! Awed pop at this demonstration of power!] TD: Wow! Deathbringer hurled Smith away as if he was a featherweight! SR: Probably only Otto Verhoeven can rival Deathbringer's raw power in the IIWF. [Highwayman scrambles to his feet, a little winded. Deathbringer sits bolt upright once again, drawing a big response from the crowd. The Dark Destroyer stares at Highwayman balefully, and the pistoleero seems a little hesitant. Deathbringer clambers slowly to his feet, and the two powerhouses launch themselves into a clubbering brawl. Both men trade heavy artillery shots, but neither seems able to gain the advantage. Suddenly there is a commotion amidst the crowd.] TD: What's going on down there...? Wait a minute! [The camera cuts to ringside, where a tall, cloaked and hooded figure has slipped over the crowd barriers. The mysterious invader slinks around ringside, unoticed by the furious combatants. The hooded one inches around to Deathbringer's corner. Suddenly the figure siezes hold of Deathbringer's scythe and dashes up the aisle!] SR: Who the heck is that? What could this person want with 'Bringer's mangy old Scythe? [Back in the ring Highwayman has stunned Deathbringer with an eye gouge. He bounds off the ropes and hits the Dark Destroyer with a mighty clothesline! Deathbringer sways but stays on his feet. Smith bounds off the ropes again. The crowd pops as Requiem and Nightwing appear at the head of the aisle to block the path of the cloaked figure.] TD: Highwayman's allies are here! What role do they play with this mysterious individual? [Highwayman hits a second running clothesline, and this time Deathbringer almost topples! Anxious pop from the crowd! The hooded figure halts before Requiem and Nightwing, the path to backstage blocked. The figure takes a few cautious steps backwards, but Requiem advances forward and seizes hold of the scythe. The hooded figure lets go of the weapon and takes the opportunity to slip agilely around the two wrestlers, attempting to dart backstage. As the figure goes however, Nightwing manages to grab a corner of the cloak and it rips clean off, prompting a surprised gasp from the crowd! Standing, revealed in her low-cut blouse and mini-skirt, is none other than Gabrielle herself! Gabrielle allows her cold expression to break into one of fear and shock for a moment before fleeing backstage. Requiem and Nightwing simply stare, too shocked to move, totally flabbergasted as to the meaning of this situation. Back in the ring, Highwayman makes another furious charge at Deathbringer. The third running clothesline takes the Dark Destroyer straight off his feet and he topples to the canvas like a redwood. Big cheer from the crowd!] TD: What...?! That was Gabrielle! What is she trying to achieve here? SR: Forget all that, look in the ring, Dross! Highwayman has actually taken Deathbringer off his feet! Unbelievable! [Highwayman goes wearilly over to the turnbuckles and begins to climb. He positions himself on the top rope and the crowd pops anxiously. Deathbringer staggers to his feet shakily. Outside the ring Requiem stares at the scythe in his hands, perhaps taken by the spiritual significance of the weapon, or perhaps simply confused over the actions of his sister. Highwayman launches off the top rope with a flying bodypress, but...] TD: Oh my goodness! Deathbringer caught him right in mid-air! SR: Look at the power of the Dark Destroyer! Unbelievable! [Deathbringer brings Highwayman crashing into the mat with a bone-shattering belly to belly suplex. The Pale One remains atop of him for the cover: 1 - 2 - 3! Ding! Ding! Ding!] RA: Ladies and Gentleman! The winner of this match, as a result of a pinfall; Deathbringer! [Tremendous mixed crowd response as Deathbringer's theme music blasts over the loudspeakers. Both the pop and the music soon die down however, as Deathbringer gets to his feet and notices Requiem in possession of his scythe at the head of the aisle; he doesn't look very pleased at this sight at all. Deathbringer climbs out of the ring and begins to tread up the aisle, all the while staring at Requiem balefully. Shortly afterwards, Highwayman comes to and follows, clutching his ribs and wincing.] SR: Great, we're gonna see some extra-curricular activities! TD: Deathbringer and Requiem might have their Master of Darkness right here and now! [Deathbringer confronts Requiem, and the two giants stare at each other coldly. Requiem, perhaps still in shock, does not turn the scythe over to its rightful owner. Suddenly Deathbringer hauls back and clubs Requeim with a forearm shot, whipping the giant's head back! Roar of mixed cheers and jeers from the crowd! Requiem drops the scythe but makes no move to retaliate as Deathbringer rains in the blows. Nightwing and Highwayman grab hold of the dead man and pull him away from their ally, throwing Deathbringer into the crowd barriers. The two wrestlers bludgeon 'Bringer with double-axehandles and kicks, slowly pounding him down to the ground. Requiem recovers from the attack and interjects himself into the fray. He grips his comrades by the shoulders and firmly shakes his head. The three allies pause for a moment, then clasp each others hands; they turn as one and leave backstage. Deathbringer pulls himself to his feet using the crowd barriers and stands motionless, staring after the departed allies with a cold and deathly gaze for long moments. Finally he picks up his discarded scythe and heads backstage himself.] TD: What a dramatic finish to the match folks! You can bet that Deathbringer and Requeim will be just itching to get at each other at Birthday Bash! TD: Up next we have the much-anticipated Cruiserweight title clash between the White Phoenix Shinja Chow and... Steve "The Fury" Kowalski. SR: At last, the Fury gets his shot, and at last, I get the brawl I wanted.  Hell, I've been so bored out here I was considering going into the back to watch Mota, Sampson and that Scot go at it. TD: Well, now you get your wish.  You know, he might be looking a lot leaner but I still cannot believe that the Fury is within the Cruiserweight title's weight range. SR: Two thirty nine, Dross.  The guy is there.  Live with it. TD: Let's go to Sparkplug for the introductions. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= IIWF CRUISERWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH: =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= White Phoenix [c] vs. Steve "the Fury" Kowalski ----------------------------------------------- WRITER: MP [The camera zooms around ringside and in on Sparkplug Lee, hitting him in the head with a dull thud.  Sparkplug staggers backwards, shakes the cobwebs off and raises the microphone.] TD: You know, I think Sparkplug better have a serious talk to that cameraman. RA: The following... ow, that hurt.  The following contest is scheduled for one fall, with a thirty minute time limit, and is for the IIWF World Cruiserweight Title! [Big crowd pop!] Introducing first, the challenger, weighing in at...ahem... 239lbs, and hailing from Newark, New Jersey... [Sparkplug waits patiently as the Furies in the crowd start up the "SKULL-PUMP!" chant...] here is... Steve.. "The Fury"... Kowaaaalskkiiiiiiii!! [Huge heel pop as "Don't Fear the Reaper" by the Blue Oyster Cult starts up over the PA system, and The Fury appears in the entrance to the aisle, glaring around at the crowd with a grin on his face.] SR: Oh yeah, Dross, here we go, here we go... [The heel pop increases as the Fury walks the aisle, inciting his fans into louder and louder chanting.  He passes the commentary booth, where Steve Roberts has joined the Furies in their chanting, and vaults into the ring, removing his denim jacket to reveal an exceptionally well toned physique...] TD: I've got to admit, he does look to be in incredible shape... Steve, Steve, will you come back here? SR: Sorry, Dross.  Got carried away for a second. TD: I know. SR: No, I meant actually carried away.  Some of the Fury's female fans wanted a souvenir. [The "SKULLPUMP!" chants slowly start to fade with "Don't Fear the Reaper", as the crowd waits expectantly for the champion...] RA: And his opponent... [Huge crowd pop, combined with "You're going home in a red cross ambulance" chants from the Furies] ...weighing in at 220lbs and hailing from Beijing, China... the current IIWF Cruiserweight Champion of the World... here is the White Phoenix, Shiinnnnnnnnjaaa Chooooooooowww!! [Huge crowd pop as the eagle's cry and gong is heard over the PA system, and the Phoenix appears at the head of the aisle, the Cruiserweight title around his waist.  He slaps the fans' hands as he jogs down to ringside...] TD: The Phoenix has been on fine form recently, and it will be interesting to see how he measures up to the challenge of the Fury. [Chow starts to walk around ringside as Kowalski watches him from inside the ring, pacing around, anxious to get things underway..] SR: Look at the Fury, Dross, look at him.  Two thirty-nine of wickedly co-ordinated muscle.  The man is psyched.  The man is ready.  The man is... whoa!  The man is even crazier than I thought! [Huge crowd pop as the Fury leaps over the top rope, taking the White Phoenix down to the floor with a suicide dive!  The Fury goes wild, smashing a series of hard right hand blows into the Phoenix' head, punching away as the referee calls for the bell to start the match...] TD: The Fury is wasting no time whatsoever here, he wants this shot, and he wants it bad. [The Fury pulls the Phoenix up to his feet, and winds up, smashing him with a hard roundhouse punch that sends the Phoenix reeling backwards.  