[Fade up on footage subtitled, "Last Week," accompanied by fast-paced music. Brody Thunder pins Tiger Claw following a Cattlebuster DDT as Claw comes off the buckles. Voice over:] VO: Last week, Brody Thunder made the challenge... [The "Lone Wolf" stands and faces the retreating Syndicate, Casey still gesturing that the belt is around his waist and shouting obscenities at Thunder, who raises the microphone to his lips:] BT: Hey, "champ"... Guess yer time's really runnin' out now, ya lily-livered punk. I've been lookin' at the tour schedule, "champ". Seems to me that in a couple'a weeks, this here outfit's gonna be pullin' in to Landover, Maryland. That's not far from that white trash hell-hole you call home, Washington D.C. So how's about we get it on in front of your hometown fans, amigo? How about it, "champ"? Ya got the guts to get that ass of yours in the ring with me one more time, "champ"? [Big pop from Thunder's hometown crowd. Casey appears to be taking counsel from Brian Lau as the trio stand in the aisle.] Hear me out, hear me out. Don'tcha go runnin' back to those limos you got waitin' in the parkin' lot until you've heard me out, "champ". Now, I know that the only way yer gonna agree to fight me is if all yer little friends are allowed to be at ringside. Yer gonna want Claw, yer gonna want Dynamite, yer gonna want them monster freaks, the Disciples. But I'll tell ya what, "champ". Yer gonna need 'em. Yer gonna need a god-damned army to stop me takin' that strap from ya waist! [Big pop! Casey appears to be getting more agitated. Thunder, dripping with sweat, nods to the crowd, before continuing:] So here's what I'm offerin' ya, "champ". You an' me in the ring, your buddies on the outside, and I'll bring some friends of my own. Let's make it a lumberjack match, amigo. A lumberjack match for that pretty little belt o' yours. Whaddya say, "champ"? Whaddya say? No, no, that's okay, I figure ya gotta go plan out yer next move with yer boss, gotta give ya a chance to think about it. Wouldn't wantcha ta rush into somethin' ya ain't happy with. So you give me yer answer next Saturday Night. You come down here next Saturday Night and tell me, tell the people: have ya got the guts, champ? Have ya? [The shot is replaced by a still black and white shot of Thunder and James standing nose to nose in the ring.] VO: Tonight, the challenge will be answered. Tonight, here on... [The opening graphics shatter the still image as they explode onto the screen, the music rising in pitch and tempo:] ##### ###### ### ########## ########## ########## #### ## ########## ########## ########## #### # #### ######## ##### ##### #### ## ##### #### #### #### #### ### #### #### #### #### ############# ######### #### #### ########### ######### #### #### #### #### #### ######### ######### ### #### #### ######### ######### ### ## #### ######## ######## ## # #### =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- ## =-=-=-= INTERNATIONAL INTERNET WRESTLING FEDERATION =============================================== S + A + T + U + R + D + A + Y N + I + G + H + T ----------------------------------------------- + LiVE! + 14 June 1997 + LiVE! + The Fogelman Auditorium Tulane University, New Orleans [The opening graphics fade through to interior shots of the jam-packed Auditorium. A spectacular pyrotechnic display explodes in the rafters as the beams of the powerful lights rigged above the ring scan over the excited crowd. Tim Dross's voice is heard over these shots:] TD: Welcome everybody to New Orleans! Welcome everybody to the Fogelman Auditorium, home of basketball coach Perry Clark and the Tulane Green Wave! Sixteen thousand plus fans are on hand here tonight to witness the two hottest hours of wrestling anywhere on the planet... IIWF Saturday Night! [The shot cuts to a tracking shot inside the arena, panning down the aisle of one side of the Auditorium. It 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 blazer, and "Soundbite" Steve Roberts, who wears his IIWF leather jacket and a "Shoot, Soundbite! Shoot!" t-shirt.] TD: Howdy, folks, and welcome to IIWF Saturday Night. I'm Tim Dross, and beside me, as always, is my broadcast colleague, "Soundbite" Steve Roberts. What a night we have ahead of us here in the Fogelman Auditorium. Three of the IIWF's titles will be on the line right here tonight over the next two hours, as Lord Byron defends the Intercontinental Championship against Ike Sampson, new Cruiserweight Champion Dirt Dog Unique Allah makes his first defence against the man who first wore the title here in the IIWF, "Spotlight" Billy Shakespeare, and the other half of the Age of Rage, the Prophets of Rage, defend the IIWF World Tag Team Championships against the Harlequins. SR: Geez, Dross, have you been on the coffee again? It would be nice to get a word in edgeways every so often. After all, the morons out there tune in to hear the Soundbite, not your incoherent ramblings. Ain't that right, morons? [Roberts turns to the crowd behind him, who greet him with a typically ecstatic response, yelling, "Shoot, Soundbite! Shoot!"] SR: See? TD: Good grief. Well, folks, the "Coronation Crusade Clash Tour" has swung through New Orleans this week, and we are now just two weeks away from the beginning of the tournament which will take us all the way to the Fleet Centre in Boston on July 12 for the Coronation Clash pay-per-view spectacular itself, at which the final sixteen men, narrowed from a field of thirty-two, will battle for a shot at the IIWF World Heavyweight Championship. It promises to be a tremendous event -- call your cable operator now! SR: Always the hard sell, huh, Dross? TD: We've got some other incredible action lined up for you here this week too, folks. The Staten Island Sensation, Tony Starks, will battle the "Enigma" Takezo Musashi, Otto "the Butcher" Verhoeven will take on Luke Steele, and Genesis are once again here in full force, as Nightwing takes on Ronnie Paris, and Requiem faces Serge Annis, who last week destroyed Requiem's guitar when he shockingly sided with Deathbringer. And in tonight's main event, we will see the IIWF World Heavyweight Champion, Casey "Blackheart" James, in non-title action as he faces Derek Mota. SR: And once he's beaten Mota into the mat, Casey's going to accept that challenge from Brody Thunder and beat him into the mat in Landover next Saturday Night! TD: That remains to be seen, Steve. I have a feeling that the Syndicate will, as usual, have something up their sleeves with regard to the challenge issued by Thunder last week for the "Lone Wolf" and the champ to mix it up one more time -- in a lumberjack match for the title. All that to come and much more here tonight on... oh, brother. [The crowd pops as "Showstopper" Simon Lebec saunters over to the broadcast table, jawing with the fans as he comes.] SR: Hey, Simon, my man!  What's up?  You don't look yourself tonight. SL: No Stevey, I don't.  you see, I've got a little problem with the system, the wrestlers... everything! TD: Mr. Lebec, I'm not sure we want to hear about... SR: [interrupting] Here, I came back to the IIWF, gracing everyone with my presence. Hell!  Even joining the IIWF broadcast team, hosting a weekly talk show. Then, what happens?  Half the guys in this stinking fed want to get a piece of me.  Warnett, Quigley, Shakespeare, and God knows who else is on that list!  Stevey, are they that jealous of me and everything I've accomplished?  Are they so insecure in themselves that they have to beat up on a poor, defenseless broadcast journalist?  I mean, come on!  And you mean to tell me that the suits aren't doing anything about this?  Please! TD: Simon... SR: [interrupting] If it were Dross getting smacked around, there'd be something said, but no!  Even Spreadbury and his corporate cronies are jealous of the "Showstopper"!  I've got Joe Petrow, yet another crazoid, on "The Final Cut" later on tonight.  Then from there, I have Warnett on next week.  Between this, that, and trying to keep "Lebec Corp." at the top of Fortune's 500, I'm running ragged!  On top of that, I've heard Warnett talking trash about me in the locker rooms, blabbering about all the things that's gonna go down next week on "The Final Cut." [Dross simply sits at the table with a look of resignation on his face as Lebec turns to the camera and continues to rant:] Well, Marty, I won't be a pawn in your game.  I am a professional first and foremost.  I'll conduct the interview as best I can.  But punk... get in my face like you did on Wednesday night, and I won't be held accountable for my actions.  Later, boys.  It's been real! [Lebec saunters away from ringside once more as Roberts takes his seat next to Dross.] SR: Gotta love the guy, Dross. The guy works hard, Dross. TD: I don't doubt it, Steve Roberts. Let's get to tonight's opening encounter, as Ronnie Paris takes on Nightwing. SR: I don't get Paris.  He had the chance to join Genesis, and he turned 'em down?   What's his problem? You'd think all the losers would want the chance to stick together. TD: I think his "problem", Steve, is the way Genesis has taken to looking at him.  Their "either with us or against us" attitude isn't likely to make too many friends. SR: I would think the people looking AT Paris would be the ones with the problem.  He obviously wouldn't know a good thing if it painted itself purple, took all its clothes off, and sang "I'm a good thing!" over and over, while doing the lambada in front of him. TD: That's an... ummm... exceptionally vivid image there, Steve. SR: I try.  Now shut your hole, Dross -- the match is starting. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Ronnie Paris vs. Nightwing -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= WRITER: RR [The ring announcer steps into the ring, waves happily to the audience, and picks up the microphone.  Glancing around quickly to see exactly which camera is on him, he promptly faces the wrong one and begins his introductions, giving the television audience a nice shot of the back of his head.] RA: Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and WELCOME... [He notices the camera's not on, and turns around to face the right one.  He clears his throat, and starts over.] RA: Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and WELCOME to IIWF Saturday Night, here at the beautiful Fogelman Auditorium in New Orleans. [Wild applause from the crowd.] RA: I'm sure that you didn't come here to hear me speak... [More wild applause from the crowd.] RA: ...so let's get on with our matches!  Tonight's first contest is scheduled for one fall, with a half hour time limit.  Introducing first, from Cherokee, North Carolina, and accompanied to the ring by Genesis... here is NIGHTWING! [The screech of an eagle blares over the loudspeakers, fading into Bryan Adams' "Native Son".  Nightwing walks out, flanked by Requiem, Highwayman, and Cold Spell, and strides down to the ring.  The other members of Genesis sit around ringside while Nightwing acknowledges the crowd in the ring.] RA: And his opponent, weighing in at 210 pounds, and hailing from the great state of Texas... RONNIE PARIS! [Queen's "We Are the Champions" now takes over the speaker system, and Paris emerges from backstage.  As he walks to the ring, however, Nightwing picks up the microphone and motions that the music stop.] TD: Loks like Nightwing's got something to say. SR: Tell 'im off, Wing! [Paris has stopped halfway up the aisle, and is watching Nightwing, who begins to address him on the microphone.] NW: There have been a lot of comments attributed to me in the last week. Many listen to me without actually hearing my words. Genesis is not part of any New Generation.  Genesis is not trying to be separate from the IIWF.  Genesis _is_ about justice.  Genesis _is_ about respect.  Ronnie Paris, you refused to stand with us and you paid the price last week. Let's see if you can earn some respect this week!  [At this point, Paris rushes towards the ring, the ring announcer rushes out of the ring, and the timekeeper sounds the ring bell, signalling the start of the match.] TD: Nightwing sure knew how to get Paris riled up. SR: Can't be hard.  Paris isn't that bright. [Paris slides under the bottom rope into the ring, stands up, and charges Nightwing.  Nightwing sidesteps and turns it into an Irish Whip, sending Paris off the other ropes.  On the rebound, Nightwing misses a knife-edge chop, and Paris comes off the OTHER side, where Nightwing has lowered his head for a back body drop.  Paris rolls over his back and rights himself standing behind him, then pushes Nightwing chest-first into the ropes, rolling him up with a cradle afterwards. Nightwing kicks out on one-and-a-half, and both men recover their footing in opposite corners of the ring.] TD: That would have been an incredible win for Paris if he were able to pin Nightwing so early in the match! SR: [sighing]  Yes, it would have been.  But he didn't.  So deal. [Both men look at each other only for a moment, then lock up in the center of the ring.  Nightwing tosses Paris to the opposite corner with an arm drag, with Paris rolling through it and coming back upright again.  In the next lockup, it is Nightwing who is arm-dragged, and charges back out towards Paris.  Paris grabs Nightwing's arm in an attempt for a hip toss, but he's blocked in this, and receives a knee to the stomach for his efforts.  Nightwing steps off the doubled-over Paris' back and executes a backflip in the air, but spins his body on the way down to grab Paris' head and plant him into the mat with a bulldog.] SR: That was pretty impressive.  And it takes a lot to impress me. TD: Is that so? SR: I would have been more impressed if Nightwing used brass knuckles, but you can't have everything.  _I_ can, but you can't. [Nightwing looks down at the stunned Paris for only a moment before grabbing him by the shoulders and standing him in the center of the ring.  He quickly deposits Paris back down on the mat after a vicious spinning heel kick, then climbs to the top rope.] SR: High risk maneuver by Nightwing... [Paris slowly staggers to his feet, while Nightwing is perched on the top turnbuckle.  Nightwing leaps off in an attempt of a flying dropkick, but this is sidestepped by paris, who grabs his legs as Nightwing passes him.  Nightwing hits the mat, and is promptly met by an application of the Texas Cloverleaf, which has him gritting his teeth in pain.  Shaking his head to the ref to signal that he does not give up, Nightwing manages to pull his way to the ropes, forcing Paris to break the hold.] TD: And Nightwing gets to the ropes.  However, his legs have got to be aching after the cloverleaf. [Paris lets go, and pulls Nightwing back upright before slinging him into the ropes again.  On the rebound, Paris wraps his arms around Nightwing's head and neck, applying a sleeper hold to the Native American.  Nightwing retaliates by backing up full speed into one of the corner turnbuckles, knocking the wind out of Paris a bit and causing him to loosen his grip.  An elbow to the head later, Nightwing is free of the move, and he steps forward and spins around for another heel kick.  Paris manages to duck this one, however, and lunges forward with a clothesline that knicks both men to the mat.  Paris recovers first, and picks Nightwing up, hesitating only a moment before stepping behind him and dropping him back with a German Suplex.  Nightwing barely manages to kick out in time, the referee stopping the count on two-and-seven-eighths.] TD: And ANOTHER near-fall by Paris!  You gotta give Nightwing credit, though... he just won't quit. SR: And why WOULD he quit?  He's tougher than that.  You're apparently making the same mistake as Paris, and underestimating him. [Once again, Nightwing is dragged to his feet, and paris runs off the ropes behind him.  He vaults up, landing on Nightwing's shoulders, and holds his arms up as he prepares for a victory roll.  Nightwing, however, decides that such a move would probably be bad for him, and opts to fall straight forward instead, draping Paris' neck across the top rope and slingshotting him back into the ring, clutching at his throat.  Nightwing rolls Paris over, and hooks the leg while the referee counts, with Paris kicking out on two and a half.] SR: See?  I TOLD you he underestimated him. [Nightwing again mounts the top rope, leaping off for a flying clothesline attempt as Paris stands.  Paris spots him again, apparently having done his homework on the Native American, and manages to get his arms up to catch him... but is terribly off balance.  He staggers backwards across the ring, ultimately falling down onto his back, and inadvertantly slamming Nightwing's head into the top turnbuckle behind him.  Seeing what happened, he props Nightwing against the corner, crosses the ring, and charges shoulder-first at him.] SR: DODGE, Nightwing!  DODGE LIKE THE WIND! TD: Please stop standing on your chair, Steve. [Nightwing stands there, dazed, as Paris stampedes towards him... and topples over.  This does not look deliberate, mind you... it just looks as if Nightwing blacks out for a moment from the head shot, and tips over onto his side.  This is not good for Paris, who dives right over him and slams his shoulder into the ring post, eventually slumping through the ropes and to the floor outside.  Nightwing just sort of lies there, face down, in the ring.] SR: [Drawing upon the Spanish he learned in Mexico]  Ole! [The referee begins to start counting Paris out, but is stopped by Highwayman, who has lept to the apron and is shouting at him, pointing at Nightwing and calling things about illegal head shots.  The referee vehemently disagrees, claiming that is was all an accident, and that Highwayman is in the wrong sport if he thinks head shots are illegal. In the meantime, Requiem has taken it upon himself to help paris to his feet, dust him off... and DDT him onto the concrete.] TD: FOUL! SR: [mocking Dross]  Please stop standing on your chair, Dross. [Nightwing comes to as Requiem sits down behind him, and sees Highwayman jawing with the referee.  He walks over and shouts to Highwayman to get out of there, going as far as to almost shove him off the apron before turning around to find his opponent.  Paris is, incidentally, still unconscious outside the ring.  Nightwing climbs between the ropes, glances up at Requiem as the big man waves to him happily, and rolls Paris back into the ring.  Propping him up against the turnbuckle, Nightwing staggers back across the ring to the other corner and stares intently at him, then starts to run.  About halfway across the ring, he vaults into the air, turning a flip before finally slamming an aerial back kick right into Paris' face.] TD: That was Shinja Crow's Phoenix Strike! SR: That's one thing I hate about wrestling.  