[Psalm 69 by Ministry plays as the show begins. The choral vocals compliment the scenes that fly by... Casey James holding the IIWF World title aloft... Requiem doing much of the same.] VO: Two men with one thing in common. [Shot of Casey James hitting some poor slob with the Blackheart Punch... Requiem hitting the Final Lament.] VO: Two men with something to prove. [Footage from Saturday Night from two weeks past... Genesis lays a beating on Casey James at the commands of Requiem.] VO: Two men... With a serious problem... Each other. [Mid-action photos of the two men are shown facing each other in the familiar match advertisement format.] VO: Tomorrow night, new meets old. Tomorrow night, The current IIWF champion finds out if he's got what it takes to beat the former champ, a man who was never pinned for the belt. [The screen begins to rumble as photos of the members of Genesis fade in behind Requiem.] VO: And the former champion finds out if he's got what it takes to put the current champ in his place. [The screen shakes as the rumbling gets louder. Finally, the shot explodes as Psalm 69 breaks into it's heavy, crunching guitar riff. Footage of IIWF athletes fly by... Simon Lebec hitting the Blackball enzuigiri... Marty Warnett locking on the Powerchord... Brody Thunder performing the Cattlebuster... Steve Kowalski levelling his opponent with a Skullpump... The footage speeds up until it's a blur, and the logo that should be now known by every poor schlep in the entire world bursts onto the screen...]                  #####     ######   ###            ##########              ########## ########## ####       ##  ##########              ########## ########## ####  #   #### ########                #####      #####    #### ##  ##### ####                 ####       ####    #### ### ####  ####                 ####       ####    ############# #########                 ####       ####     ########### #########                 ####       ####     ####  ####   ####              #########  #########   ###   ####   ####              #########  #########   ###    ##    ####               ########   ########   ##      #    ####              =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- ## =-=-=-=                INTERNATIONAL INTERNET WRESTLING FEDERATION             =================================================              "COUNTDOWN TO SATURDAY NIGHT" - AUGUST 15, 1997             ================================================= [Wide shot of the IIWF Studios. The camera crew looks busy getting just the right shot. The shot closes in on Larry Morton and a tired looking Brian Lau, who occupies himself with rubbing his temples... Almost a little too hard, come to think of it.] LM: Ladies and gentlemen, wrestling fans of all ages, welcome to another edition of Countdown to Saturday Night. We've got an exciting show for you tonight as we take a look at what went down on the War Room and also take a look at what will go down on IIWF Saturday Night. Returning this week is none other than Brian Lau. Brian, I hope you're feeling better... BL: I was... Then I got here early and had the pleasure of listening to you babble for a half an hour. LM: Word has it that the talks up in the IIWF Towers were pretty intense. Any inside info? BL: Nothing you'd understand, Larry. Trust me. LM: One thing I'm wondering, Brian, is why you were part of those meetings. I mean, wasn't it just IIWF administration involved? BL: I told you to trust me, Larry. I don't feel like explaining. Let me just say that our little show was one of the topics. Our producer was there, why not ask him? LM: Why wasn't I there? BL: Because you're nobody, Morton. I'm somebody. LM: I... BL: You should have seen our producer, though. I thought I dealt with stress badly... He was red in the face, shaking, pounding his fists on the table... He left the room, then came back, then left again, then came back. Then he left again, so we decided that perhaps the meeting shouldn't go on without him, at which point he stormed back into the room... All that to decide what we were going to have for lunch. LM: He's not here today... BL: Yeah, I hear he snapped and took some time off. Apparently, he went straight out and maxed his company credit card on a Chevy Impala with hydraulic suspension. He drives around looking for red lights to stop at so he can bounce the front end around, screaming, "Check out my ride, Vato!" LM: I can't say that I believe that completely. Nonetheless, I hope he's feeling a little more lucid when he returns. BL: Yeah, right. He's got wrinkles on his forehead where that vein always pops out. Have you ever seen that? LM: Actually, yeah... Once when I was discussing the theatrical merits of the Missing in Action movie series... BL: No wonder... LM: Anyway, we can talk about that some other time. Right now I believe it's time to go over the results of the War Room this past Wednesday. The War Room was a bit late this week, being pushed back by the network in order to show coverage of the Oklahoma Invitational Cow Patty Tossing Championships. For those of you who missed it, don't worry, we'll show the results right here. BL: What, of the Patty toss? LM: No, the War Room. BL: Oh. Who won the patty toss? LM: I don't know. If you were interested, perhaps you should have watched. BL: I'm not, actually. I'm engaging in senseless banter. One thing I'd like to share with the fans at home, though, is this: [Suddenly, a shot of Creed with a dejected look on his face pops up on the screen. It's pretty obvious that this photo was taken right after losing the Intercontinental belt to Mad Dog Watkins.] BL: Look at that mug! Whatsa matter, Creed? Need a tissue? LM: That's not very nice, Brian. BL: I'm not a nice person, Morton. LM: Tell me about it... Well, folks, without further delay, here's the results of Wednesday War Room! [Slayer's "War Ensemble" blares as the results of the Wednesday matches scroll up the screen, superimposed over the final moments of each match...] ======================================================================== ----------------------WEDNESDAY-WAR-ROOM-RECAP-------------------------- ======================================================================== Results from Wednesday War Room - August 13, 1997. 