The Fury follows up, smashing him hard into the guard rails, before setting him up for an Irish whip into the cornerpost...] TD: The Fury, showing no mercy at all in these opening stages... Irish whip... reversal by the White Phoenix! [Huge crowd pop as the Fury hits the steel, and he staggers backwards, turning around to be floored by a lariat from the Phoenix!  Pop!  The Phoenix rolls the Fury under the ropes, and leaps to the ring apron, and then to the top rope...] TD: Chow taking a risk early in this matchup. Kowalski is getting to his feet... somersault dropkick from the Phoenix sends him crashing to the canvas!  What a move! [The Phoenix rapidly moves across to the opposite corner, climbing the ropes again as Kowalski struggles back to his feet... the Fury turns...] TD: Double axehandle from the Phoenix and the Fury's down again! SR: No no! Steve, GET UP! [The Phoenix raises his hands to the popping crowd and goes to the third corner, leaping to the top rope for a third time..] TD: Kowalski's up.. he turns... high cross body block by the Phoenix -- no!  The Fury turns it into a powerslam, and cuts the Phoenix off short! [Huge relieved pop from the Furies, as both men lay down in the ring, the Fury clutching his head, the Phoenix his ribs.  Slowly, the Fury starts to push himself up to his feet, staring around at the crowd..] TD: Kowalski's bought himself some time with that one move, he was in real danger of having the match slip away from him there... SR: Not a chance, Dross, not a chance.  The guy's desire is too strong. [The Fury moves over to the prone Chow, who is still clutching his ribs, and drops a series of hard, fast elbowdrops onto Chow's sternum.  Chow doubles over, and the Fury pulls him back, pulling the leg up into a cover.. - 1 - kickout by Chow!  The Fury pushes up to his feet, and kicks Chow in the ribs, before dropping down onto his throat with a chokehold... the referee counts - 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - the Fury breaks at the last second, looks at the referee, then drops straight back into the choke again!  Heel pop!  Again, he breaks at the very last second, before pulling Chow up to his feet...] TD: The Fury with an overhead waistlock... and he slams Chow down hard with a gutwrench suplex! SR: This is more like it.  Go get him, Fury.. [Kowalski turns to the corner and leaps up to the middle turnbuckle, pausing to shout at the Furies in the crowd before leaping off... and connecting with a big elbowdrop to Chow's ribs!  Pop!  He pulls him over into the cover... 1 - 2 - kickout, followed by a big mixed pop from the aisle... and a rousing cheer from the Sychopath segment of the fans...] TD: It's Joe Petrow... The Sychotic one is on the way to ringside. SR: God save all of us. [Kowalski pulls the Phoenix up to his feet, and backs him into the corner, hitting him with a backhand chop that is heard around the arena.  He hits him with a second.. and Chow reverses the positions, hitting the Fury with a volley of his own chops!  Pop!  Kowalski reverses the positions again, hitting Chow rapidly with punches to the head and midsection, and then a rapid series of kicks!  Heel pop as Chow slumps against the turnbuckles, and the Fury proceeds to choke him out with his boot!] TD: And Petrow is at ringside.  One has too wonder exactly how much of a distraction his presence will be for everyone in the ring. SR: What's that he's carrying? [Petrow grins and looks around at the camera, holding up his right hand, which is covered by a black cloth bag. Inside the ring, the referee forces Kowalski to break the hold, pulling him back to administer a warning.  Kowalski nods, and steps away from the referee, walking back to the corner, in time to receive a boot to the midsection from the Phoenix!  Pop!  Kowalski turns, shakes his head, and turns back, closing on the Phoenix again, this time for the Phoenix to lift his head and kick out hard, catching the Fury with a boot to the jaw!  Pop!  Kowalski staggers away from the corner, and the Phoenix runs out, leaping up to catch Kowalski with a bulldog!  Pop!  Chow covers... 1 - 2 - scrambled kickout by Kowalski!] TD: And Petrow has leapt onto the ring apron, and is drawing both Shinja Chow and the referee's attention.. [Chow and Petrow have a brief exchange of words, and Kowalski rolls back to his knees, rubbing his forehead.  Chow points at Petrow, who drops of the ring apron, and turns back.. to receive a hard diving headbutt to the midsection from Kowalski!  Pop!  Chow doubles over, and Kowalski quickly takes advantage, catching the champion with a swinging neckbreaker.. the cover... 1 - 2 - kickout by the Phoenix!  Kowalski pulls him back to his feet again, and starts to set him up for a suplex...] TD: And Petrow is on the ring apron again! SR: What the hell is he playing at? [The Fury spots Petrow, and lets go of the Phoenix, who in turn nails Kowalski with a blow to the midsection.  Kowalski replies with a swift kick to the stomach, and then a headbutt that sends Chow to the canvas!  Pop!  Kowalski and the referee both move across to Petrow, who drops off the ring apron again!  Kowalski starts to jaw with him, and reaches out, but Petrow stays out of arms reach.  The Phoenix climbs to his feet, and charges the Fury, pushing him into the ropes and then pulling him back into a rolling reverse cradle... the referee stops shouting at Petrow and slides into position for the count... 1 - 2 - the Fury kicks Chow off, and the two roll to their feet.] TD: Once again Petrow manages to distract the men in the ring.  He's enjoying this, Steve. [Kowalski and Chow lock up again, and Kowalski takes the advantage with a fast thumb to the eye, followed by a headlock.  The Phoenix quickly backs him into the ropes, and tries an Irish whip to throw him off... Kowalski reverses, and puts his head down for a backdrop. Chow leapfrogs and comes back off the ropes...] TD: Cross body block by Chow... and he's caught by Kowalski! [Kowalski staggers back under the weight of Chow, towards the ropes... and drops him right over the top at Petrow!  Heel pop!  Petrow dives out of the way as the Phoenix comes crashing down, and he and Kowalski start to shout at each other again!  Kowalski starts to climb the turnbuckles, and pauses, shouting at Petrow, who is standing defiantly over Shinja Chow's body!] SR: What in the world is Petrow doing?  Hey!  Sycho!  Let him jump! [Kowalski and Petrow glare at each other as Shinja Chow slowly gets to his feet at the referee's five-count, and rolls back into the ring.  Kowalski points at Petrow one last time, and drops back down to the canvas, immediately setting about the Cruiserweight champion with a series of kicks to the head as he tries to rise.] TD: Kowalski now, pulling the Phoenix into the centre of the ring. He sets him up... Doctor bomb! [Kowalski drives the White Phoenix hard down into the canvas, and covers, hooking the leg... 1 - 2 - ] SR: Three! New champ! TD: No... no, it was only two!  Chow got his shoulder up at the last split-second! [The Fury looks up at the referee, holding up three fingers.  The referee shakes his head, and the Fury scowls, pulling the Phoenix up to his feet again...] TD: That was certainly close, Kowalski had the pin locked in tight... SR: I'm telling you Dross, it was three.  Chuck Sanders got it wrong... again. [The Fury facelocks The White Phoenix, and sets him up for a suplex... blocked!  Kowalski tries again as the Sychopaths in the crowd start chanting "Never-gonna-get-it!"] TD: The Fury, cinching Chow up for another attempt... Chow drops under his guard!  And pulls out a Northern Lights suplex! He's got the bridge! SR: No! [The referee counts... 1 - 2 - kickout by Kowalski!  Both men roll over, and Kowalski quickly stuns the Phoenix with a diving axehandle as he tries to rise...] TD: This match has been all action from the start, and there's no let up. Kowalski, pulling Chow up and setting him for an Irish whip... [Kowalski heaves the Phoenix off the ropes, and Chow keeps hold of his arm, coming to a dead halt and reversing the Irish whip!  The Fury flies into the opposite ropes, accidentally catching Chuck Sanders with a flailing arm as he does so, and knocking him out of the ring!  Pop!  The Fury rebounds, to be caught by a spinning kick from the Phoenix, who drops into the cover, unaware that the referee is out on the floor..] SR: Referee down!  Referee down!  Again!  It's a bad night for Sanders! [Petrow leaps onto the ring apron to a mixed pop and cheers from the Sychopaths, ripping the bag off his hand to reveal the IIWF Gauntlet!  Pop!  Chow looks up. Petrow's voice is picked up by a camera microphone:] JP: Bring that bastard over here so we can finish him off right now! TD: Oh my!  Thing's aren't looking good for your man, Steve... [Chow looks across at Petrow, open mouthed, and slowly shakes his head.  Petrow shakes his head in disbelief as Chow starts to pull the Fury to his feet..] JP: Remember the plan we had! [Chow shakes his head again, instead setting Kowalski up for an Irish whip...] TD: Chow with a running clothesline.... The Fury ducks!  And Petrow nails Chow in the head with that gauntlet as he hits the ropes!  