Too many damn ninjas. [Nightwing gets up, looking mildly confused as Paris slumps forward to the mat.  He looks down and rolls Paris over, hooking the leg for the easy three. Ding! Ding! Ding!] RA: The winner of this match, as a result of a pinfall... NIGHTWING! [Requiem and Highwayman enter the ring at this point, surrounding the fallen Paris, but are quickly ushered out by Nightwing, who leaves with them and Cold Spell without even a second glance back at Paris.] TD: I was sure he would have told Genesis not to butt in. SR: Butt in?  What do you mean, "butt in"?  Highwayman was concerned about his stablemate's health, and Requiem was trying to help Paris to his feet when the poor slob passed out on him. TD: Oh, please. Tag team action coming up as the Zodiac Connection faces Cold Spell. Genesis may very well play a big part in this one, too. SR: Yeah, they'll irritate the Zodiac Connection into submission. I've never come accross such big babies before... TD: Well, many stars of the IIWF agree with you, Steve. Everyone has to pay their dues, but it seems that Genesis wants to circumvent that. SR: That's because they don't have the resources. If they had to pay their dues like everyone else, there'd be nothing left of them. Buncha losers that want the big time without earning it. TD: Well, each member of Genesis has their talents, that's for sure. I guess patience has nothing to do with the package, though. Let's get down to the ring. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Cold Spell vs. Zodiac Connection -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= WRITER: MF [Sparkplug Lee steps into the ring and raises his microphone:] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, this next tag tem match is scheduled for one fall. Introducing first, weighing in at 575 pounds and hailing from Hollywood, California, here is The Zodiac Connection! ["East 1999" plays over the PA system, and the fans give a good pop. Scorpio and Taurus make their ways down the aisle, looking like they're ready to get down to business.] TD: Zodiac Connection looks like they're ready to get down to business. SR: Thank you for stating the blatantly obvious, Dross. TD: Apparently, they're sporting a new attitude, so let's see how that works tonight. SR: New attitude... Sure... Old thing isn't working, so try something new, right? Boneheads... TD: You seem a little irritable tonight, Steve. SR: Shut it, moron. RA: Their opponents, weighing in at an even 500 pounds, here is Cold Spell! ["The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald" begins to play, and the fans give a solid heel pop as Cold Spell makes their way down the aisle. Fitzgerald looks unaffected by the reaction, and walks stern-faced down the aisle, but Icehawk looks quite upset. He looks to the fans lining the aisle and holds out his hand for some high fives, but none of the fans return the gesture. Icehawk turns from the fans glumly and follows his partner into the ring.] TD: Icehawk is definitely not happy about the fans being against him. SR: That's why he's a loser. Who cares about the fans? TD: Nice way to think about the people who pay your salary, Steve... SR: Big deal... These fans are stupid. They like guys like Quigley and boo people like Casey James... Buncha morons. [Both teams are in the ring, and the ref gets ready to begin the match. Scorpio and Icehawk start off as the bell rings. The two cruiserweights circle each other quickly and finally lock up. Scorpio goes for an arm twist, which is reversed by Icehawk, then turned into a hammerlock by Scorpio. Icehawk flips up and behind Scorpio, releasing the hold, and pushes him into the ropes and back for a victory roll. Scorpio grabs a hold of the ropes, and Icehawk somersaults backwards and up to his feet. Scorpio turns and catches a dropkick in the head, sending him over the top rope! Scorpio hits the floor on his feet, and Icehawk comes off the opposite ropes and over the top. Scorpio ducks, but Icehawk has a hold of the top rope and hops onto the outside apron. Confident, Scorpio straightens back up, and Icehawk springboards off the second rope into a moonsault that connects hard! Big pop!] SR: That punk! That was... TD: An Asai Moonsault! [Both men are on the outside floor, but it's Icehawk who's the better off and gets to his feet. He drags Scorpio up and rolls him into the ring and follows him in. Icehawk goes for the pin... 1 - 2 - Kickout by Scorpio. Icehawk throws Scorpio into the rops and ges for a sidewalk slam on the return, which is turned into a flying headscissors on the return. Big pop! Icehawk flips in the air before coming to the mat, and Scorpio follows up with a high altitude elbow drop! Scorpio drags Icehawk up and brings him to the corner, and tags in his partner Taurus. Scorpio holds Icehawk open, and Taurus throws a headbutt into the side of Icehawk. Icehawk staggers back a bit, and Taurus follows him. Taurus scoops Icehawk up and slams him down in a huge avalanche powerslam, going for the cover... 1 - 2 - Kickout by Icehawk! Taurus drags Icehawk up again and throws him into the ropes. He goes for a back body drop on the return, but Icehawk pulls out a dropkick to the knee. Taurus goes down, holding his knee, and Icehawk somersault rolls to his corner and tags in Fitzgerald.] TD: The two big men are in now... SR: Really, Dross? I never would have noticed! TD: Leave me alone, Steve. You know full well that we simulcast our cards over the IIWF website! SR: We do? [Fitzgerald enters the ring and immediately starts working on the leg of Taurus. He starts off with a hamstring pull, then a stepover toehold. Taurus uses his other leg to kick Fitz in the midsection. Fitz staggers back, and Taurus gets up to his feet, favouring the bad knee. Fitz closes in, but Taurus staggers him with a big European uppercut, followed up by a big clothesline. The crowd pops as Taurus tags in his partner, who leaps up to the top rope.] TD: They're going for the Zodiac Splash! SR: They won't _get_ it, though. [Taurus launches Scorpio onto the prone Fitzgerald, and Scorpio connects! The ref counts the cover... 1 - 2 - Kickout by Fitz! Scorpio gets up and drops a leg, then drags the big man to his feet. Scorpio executes a nice rolling dropkick, and Fitz staggers back into the ropes. Scorpio comes off the opposite ropes and goes for a flying cross body block, but Fitz moves! Scorpio, on the way out of the ring, grabs the second and third ropes, swings out and through them, and back into the ring. He spins from the momentum, and throws a huge elbow into Fitz's head! Fitz falls to the canvas and Scorpio covers... 1 - 2 - Kickout by Fitzgerald. Scorpio drags Fitz up again and attempts a standing hurricanrana. Fitz keeps from being pulled over and reverses into a powerbomb, going for the pin... 1 - 2 - Kickout by Scorpio! Both men are tired, but it is Fitz who gets up and drags Scorpio up with him. Fitz throws Scorpio into the ropes and tags in his partner. Icehawk goes to the top...] TD: Shipwreck slam by Fitzgerald... And the Arctic Blast by Icehawk! It's over! [The ref counts the cover as Fitzgerald cuts off Taurus from the save... 1 - 2 - 3! Ding! Ding! Ding!] TD: A clean match. That's a breath of fresh air for our tag team scene. SR: Those whiners, Genesis, can't even gang up on someone right... [Icehawk and Fitzgerald celebrate in the ring over their victory to a mostly heel pop, which seems to upset Icehawk mildly. Suddenly, Cold Spell are interrupted by the entrance of Violence Unlimited.  "Violent Mood Swings" by Stabbing Westward takes the place of Cold Spell's music.] TD: Oh-oh. Here comes trouble. Violence Unlimited are making their way down to the ring here. Are they going to answer Cold Spell's challenge? SR: I hope they kick their heads in. [Mutilator is wearing a red IIWF logo t-shirt, blue jeans, a pair of Nike shoes, and black fingerless gloves.  He carries a handheld mic.  His partner, Jaguar, is wearing a Violence Unlimited t-shirt with the sleeves cut off, and a pair of jeans with Nikes.] M: [sarcastically claps] Congratulations, Cold Spell, you beat Team Hollywood, or whatever they are these days.  That's such an accomplishment for the so-called New Generation of the IIWF. It's good to see that if one stable shows up, they're suddenly an entire Generation to the cliche makers. J: Genesis... the supposed future of the federation.  Do the cliche makers realize the big glaring omission?  They left out the best new blood in the world.  Violence Unlimited.  More specifically... US. M: And we're not all that happy about it, as you can probably guess.  So, you've issued a challenge to us.  Do you want our answer? [Fitz stands aloof, but Icehawk approaches the ropes and signals for Violence Unlimited to bring it on.] M: Well... [They start to walk toward the ring.] M: Maybe we should just do this right now! [Crowd pops! Jaguar holds Mutilator back] J: In due time, big man.  Let's save our energy for the beating we need to give them.  They are not PREPARED for Violence Unlimited.  Besides, if we do face them... there are gonna have to be a few stipulations to control the entire new blood of the IIWF... or at least, the only new blood you're supposed to care about if you're a fan. M: Let's make this a cage match and enclose the cage, so Genesis can't interrupt our fun.  And... if any members of your little group interfere, or attack us before or after the match, they are suspended from the IIWF.  Oh, and whoever touches us... because I know there's someone in there who doesn't care about regulations... meets us in an unsanctioned street fight. J: If you want us so badly... you live by our rules. TD: [over the headset] And Violence Unlimited will have to live by the IIWF's rules. I can't see officials signing a match with those stipulations. SR: [over the headset] Shut up, Dross. M: If you don't live by them... then you'll never get your weak little match with rules that protect you.  We accept... but DO YOU? J: From this day forth we issue a notice... M: Violence Unlimited are the only new blood IIWF needs... and we'll prove it... without help. ["Violent Mood Swings" plays again. Jaguar and Mutilator leave to a mixed pop. In the ring, Icehawk is held back from going after them by Fitz. Eventually, after Fitz says a few words to his partner, Cold Spell also leave the ring and head back to the locker room. Cut to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: Of course, there will be more tag team action later tonight when the Prophets of Rage defend their World Tag titles against the Harlequins, who earned the shot by securing victory in the Four Corners match at the Four Corners National Monument a couple of weeks ago. I understand that Larry Morton is backstage with the 'Quins now. Larry? [Cut to Larry Morton in a corridor backstage. The Harlequins, carrying duffel bags, are seen arriving at the arena, making their way in from the parking lot.] LM: Thanks, Tim. I'm backstage here, and as you can see, The Harlequins have just arrived for their match later tonight. I'm going to try to get a word with them! Harlequins! [Melody skips up to him, clutching a clipboard.] HM: [singing] Hi Larry! Sign this! LM: Huh? HM: SIGN IT! LM: Okay, okay! [Morton signs the clipboard.] LM: What was that? A release form? HM: [singing] Nah! It's a petition to reinstate Steve Kowalski! [sighs] LM: What? HC: Cool, only 99,995 more signatures to go! HCh: Little at a time! LM: I don't believe this! Gentlemen, tonight you two will have your   third altercation with the Prophets of Rage, what makes you think that the outcome of this match will be any different from the first two? HCh: Well, you know, Larry Morton, we've trained hard, said our prayers, taken our vitamins... HT: That and a certain visit to our cousin didn't hurt. [pats his jacket pocket] HM: You know he was rather nice. HC: Yeah, for a freak! HCh: I object to the word "freak", we prefer "normally challenged"! HC: Oh, spare me the PC crap! LM: I saw the tape of "Countdown". What exactly went on yesterday? HT: Mr. Morton, let's just say we can hit the Prophets where they live... and where they die! [The Harlequins leave.] LM: Well, another enigmatic response from The Harlequins. I guess we won't know until it happens. Back to you, Tim! [Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: Thanks, Larry. This next match should be quite interesting. Tony Starks will face the "Enigma" Takezo Musashi. There's a definite variety of styles here. Starks is the cold, calculated submission style fighter, while Musashi utilizes a dazzling array of aerial maneuvers. Both styles are effective in their own right, but which one will prevail? SR: What's with these opening lines, Dross? You trying to win some kind of award? TD: The Golden Grapples are coming up, Steve. SR: Oh boy... Yay. TD: And these two men coming up are both definite candidates for a Golden Grapple, that's for sure. Starks has got to be up for "Greatest comeback ever" after that back injury. SR: Dross, in order for it to be a great comeback, Starks is going to have to try getting around without the walker in the locker rooms. TD: He doesn't use a walker, Steve! SR: Prove it... =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Tony Starks vs. "Enigma" Takezo Musashi =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= WRITER: MF [Sparkplug Lee enters the ring, trailing a long strand of toilet paper stuck to his shoe.] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, this next match is scheduled for one fall. Introducing first, weighing in at 211 pounds and hailing from Tokyo, Japan, here is "The Enigma" Takezo Muuuusashiiiiiii! [Musashi's eerie music begins to play over the PA system, and the superstar walks out to the head of the aisle, his facial expression quite grim. Many of the fans boo him, but a few give him support, trying to drown out the heel pop. Musashi walks steadily down the aisle and steps into the ring. He moves over towards one of the corners and stands on the second turnbuckle, staring straight at Joe Petrow in the crowd.] TD: You can feel the animosity between these two guys. SR: To be honest, I wouldn't mind seeing a match between these two. I like Musashi's new direction, and Petrow works a great match. TD: And you want to see... SR: Blood... There'd be lots of blood. RA: His opponent, weighing in at 269 pounds and hailing from Staten Island, New York, here is Tony Saaaaaaarrrrrkssss! ["C.R.E.A.M." begins pulsing over the PA, and the crowd goes into a huge pop. Starks, his head wrapped in the familiar white towel, stands at the head of the aisle, cool and calm as always. He raises his arms to the crowd, which turns up the intensity of the reaction slightly. Starks begins walking down the aisle, bobbing his head to the beat of his intro music. He enters the ring and once again raises his arms to the crowd just as the ref enters the ring.] SR: What a bonehead. TD: Starks is probably one of the most intelligent atheletes in the IIWF, Steve. His knowledge of submission holds and pressure points on the human body is unmatched. SR: Better not let Quigley hear you say that, or we'll be forced to sit through a three hour whine-fest and four separate music videos featuring him. [The ref checks both men for foreign objects, and then motions for the bell. Starks and Musashi walk to the center of the ring, and Starks puts his fists up, motioning to Musashi to do the same.] TD: Starks is going into a shootfighting stance here... Similar to the stance that Tiger Claw goes into, it's based on the Muay Thai stance. Many shootfighters use the Thai style to compliment their grappling techniques. Will this dictate the pace of the match? SR: That'd be neat... Musashi does that no holds barred stuff too, you know... If he could get that same impact, and focus on Starks back... Well, stretcher job. [Musashi puts his fists up in a similar fashion, and the two men circle each other cautiously. Musashi makes a fake towards Starks, but Starks sees through the motion, and goes into a genuine attack of his own, closing in and throwing a knee into the midsection of Musashi and quickly locking on a front face lock. Musashi uses Starks' forward momentum to his advantage, and allows himself to fall down and back, causing Starks to fall over Musashi. Musashi continues the motion while scissoring Starks' left leg and rolls with Starks, then comes up in a standing position with Starks' leg grapevined with his own. Musashi switches to a stepover toehold and goes forward, grabbing on with a facelock. Musashi also grabs an arm, changing the hold to a step over toehold/Kataha jime. Starks keeps moving his arm so that Musashi can't get a firm grip and cinch in the hold, all the while inching closer to the ropes. Eventually, Starks reaches the rope just as Musashi gets the hod locked on. The ref calls for the break, which Musashi does cleanly.] TD: I can't even begin to do play by play for that... SR: And what's new? [Both men are back up to their feet, and this time, it is Musashi who makes the charge. Starks grabs him in a front waist lock and hauls him up in a belly to belly suplex. Musashi is planted on the mat as Starks goes to work on his leg. Starks wraps the leg up with a spinning toe hold, then falls back, locking on a kneelock submission hold. Musashi moves to get to the ropes, but Starks has the hold locked on and doesn't allow Musashi to get anywhere. Musashi swings his other leg around and catches Starks on the side of the head, causing him to loosen the hold. Musashi appears to have been affected by the hold, favouring his leg as he gets up. Musashi drags a dazed Starks up to a vertical base and executes a forward round kick. Starks catches the leg under his arm and spins, executing a Dragon Screw leg whip, and quickly locking on a figure four. Musashi shouts out in pain, as the irritated leg is the one with the pressure applied to it. Musashi sits up and rolls in one direction, then another, trying to rock Starks farther with each repitition.] TD: Sound technical wresting here... SR: Boring... What happened to Musashi's mean streak? [Musashi eventually gets Starks over, and tries to push himself back to put pressure on Starks' knee. With a burst of energy, Musashi not only leans back, but locks on a reverse chin lock as well, forming a submission hold of his own! Both men are feeling the effects of the double hold, and the ref looks for the submission. Neither man wants to give up, but both men wish to break the hold. Musashi is the first to let go, and Starks releases the leglock a split second later. Both men hold their knees on the mat, but it is Starks that gets up first. He walks off the pain a bit, and then moves towards Musashi, who at this point is also getting up. As Starks closes in, Musashi throws a straight fingers chop right into the throat of Starks. Big heel pop from the crowd. Starks turns away, holding his throat, and Musashi spins him back around and stick a thumb into Starks' eye. Starks falls to the mat, holding his face this time, and Musashi drops a closed fist onto the downed athelete.] TD: Musashi just changed the pace of this match with those blatantly illegal techniques! SR: Legal, illegal, they get the job done... [Musashi drags Starks up and throws him into the ropes. Musashi comes off the ropes as well and executes a big flying leg lariat, catching Starks with full impact. Starks once again goes down to the canvas as Musashi kips up and runs up the turnbuckles af the nearest corner. Once at the top, he leaps up into a reverse elbow drop, which connects, and makes the cover... 