1. Scott Rogers def. El Super Gecko (via Pinfall) 2. Kevin "the Cavalier" Christiansen def. Scott "the Whine" Bloom (via Pinfall) 3. "Showstopper" Simon Lebec def. "Nifty" Ned Norton (via Submission) 4. Timothy N. Turner def. Barnacle Brother Bluto (via Pinfall) 5. Ike Sampson def. "Real Deal" Luke Steele (via Pinfall) 6. Harlequins def. Violence Unlimited (via Pinfall) 7. "The Intrepid" Ryan Howard vs. Duncan Macbeth (draw) 8. Prophets of Rage def. The Equalizers (via Pinfall) 9. Dirt Dog Unique Allah def. "The Enigma" Takezo Musashi (via Pinfall) ======================================================================== LM: What a show it was. We saw the feud between Christiansen and Turner get turned up to a new level... BL: Christiansen? What network does he run? LM: Quit it... We also saw Marty Warnett and Simon Lebec at each other's throats, lending more heat to that big cage match tomorrow night. BL: I'm looking forward to that. I honestly think it could be the match of the night. LM: What about the World title match? BL: What title match? Oh, yes, that's right... Well, that should be good too. LM: Okay... We saw an interesting turn of events in the Sampson vs. Steele match, in which Tony Starks was instrumental in the outcome. I wonder what was going on there? BL: Well, it's pretty obvious that Ike Sampson is being looked at by the Age of Rage. LM: An impressive stable... BL: Don't even try and be a judge of how good a stable is in front of me, Larry. It makes you look like a real idiot... Like a grade four science student discussing structural dynamics with an architect. LM: And I'd be the... BL: [Looking irritated] The _idiot!_ LM: Okay... We also saw an impressive Cruiserweight title match between Unique Allah and Takezo Musashi. BL: It was a great match. The reprobate pulled off a good win. The match had me on the edge of my seat. It's too bad we lost a great talent like Musashi. He was definitely a diamond in the rough. LM: Wait a second... He feuded with a friend of yours, Hakiro Matsuoko... BL: So what? Larry, get with reality here. I recognize a good talent. It's only fitting that Musashi is a Japanese superstar. The best in the business come from Japan, you know. LM: And what about everyone else? BL: They don't cut the mustard... Unless they get hooked up with a Japanese superstar... Like me, for example. LM: Good recovery. BL: Bad suit... What do they call that pattern, anyway? "Slept In The Back Of My Pickup?" LM: No, it's... Oh, never mind. We also had some interesting comments from Luke Steele on Wednesday regarding your position here on Countdown, Brian. BL: Yeah... What a piece of work "Brains of an eel" Luke Steele is, huh? For your information, baby doll, Becky LaRue already has a show on Friday nights on the Bodily Fluids network. Something to do with ping pong paddles, I believe. LM: I'm not aware of that one... BL: Oh, yeah, it's true. I saw it in my hotel room one night when we were on tour. She was in a handicap match with about fifteen stable boys with falls count anywhere rules. She finished them all off with this thing she called the "Flying lip lock..." LM: Okay, I don't think we have to know about that. Let's move on. Is there anything else to cover? BL: Oh, yes. Just this one thing... [The picture of Creed pops up on the screen again Brian Lau's voice can be heard in a voice over...] BL: [Doing a mediocre Creed impersonation] Done lost the belt... Why's I always gettin' beat by everyone, everywhere, everytime? LM: I really don't think that's necessary. Folks, we've got an exciting night of action lined up for tomorrow night... Let's take a look at this card match by match... ======================================================================== ------------------------SATURDAY-NIGHT-PREVIEW-------------------------- ======================================================================== -------------------------------------------- 1. The Machines vs. Licensed for Devastation -------------------------------------------- LM: The night will start off with exciting tag team action as two of the newer teams of the IIWF face each other in the middle of the ring. BL: Oh, yeah... Exciting. Who are these guys again? LM: Licensed for Devastation... BL: That's the... The black guy and the not-black guy? LM: Well, I wouldn't put it... BL: And the other ones? LM: The Machines. BL: The guys that write things on a blackboard and argue, right? LM: Well, yes. BL: And who says I don't keep up with the new talent? LM: I don't think anyone ever said that... Anyway, we got these comments from The Machines recently. I'm sure you'll be glad to hear that there's no blackboard in this one, Brian... BL: Oh, I'm sorry... You must have mistaken me for someone how cares. LM: Well, it's just that you... Never mind... Folks, here's comments from the Machines... [The scene is a nearly-empty bar down the street, with only about five people in the place. The clock on the wall shows 2:20 A.M., and the bartender shouts for last call. A figure stumbles over and places a quarter into the jukebox, playing "We are the Champions" by Queen on the stereo. From the groans of the other customers, you can tell they've heard this song several times tonight. The figure turns to face the other people at the bar, and you see that it is Simon O'Neal of the Machines.] SO: Shut the [BLEEP] up! [Paul Wong, seated at the bar, turns around and faces his partner.] PW: Simon, get up here and stop pissing everyone off. [Simon sits down next to his partner, and starts drinking a shot of scotch. The empty shot glasses next to him indicate how drunk he is. Paul looks completely sober, and the only glass by him is filled with some carbonated beverage. The bartender approaches Paul.