Chow is out cold! SR: More than that, Dross, he's bleeding like a faucet! [Petrow drops to the outside and rolls Chuck Sanders back into the ring as Kowalski staggers across to the floored Chow, picking him up...] TD: No... no, don't let it end like this... [Underhooking one arm...] TD: No... SR: Ys, we're gonna see it! [Then the other...] SR: Here it comes!  New champ! TD: No! [Kowalski looks around at the furies, who are starting the all-too familiar chant, and leaps...] SR: SKULLPUMP! Cover that man! [Kowalski covers, and the referee slowly rolls over... 1 -- 2 -- 3!   The referee slowly raises his arm, signalling for the bell...] TD: I don't believe it... SR: Yes! New champ! RA: Here is your winner, and _NEW_ IIWF Cruiserweight Champion of the World... Steve "The Fury" Kowaaaalllsssssssskiiiiii!! [The "SKULLPUMP!" chants slowly fade into a huge heel pop as Petrow rolls into the ring behind Kowalski, and clobbers him in the head with the Cruiserweight title!  Kowalski crumples to the mat, and Petrow pulls up the heavily bleeding Shinja Chow, pulling him to his feet, slapping his face and throwing him headfirst out of the ring...] TD: Security. We. Need. Now. SR: What for? [Petrow rolls out after Chow, pulling him to his knees and then grinding his face into the arena floor in front of the screaming fans...] JP: YOU THINK YOU'RE BETTER THAN ME, CHOW?! YOU'RE NOTHING NOW! YOU'RE NOTHING NOW! TD: This is terrible.. please, somebody get down here... SR: Too late, Dross... the Jobber Justice Squad are probably all too terrified anyway. [Kowalski slowly starts to come around in the ring, as Petrow retrieves the fallen IIWF Gauntlet and puts it on... He walks back across to Chow...] TD: And here comes Kowalski!  SR: The champ's not happy, Dross! [Huge pop as Kowalski charges Petrow from behind, clotheslining him into the front row of the stands!  Kowalski follows, and the fans close around them, various fights breaking out between the Sychopaths and the Furies across the arena...] TD: At last, we've got an EMT team down here for Shinja Chow.  I can't believe what we are seeing here.  Gang warfare in the IIWF. SR: Ain't it great?  New champ, the fans are having the time of their lives... those two will probably brawl all the way to the fire exits. [Security teams dash to the various flashpoints of trouble in the stands and begin hauling fans towards the exits. The Phoenix is helped from the ring, members of the EMT crew immediately moving to stop the bleeding of the gash in his head. Cut back to the ringside broadcast table.] TD: Fans, I apologise for the graphic nature of that match -- but it just confirms what we already knew, that it's going to be a brutal, bloody affair next Saturday night, when Petrow and Kowalski clash at the Bash -- with the IIWF Cruiserweight title on the line! SR: Whoo-hoo! Kowalski joins the elite club of athletes to have held two different titles in the IIWF! Finally, a Cruiserweight champ we can be proud of. [The disturbances in the stands are finally quelled, and a ring crew clears up the spatters of blood in and around the ring.] =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Creed & Tony Starks vs. Otto "the Butcher" Verhoeven & Lord Byron =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= WRITER: MG [Sparkplug Lee is wearing a black baseball cap with the words "Sparkplug says "Bite Me!" inscribed upon it as he raises the ring microphone to his lips.] SL: Wrestling fans, this tag team match is scheduled for one fall with no time limit. About to enter the ring at a combined weight of 545lbs, here are ... [Crowd pop as "C.R.E.A.M" begins to play] Tony Starks ... and Creed! [Big crowd pop as Tony Starks starts to walk down the aisle, the eponymous towel draped over his head. He stares intently at Otto Verhoeven, ignoring the "Otto Fears Starks" signs and not even bothering to slap hands with the crowd. After a few moments he reaches the ring and climbs up onto the apron. Suddenly the music stops and the lights dim. Blood red searchlights begin to roam the crowd and mist begins to fill the aisle as Creed's voice echoes over the PA system: "Anyone... Anytime... Anywhere..." HUGE pop as "Ode to Joy" begins and Creed enters the arena, a blood red searchlight following him as he walks the mist-filled aisle. Before him are projected images of blood red gauntlets, laying down a trail to follow to take him to the ring.] SR: Show off. [Creed enters the ring and immediately makes for the turnbuckle, climbing it and shooting the red gauntleted fist straight up into the air. Big pop!] TD: What an impressive entrance there from Creed, Steve. He really knows how to electrify a crowd. SR: Look out, Dross, I think Sparky is getting ready to exercise that whiny voice o' his again... SL: And their opponents ... [The theme from "Hallowe'en" begins to play as Otto Verhoeven and Lord Byron make the long walk down the aisle to the ring. Lady DeWinter, as usual, looks stunning in a long sleeved, low-cut, black evening gown. Byron is wearing the IIWF Intercontinental title around his waist with the ESWP intercontinental belt draped around one shoulder. Verhoeven looks pointedly at Tony Starks as Nurse Heidi pushes a wheelchair to ringside.] SL: Weighing in at a total combined weight of 605lbs, here are... Otto "The Butcher" Verhoeven and Lord Byron.. the EUROPEAN ALLIANCE!! TD: I wonder what the wheelchair is all about? SR: Bad news for Starks, I should think. Mind games, Dross, mind games. TD: Hmmm... Well, regardless of any mental sparring, I'm really looking forward to this match-up, which promises so much. Tony Starks wants revenge against the alliance for the brutal attack he suffered on Wednesday War Room and Creed ... well, I guess everyone knows what Creed wants. What's your prediction for the match, Steve? SR: Are you kidding? The Alliance will walk it. They've got the experience, they've got the skill, they've got the weight advantage and most importantly of all, they've got the team work. Creed and Starks have never teamed before tonight, and that inexperience will cost 'em. Oh, and I almost forgot; The Alliance, they've got the babes. TD: Babes? Please, spare us. There goes the bell, and it looks like Byron is kicking things off on the Alliance's side. [In their corner, Creed and Starks appear to be arguing over who will start the match. Lord Byron stands in the centre of the ring, arms folded and a confident smile on his face, waiting for an opponent] SR: Look at that, Dross. See what I mean about teamwork? These two bozos can't even figure out who'll start up against Byron. [Tony Starks strides out to meet Byron, who offers the collar-and-elbow tie up. The men tie up and immediately begin struggling for dominance, with no clear winner for several minutes until Byron manages to trip the leg and bring Starks down to the mat, with a headlock applied to the facedown Starks. Long moments pass as Starks struggles to escape the hold. Eventually Starks manages to slip out, and slips an shoulder under Byron's arm, rolling Byron over onto his back. The official counts... 1... 2... kickout from Byron. Disappointed pop!] TD: Nice move from Starks as he simultaneously escapes the headlock and puts Byron in a pinning predicament. Tony Starks showing he's no slouch when it comes to mat wrestling, Steve. SR: Yeah, yeah. [Both men are now back on a vertical base as Starks irishwhips Byron into the ropes. Byron rebounds off the ropes just in time to meet Starks, who backflips him high in the air and half way across the mat. Starks follows with a big elbow to the back of Byron's head, completely flattening Byron. Starks moves in with a tight boston crab] TD: Lady DeWinters looks concerned, Steve. SR: No hassle, Dross. Look at where Byron is. He only has to move a little. [Byron stretches his hand out to the ropes, which are only twenty or thirty centimetres away, just barely out of reach. Slowly he begins to painfully move towards the ropes. Starks releases the hold and brings a legdrop down right across Byron's back. Byron's face contorts in pain, but he does not cry out. Starks grabs a leg and pulls Byron over to his corner. Big pop as Starks tags in Creed!] TD: Byron seems to have been caught napping at the beginning of the match, but here's a man who can certainly administer an effective wake up call. [Creed brings Byron up to his feet, and is about to set him up for a powerslam when Byron applies a thumb to the eye. Big heel pop as an inverted atomic drop followed by a short clothesline downs Creed. Shaking his head to dislodge whatever cobwebs might be in there, Byron quickly crosses the ring and makes the tag to Verhoeven.] SR: Alright! Now we're really gonna see some violence! Smart move from Byron, Dross. Bring in the fresh man, and watch him beat the snot out of 'em. [Verhoeven moves in quickly with a kick to the side of Creed's head, followed by a huge drop headbutt to the lower back. Dragging the stunned Creed to his feet, Verhoeven applies a bearhug, wrapping his huge arms around Creed's lower back and arms. Creed tries to get an arm free, but Verhoeven just clinches in tighter. A chant begins: "Creed! Creed!" SR: Just listen to these idiots. Why don't they chant for Otto, Dross? He's the one demonstrating superior athletic ability! TD: I guess that will remain one of life's great mysteries, Steve. [Verhoeven shakes Creed like a rag doll, but still Creed tries to free an arm. Long moments