1 - 2 - Kickout by Starks! Musashi locks on a head scissors, but Starks immediately gets his arms in and loosens the hold. Once out, Starks moves in with a flurry of punches to a surprised Musashi, hitting him in the face and about the head. Starks gets to his feet, a look of anger on his face, and drags Musashi up. He throws Musashi into the ropes and executes a hotshot over the opposite ropes on the return. Musashi falls to the apron, but keeps from falling to the floor. Starks gets up and reaches over the top rope, grabbing Musashi and setting him up for a suplex. Musashi blocks and throws a punch into Starks' midection. Starks lets go of the headlock and staggers to the middle of the ring. Musashi leaps up to the top rope and executes a nice springboard dropkick that hits Starks square in the back of the head. Starks hits the mat, but is dragged up and thrown into the corner by Musashi. Musashi draws a thumb across his throat, and goes into the motions of a handspring elbow. Starks comes to his senses, and at the last moment, dives out of the corner... Right into the referee.] SR: Disqualify that man! Hitting the ref... For shame! TD: It was an accident, Steve... The result is the same, though... The ref seems to be out. And all men are down on the mat! [Starks holds his head and rolls out of the ring. He's on his feet, supporting himself on the ring apron. The crowd buzzes as Mr. Damage saunters down to the ringside area right behind Starks. Damage is talking on his cell phone, laughing at something the person on the other end has apparently said. He walks right past Starks and shoves the timekeeper off of his seat, and grabs the chair. In the ring, Musashi gets to his feet and tries to shake out the cobwebs. Damage, on the outside, says, "Okay, hold on a sec?" into the phone, puts it down, and winds up with the chair. He brings it down right on top of Starks' head, and Starks crumples to the floor. Damage picks his phone up again and continues the conversation. Musashi sees this and rushes to the ropes. He vaults over them, coming to the floor right behind Damage, and spins him around. Damage looks annoyed, and once again asks the person on the other end of his conversation to "hold on." Damage puts down the phone and looks to Musashi, his eyebrows raised expectantly. Musashi spits at Damage's feet and begins shouting at him for hitting Starks, saying "He is _mine!_ You have no business down here!" Damage looks bored, and jabs the chair into Musashi's gut, then cracks him over the head for good measure. Both competitors are on the floor, seemingly unconscious. Damage first picks up Starks and rolls him into the ring, then does the same to Musashi.] TD: We had an entertaining match, and it's been ruined! Thank you very much, Mr. Damage! SR: Ha! That was cool... And he kept talking to the Silent Partner the whole time! [Damage has both men in the ring, and drapes Musashi over Starks. He then leaves the ring, picks up the phone, and begins jabbering away as he heads back up the aisle. The ref gets to his hands and knees, holding his head, and looks over, seeing Musashi pinning Starks. Slowly, he crawls over and makes the count... 1 - 2 - 3! Ding! Ding! Ding!] TD: No! How can this be? SR: The ref was out... You said it yourself... [The crowd gives a huge heel pop, but nobody gets to their feet to celebrate the victory. Both Musashi and Starks are still laid out unconscious.] TD: We've got to get someone down here to help the guys out. SR: Yeah, get a wheelchair down here for Starks... TD: No, Steve. Both men are knocked out in there, and I really think there should be a medical check on both men for a concussion. SR: Bah... Give me a break... Pansies.... TD: What a disgusting display from Mr. Damage -- hold on, I understand that Damage is backstage with Larry Morton. Larry? [Cut to a corridor backstage in the Fogelman Auditorium. Larry Morton stands with a grinning Mr. Damage, who still clutches his mobile phone.] LM: Thanks, Tim. Mr. Damage, I have just been witness to one of the most heinous acts in professional wrestling. What do you have to say for yourself? MD: [very smug look on his face] Not much -- except there isn't anybody that is going to make a fool out of me and get away with it. I am sure that myself and the "silent partner" are satisfied that Starks is no more of a threat to me than you are. LM: But you hit him from behind! He didn't know what hit him! MD: So? [Mr. Damage's mobile phone rings. He answers it. Morton looks on, incredulous.] MD: Hello... how are you going.... good, good... Did you see what I just did? Uh-huh. Morton's here... Do you want to talk with him...? [Damage hands the phone to Morton, who warily brings it to his ear.] LM: Hello? ...yes, yes, um, er... no, Sir... yes... okay, yes... goodbye. [Morton hands the phone back to Damage, noticably paler. Damage smirks and walks out of the shot towards his locker room.] LM: Uh, back to you at ringside, guys. [Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: It appears that the "silent partner" had a few choice words for Larry Morton, Steve. SR: Probably something to do with those Chuck Norris photos, Dross. I swear, he's a scary guy, Timbo. TD: Okay, folks, it's time for this week's edition of "The Final Cut". Let's go over to "Showstopper" Simon Lebec, who will tonight interview "Sychosys" Joe Petrow. [The camera cuts to the stage of "The Final Cut".  Cameras decorate the set, with various film props decorating the background.  The familiar strains of Lebec's majestic music begins to play as "The Showstopper" Simon Lebec walks out via the left curtain.  His entrance is accompanied by a chorus of boos from the crowd.  Lebec picks up the mic and looks at the crowd:]    SL: You all love me... you just don't know it yet! [the jeers get louder as Lebec chuckles] Today, right here on "The Final Cut", I want to talk about something that is very familiar to the IIWF.  Today, little people, I'm going to talk about conspiracy. Conspiracy.  I'm not talking JFK cover-ups.  I'm not talking Roswell. I'm talking about the sham that is known as the IIWF executive!  And today, little people, I'll be talking to a man who knows all about the biased system.  Ladies and gentlemen... and I use those terms loosely... put you lower class hands together for... "Sychosys" Joe Petrow!    ["Sychosys" Joe Petrow emerges from the stands, with the all dressed in black with sunglasses "Majestic" Maurice McArthur following close behind. No music plays as he slowly, methodically makes his way to the interview  area, finally taking his place, with 3M standing by his side.]       SL: So, Joey... tell me all about it. [Lebec and Petrow sit. A slight smirk comes across Petrow's face]   JP: "Joey?"  Well, Becky, you hit the whale right on the head!  It seems that every time Sychosys gets some momentum in this league, somebody is there to stop it.  When it was a wrestler, I didn't mind, because it just meant I had another chance to prove to another man that I am the superior force in this league.  But then the suits stuck they're noses in it, stripping me of the Cruiserweight title, even though _I_ did nothing wrong!  I can't think of any reason they would do that other than just to hold me back.  But you would know all about that, wouldn't you, Becky?  You just had to get big superstar Chris Quigley out here last weekend and put me on the backburner, huh?  Well, heh, I guess it was worth it, huh?     SL: Yeah, it was.  You saw the interview.  It was a classic piece of journalistic art on my part.  And I'll also agree with you about Owens and his gang of IIWF suited goons.  If anyone knows what the suits are like, it's me, Petrow.  I was getting into lots of trouble back when you were just partially senile!  So, if you want to come on the show and bitch about how bad you're getting treated, then leave now. I had enough of that from Quigley last week! JP: Don't start getting ancient on _me_, Lebec!  I broke into this sport over three years ago, and won a world's title on my very first night!  You don't wanna hear me bitch, then what else is there to talk about?  The one time I met Casey James I left him lying unconscious in  the ring, and I haven't heard from him since!  I never even heard from Lord Byron, and his woman, Bertha DeWinter!  And the entire damn Age of Rage has failed to put me out on two occasions, and wants nothing to do with me anymore!  So if there's anything else to talk about, feel free to bring it up.      SL: This is your spotlight, sunshine!  You can talk about whatever you want... and I know you wanna talk about Owens.  I know you wanna talk about getting stripped of that Cruiser title.  And after what happened last a couple of weeks back, I know you wanna talk about everyone's favorite illegal immigrant, Takezo Musashi.     JP: Musashi-domo?  You know that little stunt back in San Fran?  I kinda liked it!  I thought it was kinda sweet how he showed everyone what a Sychosys mark he is, trying to emulate me like that!  Not bad, either! Unlike most people, he has something that I want, and you can bet that if we ever meet in the ring, I'll take it from him!  But maybe there's a better way!  Guys like me, Musashi, Kowalski, we all have our own agendas, but essentially, we all share the common bond of oppression in this league.  So maybe we should stop fighting, and start fighting everyone else together!  Form a band of rogue vigilantes, trying to order this world into something new... nah!  We'd probably just get complacent, and start bringing in perennial losers like Danny Dynamite into the fold.     SL: WOW!  Being the kind of guy you are, I'd have thought that you'd want to taste Musashi's blood!  Are you going soft on us, Joey?      JP: Y'know, Simon, it's a popular misconception that the opposite of love is hate.  The opposite of love is apathy.  Love and hate are the same emotion looked at from two different perspectives.  If I see Musashi kicking somebody's ass, I'll grab a bowl of popcorn and cheer him on!  And when he's done, I'll take the Jaws of Life and split his head in half. That's the kind of guy I am, and that's the kind of team Team Sychosys is.    SL: So, you're talking about loving and hating everyone at the same time.  You know, you're making me more confused than a lesbian in a fish market!  Just what do you want to accomplish within the next couple of months, Joey?     JP: What no one will give me the chance to accomplish!  I can talk about love and hate until "The Bridges of Madison County" seems like an action adventure, but that still doesn't change the fact that I ain't getting any title shots!  Only Steve Kowalski, the toughest man on God's green earth, ever had the guts to put a belt on the line, and I took it!  So now the latest is that Casey James has the hots for Brody Thunder, Creed and Byron just can't keep their hands off one another, and who the hell knows what that muhfuh Allah is gonna do?  They tell me you need a good story to get a match around here, but there ain't no better story to be told than Joe Petrow busting some balls.  One way or another, the kiwi WILL be mine! SL: Hey!  You don't have to tell me the story, morning glory!  I know the only way to get ahead in this fed is by doing a whole lotta sucking, and I ain't talking lemons either!  The question is... are you gonna spit or swallow?    JP: Do I look like the man that plays the piccolo to you?  Let me ask _you_, something Becky: what's the difference between the Syndicate and a jar of mayonnaise? SL: Beats me! JP: Really?  You don't know either?  Anyway, I do know that there is one thing I haven't tried, and that's putting one man on the spot.  So right now, I'm going to be very direct, and very specific.  Lord Byron, king of secondary titles in leagues worldwide, I'm challenging you to an Intercontinental title match next week on IIWF Saturday Night!  I'll be there;  you come if you like.  Either way, I'll prove one of two things: the Intercontinental champion fears me, or the Intercontinental champion IS me!  And once that happens, I will prove myself to be the number one contender, and the powers that be will HAVE to give me a shot at the big prize!  So let it written, so let it be done! SL: WHOA!  What a challenge, right here on "The Final Cut"!  You heard it here first, folks!  Joey Petrow has just challenged the reigning Intercontinental Champion, Lord Byron, to a title match... right here, next week!  That should be a dandy if it actually takes place! Well, Joey, my time is up.  I've got honey to scout, and a Marty Warnett interview to prepare for next week.  And you, old bean, have got an IC match to gear up for, 'cause I know Lord Byron ain't a chicken! [Petrow stands up, and for a second looks like he wants to have a go with the Showstopper.  Then Petrow turns towards the camera.] JP: The fact is, it doesn't matter whether Byron is a chicken, or 265 pounds of mad British beef!  Because there's NO MAN too brave, NO MAN too talented, and NO MAN too big, to stop me from turning this league into my own private playground!  Because Sychosys... RULES... THE WORLD! [Petrow leaves the set and returns to the stands, with Triple M in tow.] SL: Ooookay. [Lebec looks into the camera and whispers] I also think he rules the nuthouse.  Owens, I want a new clause in my contract: no more loonie toons on my show. [Lebec begins to speak normally again] Well, folks!  That wraps up another award-winning edition of "The Final Cut", starring the only man with more lays than Frito... "The Showstopper" Simon Lebec!  Lord Byron!  You've got a crazoid lookin' for ya!  And he'll be here next week! Question is... will you? [The majestic music begins to play once more as Lebec does his ritual boogie down with the fans. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: Another, uh, inspiring interview from Mr. Lebec. I await the response of the Intercontinental Champion with bated breath. Okay, folks, we must move on to our next match -- the first title match of the evening! =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= IIWF WORLD TAG TEAM CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH: =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Prophets of Rage [c] vs. The Harlequins --------------------------------------- WRITER: JdW TD: Steve Roberts, we're about to show these great fans, sixteen thousand strong, a Tag Team title match, can you think of anything better? SR: Not without endangering my case in a pending paternity suit, no. TD: I'm glad something held you back. We'll be with the match in just a few moments, folks, but first let's take another look at this great crowd... [The shot switches to that from one of the hand-held cameras, and it quickly pans past the frenzied New Orleans crowd. One fan is holding an "IIWF sucks!" sign, so the shot moves off him in a hurry. Quickly, the rest of the crowd is encompassed and we return to our signbearer, who is now surrounded by four men in bright red "Event Staff" jackets. Return to a shot of the ring, where Sparkplug Lee is waiting patiently for his cue to begin.] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, the following tag team contest, scheduled for one fall and with _no_ time limit, is for the IIWF World Tag Team championship! [Excited pop, which is pretty much compulsary for the announcement of a title match.] Introducing first, the challengers, at a combined weight of 545 pounds, hailing from Sleepy Hollow, Illinois, Tragedy and Chaos -- the Harlequins! [Garbage's "#1 Crush" resounds through the Fogelman Auditorium, and a substantial pop arises from the "Harlequinners", who are really in full force tonight. Several even sport authentic looking face paint. Tragedy and Chaos walk slowly out of the entrance, and although Chaos looks his normal self, Tragedy has changed in that he's dropped the all black face paint of last week for a more traditional look. He's still dressed in black, though, and wearing a t-shirt reading "Bring back the Fury", which draws a pop from those Furies still sober enough to see it.] TD: In an interesting side note, that song was part of the "Romeo and Juliet" soundtrack. SR: That was hardly an interesting side note... Here's an interesting side note; Marty Warnett auditioned for the part of Romeo. TD: Why? SR: Well, duh. Romeo gets to have sex with an underaged girl. Isn't it obvious? [Before the Harlequins have taken more than a few steps, they and everyone else are shocked to see Shadoe Rage descend from the top of the aisleway entrance, smashing Chaos over the head with a steel chair. Tragedy turns to help his brother, but as he's doing so Derek Rage dives from behind the curtains to tackle the smaller Harlequin. The two Rages look at each other and smile before turning back to their prey; Shadoe starts working over Chaos' injured head with fists while Derek grabs Trag's legs and literally sweeps him off his feet. He then locks on a sloppy but passable figure-4 leglock, causing Tragedy to squirm around, looking for an escape. He quickly grabs a hold of the scurity railing, and spins himself over to apply the pressure on Derek's joints. Meanwhile, Chaos has started defending himself, blocking some of Shadoe's shots and returning a few of his own. Throughout this opening melee, Team Sychosys had been having a ball, and now they lose control and start to burst out laughing at the two teams destroying each other.] SR: There is a Santa Claus! I knew the Prophets are always fun to watch, but this is tag team wrestling at it's finest! TD: What this is, it's a senseless brawl, breaking every rule in the book, and it's not even an official match in the ring! SR: Isn't that what I said? [Tragedy lets go of the hold, and grabs Derek's hair in an attempt to smash his head into the steel railing. Derek sees it coming a mile away, so he puts his hands out to block, and then gives Trag a taste of his own medicine. Chaos, on the other hand, is having more success as he pounds Shadoe with a succession of right hands, and each one is having the effect of backing the co-champion up the aisle a few steps. Chaos then runs right at Shadoe and hits a massive clothesline, which causes Rage to fall up the aisle a few more steps. In order to escape, he begins rolling the rest of the way to ringside. Derek sees Chaos pre-occupied, so he whips Tragedy in that general direction. Chaos turns to see his brother barrelling full speed ahead, but the quick thinking Harleys grab each others' arms and spin each other to face opposite directions. Tragedy is able to catch Derek by surprise, so he leaves his feet and nails a running dropkick, toppling Rage over the barrier into the first row of fans. Shadoe, however, sees Chaos coming in time and simply steps out of the way, so that the big man smashes right into the side of the ring. He falls back, clutching his mouth, as Shadoe gloats to the still chuckling Team Sychosys, pointing to his head in that universal "I'm a smart heel" symbol.] TD: Unbelievable, they haven't even hit the ring yet and already we've had more action than Becky LaRue did last night. SR: Four sweaty men beating the hell out of each other? That sounds like a typical LaRue Friday night. TD: [a little nervous] She's going to give us hell after the show, isn't she? SR: Try not to think about that... hey, nice Greco-Roman kick to the nuts by Shadoe there. [Pressing home the advantage gained by Chaos' shock, Shadoe whips him face-first towards the steel ring post, but somehow Chaos manages to keep holding Shadoe's arm, and is able to reverse. Back up the aisle a bit, Tragedy jumps over the oft-used security railing to drive a foot into Derek's throat. The move works, and Trag has bought some time, so he kneels down over Derek, yelling obscenities. Rage shoots his hand up to Trag's throat, and shoves him back for all he's worth, causing the railing to topple over, with Tragedy right on top of it.] SR: Have I told you lately how the hell much I _love_ this kind of match? [BLEEP], I think I see Tragedy bleeding, so it's got everything! TD: This is insanity. That's really all I can say about this farce of a match... it isn't even official yet! SR: You wanna know what's insanity? I was crazy enough yesterday to try some of that Quickstrike salsa... man, that's bad! I'm just gonna throw it out. TD: Steve, that stuff doesn't grow on trees! SR: According to the label it does. [Chaos picks up Shadoe on his shoulder and starts carrying him back up the aisle towards the other two brawling partners, laying in a few shots to the head as he goes. Derek continues to attack, dropping a knee right across Tragedy's throat, and he's keeping it there to choke out the clown. Chaos sees his brother in trouble, so he gets a vicious look in his eye, and then drops Shadoe right onto the floor! Mildly sympathetic pop, although the Rages aren't fan favourites here. Chaos grabs Derek by the shoulders, and starts hauling him to his feet. The two monsters stare into each others eyes for a moment, but the staredown is broken when Derek brings his fist back to strike. Chaos ducks it deftly, and fires a shot of his own to stagger the slightly bigger Rage. Derek stumbles back, at which time a resurgent Tragedy takes off, running straight at Chaos. Tragedy leaps into the air, about to dropkick his own partner...] SR: What are these idiots trying to do? [...but at the last possible moment, Chaos grabs Trag's ankles, and swings his older brother towards Derek. Tragedy gets an elbow out, smacking Derek right in the face! The Rages, both stunned, begin to back off towards the ring. Derek is now bleeding from his nose, while Tragedy's face is also cut near the forehead, but not badly. The camera shot switches to a wide angle as Tragedy swings his arms like a baseball bat, yelling "Batter up!". Team Sychosys continues to find the whole thing mirthful, and break up into a new set of laughter.] TD: That was, without a doubt, the most surreal double team manouver I've ever witnessed. SR: Kind of reminiscent of Roy Hobbs. TD: Roy _who_? SR: You know, from "The Natural", which despite not having Robert DeNiro in it was a fine movie. [Chaos and Tragedy looked at each other, looked at the Prophets standing right in front of the ring, and looked at each other again. Shrugging their shoulders, they charged at the Rages, and the two teams met about a foot in front of the ring, this time with the two bigger men matched up. Chaos and Derek Rage grappled on the floor, and were about even, neither being able to take an advantage and start to rain blows down on the other. Shadoe Rage had Tragedy backed up against the ring apron, and was hammering him with a variety of forearm shots and chops. Shadoe then pushed Trag into the ring, following himself. Before the two were in even a second, a relieved Earl Alphonso starts emphatically calling for the bell.] TD: Alright, we _finally_ have a match going on here. SR: Hey, I was partial to what they were doing before, but you can't always get what you want. TD: But if you try sometimes... You just might find... SR: I'm not finishing this gag for you, and that's _final_. I don't care what the director says. [Upon hearing the bell, Chaos and Derek both stopped going at each other's throats, and instead both rolled into the ring. While they were doing so, Shadoe whipped Tragedy to the opposite ropes, and as he returned was able to grab at his waist and perform an incredle tilt-a-whirl piledriver! As soon as he hit it, Chaos made a beeline for him, and caught a still unaware Rage with an elbow to the head. He set up Shadoe quickly, and delivered a Russian legsweep by the ropes, but this time Derek was the on making an entrance, as he clotheslined Chaos out of the ring. Shadoe was just getting up, when Tragedy dropkicked Derek from behind, knocking him out of the ring as well. The two big men saw each other, and immediately went back to brawling as they had been on the other side of the ring. Meanwhile, Shadoe pointed up yet again to Joe Petrow and 3M, saying something to the affect of "There's plenty more where that came from!" He was promptly caught off guard by a Tragedy dragon suplex. Trag held on for a pin, but Alphonso was busy on the other side counting the big men out. He'd reached five as Tragedy first started the pinning combination...] TD: Turn around, ref! SR: Hey, he's just doing his job. [...6...7...reversal by Shadoe! Rage manages to roll through the cradle, and now it's Tragedy who's pinned!] SR: Turn around, ref! TD: [aside] Should I bother saying it? [...8...9... Tragedy kicks out! ... 10! Alphonso calls for the bell, as the JJS is finally at liberty to storm the ring and try and break up the fight.] SR: A double countout. Great. Who would have expected a screwy ending to a tag team match? They should really have a talking to with that Norton Novacain guy you were telling me about last week. TD: That's _Nathan Novak_, Steve. Yes, there was somewhat of a controversy here, as neither Derek Rage nor Chaos were the legal men. That was just flat out a bad call by Earl Alphonso, and he doesn't make all that many. [Shadoe and Tragedy were both too tired to put up more than a token fight as Ned Norton and the Rotundos set about tying them up, but on the outside Derek and Chaos kept slugging at each other, ignoring the Barnacle Brothers and Jumpin' Jack's attempts to keep the peace. The two continue to trade punches, back and forth, as the rest of the JJS swarm them, fresh off calming down the two smaller men. Derek and Chaos disappear under a sea of jobbers, as Petrow gets up and says loudly "It must be the full moon that makes them so crazy!" With that, about a dozen of the Sychopaths drop their trousers, in many cases to the crowd's revulsion. Fortunately, the spectacle lasts only about a second, and soon order, or at least what passes for it in the mighty IIWF, is restored. Finally, Sparkplug Lee is able to step up and make his offical announcement.] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, the match is a draw! Therefore, _still_ IIWF World Tag Team champions, the Prophets of Rage! [A mild heel pop goes up for the champions being honoured in absentia. A beachball begins to circulate through the Sycho-section of the crowd. The world is at peace again.] SR: That was one hell of a match... TD: I thought you'd say so. SR: Kind of an odd ending, though. I guess we've redefined "Making an ass of yourself on live TV." Am I allowed to say "ass"? TD: Probably not, but that's never stopped you before. Well, up next, we've got... Hold on a second... I'm being told by our producer that there seems to be an altercation in the Syndicate locker room. Can we get a camera back there? We have one? Okay, let's take a look! [Cut to a scene inside a locker room. Kane, Wulf, Hellraiser and Morningstar are engaged in a four-way brawl while Mr. Mic and Don McQueen get in each other's faces. Lockers are turned over, benches are smashed, and a sink appears to have been torn from the wall.] DM: Who the hell d'ya think you're foolin' with, Mickey boy?! You take me for some kind of moron? You've been a big pain in the ass to me ever since you set foot in this stable! I've warned ya' time and time again to stay the hell out of my way, but it doesn't seem to penetrate that thick skull o' yours! Well now I'm through with ya'! Ya' hear me! MM: Yeah? Yeah? I'm gonna kick your ass, McQueen! [Brian Lau, Tiger Claw, and Casey James storm into the room.] BL: What the hell is going on here?! Stop this instant! [The fighting continues] TC: [Shouting] STOP! [The fighting stops.] BL: What the hell is wrong with you guys? DM: There's nothin' wrong with me, Brian. Mrs. Mic and his moronic minions are causing nothin' but trouble again! Let him know about it Wulf. WULF: [seething with rage] This microman right here [points at Hellraiser] spread rumours around the locker room that he saw me going door to door, singing hyms for church donations! MM: Brian, I am sick and tired of these three dragging down the Syndicate. I mean hell... people are starting to say that Genesis is better than the Syndicate. The Disciples are dragging us down. BL: I don't care. Look at me... Do I look like a guy that cares? Because if I do, then I must be doing a spectacular impression of a caring individual. Take a minute and look at yourselves. Then look at Casey and Claw... Casey is defending two belts at once here, and he's got Brody Thunder breathing down his neck for both of them. Tiger Claw is constantly getting attacked by that little moron Derek Mota, getting hit with petrified pieces of wood. What are you guys doing? You're fighting amongst yourselves. I don't know what you thought when you joined the Syndicate, but this does _not_ wash with me. I thought that you guys were mature enough to settle this already. It would appear that I was wrong. Well, it's time for me to step in. This ends. Now. DM: [pointing at Mr. Mic] I already told everybody in this room, I'm through with these bums! I'm through with takin' a backseat to this troupe of performing monkeys! This stable ain't big enough for two tag teams, and it's time one of us took a hike, Mickey boy! Next Saturday night we'll put it all on the line: the Dark Disciples versus Pain Inc. -- no foreign objects, no ambushes, no funny business; just four men battling it out with their fists the good ol' fashioned way. When the smoke clears, one team will be left with their arms raised in victory, and that team will remain with the Syndicate. The other team -- in other words, you guys -- will hit the road and make it on their own in the cold, hard world of the IIWF. Whaddaya say, Mrs. Mic? You got the guts to get it on? MM: Okay, if Donny and the rest of the Osmonds want a "loser leaves the Syndicate" match let's get it on. Pain Inc. would love another chance to kick Crip and Wimp around. BL: Fine, whatever. I don't care. As long as this stops. I've got my desk full of contracts for the Syndicate, and I don't have time to sort out all of your problems. If you guys want to fight for membership next week, then so be it. Get it done, and the winner can call me. [With that, Brian leaves with Tiger Claw and Casey James following. Pain Inc. and the Disciples look at each other with malicious glares, as do their respective managers. McQueen, in a pique of anger, approaches the camera and shoves his hand over the lens. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: Did I hear that right? Pain Inc. and the Dark Disciples are going to get it on here next week? SR: You got it... To figure out who goes and who stays in the Syndicate. Man, that's going to be a match... TD: Well, I would venture a guess that this is not a rivalry which will even be settled next week. Another rivalry, that doesn't look like it will go away in the near future is the match upcoming. SR: Who's up, moron? TD: Steve Roberts, haven't I always treated you with the utmost in professional courtesy? SR: You bought me a double cheeseburger in Kansas City that one time, Dross.  If that's what you're talking about. TD: What I mean is that you don't exactly do wonders for my credibility when you refer to me as "moron".  SR: Dross, I think the horse has already left the barn on that one, buddy.  The weight, the rumpled suits, the toupee, the Chuck Norris pictures. TD: Now that's Larry Morton. SR: Hah!  You admit it!  TD: No... I... Good grief. SR: It's a good day to be me, Dross.  Feelin' fine and cherry wine. I've got a song in my heart and sharp cheddar cheese on my ham sandwich. Good times. TD: I think I need to apologize to Larry Morton. SR: Nope, you need to apologize to that chair, the FCC and the freshman girls dormitory here at Tulane University -- but the one man you should never apologize to is Larry Morton.  TD: Let's get to the ring. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Requiem vs. Serge Annis =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= WRITER: JJ [The ringside group attired in bomber jackets and berets identifying themselves as the "Genesis Generation" stand as one while Sparkplug Lee readies himself for the introductions.  Lee appears to have an orange, powdery substance covering his fingertips.] SL: Our next contest is set for one fall. Introducing first... he weighs 306 pounds and hails from Parts Unknown... "The Angel of Destruction" -- Requiem! [Big heel pop as the lights flicker and the sonorous voice is heard throughout the arena to say, "From this day forth...until the end of time...there will be no mercy for the damned..." And then the big man appears in the aisle, his facial hair configured in a snow white van dyke - matching the pigment in his truly frightening eyes.  The Requiem discards his "Angel of Destruction" jacket in the aisle and hits the ring without so much as a look at any of the ringside fans.] TD: Well, this man is all business tonight, Steve Roberts.  Conspicuous by their absence is that gang he travels around with.  No Highwayman... no Nightwing... no Cold Spell.  I do believe that this match against Serge Annis has a personal component. SR: Well, Dross, the man broke his gui-tar.  I'm sure that all these people only came here tonight to hear Requiem sing his song.  Maybe do a little dance.  Come on Requiem, shake your love.  I just can't shake your love.  TD: We all know that his guitar has some type of significance to him -- recall the fervor with which he attempted to keep it in his possession at Birthday Bash.  I have to believe that he may look to take out some punishment on Serge Annis tonight. [Requiem stands motionless in the middle of the ring, as Sparkplug retakes the microphone.] SL: His opponent weighs 293 pounds and hails from Oakville in Ontario, Canada.  He is the "Epitome of Evil"... Serge Annis! [Good sized mixed pop as "Some Days It's Dark" kicks in and the spartanly dressed Annis makes his way to the ring.  Annis also ignores the outstretched hands of the ringside fans, but the slightly satisfied expression on his face indicates his notice of the reception.] TD: Well, certainly a change in the response that these people have for Serge Annis, Steve Roberts.  I think for the first time, maybe ever, people really got a sense of who this man is... what it is that motivates him... what has driven him to be so successful everywhere he has gone. SR: Successful everywhere but here, Dross.  Look, I have no problem at all with a guy like Annis -- he's not a phony... he's never claimed to be anything but a bad guy.  But I just don't know if he can get the job done in the IIWF, I just don't know if he has what it takes to match up with the biggest and the best in this sport.  TD: Are you suggesting that Requiem is among that collection? SR: Who? [The two big men face off... nose-to-nose... neither man giving ground or saying a word.  Ding! Ding! Ding!  It is Annis who moves first, snapping consecutive right hands at the head of Requiem.  The big man is unmoved - taking the blows with nary a disturbed eyelash.  Annis back to the ropes, driving at Requiem with a shoulderblock -- no effect. Annis again goes off the ropes, ramming his nearly 300lbs block of granite frame at the "Angel of Destruction."   Again... no effect. Serge hesitates momentarily, trying to adduce the full measure of this man's, this Requiem's strength... before charging again... Big Pop!] TD: Oh my!  That's a huge backbreaker! [Serge is caught by Requiem as he charged, spun around, and dropped over the Requiem's knee in a titl-a-whirl backbreaker that leaves the Canadian in a heap. Requiem now works quickly, booting Annis' ribs, forcing the "Epitome of Evil" to attempt a roll to the ropes.  Requiem halts Serge, trapping him face down on the mat and diving atop with a furious series of forearms to the small of the back.  Requiem quickly picks Serge to his feet, snapping his jaw with two european uppercuts and then whipping him farside... Requiem sets up for the big boot -- duck under by Serge -- and Serge comes off the nearropes with a flying forearm that staggers the big man! Big pop!] TD: Annis caught him pretty good there, Steve Roberts, caught him flush and staggered the Requiem.  But he does not go down! SR: I wouldn't go down once.  Best weekend of my life. [Serge again bounces off the rope... and again looks to go high with the forearm... but instead he feints, and drives a lariat to the left leg of Requiem which drops the big man hard to the canvas!  Big Pop!  