} Bar: Hey, if your buddy keeps it up, I'm going to throw you out. PW: Give us a break- it's been a rough night. [The bartender leaves, and Paul faces the camera] PW: IIWF, right? [The cameraman nods] We haven't done as well there as we thought. [Sighs] You'll have to excuse us. You see, we wrestle in another league as well... the AEWA. And we are... sorry, we WERE... the tag team champions in the league for the last six months. Until tonight. SO: It's all my fault... all my fault... PW: No it wasn't... [turns back to the camera] He's blaming himself tonight, but starting tomorrow he'll start blaming the refs, the officials... everyone else. The fact is, the West Coast Connection beat us. [Simon O'Neal sits up, snarls at the camera, and throws down one of the empty glasses.] SO: Goddamn double-crossing SOBs pull some [BLEEP] and ... Bar: All right, enough! Larry, throw them out of here! [A large bouncer starts walking over to the Machines. Paul Wong calmly puts down his drink, stands up, and faces the bouncer. Larry's big, but Paul is obviously bigger and more muscular. He speaks slowly and calmly.] PW: Five minutes, then we'll leave... all right? [Larry looks at the bartender, who nods.] PW: Fine. Taking care of titles is a time-consuming process, and our performance in the IIWF suffered because of it. We are a much better team than we've shown so far. Tonight, we're upset over losing our titles. Tomorrow, we'll start over, and focus on climbing the ladder in the IIWF. SO: Yeah... yeah... and we'll start with those overgrown street punks, Losers For Decades. YEAH! PW: Exactly. LFD, you've been a pain to us since we got here. We beat you the only other time we faced you in a one-on-one match... and history's going to repeat itself. We're not in a good mood, and you're the perfect people to take it out on. [Paul starts to get up and leave. Simon is trying to down the last drops of his scotch. Paul grabs Simon's shoulder, and pulls him away as the camera fades.] LM: Well, I hope for the sake of the Machines that Simon O'Neal is a little more sober than we saw there. BL: Boo-hoo... They lost the tag titles in some bush league. Guys, let me tell you something. Part of a title reign is losing the belts. It's inevitable. Get over it. LM: You have to admit that losing a title is a fairly crushing blow, though. BL: You want to know how true champions look at a title loss? A chance to repeat. Scrubs whine and cry, champions work to get the title back. LM: Well, this match won't be for a title, but should be intense nonetheless. We also got comments from Licensed for Devastation as our roving camera reporter caught up with them at a local Portland mall. [The camera opens to Reggie Starr and Jonathan Chaos in a music store. "Transistor" by 311 is playing in the background, while the LFD search for CD's. Starr is garmented in a white t-shirt with the Adidas logo on the front, accompanied by blue jeans, and Chaos is attired in low riding baggy blue jeans, with a plain black t-shirt tucked into the jeans.] JC: Hey Reg, I'm getting the new Snoop CD. RS: Yeah, go for it Jon, I'm gettin' the new 311 CD. JC: Coo'. [Jonathan turns and almost runs right into the camera.] JC: Hey what the [BLEEP]?! Where the hell did you come from, foo'?! RS: Aw God, another cameraman?! This is a goddamned _mall_, man, stop tryin' ta' draw attention to us! JC: Ya know that everywhere we go the fans're chasing us with their pens, and their hats, and they're sayin', "Sign this, sign that, ooh, could you put your John Hancock here?"...what the hell is a John Hancock anyway?! Cameraman: Uh, your signature. RS: HE DIDN'T ASK YOU, IT WAS RHETORICAL LOSER! JC: Yeah, what he said. Well, um, we've got a match on Saturday, right? RS: Yeah, Jon... I guess since the camera guy's here we can talk about... those guys. JC: Who? RS: I dunno, some guys. They said that they know who we are, but doesn't everybody? Like I said, I don't have a clue in Mousetrap as to who they are, but one of 'em is some guy that ain't too bright, and so's the other. JC: Like everybody we've faced, Reg, look, it doesn't matter who they are, we're gonna beat 'em into the ground. RS: We've openly admitted that our record flat out sucks... so we're out to improve it... let's call it a New Year's Resolution. We promise to win and stuff this year. JC: And no, it don't matta' none that we've got three and a half months 'til New Years... hell, we could make New Year's _today_ if we wanted to, sucka'! RS: Now get outta my face, we've got CDs to buy! [Fade to black.] BL: That couldn't have been any music store in Portland... LM: What do you mean? BL: Most of the music stores here only carry banjo music, don't they? LM: That's... No, I'm not even going to get into this with you... ---------------------------------------------------------- 2. Timothy N. Turner vs. Kevin "the Cavalier" Christiansen ---------------------------------------------------------- LM: Folks, we've seen the rivalry between these two men grow and grow. First it was Turner suggesting Christiansen become his "squire." Then it was the sneak attacks, the run-ins. Then, on Wednesday night, Turner tried to show up the Cavalier by finishing off his opponent in a quicker time, which he failed to do. BL: That's only because Christiansen had paid off the time keeper to speed up the clock. LM: He did not! BL: Sure he did. You should see how this so called Cavalier acts when he's off camera. Mouth like a sailor... Drinks like a fish. Puts the Man of Steel to shame. LM: You know, there's a little thing called slander... BL: A word which you don't even know the meaning of. LM: Yes I do, it means... It means... I know what it means, Mister! You think you're so smart... Let's hear from Christiansen himself. He's a fine fellow. [Scene opens to a gym, where Kevin Christiansen has just finished working out.] KC: Timothy Turner, it would seem that the matchmakers hath slated us to face one another come Saturday Night. 