pass but Creed still struggles, until finally Verhoeven brings Creed down to the mat with a belly-to-belly suplex. Verhoeven hooks the leg, but Creed kicks out before the official begins to count. Verhoeven drags Creed to his corner and tags in Byron, to a huge heel pop! Byron drags Creed just out of reach of the ropes and applies...] SR: Figure four from Lord Byron! That's one of Byron's favourites, Dross. All that pressure on the leg really helps set up for the Aristoclutch! Ha! Look at Verhoeven gesture at Starks, Dross! Can we get a close-up? TD: I'd love to oblige you, Steve, you know that. Sadly, the producer is informing me that we can't show that particular gesture on national television. It certa... SR: [interrupting] What!? This is censorship! What about the first amendment? We got rights! Where's the IIWF lawyers when you really need 'em? TD: As I was saying, that particular gesture certainly appears to have infuriated Starks! [Starks is enraged, and tries to get into the ring after Verhoeven, only to be held back by the referee. Meanwhile Verhoeven drops a big leg over Creed's neck, followed by blatant choking. Big heel pop from the crowd!] TD: Turn around, referee! [In the ring Byron releases the figure-four and exits, leaving Verhoeven to quickly bring Creed back up and quickly take him down again with a DDT. Verhoeven hooks the leg. The referee, who has finally gotten Starks under control, is out of position. Rushing over, he drops to the mat and counts: 1... 2... kickout from Creed!] SR: Verhoeven should have got him there, Dross. Poor officiating. TD: Verhoeven isn't even the legal man, Steve.  Byron didn't tag him. SR: Details, details ... [Verhoeven once again drags Creed to his feet, but this time Creed is waiting for him. A big elbow to the midsection has Verhoeven gasping, and Creed quickly twists and lifts Verhoeven onto his shoulders. A fall away slam has the crowds cheering. Creed uncertainly gets to his feet and staggers over to make the tag. Starks leaps the top rope and rushes over to Verhoeven, who is getting back to his feet. Starks grabs him and...] SR: The Cobra suplex!  Starks is going for the Katha Jime! [Starks goes for the Katha Jime judo choke hold, but a low blow from Verhoeven has the crowds booing and Stark's eyes watering. Verhoeven levels Starks with a big clothesline.] SR: Effective counter. Hehe. [Verhoeven once again has the upper hand, and begins a series of devastating kicks to the lower back of Starks, before pulling Starks up. Grabbing Starks by the throat he lifts him up and chokeslams him on the back of his head! The crowd booes more or less constantly as he lifts up the practically unconscious Starks and pulls him to Byron's corner, tagging in Byron, who begins climbing to the top rope. Verhoeven is setting Starks into position for the...] TD: Spike piledriver! What a move from the European Alliance! SR: Tha-tha-that's all folks! [Byron drops over Starks and hooks both legs. The referee counts 1... 2... Starks barely manages to raise a shoulder. Verhoeven curses, but Byron simply sneers and drags Starks up and around so both men are back to back. A fallaway neckbreaker leaves Starks flat out, clutching his neck. Byron rebounds off the ropes and launches himself into the air for a slam, but there's nobody there! Starks has rolled out of the way, and is painfully making his way to Creed. Verhoeven rushes the ring and drops a leg over Stark's neck, before allowing himself to be pushed back to his corner by the referee. This has given Byron time to recover, and now he's back after Starks with a vengeance. Dropping a big elbow into the small of Stark's back, Byron moves in quickly with a reverse STF!] TD: What a move from Byron, Steve! You don't see many reverse STF moves in wrestling today. SR: Few men in wrestling have the skill of a Lord Byron, Dross. The man is a 100% Grade-A wrestling machine. And that's the bottom line. [A weakened Starks shows no sign of submission, though the referee is down there with him checking. Ringside microphones can make out "No! Never!" from Starks, who is shaking his head, trying to loosen the hold] SR: Nice try, Starks, but Byron's got it clinched in too tight. I love it when these "mat technicians" get beaten at their own game, Dross. I just love it to death. [Starks is still in the reverse STF, and sweat is pouring from him as he struggles to free the hold. Byron sneers as, realising that the move is not working, he breaks and drags Starks slowly to his feet. However, Starks quickly grabs him in a schoolboy rollup as the crowd cheers. Byron kicks frantically to free himself as the referee counts: 1... 2... Byron escapes just as the referee is about to count three! An angry Byron rolls under the ringropes as Starks painfully gets to his feet. Verhoeven charges out of his corner towards Starks, who ducks the clothesline attempt and drops the big man with a leg sweep. Big pop!] TD: This is it, Steve. This is the opportunity Starks needs to make the tag. But will he make it? [Starks slowly limps to his corner, where Creed is waiting with an outstretched arm. Behind him, Verhoeven is slowly getting up, and rushes toward Starks. Creed shouts a warning, and Starks launches himself toward his corner. The hot tag is made, and Creed slingshots himself over the top rope. The slingshot shoulderblock surprises Verhoeven, who finds himself down on the mat as Creed applies a firestorm of closed fists, followed by a blatant choke attempt. The referee starts to count, but Verhoeven, initially stunned by the ferocity of Creed's attack, takes matters into his own hands as he headbutts Creed right in the face. Big heel pop!] SR: Well, you know I hate to state the obvious, but that had to hurt. [Creed reels back, but recovers quickly enough to catch Verhoeven with a vicious forearm as Verhoeven tries to get back to his feet. Creed steps back, and allows Verhoeven to get to his feet. Grabbing Verhoeven, Creed Irish whips him into the nearby ringropes, and executes a spinebuster on the rebound! BIG pop as Verhoeven writes on the floor. Creed goes for the pin, but Verhoeven pushes him off before the official can begin his count. Wiping the blood from his nose, Creed drags Verhoeven up, only to be caught in a schoolboy rollup. Surprised pop!] TD: Otto must have been watching Starks carefully, Steve. [Creed easily breaks free, and is back on his feet quickly. Verhoeven also quickly stands, only to be met by a stiff snap suplex which sends Verhoeven halfway across the ring! BIG pop! On the outside, Byron appears to be conferring with Nurse Heidi, who nods her head, an evil smile upon her face.] TD: What's Heidi up to? [Creed tags in Starks, who appears to be keen to get at Verhoeven, who is slowly standing. Rushing over to grab Verhoeven, Starks launches himself at Verhoeven, who easily catches him.] SR: That's amazing power from Otto, Dross! That's 269lbs of flesh flying right at ya, and Otto stops it in midair! [Starks desperately struggles to shift his weight, and Verhoeven falls to the mat with Starks on top. The referee counts 1... 2... kickout! Disappointed crowd pop!] TD: I guess you'd call that a delayed action flying cross body press, Steve? SR: Beats me. Personally, I just thought Starks fouled up. [Starks and Verhoeven brawl in the centre of the ring, neither gaining an advantage, until the referee tries to break it up. The referee slides between both men and...] TD: Well, I certainly wouldn't want to be between those two. [...manages to separate them. However, Verhoeven rakes the eyes as they break, leaving Starks clutching his face, blinded. Verhoeven moves in on Starks, and drags him to his corner. Byron is waiting, and grabs Starks. The referee is about to begin a count when Verhoeven rushes over and slaps Creed in the face before rushing back. An infuriated Creed tries to storm the ring, only to be prevented by the referee. Meanwhile Byron chokes out Starks with the tag rope as Verhoeven rains blow after blow to Stark's midsection. BIG heel pop!] TD: Diabolical tactics from Otto Verhoeven and Lord Byron, Steve. SR: Are you surprised? TD: Not really, no. I'm surprised you agree with me about the "diabolical" though. SR: What? Well, I didn't mean it exactly that way, Dross. As you know, Lord Byron's a friend of mine, and I wouldn't... Aw, dammit, who cares? [Starks tries desperately to free himself. A big elbow sends Byron flying off the ring apron, and a series of punches has Verhoeven temporarily stunned. Seeing what is going on, Creed edges past the referee and launches himself towards Verhoeven. Starks eyes widen in alarm and he desperately shifts to the right, just in time to get out of the way as Verhoeven is splashed by a flying Creed! Big pop!] TD: What a move! That may have won Starks and Creed the match, and - I can't tell -- did Verhoeven hit his head on the ringpost? [Outside the ring Lord Byron is slowly getting to his feet as Lady DeWinter hovers nearby, clearly concerned. Inside, the referee begins a five count and Creed & Starks appear to be having a brief argument, but as they hear Verhoeven moan they turn and Irish whip him into a turnbuckle. The entire ring shakes as Verhoeven impacts with sufficient force to flip him over the turnbuckle and to the floor outside! Big pop!] TD: What an impact, Steve! That may have knocked Otto out. SR: Otto? Knocked out? Take more than that, Dross. [Lord Byron