Serge sits astride the fallen Requiem, ripping away with a series of lefts and rights that bring the crowd to its feet.  Serge pummeling away at the bigger man... Serge now grabbing the head of Requiem and thrusting it repeatedly into the canvas... yelling at the Genesis leader, "You want to be evil?  Welcome to the [bleep]in' party!"  Serge finishes with a haymaker punch to the head that leaves Requiem motionless and then the Canadian stands and screams toward the roaring crowd!] TD: Listen to this crowd, Steve Roberts!  This crowd is on fire for, of all people, Serge Annis! SR: I don't know how much these morons like Annis, Dross -- but I think they agree with you about Requiem.  He and his boys punked out two losers in the Psycho and Paris last week -- and these losers don't like it when their loser bretheren are attacked.  Ain't that right, losers? [The group of fans immediately behind the announce table all remove their Mike Ditka sweatshirts to reveal the familiar forest green tee on which Roberts is pictured with a gun to the head of a masked wreslter... they turn to Roberts and yell out, "Shoot, Soundbite! Shoot!"] TD: Your popularity... it's... it's just wrong, Steve. SR: I know.  Ain't it cool? [Serge pulls the Requiem to his feet, corner whipping him hard into the buckles.  Serge charges, and catches the Requiem with a big splash that crumples the big man to the mat!  Big Pop!  Serge takes the head of Requiem... and smashes it into the lower buckle! Pop!  Requiem begins to return to his feet... slowly gathering himself... and Serge smashes his head into the mid-buckle!  Pop! But Requiem continues... continues to stand... and Serge attempts to smash the Requiem's head into the top buckle -- blocked -- and it's Requiem who sends Serge into that top buckle... one, two, three, four, five times... Serge staggers away... and is drilled between the shoulder blades with a standing dropkick by the big Requiem.  Pop!  Requiem is all over Serge again, putting boots the the small of the back and then scooping Serge up into a running powerslam that leaves the Canadian down on the canvas.  Requiem eschews the pinfall attempt.  Neatly picking Serge to his feet, Requiem drives Annis down over his knee with consecutive backbreakers... and then picks him up into a double underhook position... flips the Canadian high into the air -- Big Heel Pop!] TD: He drove him over his knee!  That's a butterfly backbreaker! That's a butterfly backbreaker!  Oh my! SR: Time to dig out another quarter, Dross.  This game is over. [Requiem stads above the fallen Annis, Requiem motioning for Serge to return to his feet for Serge to get up.  Requiem puts a foot on Serge's chest... the official makes the count... 1 - 2 - ] TD: Requiem breaks the count!  Requiem breaks the count!  Requiem had this man beat... but he doesn't want it!  What is this man doing, Steve Roberts? SR: Yeah, see, that's the kind of guy he is, Dross.  He doesn't just want to beat this man... he wants to send him a message.  He wants to send the whole IIWF a message.  TD: This type of action is right up your alley, Steve Roberts -- the excessive violence, style over substance, a gang of thugs exhibiting their will over the rest of the Federation. SR: Nah, that was the old Soundbite.  The new Soundbite only concerns himself with one thing... and that's cheese, baby.  How much of it can I eat... and will it still respect me in the morning? TD: You're a strange man, Steve Roberts. SR: And pretty.  For the love of God, don't forget to tell the people that I'm pretty as a girl. [Requiem pulls Serge to his feet, slamming him hard back to the mat with a side suplex and then jumping upon his back, putting Serge into a chinlock, wrenching away... into a camel clutch!  Requiem has Serge down into a camel clutch... that 306lbs frame leaning down into the lower back of Annis.] TD: He wants a submission, Steve Roberts!  He want this man, this proud man to quit before him! SR: There's a lot of that going on around here, Dross. [Requiem leans back on the camel clutch... wrenching away.  The official asks for a submission -- and none is forthcoming.  Requiem hops quickly to a crouching postion... and then slams his full weight down again onto Serge's back.  Heel pop!] TD: The plan of Requiem is becoming clear, he has constantly... from the jump, focused on that back of Serge Annis.  Weakened the back... and now he has Serge where he wants him. [The official again looks for a submission, the pain evident on Serge's face, the weight of this monstrous Requiem... perhaps the weight of his entire career... sitting on his back.  And Serge Annis begins to rise!  Serge Annis begins to get to his knees!  Serge Annis begins... and Requiem again sits down hard onto that back, maintaining the chinlock... and Serge collapses back to the canvas.  Disappointed Pop!] TD: So much effort there for Serge.  So much work just to try and break this hold.  But this Requiem, this man who defeated Deathbringer, who devastated the Subway Psycho... this man is just _too_ strong! [The official looks one more time for the submission... one more time for Serge to tap out of this match... Requiem again, sensing he needs to inflict more punishment, leaps into the air and comes down onto Serge's knee! Big pop!] TD: Serge did a full body revolution!  He rolled clean over and crotched Requiem with his knee!  Hello, Wanda! SR: These people are on fire for Annis!  Unbelievable!  Wanda? [Requim rolls off in pain... Serge moves to his feet... bounces off the backropes... and drives the bent over Requiem's head hard into the mat with an enormous bulldog and a cover... 1 - 2 - NO!  Kickout by Requiem. Annis whips Requiem farside -- duck under -- and Serge greets him on the pass with a flying clothesline that sends the "Angel of Destruction" down to the mat.  Another cover... 1 - 2 - No.  Kickout by Requiem. Serge then scoops Requiem up again, whipping him hard and then catching him on the return, and lifting him into the air... above his head... into a military press! Huge Pop for Serge!  And Serge presses him... once... twice... three times!  Serge presses Requiem three times before his back suddenly shows the wear from the match and he drops Requiem to the mat.] TD: We saw that last week, Steve Roberts!  The awesome... awesome power of this man Serge Annis as he military presses Requiem high above his head repeated times. SR: But he couldn't put him away, Dross.  Serge has taken the beating all match long... and that show of strength may have been his last burst of energy. [Requiem is slow to his feet, taking a right hand from Annis as he stands, but countering with four, now five big clubbing forearm blows of his own... whipping Serge nearside... and... and...] TD: He's got him by the throat!  Requiem's got Serge by the throat! And Annis is going... for the ride! [Big Heel Pop!  Requiem executes a chokeslam backbreaker that has Serge absolutely out... out dead on the mat!  And still he does not cover! The crowd begins to "boo" intensely, some debris now being thrown into the ring. Requiem is hit with a big foam Lord Byron cane, which he tosses away with a look of scorn... and then he picks Serge up again! Requiem lifts Serge high into the air... high into a military press of his own... and he carries him around the ring!  Requiem carries Serge around the ring... all the way around the ring... now he holds Serge in one corner... Requiem climbing to the lower buckle... to the midbuckle... with Annis still pressed above his head!  Huge Heel Pop!] TD: Oh my!  Oh my God!  Requiem with a military press into a backbreaker over the ringpost!  That is wrong, Steve Roberts!  This man is sick! [The crowd screams in horror as Annis remains poleaxed over the ringpost.  Only the beret-wearing "Genesis Generation" showing any kind of support for the abject viciousness of Requiem.  Requiem draws a thumb slowly across his neck... and then begins to climb the ropes.  Requiem going to get Serge who is completely motionless on the ringpost. Requiem reaches the top buckle, standing there with Serge, now with Serge perched above his shoulders... and he sets himself to drop down...] TD: It's the Final Lament!  It's the Final Lament! [The crowd stands in an enormous heel pop as the mighty Requiem seems to transcend all that is below, seems to hang in the air for an extra moment... he and Serge in a powerbomb for eternity.  And then he crashes to the mat.  And the crowd roars as Requiem covers...] TD: He won't cover!  Requiem will _not_ cover! SR: Okay, Dross, I'll admit it.  I'll admit it.  I prefer provalone to parmesan.  Are you happy? [Requiem stands above Annis... motioning to him to stand up!  Requiem motioning to Annis to rise and take more of this beating!  And Annis does!  Serge Annis is slowly getting to his feet... and Requiem pops him back to the mat with a European uppercut.  Annis again... again moves to rise to his feet... and is driven back to the mat... this time by an open palm strike to the throat by Requiem as the crowd lustily jeers his every action.] TD: What drives this man Annis?  He refuses to quit, refuses to yield under this incredible beating... and what is it inside this Requiem? What could it be that inflicts so much punishment on another man -- seemingly disregarding any potential pinfall? [Annis is on his knees now, kneeling before Requiem who puts his arms to the heavens as if to draw some sort of... Big Pop! Annis hits Requiem with an upward forearm to the groin, doubling the "Angel of Destruction" over... and Annis now stands... grabbing Requiem by the throat, Annis looking to chokeslam the big Requiem into next week!  But he can't get him off his feet, Requiem catching him with a blow to the midsection and then a boot to the same location... before lifting Annis one more time... one more time... into a hortizontal backbreaker! Heel Pop!] TD: He's racked him up, Steve Roberts!  He's racked him up!  It's over! It is over! [Requiem applies the torturous hold to Annis, hopping up and down as Annis appears to be unable to escape the backbreaker. The official asks for a submission... and Annis screams, "NO...DAMN NO!"  The crowd roars as Requiem continues the pressure on that weakened back, Annis still refusing to submit... And then the lights go out. The crowd squeals, and then goes apoplectic as the lights turn on... and in the ring is only one man...] TD: IT'S THE DEATHBRINGER!  THE DEAD MAN HAS ARRIVED! [Deathbringer holds his hands to the heavens and the stands shake with a cataclysmic roar as the official confusedly looks to the outside... where both Requiem and Serge lie motionless.  The official counts quickly as no movement by either man appears to be forthcoming... and calls for the bell.  Ding! Ding! Ding!] SL: The official has counted both men out of the ring!  This match has been officially ruled... a DRAW... a DRAW! [The crowd roar continues as Deathbringer sees that Requiem is beginning to stir on the outside, beginning to make his way to his feet, and then to Annis.  Deathbringer climbs quickly out to the apron, and leaps off -- landing in between the "Angel of Destruction" and the fallen Annis. Deathbringer and Requiem go nose to nose...] TD: We've got something here... look... out of the stands... here comes that gang!  Here comes Genesis! That pack of dogs is coming out of the stands and they are going after the Deathbringer! [Highwayman, Nightwing and Cold Spell were all sitting inconspicuously with the Genesis Generation -- and now leap behind the Requiem as he faces down the Deathbringer.  Only Icehawk seems to linger behind, seeming obviously uncomfortable with the situation.  The other three men are right with Requiem now... as they all stand ever-so-close to the former Heavyweight Champion as the crowd pops wildly.  Annis stumbles to his feet, and steps in front of Deathbringer -- amazingly getting right back in the face of the Requiem.  Annis going jaw to jaw with Requiem as the officials pour out of the dressing room... ten, twelve IIWF referees and corporate suits stepping in between the two groups of men and forcing all of them back to the dressing room.] TD: Quite a wild scene here, Steve Roberts.  A devastating performance by Requiem... again.  But we have seen a man in Serge Annis who simply would not... I'd say who _could_ not give up.  And then the confrontation with the Deathbringer and Genesis.  Unbelievable. SR: Yeah, I guess, Dross.  You know, the story here really is all the factions the IIWF has broken off into.  There must be five or six groups around here now, all looking for power in the IIWF.  All these little cliques of wrestlers... TD: And they're all fighting for one thing. SR: Absolutely, to see who gets first in the cheese line.  Someone's gonna get the monterey jack and someone's gonna get stuck with the cheez out of an aerosol can.  TD: Poetic as ever, Steve Roberts. [The crowd begins to settle once more. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: Hey Steve, Isn't that Scott Rogers making his way to a ringside seat in the crowd?  He must be here to keep an eye out for his friend, Luke Steele, in this next match. SR: Who is that woman he is with? TD: I don't know, but she's a beauty, isn't she? SR: He probably told her he knew the Soundbite.  There is no way he would get a woman to show interest on his own!  Maybe I should go over there and... TD: You'll stay right there, Steve Roberts. Let's get back up to the ring. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Otto Verhoeven vs. Luke Steele -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= WRITER: MB [Sparkplug Lee takes his place in the centre of the ring once more.] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is for one fall... [The haunting orchestral theme music to John Carpenter's "Halloween" hits the speakers to a tremendous round of jeers and boos.  Otto Verhoeven and his beautiful fiancé start their way down to the ring.] SL: Accompanied to the ring by his valet, Nurse Heidi... hailing from Essen, Germany, weighing 340lbs... Here is "The German Juggernaut", Otto "The Butcher" Verhoeven! [Otto ignores the fans' complaints, stopping only once to give a quick look of complete contempt at the jeering fans before sitting on the middle rope to allow Heidi entry to the ring.  A quick sneer at the referee as he makes his way to his corner.] TD: Luke is about the same size and weight as Creed and Watkins, Steve.  This should help us gauge how successful he will be against our African-American contingent. SR: Dross, you never cease to amaze me with your inane comments.  Do you honestly believe that "Square Meal" Luke Steele is in the same league as Creed?  Man, that little rust-bucket shouldn't even be in the IIWF!  How he got out of the bush leagues, I'll never know! TD: You don't like Luke Steele much, do you, Steve? SR: There you go again! ["Halloween" fades from the speakers to be replaced by the thumping bass and guitar of Janet Jackson's "Black Cat".  The crowd pop as Luke Steele appears at the head of the aisle.  Pop!] SL: ...and his opponent, from Cleveland, Ohio...  weighing 275lbs, "The Real Deal" Luke Steele! [Luke walks down the aisle, high-fiving the fans near the aisle as he confidently makes his way to the ring.  Half way to the ring his music suddenly stops with a screech and the huge figures of Requiem and Highwayman break through the curtain!] TD: Not again!  Don't these guys ever give up?! SR: Who, Dross? TD: Genes... Steve, you really shouldn't antagonise them. These men are capable of anything. SR: Including wrestling?  No way! [Luke instinctively spins around to see the two hated Genesis members, he breaks away from the fans and takes up a stance, expecting the two men to run and attack him!  Requiem and Highwayman break into a smile, take up positions near the entrance, and just stand and watch.  Luke nervously starts backing his way up the aisle as Genesis continue to smile malevolently.  Luke catches a glimpse of Rogers sat nearby with a lovely blonde and calls to him for help.  Rogers doesn't seem to hear and takes his seat, the mysterious blonde sitting on his knee.] SR: What have I done to deserve this job?  Man, I must have been Atilla The Hun in a previous life to have to undergo this level of torment! Please Otto, make this short! TD: Ouch..!  It looks like he heard you! [With Luke distracted, Otto comes flying off the apron with an axe handle to his back that levels the young man!  Heel Pop!  Requiem and Highwayman laugh out loud as Otto grabs Luke's vest and drags it over his head and with him blinded, begins to pummel blows into his ribs and stomach.  The ref signals for the bell and immediately starts a count on the two combatants.  Luke struggles to lower his arms to protect his exposed ribs but the vest hinders him and Otto continues to rain blow after blow into his ribs.  The ref's count reaches eight before Otto rolls a still struggling Luke into the ring and follows him in.] TD: Verhoeven is really stamping his authority on this match early on! SR: You know, there should be more Otto Verhoevens in this fed and less Luke Steeles.  People who aren't scared to manipulate the rules to get on top. TD: You mean, "cheat"? SR: That's what I said, wasn't it? [Luke manages to remove his vest while the ref admonishes Otto for his out-of-ring activities, Otto just glares at the ref until he finishes then charges at Luke with a clothesline!  Luke ducks under the arm and as The Butcher comes bouncing off the opposite ropes, he ploughs a foot into his mid-section, and drops the big man to the mat with a snap-suplex!  Pop!  Luke takes a second to catch his breath, then grabbing Otto by the hair and dragging him to his feet, he takes a couple of steps back and levels the German with a stunning superkick! With Otto on the mat, Luke follows up with two quick elbow drops that further shake the 6 feet 8 inch monster.  Rogers still hasn't even as much as looked towards the ring yet.] SR: Look at Heidi, Dross. I could get used to seeing Otto on the receiving end if it makes that siren bounce around outside the ring like that! TD: Can I quote you on that to Otto, Steve? [Luke climbs up to the top rope and waits for Otto to get to his feet, before launching with a devastating flying drop-kick that connects right on the Teutonic Terror's chin and knocks him cold!  Big Pop!  He covers, hooking a leg as the ref drops to the mat... 1 -- 2 - kick out!  Steele drags Otto up again and positions him for a piledriver and for the first time since the match began, catches a glimpse of the Genesis duo, who seem to be whispering and plotting something.  