'Tis an opportunity I hath long waited for. Thou hast mocked me, thou hast stepped into mine matches uninvited, thou hast displayed arrogance above and beyond any that one could think possible for one man... for these things, Turner, and for more, I shall take great pleasure in beating thee this weekend. [Christiansen grabs his towel from a nearby rack and starts to walk towards the back.] KC: Thy actions have earned thee no quarter, Turner. Thou shalt be dealt with as the knave that thou art... harshly, and without reprieve. So come Saturday night, bring thy delusions of grandeur and thy prettyboy face to the ring... [Christiansen smiles as he walks into the locker room.] KC: ...and I shall enjoy myself thoroughly whilst I whip thy ass. [Fade to black.] BL: See? What did I tell you? You know what he did right after that? He ran out and bought four hookers, had a romp with them, and then tried to stiff them on the bill. LM: You can't just say things like that, Brian... BL: I can say whatever I want, Morton. Besides, I only speak the truth. LM: Whatever. Folks, let's hear from the Cavalier's opponent tomorrow night, Timothy N. Turner. [Timothy N. Turner is relaxing in the Ace of Clubs, his favourite night spot, nursing a martini. Steve Roberts is standing nearby with a cameraman.] SR: I don't normally do these little interviews but I know that when Turner invites you out... he buys! I'm not passing that up! Okay, the floor's yours! TNT: Thanks Steve. As you know, I'm getting the opportunity to teach Kevin Christiensen a lesson tomorrow. It's about time. That no-talent throwback isn't worthy of the honour I bestowed on him and now I'm going to take him apart. I've imported a bottle of the best Champagne, directly from France and I will have it at ringside tomorrow. I promise that I will raise mt glass to the winner. Furthermore, when Christiensen loses I am done with him. As far as I'm concerned he won't even exist. SR: Wouldn't it be great if he actually didn't exist?! TNT: After tomorrow night, he won't. [Fade] LM: That is one arrogant guy. BL: You know, it doesn't surprise me that you would confuse confidence with arrogance. Turner is just too good. That's all there is to it. Christiansen can't measure up to him. LM: Even though Turner seems to spend all his time at the Ace of Clubs. BL: So? Christiansen spends all of his time with female contortionists. -------------------------------------------- 3. FINAL ACT CHALLENGE: "Spotlight" Billy Shakespeare vs. Sebastian Jericho, Tonnage & Ronnie Paris -------------------------------------------- LM: This match promises to be absolutely electric. The man who has been referred to as the "Franchise of the IIWF" on several occasions has issued the challenge to three IIWF stars, all of whom are on the "new" side of the generation line. BL: I like this move. All this talk of the veterans here being washed up has gone on long enough. It's about time that someone got up and told the New Generation to put up or shut up. I know Shakespeare well, and if there's anyone that can beat these three guys, it's him. LM: What is it between you and Shakespeare lately? Are you managing him or something? BL: No, of course not. I just respect a guy that sticks to his guns and doesn't change just because someone else thinks that it's time for a new wave. Shakespeare is a class act. LM: Well put. Folks, let's hear from the man that issued the challenge, the man who is Born to Perform, Billy Shakespeare. [Soundless, slowmotion replays of Billy Shakespeare drawing names from the hopper continually loop in the background as Billy steps into the picture. He watches for a moment than turns to the camera:] BS: Three acts, followed by "The Final Act". The fans demand more and more from Billy Shakespeare, so he puts his reputation and his health on the line to give the people what they want. Jericho, I hold no malice towards you. I regret that so soon in your career you must face the Spotlight in this way, but have strength. You will have your successes, but not his night. Tonnage. Obviously thy massive girth has addled your brain with fat. I never wrestled Lord Byron. But I saw him wrestle. And you, sir, are no Lord Byron. I think you act haughtily in dismissing me so. That, again sirrah, will be an attitude soon changed. Lastly, Ronnie Paris. Fate has provided what the bookers could not: a rematch I've so long desired. When last we met, face to face, the victory was yours. But you know, and I know that you do, that, in my pity over the Spur situation, I did not wrestle as I should have. Yeah, it was more important me that you win the match than I. Indeed, I assured you the victory over myself. But that score settled, you did not accept my tie-breaking challenge, instead you chose to suckle at the teat of the "New Generation". Saturday night there will be no apron strings to hide behind. Now I get what I so richly asked for, and you so richly deserve. Again, these lines from Othello haunt me "This is the night that either makes or fordoes me quite." [Fade out] BL: Classy. He's a wrestler's wrestler. LM: Of course, you, not being a wrestler... BL: Hey, I kicked the Coroner's ass, remember? They said the Indian Deathlock couldn't be reversed, but who was it that reversed it, huh? _Me._ LM: Yeah, but that was that Jiu-Jitsu thing... BL: What the hell do you think Jiu-Jitsu is? It's grappling... In other words, wrestling. How do you think I know talent? By having some myself. Shakespeare's got the talent. Hey, he beat Tiger Claw for the IC title, so that's enough for me. LM: If you say so. Let's get some comments on the three men who have been slated to take part in this match. First, here's Sebastian Jericho... [Fade in on the dressing room of Sebastian Jericho. He sits in a steel folding chair, deeply lost in thought. His back is hunched, his eyes wandering off into another