moves over to check on his tag team partner, but as he does so Creed whispers something to Starks, who nods his agreement. Both men move closer to the ropes where Verhoeven fell, and then suddenly Creed Irish whips Starks to the opposing ropes!] SR: What the hell? [Creed is now by the ropes where Verhoeven fell, and as Starks rushes towards him on the rebound, he ducks his head.] TD: Creed backdrops Starks over the ropes?! [Starks goes flying over the top rope, tumbling to land right on Otto Verhoeven, and clipping Lord Byron! HUGE pop, and the chant begins "Creed! Creed!"] TD: What a maneuver from Creed and Starks! SR: Disqualify him! Disqualify him! TD: Who? Why? SR: Creed! No, Starks! Both of 'em! They can't get away with that! [An angry Lord Byron staggers up, and looks down to see Starks lying on top of Verhoeven. Both men seem to be more or less out of it. He looks up to see Creed standing alone in the centre of the ring, the blood red fist in the air. A look crosses his face...] SR: Uh-oh... [Lord Byron climbs to the ring apron and through the middle ropes, before lunging for Creed. Creed blocks the first right hand, and both men go at it with righteous fury. The referee begins to count whilst outside the ring Starks slowly makes his way to his feet, and is about to reenter the ring when a hand shoots up and grabs him...] TD: Birthday Bash seems a little early as Creed and Byron go at it inside the ring whilst Verhoeven has just grabbed Starks outside it! Who's legal? SR: I think it's Creed and Verhoeven, isn't it? No, wait, that's wrong. No, it's Verhoeven and Starks, Dross. [Starks is fighting back, and has Verhoeven in a headlock. Meanwhile, Byron has the upper hand and he irishwhips Creed into the ropes. Nurse Heidi grabs the upper rope and pulls it down. Starks rushes toward the nearby turnbuckle, intending to smash Verhoeven's skull into it, but Verhoeven grabs Starks and pushes him ahead! Starks impacts the ringpost face first! He goes down fast, and Verhoeven looks around just as the big Heel pop begins. Meanwhile, Heidi still has the rope down as Creed richochets toward it, sending Creed flying over the top rope to land at Verhoeven's feet! The heel pop picks up the volume! A dazed Creed tries to stand, but is grabbed by Verhoeven... The bell rings... Ding! Ding! Ding!] TD: What happened? Who wo- Oh my gosh! Verhoeven with the Slaughterslam! A slaughterslam outside the ring must surely have knocked him out, Steve. [In the centre of the ring a pleased Lord Byron raises his hand in victory as Verhoeven slides under the top rope. However, the referee grabs the hand and pulls it down. Byron and Verhoeven stand around, looking confused, as the referee confers with Sparkplug Lee, who is standing nervously near Verhoeven. Gulping, he raises the microphone..] SL: Wrestling fans, as both the legal men, Otto "The Butcher" Verhoeven and Tony Starks, were unable to get back into the ring in time to beat the referee's ten count, this match has been declared a double countout! [The crowd boos. Otto Verhoeven looks enraged and, grabbing the baseball cap from Sparkplug Lee, tears it into shreds. Big heel pop as the crestfallen Lee looks down at the tattered remains.] TD: There was no call for that, Steve! SR: I dunno, shows good fashion sense, I guess. [Byron and Verhoeven both leave the ring, and move towards the battered bodies of Creed and Starks.] TD: Oh, this is bad, Steve Roberts. [Verhoeven grabs the only barely conscious Starks and hits him with the Slaughterslam before hurling him into the ringsteps. Byron grabs Creed and pushes him into the ring. Creed staggers to his feet as the referee orders the bell rung. Ding! Ding! Ding! Byron approaches Creed, and Creed lashes out with a kick to the midsection. Big crowd pop! However, as he is doing this, Lady DeWinters throws Byron's brass-tipped cane to Verhoeven, he sneaks up on the back of Creed. WHACK! Creed topples like a great oak!] SR: Yes! TD: Steve! Can we get some security down here, please?! [Creed is beaten repeatedly by the cane as the helpless referee tries to stop the carnage. Blow after blow is rained down upon the barely conscious Creed. The crowd booes wildly, and the bell rings incessantly. Verhoeven vaults the top rope and grabs a chair, positioning himself in the aisle. As "Nifty" Ned Norton and the JJS arrive upon the scene, Verhoeven swings the chair wildly keeping them at bay.] TD: This is horrible, Steve, just horrible. SR: Actually, I kind of like it. Good grief, now that's something you don't see everyday! [Nurse Heidi has folded the wheelchair up and pushed it under the bottom rope as Byron continues to inflict punishment with the cane. Climbing into the ring, she unfolds the wheelchair and calmly pushes it towards Byron. "Thank you, m'dear" can clearly be heard from Byron, as he lifts the wheelchair and...] TD: NO! Byron smashes the wheelchair into Creed's knee! This isn't just horrible, Steve, this is obscene! SR: Spoilsport. Byron's just sending Creed a little message, that's all. [Byron smashes the chair down again, and Creed roars in pain. Again, and again, and again!] TD: Finally! I've lost count of how many times that maniac has hit Creed with that chair! We may need some medical help down here as - NO! Byron applies the Aristoclutch! [Byron has the Aristoclutch locked on tightly, and Creed thrashes about in pain as he tries, futilely, to free himself. Referees pour down the aisle, pushing past the JJS and ducking under the chair Verhoeven swings, although one of them is hit.] TD: That'll cost Verhoeven... I'm sure the IIWF President is back there totting up the fines as he watches this on a monitor. SR: I'm sure he's quaking. By the way, Dross, you're not supposed to call Byron a maniac. I'm not sure Byron likes it. I'll ask him later, when I see him. [The referees pour into the ring, frantically trying to free Creed, but Byron is relentless, he refuses to break the hold. Creed is on his back, nearly unconscious, but still Byron won't let go. The bell is still ringing frantically, but the referees cannot break the hold. Outside the ring Tony Starks stirs, but Verhoeven sees this and lunges towards him, ramming the chair right into his midriff. The JJS pour down toward the ring, but Verhoeven is still able to keep them at bay.] TD: Get security. Get the police! Somebody has got to break this carnage up. [Byron finally relents and releases the hold. A close-up camera angle shows that Creed is apparently unconscious. The referees try to hustle Byron out of the ring, but Byron is having none of it as he retrieves his championship belts and grabs the ring microphone from a terrified Sparkplug Lee. Shaking his hair out of its now loose bob, he brushes the hair back off his face before holding the microphone up to his face. Sneering, he begins to speak.] LB: [in a passable imitation of Creed] Rookie!  Hey!  Rookie! [Byron looks around at the jeering crowd, and takes a few steps towards Creed.  Two of the officials try to hold him back.] LB: Oh, you will not believe how long I've been waiting to see this...     What's the matter, Creed? No longer the tough guy? What happened,     Creed?  Has your strength deserted you?  Get up, Creed, stand up and     fight! [Byron sneers again, pushing the referees away and pulling his hair back into the ponytail, looking down scornfully at Creed, who appears to have come round, but is barely moving, clutching his knee in agony.  The referee, examining him, calls out for a stretcher, and shouts at Byron to back off.] LB: What's the matter, Creed?  Are we in some pain?  For all your proud     words, for all you've achieved, you still are a rookie, aren't you?     You've been building yourself up all this time, making a name for     yourself, trying to create the very image of invincibility. [Byron     sneers] How human you look now. [Byron smiles as he sees the EMT team rushing down to ringside, and holds the IC title towards Creed, the arrogant smirk returning to his face. Verhoeven finally lets the stretcher team past, but rushes Starks and smashes him over the head with another chair shot before calling for Nurse Heidi, and walking back down the aisle. The JJS follow him, at a respectful distance. Several fans throw plastic bottles and rolled up posters at him as he walks down the aisle, the crowd's booing almost unbearably loud.] LB: [raises his voice over the crowd's booing] All's fair in love and war, Creed.  You earned your shot at this, but are you ready for it? I don't think so.  You haven't got the guile, the wit to be champion.  You're nothing but a rookie.  You still want this title? What are you prepared to do to get it, Creed?  What is it going to cost you?  Your career?  Will you even make it? [Byron watches as the EMT team carefully lift Creed onto the stretcher.] LB: It's your call now, Creed.  Let's see just what sort of man you     really are.  I'll be there at Birthday Bash. I'll be waiting.     [Byron sneers] Ciao. [Byron turns to leave, and then rushes the stretcher, hurling Creed off the stretcher and on to the floor, kicking away at Creed's knee again. This time the referees and paramedics are able to quickly haul him off, and a small army of referees escort him away. Byron raises his arms in victory as he is dragged off, inciting a huge heel pop. Meanwhile, the paramedics manage to get Creed, who resists their help, lashing out at them as he tries to drag himself to his feet. His right knee gives out, however, and he crumples back to the floor, his face screwed up in pain.] TD: What despicable actions we've seen tonight on the part of both Lord Byron and Otto Verhoeven! SR: Hmm. Yeah. Shocking. Absolutely shocking. TD: I sense you're less than sincere, Steve. SR: Me? [The EMT crew finally manages to roll Creed onto their stretcher, and a few of them begin to wheel him up the aisle to the locker room area, while a couple of others help Tony Starks to his feet. The Staten Island sensation is shaken, but is able to walk under his own steam.] TD: Surely what we've just seen has to cast grave doubts over whether or not Creed will be physically able to wrestle Byron next Saturday night -- he could have sustained some very serious damage in that attack. SR: Guess we'll see just how good Creed really is. He's beaten Byron before, but can he do it again with only one good leg? [The crowd give Creed and Starks a standing ovation as they disappear into the locker room, surrounded by medical staff and security. The fans begin to settle as the shot cuts back to Dross and Roberts at the ringside broadcast table.] TD: Well, fans, one match remaining tonight -- and that means that we are only a main event away from the big Birthday Bash pay-per-view. SR: [with tongue planted in cheek] And what a great show that's gonna be, Dross.  What a great card!  What a great company!  It's like Christmas in May!  Would you join me in a carol? TD: Steve, I really don't think this is necessary. SR: Well, I certainly wouldn't want to upset anyone, Dross. I just couldn't live with myself if I cost a single blessed soul even a moment's upset. TD: Let's get to ringside. SR: Oh boy!  The main event!  =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Chris Quigley & Subway Psycho vs. Casey James & Tiger Claw -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= WRITER: JJ [A group of middle-aged, overweight men who have commandeered a section of the floor seats, stand and remove bulky overcoats... revealing t-shirts proclaiming themselves as "L'il Soundbiters", with the accompanying slogan: "Kickin' da Ass... Eatin' da Biscuits." Sparkplug Lee stands somewhat nervously in the ring as the men each hold up a cupful of beer in their right hands -- extending them in a "Soundbite Power" salute.] SL: Ladies and gentlemen... the following contest is your MAIN EVENT of the evening! [Big crowd Pop, except for the standing "L'il Soundbiters", many of whom sway drunkedly.] SL: Introducing first, accompanied by their manager Brian Lau and the "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder, at a combined weight of 560lbs... the three-time former IIWF Intercontinental Champion, Tiger Claw, and his partner, the IIWF Heavyweight Champion of the World... Casey "Blackheart" James! [Big Heel Pop as "Foul Taste of Freedom" heralds the arrival of the Syndicate to the aisle.  Lau claps his hands as he leads the way, closely followed by the martial arts expert Tiger Claw, who pats his manager on the back.  In the middle of the collective is the big Champion, Casey James, smiling broadly at the huge reaction to his appearance.  James holds the IIWF belt high in the air, allowing every corner of the arena to see his gold.  And pulling up the rear is Thunder, slowly limping behind the champion, his stony visage in sharp contrast to the cockiness of the balance of his stablemates.] TD: Here they are, Steve Roberts.  I don't remember a time when this group, this Syndicate was as imposing, as dominant as they are at this very moment.  The Dark Disciples... Pain Inc... and these men right here -- how do you stop a force like this, Steve Roberts? SR: Gosh, I'm just hoping that no one gets hurt tonight, Dross.  With so many fine athletes present -- and tensions running so very high -- an unfortunate mishap might occur... and, well, I just pray for the safe passage of these great men tonight. TD: Are you going to be like this all night? SR: Just trying to comply with the President's wishes, Dross.  I do so try to be a good employee.  [Thunder and Lau have taken up shop outside the ring, while James and Claw share a private joke.] SL: And their opponents... at a combined weight of 498lbs, introducing first, from the subways of New York City, the former IIWF Heavyweight Champion of the World... the "People's Champion"... the Subway Psycho! ["Crazy Train" kicks in as the crowd roars its approval of the Psycho, then the sound of the roaring subway crashes through the crowd noise, leading the Psycho down the aisle and quickly into the ring... James and Claw bailing out as the Psycho hits the ring at 80 miles per hour, hopping to a midbuckle and pounding feverishly on his chest.] TD: This is a man who is at the end of his rope, Steve Roberts. Perhaps more than anyone, he has been pushed and pushed and pushed by the Syndicate... you know he is itching to get his hands on each and every one of them. SR: Mercy, Dross.  That Subway Psycho is such a finely tuned profesional athlete, such a hard working man -- I am certain that his family is so very proud of him. TD: What's with the fans, Steve? [The "L'il Soundbiters" have remained standing throughout the introductions, none saying a word, the cups of beer still defiantly thrust outward.] SR: Oh, they're all good guys.  Husbands.  Fathers.  This is nice escapism for them -- and I know that each and every one of me "L'il Soundbiters" is looking forward to a good technical matchup. ["For Those About To Rock" begins -- and the place explodes.] SL: And his partner... from Cornerbrook, Newfoundland, Canada... the one and only, "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley! [Quigley pauses a moment at the entranceway, and then begins his walk to the ring.  Quigley's fans are perhaps not as great a percentage of the IIWF Coliseum as they once had been, but they are certainly fervent in their ardor for the Canadian.  The "Quick-strike! Quick-strike!" chant is huge, as Quigley reaches the ring in his recently altered attire -- jean shorts, plaid shirt tied around his waist, and unzipped brown leather jacket. The Subway Psycho simply stares hard at Quigley as he enters the ring and climbs to a midbuckle, James and Claw remaining outside, speaking with Lau as Thunder now has joined the Psycho in his attention to Quigley, seeming to size up the "Quickstrike".] TD: Well, here he is, Steve Roberts; the man of the moment. Will this be the night, will this be the time that "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley proves that he can stand victorious against the Syndicate? SR: [sits silently, as if mulling his next choice of words.] Tim, is Steve Summer still in the back?  TD: Well... I believe so, Steve.  SR: I think you'd better get him out here. [Roberts drops his headset to the table, grabs his leather jacket from the back of his chair, hops atop the announce table and grabs a standing mic...] SR: [calmly] Quigley... I've always said there are three things that I can't stand in professional wrestling: women... midgets....and celebrities. And Quigley -- you're at least two out of the three. KICK HIS JOBBER ASS, "BLACKHEART!" [The crowd gives an enormous mixed pop as Roberts hops from the table, over the guardrail and into the crowd.  He and the "L'il Soundbiters" leave the arena, having debris thrown on them, while other fans applaud and chant "Shoot, Soundbite! Shoot!" Quigley watches the scene with a look of bemusement, sarcastically waving good-bye as Roberts and his fans are no longer visible. As Claw and James return to the ring, Steve Summer sprints as if his hair were on fire down to the announce table.] SL: The Soundbite has left the building!  The Soundbite has left the building! [Claw and James are playing rock-paper-scissors to determine which man will start the contest.  Claw has scissors to Casey's paper, so it's the former IC champ who hops into the ring.  Neither the Psycho or Quigley appears to be budging from the ring, each man needing to release his aggression; however, as Claw spits in the direction of the Psycho, leading toward the official having to hold him back. Quigley defers to the "People's Champion" and climbs out to the apron.] SS: [trying to catch his breath]  Mr. Dross!  Mr. Dross... I saw in the back, you know from the back there what Mr. Roberts did. That guy is the coolest guy I ever saw.  TD: Well, Steve Summer, I think you just got a promotion. SS: What...?! I don't... ohmygod. TD: Welcome to the big leagues, Steve.  SS: Ohmygod. [Claw smirks at the anxious Psycho, and casually tags out to James to a big pop from the crowd, the Champ climbing over the top rope and into the ring.  Quigley climbs the ropes from the outside, yelling toward the Subway Psycho to make the tag -- but the Psycho doesn't even glance in his direction. Ding! Ding! Ding!] TD: Time to hook it up, folks, it's going to be a rematch of that big championship tilt at Ring Wars -- the Subway Psycho and Casey James. SS: Ohmygod. [The Psycho charges wildly at James, rocking him with a half dozen big right hands that send the Champ to the corner.  Subway Psycho rips a few knee lifts to James' midsection and the crowd pops wildly as he sends him cross-corner... and follows up with a splash that has James stumbling out into the middle of the ring -- and down to the canvas!  