That one second delay is all Verhoeven needs to free himself and grabbing a distracted opponent, delivers a nasty inverted atomic drop that has Luke reeling around the ring, only to be chopped down to the mat with a stiff clothesline!  Otto drops onto the winded American, wraps two plate-sized hands around his neck and begins to choke him into unconsciousness.  Heel Pop!  The referee quickly admonishes the European Alliance partner and seeing the little reaction he is getting, begins a quick count.  Otto breaks the choke on a four-count and when the ref begins to warn him again, he re-administers the choke, breaking again after four seconds!] SR: That is what I meant, Dross, _manipulating_ the rules, not breaking them! TD: A choke is an illegal move, Steve. He can be disqualified for that. SR: Only if he continues after the referee's five-count. Let me tell you, if I were signing and arranging contracts around here, the IIWF would be full of Otto Verhoevens! TD: What a disquieting thought... Come on, ref, enough already! [For the third time, Otto begins to choke Luke who seems to have slipped into a semi-conscious stupor, only to break on the four count!  The crowd is jeering tremendously and the referee is livid with the German!  The ref begins to walk to the time-keeper to announce a disqualification decision when Otto runs to intercept him and begins pointing at his ear, pretending he took a shot to the head that disoriented him.  The ref, almost purple with rage, shouts at him for a good ten seconds before giving him the benefit of the doubt and allowing the match to continue, but not before a very stern warning.  Luke, also purple in the face but for a completely different reason, rolls around the ring coughing and spluttering, tries unsuccessfully to get to his feet.  Rogers glances up from his conversation and notices Luke's agony and goes straight back to his lady-friend.] TD: What is Scott doing?  He isn't taking the slightest notice of what is going on in the ring! SR: [day dreaming] ...Just think, a federation full of quality wrestlers... TD: That's exactly what we have here already, Steve. Only the best in the world get into the IIWF. SR: So how do you explain that rust-bucket in the ring now and widdle Wonnie Pawis getting a contract? TD: Th... SR: [interrupting] My thoughts exactly! [As the two figures of Highwayman and Requiem watch on impassively, Otto lifts Steele up by his goatee and holds his head still, then destroys him with a huge roundhouse punch!  Heel Pop!  Keeping hold of him, he throws punch after devastating punch into his ribs and stomach, much to the ref's chagrin.  When Otto finally leaves go of his facial hair, Luke slumps to the mat, obviously hurt badly.] TD: This isn't a match, it's an assault! SR: Stop distracting me, Dross. I think I'm onto something big here! TD: Luke's getting hurt in there, Steve! SR: Will you give it up?! It's not as if it's someone important is it? [Otto pulls the severely weakened Steele up and whips him hard to the buckles and follows in for an avalanche.  Somehow, Luke manages to weakly raise a foot which crashes into Verhoeven's face as he charges in!  Pop!  The German is whipped from his feet by the blow and lands badly on the mat at Luke's feet. Luke lets go of the ropes and drops onto him in a make-shift pin!  1 -- 2 -- Kickout!  Heidi starts thumping the mat near her fiancé's head to get him to his feet.  Luke, using the ropes for assistance, climbs to his feet as Otto rolls over and tries to shake the cobwebs from his head before regaining his vertical base.] TD: This idea of yours is fundamentally flawed, Steve.  As well as the great athleticism modern-day wrestling gives us, what about the eternal battle between good and evil that it also represents? SR: You are worse than those cartoon characters up there [pointing at Genesis]. [Luke, using the ropes for momentum, bounces at the raising German, using the last vestiges of is energy, to deliver a flying clothesline...] TD: Good lord, what a move!  Otto just caught Luke and delivered a truly massive spinning spine-buster! [A huge barrage of boos erupt from the crowd as they see the move that could spell the end for their favourite.  Otto gets to his feet, looking almost unaffected by the punishment he has suffered at the hands of his opponent, drags the Cleveland native up and with a harsh word at the jeering fans, grabs him by the neck and lifts...] SR: ...The Slaughterslam!!  Say goodnight to the fans, baby dolls! TD: Oh my!  He just chokeslammed Luke right across his knee! [Otto arrogantly drops to cover the motionless Steele as the crowd falls completely silent at the sight of the German Juggernaut's devastating finishing move.  The ref begins a slow count: 1 - 2 - 3!  It takes the fans a moment to realise what has happened and they burst into a chorus of boos!  The bell rings and Sparkplug Lee announces the decision...] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, your winner, by pinfall... Otto "The Butcher" Verhoeven! TD: He has certainly lived up to his name tonight... hang on, Genesis is on the move! SR: Who?  Hey, watch it, freak! [As Lee finishes his announcement, Requiem and Highwayman charge down the aisle, Highwayman discarding his three-pointed hat in the direction of the announcer's table, managing to hit Steve Roberts squarely in the chest with it!] SR: Did he do that on purpose?  Did he, Dross?  I'll go up there and... TD: Calm down, Steve. Just let it be. [The Genesis duo slide under the bottom rope and dive at Steele, laying punches and kicks at the downed favourite to a massive heel pop!  Otto, having just had his arms raised by the ref, pulls free from his grip and looks ready to attack the two big men, but shrugs his shoulders and leaves to stand at the side of his beautiful fiancee.] TD: What is Rogers doing?  He should be jumping the guard rails to help Steele by now, instead he is just sat there with that bimbo! SR: If I find out that English cartoon freak threw his stupid hat at me on purpose, I'll... TD: Come on, Scott, help him! [Rogers is seemingly distracted and completely oblivious to the fans around him asking him to help his friend, Luke.  In the ring, Highwayman drags a stunned Steele to his feet and after a sharp kick in the groin to double him up, lifts him up and runs across the ring to drive him through the mat with a terrific running powerbomb, dropping to his knees to add to the impact!  Huge heel pop as Luke's head bounces off the mat with a sickening thud!  The two Genesis members lift him back to his feet and Requiem drapes a leg across the back of his neck and delivers an awesome rocker-drop!  Luke is obviously concussed as they continue to beat on him.  The crowd start pushing at Scott to get up and take his attention away from his companion and get in the ring.] TD: At last!  Here comes Ronnie!  With a chair in tow as well! [Ronnie gets to the ring, climbs the buckle and crashes the chair down hard across Highwayman's back!  Highwayman drops to his knees holding the small of his back as Ronnie swings the chair at Requiem who manages to duck the blow and slides under the ropes to safety.  Ronnie swings the chair again and catches the Englishman flush in the face, knocking him towards the ropes where Requiem grabs him and drags him to ringside.  The fans go potty as Paris watches the slow retreat of the Genesis duo, Requiem helping his struggling partner stay on his feet. As they pass the announcer's table, a flying three-pointed hat catches Requiem in the side of the head.] SR: Missed! [Ronnie Paris helps his friend to his feet and out of the ring, and leans him on the apron as he moves over to the crowd barriers, yelling at Scott Rogers, who finally seems to awaken from his testosterone-induced reverie, and shoves the blonde from his lap, standing and walking to the barriers, hopping over to talk to Paris, who yells at him. Steele raises his hands to Paris, as if to apologise, and goes to Steele's side, supporting him. He yells at Paris to help, and together, with one of Steele's arms around each of their shoulders, Paris and Rogers help the "Real Deal" back to the locker room. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: Well, I really don't know what to make of that. Scott Rogers appeared to be trying to suggest that he had no idea what was going on in the ring, Steve. I simply can't believe that. SR: What I can't believe is that moron, the Highwayman, throwing his hat at me. TD: Just a few moments ago, we saw Scott Rogers help Ronnie Paris and Luke Steele back to the locker room after standing by and watching while they were attacked by Genesis. SR: Do you blame the guy, Dross? He had some blonde chick on his lap, I mean, he may be a total moron, but he's human, Dross. He's red blooded. TD: I understand we have a camera back in the locker room of Paris and Steele... Let's go to that footage now. [Cut to the locker room of Luke Steele and Ronnie Paris, who are sitting, exhausted, on a bench, slumped against the lockers, towels draped around their necks. Scott Rogers tends to Steele with flannels soaked in water and is asking him how he feels. Rogers sees the cameraman and speaks:] SR: Oh geez. How bad do I feel right now? Couldn't you have waited until these little guys were ready to face the cameras? [Rogers looks down at them. Apparently too frustrated to speak, Paris simply takes a swipe at Rogers' arm.] SR: Listen, guys, as they seem to wanna record somethin' from in here, I guess it's only fittin' that I apologise to you in front of him, and the millions of great fans watchin'. Hell, the amounta grief I got off Ike just 'cause I didn't tell it to his face on TV is enough for anyone! [Rogers smiles. Paris scowls up at Rogers. Steele does not respond.] SR: I swear to you I didn't know what was happenin'. One minute I'm sittin' there watchin' the match, the next I got some chick all over me and then when I get her off me, you two are down, rolling around on the concrete floor. I'm really sorry, Ron, Luke. I promise you it won't happen again. Next time I'll be there. [Paris and Steele don't respond.] SR: Come on... I was even sittin' in the front row for that very reason. I knew Genesis'd be comin' out so I was ready to attack before they could. It's not my fault, guys. Please forgive me. [Rogers offers his hand to them, but Paris turns his head, still not speaking. Luke reaches into his bag and pulls out a bottle of water, which he proceeds to pour over his face. Rogers stands with his hand extended. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: There's something not quite right about Scott Rogers, Steve. I don't buy his story, and by the looks of things, neither do Paris or Steele. SR: Who cares, Dross? They're all morons. TD: Fans, I have some unfortunate news to report. It appears that Billy Shakespeare has been unable to make it here to the Fogelman Auditorium in sufficient time to have his shot at the new Cruiserweight Champion, the Dirt Dog Unique Allah, so that match, much to the annoyance of the Dirt Dog, has had to be shelved tonight. I am informed that it will instead take place this coming Wednesday, and be aired as a special main event on the War Room show. SR: Just like Pukespeare, Dross. Maybe one of his personalities got stopped at the state border. TD: We sincerely apologise for the inconvenience, folks, but we promise you that the match will be coming your way this Wednesday. Okay, without further ado, let's move on to our Intercontinental Championship match, pitting Lord Byron against the young lion, Ike Sampson -- who was given this title shot by his mentor of sorts, Mad Dog Watkins, this past Wednesday in Bourbon Street. Will Sampson be able to make good here tonight and finally step out of the shadow cast by his elder brother? SR: Nope. He's a loser. TD: Let's get up to the ring and find out for ourselves. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= IIWF INTERCONTINENTAL CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH: =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Lord Byron [c] vs. Ike Sampson ----------------------------------------- WRITER: RD [Sparkplug Lee takes his place in the centre of the ring:] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall, and is for the IIWF Intercontinental championship! [crowd pop]. Introducing first, weighing in at 304lbs; here is the challenger: Ike Sampson! ["Kiss" blasts out from the loudspeakers and Ike Sampson heads down the aisle. The crowd give the young rookie a massive pop, and the cheers grow even louder as Creed and Mad Dog Watkins follow closely at his heels. Mad Dog Watkins is dressed in faded looking jeans and a white T-shirt with the words "Old-School Dog" printed across the chest. Ike Sampson stops to slap the hands of a few young brothers at ringside before climbing between the ropes and pumping his fists to the air. The crowd responds enthusiastically. Watkins and Creed confer in hushed voices, and Watkins vaults over the barrier, choosing to sit with the fans, while Creed remains in Ike's corner.] SR: Big Ike Sampson has taken giant strides in his IIWF career already; he won the rookie triangle match at Birthday Bash, he's been scoring big upset victories over the veterans, the fans are firmly behind him, and y'know somethin', Tim Dross? TD: What's that, Steve? SR: He's gonna lose all that tonight when Lord Byron kicks his fat rookie ass across the breadth of New Orleans! TD: Charming as always, Steve. RA: And his opponent, the longest reigning Intercontinental champion in IIWF history! [jeers are already resounding around the arena] Hailing from Lancashire, England, weighing in at 265lbs; here is Lord Byron! [The fans start in surprise as "Scotland the Brave" blasts out of the loudspeakers at ear-splitting volume. Many of them begin to pop, expecting Duncan Macbeth to make a surprise appearance. However, the jeers start to rain down again as a sneering Lord Byron appears at the head of the aisle, the hulking form of Otto Verhoeven shadowing him in the background, and the immaculately polished Intercontinental belt strapped around his waist. He puts his hands on his hips and stares up at sound booth incredulously. Lady DeWinter stands demurely in the background.] SR: Is this somebody's idea of a sick joke? [Lord Byron refuses to shift from the head of the aisle, and the nearby fans begin to taunt him. However, Byron ignores them and taps his foot impatiently, staring up at the soundbooth with an even more prominent sneer than usual, if such a thing is possible. Otto shouts out, "Vot is the meaning of this outrage?" Ike Sampson looks on from inside the ring with amusement.] SR: He ain't gonna shift until they put his proper theme music on, and who can blame him? That tuneless garbage sounds like a chorus of cats being forced to swallow bagpipes. TD: "Scotland the Brave" means a great deal to the national pride of the Scottish people, Steve; you shouldn't be so quick to criticise. Besides, Byron should be more concerned with the match he has to wrestle than with worrying about his theme music. [Byron remains stubbornly unmoved, and the fans begin to grow restless. A few paper cups sail through the air aimed in his direction. Suddenly, "Scotland the Brave" is abruptly cut off, and seconds later the delicate strains of the Karelia Suite fill the arena. Byron smirks in satisfaction and finally makes his way to the ring, showered with jeers as usual.] TD: Wait a minute... I'm just getting a report that Duncan Macbeth has just been removed from the soundbooth by IIWF security. Apparently, Duncan was laughing so hard he was unable to put up any resistance. SR: I knew it! That uncultered, dimwitted, incomprehensible Highlander was behind this dastardly plot all along! Ban this man, Acting President Owens! TD: Aren't you over-reacting a little, Soundite? SR: Hey, that's what they pay me for! [Byron eyes Creed and Watkins suspiciously as he climbs through the ropes. He unstraps the IC belt and hands it to the ref, looking at Ike Sampson across the ring with disdain. Ike just gives him a badass stare and limbers up. The ref signals for the bell: Ding! Ding! Ding! The two combatants immediately lock up collar and elbow. They twist and turn a little, each struggling to gain an advantage. Sampson powers up, and gives Byron a mighty heave, sending the nobleman flying into the canvas! The crowd pops! Byron picks himself up and dusts himself down delicately, not looking particularly hurt by this show of force. Sampson rashly charges in, hoping to catch Byron off guard, but his Lordship is too experienced to be that unawares and ducks nimbly aside. Sampson bounds off the ropes off balance, and Byron catches him with a vicous looking kick to the back of the head. Sampson winces and falls flat.] TD: Ike Sampson, going for broke there and falling pray to Byron's ring savvy. Sampson must keep his youthful enthusiasm in check to prevent from choking in his first big title match. SR: Ha! This young punk is no where near ready to take a crafty veteran like Lord Byron. Y'know, Byron may like to act like a preening, arrogant bastard; but he takes this sport very seriously underneath that facade. Byron's a real master of the game and he's about to introduce Sampson to grappling class 101, a course this rookie can't hope to pass! TD: I don't doubt Byron's ability, Steve; but Ike Sampson has all the tools necessary to score a major upset here tonight. He's got power, he's got energy, he's got the fans behind him; plus Byron may be worn down from his gruelling title defence schedule. [Byron wastes no time in showboating and immediately clinches on a half boston/chinlock. Sampson grimaces and tries to switch out, but Byron knows all the tricks and stalls at every turn. The fans at ringside rally behind Sampson, and he begins to power up. Byron, fearing a break, immediately switches positions by twisting round and executing a spinning neckbreaker, leaving the powerful rookie laid out on the canvas. Byron gets up and points down at Sampson, yelling something to Creed and Watkins at ringside, who remain impassive. Byron drags up the dazed rookie, hooks his arms under Sampson's armpits, and straining under the effort, suplexes his foe with impressive force. Byron arches his back into a pinning bridge.] SR: Tiger suplex! It's all over! [The referee drops to the mat and puts on the count: 1 - 2 - Sampson gets the shoulder up and rolls out of it! The fans shout their support to the big rookie. Both men leap to get up to their feet, but Byron, having absorbed less punishment, is the first standing. He immediately goes to boot Sampson in the head, preventing him from getting up, but the big man catches Byron's leg while still on his knees and rises to his feet. The crowd pops as Byron hops on one leg, looking