realm, his meaty right fist poked under his chin, holding his head up. His robustly tanned skin glimmers under the lights, his face contorted in almost an angry snarl. Then, breaking the uneasy silence, Jericho speaks. He is wearing street clothes the night before his big match...a pair of jeans and a black t-shirt, the latter portion of attire reading "Jericho: All Business".] SJ: Shakespeare's final act. [With these words, the stucco nearly peels from the walls of his dressing room, his resoundingly deep voice echoing throughout the enclosed space.] SJ: Obviously the IIWF's Shakespeare has none of the intelligence that made William Shakespeare the great playwright and man he was... or he wouldn't have taken this match. [Sebastian scoffs, and slowly his head slides from side to side.] SJ: "Spotlight" Billy Shakespeare has made a promise to the fans that he will indeed beat three men: Tonnage, Ronnie Paris, and myself. Shakespeare, obviously you don't know what you're getting into. I can't say that I particularly care for either of these men, but on this one night, I _will_ fight alongside them. [He looks straight into the camera, his gun-metal blue eyes almost concentrated enough to crack the camera lens.] SJ: Tonnage, a huge, mighty man, with an even larger mouth. You seen, unlike Mr. Windbag, I don't have to go into a long diatribe before every match, slandering the slew of every wrestler, in every league that I've ever been in. I say what's on my mind. And what's on my mind at the moment is the challenge of Tonnage. Tonnage, I never wrestled regularly in the IEWF because I didn't want to. IEWF was a fed I was offered to do some color commentary for, so I graciously accepted. I wasn't offered a contract to wrestle, nor did I want to. I have stepped inbetween the IEWF ropes twice, once against Bane, and once against Dave Diamond. Ask your boy Bane how tough I am... ask him how he liked being pounded into submission... I doubt he'll tell you... or maybe I should say that bug-eyed little runt Flea...he liked it, because he didn't. Tonnage, I agree to fight with you this time, but I don't plan on making it a regular habit. After Saturday night, I will accept your challenge... I will face you in any kind of match your twisted little mind can think up, and I will win. So Tonnage, there's your answer. [He pauses, calming down somewhat.] SJ: Ronnie Paris. Ronnie, you're a great wrestler, there's no denying that. At this juncture, I have no problems with you. However, if you choose to change that tomorrow night, and stick your nose into my business, you're likely to have a fist jammed into it. [He raises a finger.] SJ: Ronnie... if you think I'm kidding... you're dead wrong. Forget Paris, Ronnie. [Fade to black.] BL: He won't win it... He's too bent out of shape about Tonnage. LM: Nice to hear from the expert. BL: It must be... Seriously, though. Jericho most likely is unfamiliar with Shakespeare. Everyone thinks the guy is crazy for asking for this match, but he knows what he's doing. If Jericho thinks that Shakespeare is a stupid man, he's in for a rude awakening. LM: Well, we'll see what happens. Next, we'll hear from the largest competitor in the IIWF, Tonnage. [SCENE: Tonnage's home gym. The small room is bedecked with all manner of training equipment, from weight bench to dumbells to heavy bag to speed bag. There is also a large television suspended on a shelf in the upper right corner of the room, farthest away from the camera. The big man himself is sitting on the weight bench, towelling himself off; obvious, a workout has just been completed. Little Louie is at the speed bag, just about underneath the TV. He's launching a barrage of kicks at the bag while balancing on the opposite foot. His body doesn't move an inch as he stretches up to repeatedly strike the bag, snapping it violently with each blow.] T : Pretty good, if I do say so myself. Lou's always been a superb athlete, whether it was running for our high school football team or snapping back heads in the ring. Hey Lou, you gonna bother getting in on this, or- LL: Nah, you go ahead. My workout's only half done. There's nothing I have to say that's any different, anyway. T : Fair enough. Don't push yourself too hard. Okay, so I guess you've come looking for a few comments on the match this weekend. Happily, I'm willing to oblige you. I don't have a lot to say about it that I haven't already said...except maybe that Shake-n-Bake must have some kind of deathwish to even *consider* signing this kind of match as long as the Beast is around. I mean, he was taking the risk of his life as long as there was even a remote possibility that my name would be pulled out of that hat. Now that it has, he's just plain idiotic if he shows up, because I mean business like nobody else ever has. Sooner or later, I'm going to dice every piece of flotsam this federation can muster up, and it was a cardinal mistake on the part of this medieval miscreant to come looking for it. I mean, since the guy's a nobody anyway, it wouldn't be like I'd have come looking for *him*. No, I'd have gone after the really overrated scrubs, like Queer Man. I would have gladly left him to his own pitiful devices, simply because no one is trying to rate him any better than he is...which is to say, as good or better than me. However, he's cost himself dearly with *this* little stunt...and he probably still doesn't know how bad it actually is. Well, he's about to find out, to his sorrow. You see, BS (and a more rightly deserved set of initials, I've not yet seen), the fact of the matter is that I *am* in this match, and that *you* are in for a very, *very* long night. The number I did on Jamaican Joe is like a Sunday school picnic compared to what I'm capable of inflicting when I feel like it, and I'm going to turn the juice up a notch just for you. I'm going to do that for a couple of reasons. The first, and most obvious, is that you're a supposed "established" star in