Big Pop!] TD: This one could be over early! [The Psycho ignores a potential cover, instead racing to the corner to take an ill-advised swipe at Claw, who is just able to leap to the floor and out of harm's way.  Tiger Claw stands now, taunting the People's Champ, who fails to notice that Brody Thunder is now grabbing him around the ankles...] TD: Oh -- the Psycho is hung up in that corner -- and is driven into the buckle with a big James clothesline! SS: SubwayPsycho'stoohotheadedDross. [Deep breath.] He's got that superface thing going where his emotions just get the better of him. TD: You'll be okay, Steve. [James scoops the Psycho up, carrying him out into the middle of the ring and hitting a ring-rocking running powerslam.  James covers lazily... 1 -- kickout by the Psycho! James pulls the Psycho to his feet and applies a standing side headlock.  The Psycho breaks the hold with two elbows to the midsection and bounds off the ropes with a flying shoulderblock that drops the Champ to the mat... the Psycho then bounds off the backropes -- leapfrog by James -- Psycho again off the ropes... and Thunder pulls him over the top!] TD: That's the danger... that's what Brody Thunder brings to this Syndicate, Steve Summer.  How many times have we seen him save Casey James? SS: I'll tell you what, Mr. Dross.  That's pretty good for Blackheart -- but I talk to a lot of the young guys around the locker room, and Brody's starting to lose a little respect back there.  Some of the guys are calling him Virgil. [Lau hops to the apron and distracts the official, while Claw and Thunder work the Psycho over on the outside, putting a series of boots to him and then dumping him back in the ring for the waiting James.  The Champ is methodical now, dropping a handful of elbows to the Psycho's back.  James picks up the Psycho - and drops him over his knee with a backbreaker... the Psycho goes up again... and is again down over the Champion's knee with a stomachbreaker. James now stands above the Psycho, places a foot on his chest as the official counts... 1 -- the Psycho gets a shoulder up!] TD: He's gotta make this tag, Steve Summer.  The Subway Psycho's gotta get out of this ring. SS: Pretty good hot tag to make, to Chris Quigley -- he oughta get in a good housecleaning before the next reversal.  I wonder... I wonder if the Psycho even wants to make that tag, Mr. Dross.  No secret that he and Quickstrike aren't exactly buddies. [James picks up the Psycho, whipping him hard into the corner, and charging -- but the Psycho slips the rush and James rams his shoulder hard into the ringpost!  Pop!  The Psycho considers racing after Claw again... but chooses to tag in Quigley who hops in to a huge crowd pop!] TD: We're gonna see it right now... we are gonna see Casey James vs. Chris Quigley right now! [The crowd is on its feet.  Quigley is nodding his head and pumping his fist.  Quigley is fired up... and James is backing away!  James is shaking his head and backing away... and making a tag to Tiger Claw!] SS: He didn't want none of it!  The Champ didn't want none of it! TD: We have seen the same strategy time and time again with the Syndicate, Steve Summer.  Brian Lau's troops continually prove the axiom that discretion is the better part of valor. SS: The only axe is the double one that Quigley's gonna put in the Claw's back -- Wow! [As Claw entered, Quigley leapt to a top rope and greeted him with the blow to the back.  Pop!  Quigley sends Claw to the ropes with a couple of reverse knife edge chops and then irish whips him into an armdrag takeover... and another whip into an armdrag takeover.  Quigley bars the arm... Claw counters with a headscissors takeover... Quigley bridges, rotating his shoulders and standing with a backslide that takes Claw to the mat for a... 1 - 2 - Claw kicks out and Quigley is right there with a headlock.] TD: He is so precise, Chris Quigley, he isn't the fastest or the strongest, but every move Chris Quigley makes is just so well calibrated. SS: You might want to say it's excellently executed.  TD: You've been paying far too much attention to Steve Roberts.  SS: You've been paying far too much attention to Gino Morella, Dross... er, Mr. Dross. [Claw tries to hiplock out of the standing side headlock, blocked, Claw tries again -- blocked, again -- and this time, Claw responds with a thumb to the eye...] SS: That'll stop an elephant.  I always wanted to say that. [...and then flips over Quigley into a waistlock, running Quickstrike into the ropes. Quigley grabs the ropes, Claw flies back into the mid-ring and Quigley turns and races at the former IC champ... Claw takes aim at a spinning heel kick -- and misses! Quigley ducks the kick and hops to a midbuckle, leaping, and driving his elbow into Claw's throat.  Quigley scissors the knee and wrenches back, looking for a submission... James starts to enter the ring and is cut off by the official, allowing Thunder to grab Claw's leg and pull him underneath the ropes and out onto the floor.  Big Pop!] TD: Well, I don't know about any references to a man named "Virgil" -- but Brody Thunder certainly has been an incredible asset to the Syndicate. SS: Aw, come on Mr. Dross.  When I got here Brody Thunder was the "Lone Wolf", now he's just some bodyguard for Casey James.  I mean, he can go, you gotta love it when he and Watkins get hardcore -- but I don't know what he's doing with these guys. [Claw tries to regain his composure on the floor, as Thunder backs away... Quigley bounds off the backrope and runs into a suicide dive that catches Claw into a high cross-body taking him all the way to the retaining barrier!  Big Pop!  Quigley rips off a couple of right hands, then hears and responds to the crowd exhorting to him to go after James!  Quigley is stalking now... circling the outside of the ring, looking to get a piece of Casey James...] TD: Oh my! [...and instead takes a Brody Thunder clothesline as he turns the corner of the ring.  James laughingly executes a double underhook suplex and then tosses Quigley back into the ring.  The Subway Psycho attempts to enter, but is blocked by the official, and all four Syndicate members get in shots at the prone Quigley before James takes his place in the ring.] TD: An example right there, Steve Summer, an example right there of what the Syndicate will do. It is just so difficult to take on an entire gang of men like this.  SS: Know what else, Mr. Dross?  Know what else?  Look at how badly the Psycho and Quigley are working together.  They have zero communication between them.  TD: Good analysis, Steve.  These are two tremendous competitors but obviously aren't in sync at all. [James is now aggressively attacking Quigley, picking him up, and then sending him to the canvas with consecutive belly-to-belly suplexes that press the Champ's nearly 100lb weight advantage fully onto Quigley. James picks Quigley up again, Irish whipping him into a vertical suplex that he holds for an extraordinarily long time... finally smashing Quigley to the mat for a cover... 1 -- 2 -- NO!  James is disgustedly up, looking at the official and slapping his hands together three times.  James slowly walks to his corner and tags in Claw, who leaps enthusiastically over the top rope into a somersault elbowdrop onto the head of the still fallen Quigley.  Claw lets loose a series of rapid fire kicks to Quigley's head and neck, before dropping a leg across his throat and hooking a leg... 1 -- 2 -- NO!  Claw then runs quickly to the top rope, flying down with an elbowdrop... missed! Quigley rolls out of the way! Big Pop!] TD: Chris Quigley has got to make this tag.  He is absolutely out on the mat, mustering everything he has to escape from this onslaught... he has got to get to the corner. [The Psycho is stomping his foot and straining to reach for a tag as Quigley.  The fans applaud in time as both men are lying on the mat... Quigley gets to his knees first... the crowd screaming as he crawls to the corner and the Psycho reaches out...] SS: Quigley didn't make the tag!  Quigley didn't make the tag! TD: Oh my!  Chris Quigley has just refused to tag out... I think that was a conscious choice on his part. SS: Well, the Subway Psycho is pissed! [The Psycho attempts to enter without the tag, perhaps as much to go after Quigley as to save him, but the official is there to stop him... and James is quickly into the ring, smacking his hands together as Thunder rolls Claw to the outside.  The Psycho continues to struggle with the official... and Quigley rolls James up into a small package! Quigley has James in a small package... but the official is occupied with the Psycho... Thunder charges back in the ring and drops an elbow on Quigley, then rolls back outside as the official turns around.] TD: Oh, that's unfortunate, Steve Summer.  Chris Quigley had Casey James beat right in the middle of the ring... and the official missed it. SS: Mr. Dross, the Subway Psycho has to know better than that -- he has to stay out of the ring... and Chris Quigley should have made a tag in the first place. How can they make these kinds of mistakes? TD: The heat of the battle changes people, Steve Summer.  It's very difficult even for the most seasoned of professionals to keep a cool head. SS: Well, I tell you what, there are a lot of the young guys in the IIWF who are watching right now and they know they wouldn't make those kinds of mistakes. [James takes advantage of the save by Thunder, and floors Quigley with a short-armed clothesline. James begins kicking Quigley... all the way out to the floor. Pop! James stands on the apron as Quigley attempts to rise... and delivers some swift justice in the form of a double axe to the head.  