perturbed as to what big Ike might do. Sampson grins and gives a mighty heave on Byron's leg, taking the blue-blood straight off his other foot so that the back of his head slams hard into the canvas. Big pop! Byron howls and clutches the back of his head. Sampson runs to the ropes, bounds off, and pastes Byron into the mat with a thunderous legdrop! The fans pop wildly, really taking a shine to the young challenger. Sampson gets up and pumps his fists to the air, soaking in the support of the fans; but he isn't done with Byron yet. He scoops up the arrogant blue-blood and, seemingly effortlessly, gorilla presses him overhead. Sampson showboats a little, weightlifting Byron up and down several times before hurling him hard across the ring! Byron lands awkwardly, twisting his back. He clutches onto the corner ring ropes, struggling to regain his footing.] TD: What an awesome display of raw power by this young lion, Ike Sampson! SR: Byron knows what he's doing in there. It might look like he's getting tossed around that ring like a ragdoll, but all the while Sampson is wearing himself down with those energy sapping power moves. Byron has by far the more stamina of the two, and as soon as Sampson starts to slow down, Byron will pounce. [Byron staggers out of the corner, only to stumble straight into Ike Sampson's grasp. Sampson clinches him around the waist, and grunting like a bear, slams him into the canvas with an absolutely pulverising gutwrench powerbomb. Byron is motionless on the canvas as Sampson holds him in position for the three count: 1 - 2 - Byron manages to slip a leg over the bottom rope to a dissapointed gasp from the crowd. The referee is perceptive and orders Sampson  to uncover his foe, and the big man reluctantly agrees.] SR: I told you, Timmy boy! Byron has some stern stuffing under his vainful pride. [Sampson clamps his big hands on Byron, drags him off the ropes and hauls him to his feet; slipping his hands underneath Byron's arms, pressing hard on his neck with a locktight full-nelson. The strain is immediately evident on Byron's face, as he grits his teeth and attempts to whether the pain. The ringside fans again rally behind Sampson, starting a chant of "We - Like - Ike!" Sampson seems to draw extra energy from the fan support, and exerts the hold with even greater force. A gasp of pain escapes from Byron's throat, and his face ripples with pain; but still, he refuses to submit. Outside the ring, Otto Verhoeven looks set to interfere, but Creed is immediately on the case, and steps fearlessly up to the big man. The two jaw with each other in soft and menacing tones, and put the hard stare on each other.] TD: Byron's eyes are starting to go glassy! If Byron passes out we'll see a new Intercontinental champion crowned tonight! This is it; Ike's got it all in his hands, can he fulfill his dreams and send shockwaves through the sport by toppling Lord Byron from his throne? SR: Come on, Byron! Use one of those, erm, technical type things to get out of the hold! TD: Your vast knowledge of wrestling technique shines through once again, Steve Roberts. SR: Hey! At least I know what an Asai Moonsault is! Nobody else around here does! TD: Except, possibly, for Icehawk. SR: Punk. [The ref asks for the submission but Byron shakes his head. Suddenly, Byron drives his hips back into Sampson's midsection, doubling him over slightly. The blueblood uses the opportunity to drop into a sit down, dragging the big rookie down with him, and then rolls back over, catching Sampson hard in the face with an overhead kick! Sampson releases the hold in shock and is knocked down to the mat.] SR: What an ingenious way to escape from a full nelson! Damn it, this man might just be the finest wrestler in the world! Outside of J.W. Hardin, of course... and maybe Casey James. [Byron reverts to a sitting position and pauses for a moment, grabbing lungfuls of air, his body aching all over from Ike Sampson's high impact assault. Sampson recovers behind him, and bulls in somewhat rashly. Byron, however, still has sufficient wits about him and kips up, catching the on-rushing big man with an armdrag, putting his foe back on the mat. The big rookie powers up, but Byron keeps Ike off the offence by wringing his arm painfully. Sampson winces and tries to pull away, but Byron measures his opponent and blasts him hard with an enzugiri. Sampson drops like somebody just pounded the back of his skull with a baseball bat. Byron gets up, breathing hard but with plenty of fight still left. He drops atop Sampson's back and clinches on a camel clutch, using his technical expertise to balance the pressure all along Sampson's neck and spine.] SR: Now it's time for Ike Sampson to experience a submission hold executed by a _real_ technical master! I doubt he can withstand as much pain as Byron did from that full-nelson. TD: That remains to be seen. Byron is using the classic scientific technique of picking one spot on your opponent's anatomy and working on it, in this case, his neck; but Sampson has big, thick muscle around that area, and it might be tough for Byron to cause any sustained damage for a submission. [Byron wrenches on the hold with as much force as he can muster, and Ike, despite his massive neck, seems to be buckling under the pressure. The fans begin to pop anxiously, willing the young challenger to stay in the fight. Sweat streams down Sampson's face, and he seems to lack any idea of how to escape the hold; his eyes begin to close, and he's on the verge of passing out. Suddenly, Mad Dog Watkins is standing opposite Ike Sampson outside the ring, staring through the ropes into his eyes with fury. He begins to yell at Sampson angrily, which can be barely picked up by the mic as something like "What the hell kind of man are you? A real man never quits!". Sampson's eyes snap open and stare in surprise as Watkins continues to berate him. Suddenly, Sampson nods his head, apparently accepting what Watkins is yelling at him, and begins to strain against Byron's hold, drawing on all the reserves of strength buried deep inside of him, attempting to power up! The fans begin to pop anxiously as inch by inch Sampson raises his back!] TD: Oh my goodness! It looks like Watkins put the hard word on young Ike Sampson, and the rookie has taken it to heart! He's powering out of Byron's hold! [Byron strains with all his might to keep the camel clutch locked on, but he seems unable to stem the rising tide of strength flowing from Ike Sampson. The crowd pops wildly as the big rookie powers up and up, increasing his momentum until he is on his knees!] SR: Byron is still clinging on to Ike Sampson! He's hanging off his back like a crippled child! Unbelievable! [A roar goes up from the crowd as Ike Sampson powers right up to his feet and stands tall with his fists in the air! Byron, incredibly, is still retaining his position on Sampson's back, wrenching on his neck, seemingly oblivious to the change of position. Ike leaps up into the air, falls backwards, and -- Crash! -- comes slamming down to the mat, sandwiching Byron between the canvas and his 300 pound bulk! The crowd roars with approval! Sampson seems almost passed out from his exertions, but Byron's shoulders are pinned to the mat under the bulk of Ike Sampson! Byron struggles to get free, but he cannot budge Ike's tremendous weight! Once again, Otto Verhoeven begins to clamber up on the apron to interfere, but Creed quickly pulls him back down by the tunic. This time Otto whips round and yells in Creed's face, but the black man retorts just as vehemently. The ref puts on the count: 1 - 2 - Byron manages to wriggle out a shoulder and escape the pin with just a split second to spare! Sampson strains to get to his feet, gulping for air, staring at Byron in disbelief.] TD: Unbelievable! Sampson has never been in match of this magnitude or intensity, Steve Roberts! He can't believe that Byron is still breathing, he can't believe that the match is still in progress, he can't believe his own staying power! If Ike Sampson doesn't get the duke tonight, he can go home safe in the knowledge that he truly tested one of the greats in our sport! He's given this match his all, Steve Roberts! SR: But look at the resiliency of Lord Byron as well, Timmy boy! Not many men can have a big blubbery whale fall on top of them and live to tell the tale! TD: Show some respect for Ike Sampson, Steve! [Sampson gets to his feet. He runs to the ropes, slow at first, but with gaining momentum. Byron is still motionless on the canvas, unable to get up. Sampson's charge approaches. He leaps, up off his feet. The crowd holds their breath. Ike Sampson comes crashing down, all three hundred pounds of him, splashing down onto Lord Byron with tremendous velocity. The arena explodes into cheers!] TD: That's it! It's all over! We're gonna see a new Intercontinental champion! SR: No! No! No! No! NO! [The ref drops to the mat and begins the count. His hand slaps the mat once. It slaps down twice. The third count appears as if it were descending in slow motion... Byron kicks out! The fans turn their heads away and gasp with dissapointment.] TD: Ab-so-lute-ly unbelievable! SR: I'm speechless, Dross, truly speechless. [Sampson rolls off Lord Byron and clutches his head, absolutely exhausted, seemingly unwilling to except that Byron kicked out. Byron meanwhile, is stretched out on the canvas, his face a contorted grimace of pain, every cell of his body screaming in agony.] SR: Nobody expected it to go this far, Tim Dross! Nobody expected Ike Sampson to be a threat to Lord Byron! Mad Dog Watkins pulled out of the fight and Byron's title reign looked assured! Now what's gonna happen, huh? What's gonna happen, Timmy baby? TD: Please don't call me "baby", Steve. [Both men clamber up to their feet, mentally and physically exhausted. Ike swings a punch at Byron's head, so slow that a dim-witted sloth would have been able to move out of the way, but not Lord Byron in his present condition. Byron stumbles backwards. Ike throws in another punch, this one more on target. Byron is rocked back against the ropes. Sampson pauses, mustering up the energy for a finishing blow. He drives in the fist... and Byron blocks it! Byron has a grip on Sampson's fist! He spins the big man around by the wrist and whips him to the ropes, depositing him to the canvas on the rebound with a clothesline! Byron wearilly rolls the big man over, gets into position and...] TD: He's put Sampson in the Aristoclutch! Can the big guy possibly hold out for another submission hold? [The crowd gives a dissapointed pop as Byron clinches his infamous submission hold. Ike Sampson holds out for several seconds, but after the punishing intensity of the bout, it is only a show of courage. The ref asks for the submission, and Sampson taps out. Ding! Ding! Ding!] SR: Ha! Nobody gets out of the Aristoclutch; it's all over. TD: No it isn't! Look, Byron is refusing to release the hold! [Byron wears a smirk as he holds Ike Sampson in the Aristoclutch position. The agony of the submission maneuver is clearly evident on Ike Sampson's face and the arena resounds with deafening jeers. Creed makes a move towards the ring, but Mad Dog Watkins leaps back over the barriers and holds him back, saying that "the kid has to learn to fight his own battles." Byron keeps the hold locked on for a few more agonising seconds, and then abruptly gets up, smirking as the ref presents him his Intercontinental belt. Ike rolls around on the canvas in pain and Creed immediately goes to tend to him.] RA: Here is your winner, by result of a submission, and still the IIWF Intercontinental champion; Lord Byron! [The crowd gives vent to their dissaproval once again. As Lord Byron goes to leave the ring, Creed steps up to him and bumps his chest against Byron's. Lord Byron simply smirks as Creed venemously gives him a few words. Otto Verhoeven enters the ring and puts a hand on Byron's shoulder, guiding him away from the red-gloved rookie and out of the ring. As he passes the Sychopaths, Petrow leaps up and leans out over the barriers, yelling in Byron's face, "One more week!", holding up a single finger. Byron simply sneers and waves Petrow back to his seat, making his way back up the aisle, arm in arm with the Lady DeWinter, as Otto follows behind, his arms raised, looking back to the ring, where Creed tends to Sampson.] TD: What a match that was, Steve Roberts. Sampson fell victim to the Aristoclutch, but there's no shame in his performance here tonight. [Mad Dog Watkins observes the whole scene from ringside, keeping a watch for any sudden moves, but not willing to start any trouble just yet. Creed helps Ike Sampson to his feet, and together the three men leave ringside to a supportive pop from the fans. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: Well, folks, another edition of IIWF Saturday Night nears its climax. We're almost ready for tonight's main event, pitting Casey "Blackheart" James against Derek Mota in non-title action. Will we see Casey James accept the challenge of Brody Thunder made last week? SR: Sure we will, Dross. Casey's no coward. TD: The feud between Casey James and Brody Thunder even transcends the IIWF, Steve Roberts. This past week, in the Northern Lights Wrestling Promotion's "Longest Road" event, Casey James put both the IIWF and NLWP World titles on the line against Edmund Fitzgerald in what was a tremendous match, and Brody Thunder just couldn't help himself from getting involved. Let's go to some footage of that match now: [Cut to footage subtitled, "June 9: Courtesy of NLWP." Fitzgerald and James lock up in the middle of the ring. A vicious knee-lift to the midsection by James! James Irish whips Fitzgerald into the ropes, Fitzgerald ducks a clothesline, back off the opposite ropes, flying shoulder-block which staggers James! Edmund with a dropkick, James is still on his feet! Fitzgerald off the ropes, a massive clothesline puts James on his back! The cover - 1 - 2 - James kicks out with force!] TD: [voice over] It was a hard-fought match, which proved that Fitz is every bit as tough in singles competition as he is in tag team action. [Fitzgerald and James lock up again, into a headlock by Fitzgerald! Not for long, as James picks up Edmund and drops him with a back suplex! James is up immediately, and he goes to work, stomping Fitzgerald in the chest and head! James picks up Fitzgerald, bodyslam! Elbow-drop by James! Another cover - 1 - 2 - Fitzgerald kicks out!] TD: [voice over] The tactics which have seen Casey James hold onto the IIWF World Heavyweight Championship for the longest time in IIWF history were in full evidence. [James picks up his opponent into a press-slam! James lets Fitzgerald fall, but into a shoulder-breaker! James backs into the ropes, and drops a knee across Fitzgerald's forehead! James is up and playing to the crowd; he struts around the ring, yelling "I am your champion!" over and over! He gets a moderate heel pop for his efforts. James picks up Fitzgerald by the hair, he sets him up for a suplex... no! Fitzgerald slips over the top and hits the Champion with a belly-to-back suplex into a bridge! The cover - 1 - 2 - James barely kicks out! Fitz locks on a headlock. James works his way to his feet; he pushes Fitzgerald into the ropes, leapfrog by Fitzgerald, who stops dead. James turns around, Fitzgerald with a shortarm clothesline! James is flat on his back! Fitzgerald picks up James, he sets him up for a standing suplex -- and gets it! Cover by Fitzgerald - 1 - 2 - a strong kickout by James! Fitzgerald picks up James, Irish whip into the ropes, Fitzgerald backs into the ropes... and Tiger Claw reaches up and pulls down the top rope, causing Fitzgerald to fall out of the ring to the floor! James goes out after him! He picks Fitzgerald up by the hair, head-first into the ring steps! Icehawk approaches James from behind... and James turns just in time, forcing Icehawk to back off! James rolls Fitzgerald back into the ring, and rolls in after him! James is up, he grabs Fitzgerald's legs and applies the Texas Cloverleaf!] TD: [voice over] Once again displaying his abilities to mix it up in any number of styles, Casey used the hold which he first showcased in his feud with Chris Quigley -- but still Fitz would not give in. [Icehawk grabs Fitz's arm and pulls him to the ropes, outside of the official's field of vision. The referee notices Fitz's arm on the ropes, and orders James to break. On the outside, Tiger Claw squares off with Icehawk! James stands and drops a vicious elbow to the back of Fitzgerald's neck! James picks him up -- snap-suplex! Cover by James -- 1 - 2 - Fitzgerald barely gets the shoulder up! James didn't hook the leg. He picks up Fitzgerald -- but Icehawk is up on the apron! The referee admonishing him to get off... and a low blow by Fitzgerald! James crumples to the mat, Fitzgerald is up and putting the boots to him! Fitzgerald picks up James, bodyslam! Fitzgerald backs up, and drops a leg across James' throat! He grabs James by the feet and drags him to the corner! Fitzgerald is up on the second rope, he hits a splash! Cover by Fitzgerald -- 1 - 2 - James gets a foot in the ropes! Fitzgerald picks up James -- and hits a perfect Northern Lights suplex! Fitzgerald rolls James over, he backs into the ropes -- and drops a knee across James' forehead, busting him open! Fitzgerald picks up James, backbreaker! A cover -- 1 - 2 - James kicks out! Fitzgerald is up, but James punches him in the mid-section! Another! James is on his feet, unleashing a barrage of punches to Fitzgerald's head! He backs Fitzgerald into the corner -- and a massive chop to Fitzgerald's chest! Another! James is bleeding profusely from the cut on his forehead, but keeps up his momentum, whipping Fitzgerald into the corner... no, reversed by Fitzgerald! James hits hard in the corner! Fitz charges in in -- but James got the boot up, right into Fitzgerald's face! He follows it up with a shortarm clothesline, Fitzgerald is down! Cover by James -- 1 - 2 - Fitzgerald kicks out! James picks Fitzgerald up by the hair, Irish whip into the ropes, reversed by Fitzgerald! James off the ropes, Fitzgerald's going for the back-body drop, no! James grabs him in a front facelock, Cattlebuster DDT! The cover -- 1 - 2 - 3! Ding! Ding! Ding!] TD: [voice over] And so it was to be a move stolen from Brody Thunder which saw Casey James successfully retain the IIWF and NLWP World titles. [Cut to a few moments later as James and Claw head up the aisle -- and are suddenly waylaid by Brody Thunder in street clothes, who knocks Claw out with a hard chair shot and begins working over James! Thunder picks James up and drops him throat-first onto the steel railing! Thunder continues the assault until NLWP security drag him away. Cut back to the Fogelman Auditorium.] TD: The IIWF wishes to thank the NLWP for allowing us to show that shocking footage. Just five days ago, Casey James was in a gruelling double title defence, after which he was attacked by Thunder -- he may be easy pickings for Derek Mota tonight, and if Mota manages to pull off a win over the champ in non-title action, that will certainly strengthen his claims for a title shot. This certainly promises to be an intriguing match. SR: Intriguing.  