the IIWF. Since the dullards who compete here haven't seen the supreme workover I gave to Q-ball, I'll just have to make an example out of you instead. Give all those prancing little pansies something to sweat over until I'm given the opportunities I deserve, while simultaneously earning them. Now, the *other* reason is a little off-topic with regards to your sorry ass. Jamaican Joe there just reminds me too much of that scrawny little filthpig from my past, and after hearing him blabber on about how not too many people pin his scrub hide (I guess his definition of "many" is a bit more...liberal than mine), I just wanted to pound on something. But when I heard him say "mon", that was it. The other blockhead used that every second word, and now I'm anxious to pummel the first dirtbag I can get my hands on. Sadly, you let it be you. Well, not sad for *me*, but that's beside the point. What it comes down to is this, BS. You can mouth off all you like, and quote the *real* Shakespeare as often as you want. None of that means squat when you have to get in the ring. But the man was right when he mentioned the "tyranny" of using a giant's power. Everywhere I go, I rule with an iron fist. My power is unquestioned...and those that try, end up counting cracks in the ceiling. You're simply a means to an end for me, Shake-n-Bake, and believe you me, the end isn't going to be pleasant for you. I kinda hope I *am* scheduled to be the first man to wipe the ring with you. If that's the case, the audience won't be forced to waste their time watching Jerich-off and that little choadsmoker Paris embarrass themselves. Nope, those two will instead be employed in cleaning your innards off of every surface around the ring. Janitorial work is more fitting for those hosebags anyway. If you really are related to Shakespeare, I'll be happy to do him the favor of sparing his great work from your miserable mouth, too, so I guess I'm running double duty this weekend. Speaking of Jerich-off, I see he *still* hasn't worked up the balls to say anything in his own defense. No surprise to me; he never showed a lick of guts any time I saw him in the IEWF, either. In fact, he was practically kissing that Diamond twit's feet in the only match I ever saw out of him. Well, you just go ahead and cower, Jerich-off. Maybe after I'm through with BS, I'll get some *real* competition and bypass you super-lowlifes altogether. Of course, that assumes there *is* any competition in this fed, which is just about laughable, but there are definitely better ways to spend my time than eviscerating some lame little creep like you. Then again, it just might be that you're, shall we say, indisposed right now. I've heard that some bunch of Christian fundamentalists took one look at you, and had you charged with indecent exposure. Perhaps you're still searching for a lawyer who could stomach looking at you long enough to represent you. Anywho, that's neither here nor there. After BS is kissing canvas, maybe I'll get a match with somebody who's worth my time. But somehow, I really doubt it. Be that as it may, I'm going to give those who can appreciate my talent, awesome as it is, a real treat on Saturday night. I'm sure none of them has ever seen Macbeth performed while the actor was airborne... Later. [Fade out.] LM: What does Duncan Macbeth have to do with this? BL: Shut up... I say that Tonnage will end up getting the loser's share of the purse in this one. He's underestimating Shakespeare. I've seen it happen before, and every single time, it was Shakespeare that won. Even when you think he's beat, he'll pull out a move and pin you to the canvas. Tonnage, you'd be best to look a little harder at the competition here. The last guy that badmouthed the IIWF this much was, ironically, Chris Quigley, and he quickly had his ass handed to him. LM: You're getting better at this broadcasting thing. BL: I thought I told you to shut up... LM: Well... BL: AP! Shut up! Let's just hear from the last challenger here, Ronnie Paris. [The scene: a very drab looking studio, with two chairs set up to face each other for a face-to-face type interview. Other than that, though, the set's fairly boring... no slight intended to Steve Summer, who's sitting in one chair, and Ronnie Paris in the other. Paris looks like his usual self excepting a nice tan.] SS: It looks like things have returned to business as usual now that you've returned from your honeymoon, Ronnie, and although I'm sure we'd all love to hear about that trip, I want to steer this towards Billy Shakespeare. You face him this Saturday night... what are your thoughts on being randomly drawn as the third opponent? RP: Yeah, _randomly_ drawn, I'm sure. Let me tell you something that most people forget... I don't like Shakes. He caused me quite a few months of misery, and I think he's trying to do it again. SS: Are you implying that the draw was rigged? RP: I'm implying that Billy Shakespeare is a master of psychology, because he's stuck me in a lose-lose proposition. If I win, what kind of prestige do I get for beating someone who's already wrestled twice? If I lose, do you know how much of a chump I look like? He thinks he has all the bases covered... SS: [somewhat shocked] But Billy Shakespeare is a great role model for the fans of the IIWF. He wouldn't manipulate us like that. RP: Yeah, some role model too. The guy is a schizophrenic, he attacks people from behind, even in his alter-ego as Shakespeare, he pretends to be a centuries-dead playwright... This guy is a sham, as far as I'm concerned. SS: I can't say as I agree with you. Yes, Shakespeare had some troubles after a head injury... RP: [interrupting] Sure he did, Steve. Those head injuries are nasty things. SS: Well, can we talk about your match with Brody Thunder last week? RP: No, I'd rather not. It's behind me, he beat me even though it took a damn tricycle to the head to even soften me up. But, that match doesn't mean anything as far as