James then returns to the apron allowing Claw to get in a volley of shots to the prone Quigley.  Subway Psycho attempts to run to his aid, this time, going around the ring's perimeter, but Thunder grabs a chair and holds him off while Claw and James now double team Quigley.] TD: This has just flat been a textbook beating by the Syndicate. James, Claw and Thunder have cut the ring in half -- not allowing the Subway Psycho anywhere near his partner. SS: And when Quigley was able to make a tag... he didn't do it!  What do you do with a guy like that! [The official is separating Thunder and the Psycho while Claw and James continue working over Quigley.  Claw finally snapping Quigley's neck with a round/reverse round combination that leaves Quigley prey for a James jacknife.  Casey lifts Quigley high above his head... high into the air... but does not send him to the floor, instead walking over to the steel steps, getting set up above the steel steps...] TD: Oh, this is bad! Casey James is about to powerbomb Chris Quigley into the... OH MY! [A huge roar rises in the Coliseum as Quigley headscissors his way out of James' arms, bringing Casey down hard to the floor where Quigley lets loose a flood of rights and lefts, pounding away at the Champion's face. Claw advances, and Quigley meets him with a palm strike to the butt of the jaw, knocking the martial arts expert down like a shot... Quigley is fighting with everything he has now, dropkicking James just as the Champ was beginning to stand and then slowly climbing back into the ring to a huge roar from his fans! Pop!] TD: Chris Quigley is still alive! And now... and now he can make that tag! [James slips back into the ring while Quigley slowly makes his way to the outstretched arm of the very fresh Psycho... Quigley looks at the Subway Psycho, then at the staggered Champion behind him... and shakes his head! Mixed Pop!] TD: He's refusing the tag again!  Chris Quigley will not tag out to the Subway Psycho! Chris Quigley will not make the tag! SS: He said he was an island, Mr. Dross.  He said he would do it all by himself. Listen to the people, Mr. Dross -- they're starting to "boo" Quigley! [A good percentage of the crowd now is beginning to "boo" the Quickstrike, obviously upset with his refusal to tag in the popular Psycho.  The "Shoot, Soundbite! Shoot!" chant begins anew, but Quigley apparently does not notice as he moves to attack the Champion, whipping him farside and catching him with a drop toe hold.  Quigley looks to grapevine the leg, but he has been battered too much, and James' thickly built legs are beyond the breadth of his current level of ability. James lands a right hand to Quigley's head, Quigley responds with a right hand of his own... James with another right hand... and another... and another... and another... and then James drops Quigley to the mat with a gutwrench suplex that brings a big heel pop as James signals that this match is over! Tiger Claw leaps to the floor and begins moving toward the Subway Psycho, taunting him, calling him a "has-been."] SS: Talk about the pot calling the kettle black. TD: Will you stop?  SS: Hey, Mr. Dross, we're getting pretty good at this, huh? TD: Well, don't get too comfortable, young Summer.  That chair still belongs to the Soundbite. [James pulls Quigley to his feet, and places an arm behind his head. The Subway Psycho looks at his partner, and then leaps from the apron to attack Tiger Claw!  The Psycho and Claw begin to brawl on the outside and James sets up for the Blackheart Punch... Big Pop!] TD: Enzuigiri! Quigley hit him with the enzuigiri!  Oh my! SS: Make the damn tag, Quickstrike! [Quigley flops to the corner... and no one is there... Big Pop! The Subway Psycho is now well up the aisle fighting wildly with Tiger Claw, but as the crowd response informs him that his partner needs him, leading the Psycho to attempt to break away from his rival, he is waylaid by Morningstar and Hellraiser, who come out of the locker room and drag the People's Champion into the back and out of view!] TD: He's not there!  The Subway Psycho is not there! SS: He's on the island, Mr. Dross!  Chris Quigley's on the island! [Lau hops to the apron to complain about his three men getting attacked by the Subway Psycho... as Thunder tosses in the IIWF championship belt to James.  James advances on Quigley who is getting back to his feet... James swings as Quigley whirls...] TD: Superkick! Superkick! [It all then happens almost too rapidly to call: James drops like a stone and Quigley covers -- no official! Lau has the offical! Thunder quickly jumps in the ring and grabs the belt, looking to save the Champion... James is very close to the ropes... and drapes a leg over the bottom rope! The official disengages from Lau... as Thunder nails Quigley with the belt... the official drops... Ding! Ding! Ding!] SL: Ladies and gentlemen... your winners... as a result of a disqualification... the team of "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley and the "People's Champion", the Subway Psycho! [Enormous pop as the official raises the hand of the still prone Quigley.  Thunder puts his head in his hands... obviously upset at the decision.  Lau climbs in the ring to help James to his feet -- and James now gets in Thunder's face! Big pop!] TD: A stunner, Steve Summer! An absolute stunner! SS: Mr. Dross, Mr. Dross -- look at this, Casey James is upset with Brody Thunder... Casey James is yelling that Brody Thunder cost him the match!  Can you believe that? TD: Well, the official did disqualify James and Tiger Claw because of outside interference... technically it was due to Thunder's interference. He is technically the fall guy here, Steve Summer.  Casey James did have his foot on the rope -- I think the cowboy jumped the gun on that one. SS: Are you kiddin' me, Dross?  I mean, Mr. Dross. How many times did Brody Thunder save the Syndicate's butt tonight?  Or last week?  Or the week before?  Casey James oughta be glad Brody Thunder doesn't Cattle Buster DDT him and take his belt back to Arizona! [James is still chewing out Thunder, who has gone from contrite to irritated and is on his way toward angry with James.  Lau manages to squeeze in between his two charges, and is doing some quick diplomatic work that apparently has pacified James -- as he smiles broadly and picks his Championship Belt from the mat.  Lau points to the still unconscious Quigley, motioning that they can now take out their aggressions on the real enemy... and James is more than happy to oblige, smirking cockily as he bends down to "show" the championship belt to Quigley.  James puts a foot atop Quigley as Lau drops to the mat and gives a quick three count.] TD: Oh, this is uncalled for. This is disgusting. [Lau then gives Quigley his own boot to the ribs, followed quickly by James, who lays into "Quickstrike' with a sharp series.  Each man motions to Thunder, who has watched the entire escapade very quietly, his arms folded across his chest.  James smiles and yells for Thunder to "join the punking".  Thunder walks to Quigley... pauses... and steps over him, walking between the ropes, leaping to the floor and heading to the back to a big, big pop from the capacity crowd. James stares hard at the departing Thunder, then gives one last perfunctory kick to Quigley's ribs before he and Lau exit the ring. Quigley then makes his way to a seated position, and, as his fans chant "Quick-strike! Quick-strike!", smiles with just a touch of satisfaction as "For Those About To Rock" kicks in over the PA. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: Folks, we are all out of time here this week! What an incredible scene here on IIWF Saturday Night -- a new Cruiserweight Champion in Steve Kowalski, a victory here for Chris Quigley over the Syndicate, and, well, I'm sort of at a loss for words as to the scene we've just seen here between Casey James and Brody Thunder. SS: What a night!  Where do you want to go after this, Mr. Dross?  I know where you can eat all the French toast you want for $3.99!  TD: This might work out after all, young Summer.  So, be sure to call the Hotline tomorrow night for an update on all the goings on, all the late breaking news here in the IIWF -- including, hopefully, an update on the condition of Creed. And then join me again for a very special Birthday Bash preview edition of "Inside the IIWF" on Tuesday. We are only one week away folks from Birthday Bash... call your local cable company today! Don't wait another second. Until then, for Steve Summer and everyone here with the IIWF, this is Tim Dross, saying: so long, everybody! [Cut to Quigley climbing slowly to the midbuckle in one corner of the ring and saluting his fans as cameras flash all over the Coliseum. Fade] +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= I * I * W * F =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-+ | President: Daniel Spreadbury | Vice-President: Steve Owens | | univ0322@sable.ox.ac.uk | sowens@admin.presby.edu | | iiwf@sisko.demon.co.uk | IIWFadmin@aol.com | +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- http://www.sisko.demon.co.uk -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+