Is that another word for "squash"? TD: You're being far too tough on young Derek Mota, Steve Roberts. He's a very promising newcomer here -- and I was under the impression that you were sort of a fan of his style. SR: Aw, the kid's okay, Dross.  But this is the big time... the big leagues.  We are talking Casey James, Tiger Claw and the Syndicate... and I'll tell you what, I've been talking to Brian Lau, and I can tell you for a fact that Mr. Mota is in for the longest night of his life. TD: I had the longest night of my life once. SR: Do it, Dross!  Bring it home, big fella! TD: Best weekend of my life. SR: Hah!  Let's get to the ring! =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= NON-TITLE: =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Casey "Blackheart" James [c] vs. Derek Mota ------------------------------------------- WRITER: JJ [A bearded IIWF suit begins to smack himself in the forehead over and over again as he races from ringside, laptop computer in hand, muttering to himself, "Why can't I ever just watch the matches?"  Sparkplug chuckles briefly at the young man's predicament, and takes the mic...] SL: Ladies and gentlemen... the following non-title matchup is your _main event_ of the evening! [Big pop!] Introducing first, at a weight of 224 pounds... from Toronto, Ontario, Canada... Derek Mota! [Pop as the young Mota quickly walks down the aisle to the sounds of Pantera's "The Great Southern Trendkill". He brushes his shoulder length black hair out of his face as he hits the ring, trademark smirk plastered on his face.] TD: Well, this young Mota certainly looks the picture of confidence as he prepares to face Casey James. SR: Then he's a moron, Dross.  This guy couldn't beat Ronnie Paris last week -- I mean, he's a good looking kid... has some nice moves if you like that sort of thing... but he's in here with the big dogs of the IIWF. And young Mota is covered in Gravy Train, baby dolls. [Mota stretches along the ropes as a huge heel pop rises in the Auditorium as "Foul Taste of Freedom" begins.] SL: His opponent... at a weight of 340lbs... hails from Washington D.C. and is accompanied down the aisle by The Syndicate... he is the IIWF Heavyweight Champion... Casey "Blackheart" James! [The decibel level continues to rise as the Syndicate is now evident in the aisle -- the entire Syndicate!  The crowd pops wildly as Mr. Mic leads the way along with Morningstar and Hellraiser, followed by "Dangerous" Danny Dynamite; then Don McQueen and his Dark Disciples make their way.  The roar now goes up from the crowd, many of whom seeming to support this band of thugs as Brian Lau, and then Tiger Claw, and finally the World Champion himself appear in the aisle. The group takes its time to the ring, each man entering as Mota warily finds a corner in which to stand, the Disciples and Pain Inc. stand as far away from each other as the two groups possibly are able.  Dynamite stands on a midbuckle, accepting the "boos" from the crowd and Claw holds the ropes open for James, who is attired as is customary, save for a white bandage on his forehead. James stands in the middle of the ring, still completely ignoring Mota, instead spreading his arms wide to accept the enormous heel response that the Syndcate has generated from these New Orleans fans.] TD: Well, the Champ certainly knows how to make an entrance, I'll give him that much, Steve Roberts. SR: You don't give the Syndicate anything, Dross.  They take what they want... they take it when they want it.  Just like me. TD: Are you joining up, Steve Roberts... maybe Dynamite could use a tag partner. SR: I just might, Dross.  Teach him my moonsault. [The Syndicate bails out of the ring... Claw is clearly fuming at Mota, needing to be constantly whispered to by Lau in order not to attack.  Ding! Ding! Ding!  The sounds of the bell finally draw James' attention to young Mota -- who immediately charges... ...and is caught with an elbowsmash by the nonplussed James!  Pop! James shakes his head as Mota writhes in obvious pain... and then the Champ picks the smaller man to his feet.  James nailing him with a couple of lazy forearms and then whipping him farside; Mota comes back with a baseball slide between the Champion's legs... and then pops to his feet with an attempt at a crescent kick... which James swats away!  James spins Mota around -- and lifts him into an atomic drop that sends Mota to the buckle!  Pop!] TD: Mota's certainly a game one... certainly aggressive, but you might be right, here Steve Roberts -- the Champion is on top of his game. SR: Yeah, and he's gonna put this punk away all by himself. [On those words, James begins an in-depth conversation with the official... the word "deconstructionist" is overheard... as the Syndicate pulls Mota to the outside and mauls him like a family of hungry black bears.  Pain Inc. beats Mota to the floor with a barrage of fast boots, and then lift him to the air where Mota's head is then smapped back by a spin kick from Dynamite.  Claw stands on the side of the ring opposite Mota, and is held back from the fray by Lau... who continues to softly speak with the former IC champ. The official is just able to tear himself away from James... but only after Morningstar has tossed young Mota back into the ring.  He is obviously the victim of greater than an atomic drop, and the official looks back to James as if for an admission of guilt.  The Champ shrugs his shoulders, as if to say, "Gosh, Mr. official... I don't know what might have happened..." and then resumes the attack on Mota.] TD: No surprise here, Steve Roberts.  Accept maybe that Derek Mota has come to the ring alone... after last week I had thought that perhaps Mota was going to align himself with Genesis... but that is obviously not the case as he is square in the middle of the cross-hairs in this one. SR: Dross, Mota could have come out here with the Bee Gees and Iron Maiden -- he'd still be getting his ass kicked.  Just like Brody Thunder will next week. TD: Are you saying that Casey James will accept the challenge?  That next week, in Landover, Maryland, we will see that Championship match? SR: I ain't suggesting anything, Dross.  Maybe there won't be a match... maybe the Syndicate will kick the hell out of Thunder in the hotel lobby.  But they'll do it, that's all I'm saying, Dross. [James scoops up Mota, slamming him to the mat three consecutive times and then putting on a nonchalant cover.  1 - 2 - NO!  Kickout by Mota. James takes a deep breath and then returns Mota to his feet... hitting him with a backbreaker and then irish whipping him -- James misses a clothesline -- and it's Mota with a flying forearm! Big Pop! Mota now works furiously, landing an amazingly fast combination of punches and kicks to the fallen James.  Mota leaps to his feet... and sprints to the ropes... to the top rope... where he lands a guillotine legdrop on the fallen James!  Mota moves for a cover...] TD: And the referee is distracted!  Look at Don McQueen, hopping to the apron and distracting the official... and here come the Disciples! [Kane leaps into the ring, breaking the hold and whipping Mota to Wulf -- who nails Mota with a vertical suplex and then tosses him back... on top of James! The official moves for a count... 1 - but now James has completely recovered and hugely kicks out, sending the prone Mota across the ring. James gets to his feet, stomping at the fallen Mota and then lifting him high into the air for a twisting brainbuster suplex that brings a big pop from the crowd!  James passes on the cover... instead he points at Mota and yells, "Brody... hey Brody... I miss you, Brody."  James moves for a cover, but now the official is distracted by something else...] TD: The Disciples are moving on Pain Inc!  This is gonna break down, Steve Roberts!  This is gonna break down!  SR: No... no... turn around, you idiot!  Turn around! [Lau steps in between the two groups, yelling at both Mr. Mic and McQueen to keep their men under control.  James gives up the cover and stands in disgust, staring hard at the two Syndicate tags on the outside.  James then turns around, and is nailed with a dropkick by Mota!  Pop!  James is quickly to his feet, and is quickly down again with another dropkick!  Pop! Mota again to the top rope... as James staggers... Mota sets to leap -- and Claw shoves him off the ropes!  Tiger Claw shoves him off the ropes! And Mota is down!  James winds up with two big elbowdrops... then grabs Mota to his feet, grabbing a facelock -- and drops him on the head with a DDT that brings an enormous roar from the crowd! James moves to cover, but then pulls Mota up... and tosses him over the top rope in the direction of Tiger Claw!] TD: Oh, this is bad... bad and getting worse, Steve Roberts! SR: And imagine how bad it will be next week for Brody Thunder!  What if we do get that lumberjack match, Dross? Unbelieveable! [Claw wastes no time as James again grabs the official, now apparently speaking of Kant's categorical imperative.  Claw rips into Mota with a barrage of martial arts kicks... attacking the shins and the insides of Mota's thighs before Lau is able to pull his man away.  It is Dynamite who takes the last cheap shot before dumping Mota back in as the official disengages.  James nods his head now, yelling out, "okay, fun's over."  And then drops down for a cover... 1 - 2 - ] TD: The official breaks the count again!  It's Pain Inc!  Kane and Wulf are going after the Disciples! SR: All this outside interference... do your job, official! [The Syndicate's tag team rivals, although on opposite sides of the ring, have been jawing at each other throughout... and now it is Morningstar and Hellraiser who have had enough.  They charge at the Disciples, Mic leading the way... and now it is James himself who is forced to leave the ring.  James stands between the two groups of wrestlers, yelling at all of them that he won't put up with this forever, that they have a match to win.  James climbs back in the ring... and applies a cover... 1 - 2 - NO! Kickout by Mota!] TD: You have to admire the resilence of Derek Mota, Steve Roberts.  He is brutally outmanned here... but yet he continues to get up. [James is now hot at the two tag teams, yelling that they've got to be better prepared.  Mota slowly rises, stumbles to his feet, and James is there... catching Mota with a blow to the midsection... and underhooking the arms for a Tiger Driver attempt...] TD: NO! Mota grapevines a leg... breaks the hook... and hits a fisherman's suplex!  That's a fisherman's suplex on James! SR: No!  NO! TD: He's got a bridge... There's a cover! [The official, oddly enough, is out of position for the count...Tiger Claw hopping to the apron in a threatening fashion.  James breaks the hold as the official is able to turn around...and then shakes his head in obvious frustration.  James turns to Claw...still frothing at the mouth over Mota...obviously itching to get at him...and then yells, "what the hell." James backs away, motioning Claw into the ring... and Tiger Claw goes wild... ripping away at Mota with a round/reverse round combination that draws the bell from the official and a heel pop from the crowd!  Ding! Ding! Ding!] SL: Your winner... as a result of a disqualification... Derek Mota! [James stands aside as Claw rips away at Mota, pummeling him into the canvas.  The Champ then walks to Claw, taking the former IC champ's arm and lifting it into the air, leading him away from the fallen Mota. Lau then motions the two tag teams and 3D into the ring, pointing at Mota as they begin a five man attack on the Canadian.] TD: Well... this is no good at all, Steve Roberts.  The Syndicate was certainly fractured during this matchup... but they are all together now as they... wait... here... comes... here comes Genesis! [Heel pop as Genesis makes their way to the ring... it is Requiem and Highwayman leading the way... followed closely by Nightwing and Edmund Fitgerald... Icehawk tenatively bringing up the rear. As the group reaches ringside, James orders the attack on Mota stopped, and then motions all of his men back... and then for Requiem to bring Genesis into the ring!] TD: We might see something here, Steve Roberts!  Genesis and the Syndicate are nose to nose... we might see an all-out brawl right here and right now! SR: Now we're gonna find out what Buffalo Springfield has going for it, Dross!  Now we're gonna see! [Genesis climbs into the ring... Nightwing facing off against Claw... Cold Spell finding the Disciples... Highwayman staring down both members of Pain Inc. as well as Danny Dynamite... and Requiem and Casey James going face-to-face. The crowd begins to pop wildly as James folds his arms and looks into the dead white eyes of the Requiem, James clearly wanting to know Requiem's business.  The two men speaking calmly, but more quickly with each other now as the temperature in the ring begins to heat up... Mota staggers to his feet, pushing his way through the collection of men and raising his arms in a late victory celebration as he leaves the ring.  Genesis and the Syndicate continue to face off... and then the crowd buzz turns into an enormous face roar...] TD: Here comes Thunder!  Here comes Brody Thunder, and he's looking for an answer!  [The "Lone Wolf" makes his way into the ring, hopping right between the two enormous stables, right dead between James and Requiem. Thunder turns to face the "Angel of Destruction", telling Requiem to "git his dogs out of the ring".  Requiem pauses for a moment, whispers something to the Highwayman, and then motions for Genesis to leave the ring, almost seeming to smirk as he does so. Thunder is now alone, standing amidst the full complement of the Syndicate.  Brody motions with his arms as if to say, "What's it gonna be?"  And James then calls for the mic. The champ snatches the microphone from Sparkplug Lee and stands nose to nose with Thunder is standing, but first turns to his fellow Syndicate members.] CJ: Okay, guys... Hold on... I want to talk to this hick. [The Syndicate members back off away from Thunder and stand, like a human wall, behind the Champ as he speaks.] CJ: Alright, cowboy... You wanted to hear my answer to your challenge, huh? You want to know if I'm going to accept your challenge to a lumberjack match, huh? You want to know if I'll step into the ring against you with the Syndicate watching my back, and whatever friends you can scrape together watching yours, huh? I bet you're burning up with anticipation... You want to know my answer... Because, you know, I really don't have to accept... I just defended my title right here tonight, so I've got another thirty days in order to put it on the line again, so what makes you think that I'd want to risk losing my belt to you? TD: [over the headset] He's going to back out... SR: [over the headset] Shut up! [Thunder yells something that the ring mics don't pick up] CJ: What was that? Ah'm yelluh? No, Thunder, Ah ain't yelluh. I'm just on a roll. See, I know you figured that if you pissed me off enough, I'd jump at the chance to get into whatever match you wanted. I know you figured that if you got me angry enough, I'd hand you a match so you could get your chance to get your paws on this belt... You know what, Thunder? You figured right. [Big pop from the crowd.] You all like that, huh? Thunder has gotten under my skin _that_ much, that I'd be willing to get into the ring with him again in a lumberjack match. But you know what, Thunder? I'm not going to. [Huge heel pop!] TD: [over the headset] See? He's backing out! Another Syndicate loophole! SR: [over the headset] Syndicate intelligence, Dross. CJ: No, Thunder, I'm not going to fight you in a lumberjack match. I'll tell you what I _will_ do, though. Next week, right in front of my crowd, I'm going to fight you in a _no_disqualification_ lumberjack match. [Big pop!] SR: [over the headset] Even better! Yes! [James begins walking around the ring, looking to the fans with a smirk on his face.] CJ: Yeah. No DQ, my boys at my side, and your little girl at yours, because I know that you can't get anyone to stand by you except for your daughter. [Heel pop] What do you think, Thunder? Do you think that your daughter would be able to take Claw? Huh? I don't think so... I'll tell you something, Thunder, I'm going to make a deal with you... If you bring your daughter, I'll bring a tape recorder to record her crying when they wheel your ass out of the arena on a gurney! [Thunder is livid, and attempts to storm the ring, but is cut off by the members of the Syndicate standing guard.] CJ: Deal? Good... Now onto the game... [James then throws down the mic -- and charges Thunder, knocking each of them out of the ring as Claw keeps the remainder of the Syndicate from charging.  The crowd pops madly as James and Thunder briefly roll around outside, each man tearing into the other with lefts and rights. The offcials quickly come down to the ringside area, grabbing the two men, and forcing Thunder back up the aisle, Brody yelling, "Next week... next week!" as he disappears.] TD: An unbelievably wild scene here in New Orleans! Don't forget to call up the hotline for all the details, but it looks like we will see, from Casey James' hometown next week -- a no disqualification lumberjack match for the IIWF Heavyweight Championship!  That is unbelievable!  So, for Steve "Soundbite" Roberts, as everyone here at IIWF Saturday Night, we will be with you again on Tuesday, live from Washington D.C. for "Inside the IIWF".  Until then, this is Tim Dross, saying: so long, everbody! [James stands in te ring now, his IIWF Championship belt aloft, flanked by the entire collection of the Syndicate, the scene seemingly frozen in time as the shot fades.] +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= I * I * W * F =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-+ | President: Daniel Spreadbury | Vice-President: Jim Jividen | | univ0322@sable.ox.ac.uk | brokeback@webtv.net | | iiwf@sisko.demon.co.uk | | +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- http://www.sisko.demon.co.uk -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+