the long run goes, so it's over and done with. What I would like to talk about is you, Steve. SS: Me? RP: You and your colleagues... I've been back in the States for two weeks, waiting for someone to ask me for an interview about Genesis, about my career, my wedding, anything. No calls. So, I figured you guys didn't know I was back, and I scheduled an interview myself for last week's show. That didn't get played, did it? SS: No, it didn't, due to technical difficulties. RP: Right. Same thing happens on Monday. Look, I know I'm not the most interesting guy in the IIWF, but I did want a chance to vent on this war with Genesis... seems like every week I become a less important player in that. SS: And with that, I think we should wrap it up. RP: Wrap it up? SS: Yes, we've got a lot of material for this week's show, so I have to take the tape down to editing and see what I can do. RP: Am I actually going to be on the show today? I would like my fans to know I'm still alive... SS: Yes, you'll be on the show. We think all the technical difficulties have been fixed up. Well, back to Larry and Brian! [Fade back to studio.] LM: We'd like to apologize to Ronnie Paris for not including his segment last week, but the attendant in the tape vault is, well, you know, a little strange... BL: And he's a really big Ronnie Paris fan, if you know what I mean... LM: And, well, we have reason to believe that he might have lifted the tape in order to compliment his, ummm, video scrapbook, if you will. BL: Guys like you and Chuck Norris, Morton. LM: Hey, my interest in Chuck Norris is perfectly healthy. BL: Oh, yeah... Healthy like Hannibal Lecter. I bet you'd like to eat something of his with fava beans and a frosty Mooselips. Anyway, I'd have to say that if there's anyone in this match that can actually beat Shakespeare, it's Paris. Paris knows the Spotlight. They've fought before. Ronnie understands just how dangerous Shakespeare is. Those other two guys... Well, they can go on thinking that they'll come out winners, but they'll be disappointed. ---------------------------------------------- 4. SEALED STEEL CAGE MATCH: Marty Warnett vs. "Showstopper" Simon Lebec ---------------------------------------------- LM: Here's a match that could easily be a main event anywhere in the world. Both men will be sealed in a steel cage and will fight it out until one is unable to continue. BL: I hear that this one is being dubbed the "Steve Roberts Special" in the locker rooms. LM: Why's that? BL: Come on, Larry... Do I have to be so blunt with you? LM: Ummm... Well, yes. BL: The potential for blood... Head wounds... Lacerations... Red puddles. LM: Oh, okay... Oh, yeah! Roberts likes the bloody matches, doesn't he? BL: You, Morton, are a stupid, stupid little man. LM: Unfortunately, we were unable to get comments from either man... BL: But I believe we've got some words from one man in particular... LM: Oh, no... [The sullen face of Creed once again pops up on the screen, again with Brian's voice being heard.] BL: [Imitating Creed] Both these boys could kick my paper ass... No doubt. I ain't gonna even pretend to fool you, brutha. I never shoulda had that belt... LM: You're just downright mean, you know that? The poor man... BL: Save it for someone who cares, Morton... See this? [Rubs index finger and thumb together] Know what that is? LM: [sighs] No... BL: It's the world's smallest violin playing just for Creed. LM: Can we talk about this match please? BL: Sure, as long as you stop going off topic. LM: Me? It wasn't me that... BL: Oh, yes, Larry... You, you, you... Always about you. Come on, there's a match here to make comments on. I'm personally going to keep an eye on this match. Simon Lebec... Well, I have reasons to dislike the guy... LM: You're referring to that Triumvirate business in the IEWF? BL: Way to promote rival leagues, idiot. But since you ask, yes, it's partially due to that. Of course, I have no reason to like Marty Warnett either. He did beat Casey James once though, so there's got to be some talent in him. Of course, that was way back before Casey found his niche. LM: So you're picking Warnett? BL: I'm not picking anyone. I think these two will beat the snot out of each other for a good hour and a half, with both of them collapsing at the end. I honestly think the match should go on as other matches are taking place. Let's face it. This one isn't about the fans at all. This is about two guys that just don't like each other. It should be entertaining, though. ----------------------------------------- 5. "Sychosys" Joe Petrow vs. Scott Rogers ----------------------------------------- LM: The self-proclaimed franchise of the IIWF will take on Genesis in this explosive match. I'm sure Rogers wants some payback for that broken nose of his. BL: Gee, Larry, what makes you think that? LM: Well, this next interview, for one, which I conducted! Let's cut to that now... [SCENE: A deserted locker room except for Scott Rogers, standing with Larry Morton. Rogers wears his black trunks, evidently this was taped on Wednesday night after the War Room. Morton seems particularly irritated by Rogers.] LM: Thanks for joining us Scott. Good victory tonight against El Super Gecko, but now I guess you're focussing on Joe Petrow. Correct? SR: First off, Morton, sorry 'bout last week and [Rogers cups his mouth with his hand and whispers] don't worry, I won't tell anyone you were lyin' last Friday when ya said ya could swim. I tell ya though, Morton, you really should get some lessons in. I won't always be there to fish ya out ya know. [Rogers starts laughing.] LM: No, Scott. Let's forget that though and talk about *your* *in-ring* rather than my in-pool antics! SR: I like that Morton. Nice line. LM: Good. So tell us about tonight and Saturday then.... SR: Morton...? LM: What?! SR: Do you got some kinda problem with me? [Morton shakes his head and sighs. He then mouths what Rogers says.] SR: 'Cause if ya do... [Rogers looks at Morton and his grin disappears.] All right Morton. You wanna know what I thought tonight? I thought "why the hell are the suits around here puttin' me in with crap like 'El Super Gecko'?" An' I also asked meself "why are Morton and LaRue even botherin' with it?" Let's face it Morton, there ain't no point in me wrestlin' these guys. LM: Well, you didn't seem too bothered when you were in the ring tonight. In fact you seemed to be using the match to send out a message to Petrow himself. SR: Yeah that's right, Larry. I had to. I don't even remember the Gecko gettin' one lick in. If he did it sure as hell didn't make any impact. [Rogers speaks less violently, as if wanting Morton to be more friendly with him.] LM: No. I was surprised that Petrow didn't turn up to at least scout you though. Weren't you? SR: Yeah. I went prepared for a brawl after the match but the guy's obviously gotta yellow belly! I'll tell ya now Morton, he won't be able to ignore me this Saturday. You just watch. He's made Scott Rogers mad... LM: ...by breaking your nose presumably? SR: Dead right. And Saturday Night it's payback time. I'd be surprised if he gets as many licks in as the Gecko! LM: So what was the thinking behind the piledrivers this evening then? SR: Larry, Larry, Larry. When ya step into the ring with Scott Rogers ya gotta realize this man ain't just a "glorified bodybuilder." Yeah he's a bodybuilder and yeah he's the sexiest man on the planet -- or at least he will be once he gets his nose fixed -- but not only that, he's what some guys would call a wrestlin' machine. No he don't know all the drop toeholds or *any* o' that crap. He knows *only* how to beat people up... and beat 'em up good! Just so happened I felt like piledrivin' the Gecko tonight. I may do the same to Petrow... if I do I'll win the match. But winnin' ain't all I'm lookin' to do to this guy. I told everyone on Monday I'm out for revenge. Yeah I'll get the win, but only after Petrow's suffered at least *twice* as much as I have. I don't mean physical pain either, Larry. You know what havin' a nose lookin' like this does to a man like me? Well I've been about as active as Dross. Comprende? LM: [snickering] I guess so Scott! As you seem to be in a good mood at the moment, I... SR: Hey, Larry, I'm _always_ in a good mood....! LM: Yes... well... as you're in a particularly good mood right now, before we end here, I'd just like to ask what the meaning of the Highwayman coming out at the end and shouting about the IC Title. SR: [putting his arm around Larry's shoulder] You know Larry, as it's you... I ain't gonna tell ya! All I gotta say is he's right. Watkins' time ownin' that belt is comin' to an end. If Adam don't win it, I sure as hell will... [Rogers walks off shot. Fade.] BL: What's with mouthing what he was saying there, Larry? LM: What? I don't know what you mean... BL: Oh, of course not... LM: We also got these comments from Joe Petrow as we caught one of his many stops on his tour of the IIWF domain. [The bus known all over Portland pulls into view: MIDSUMMER MADNESS "SYCHOSYS" JOE PETROW WORLD PORTLAND AMERICA EXPRESS The Sychopaths know just where to wait, as a throng of them collect outside Petrow's favorite Amaco gas station. About a hundred are on hand, as the bus pulls in to refuel for the umpteenth time. Nils the bus driver, his spirit long since broken, wears only a blank expression on his face as he leaves to fill the tank. Sychosys, always ready to speak for his fans, leaves the bus to a huge ovation. After slapping a few hands, the fans form a semi-circle around Petrow, as the camera focuses in another inspirational speech.] JP: Ladies and gentlemen, I so proud of what we've accomplished on this tour! Over the past two weeks, we've managed to take this bus through every nook and cranny of this fair city at least 100 times! And I think the message is finally starting to get through! [Lots of cheers. One overly enthusiastic fan, henceforth referred to as "Sign Boy", is eager to get his smark messages across to the world. Sign Boy holds up a "LAU FEARS SPREADBURY" sign, while Petrow, unaware of all this, continues:] JP: And that message, of course, is to bring the IIWF back to what once made it the greatest wrestling organization in the world! And to do that, we have to make everyone else realize, that this league, and everything in it, revolves... around... ME! [Huge applause, either for Petrow's comments, or for Sign Boy's new sign, "COME BACK "CREED" THE IIWF NEEDS YOU!"] JP: Now there are people, a lot of people, in the IIWF who would have you think otherwise. There are people who would have you think that what you want to see, is a bunch of over-pushed no talents band together and run rough-shod over everything in sight. Sad to say, the group of thugs known as Genesis, just don't have the personality to pull it off! [Another crowd pop, coincidentally at the same time Sign Boy whips out "THE EIGHTH WONDER OF THE WORLD: SPREADBURY'S EGO!"] JP: Now this would be fine if they were some kind of mid-card comic relief, hey, we gotta appeal to the fringe audiences that like this stuff after all. But when the lights dim, and the announcer speaks so important-like and says, "This is the Main Event of the Evening!" THAT'S when you put the crap aside, and give *everyone* what they want: one hell of a wrestling match! And that's where the problem lies with this league, from the Syndicate, to the gang du jour Genesis, the Main Event becomes a cheap cop-out each and every week. The sound you hear Genesis... it's not the sound of applause, it's the sound of millions of TV sets across the country clicking off in unison when you show up on the scene! Well that's what this tour is all about! I'm letting every know that things are gonna change around here very soon! I'm letting everyone know that in a very short time, the IIWF will be in my hands, RIGHT WHERE IT BELONGS! [The hugest pop of the day. Sign Boy is drawing incredible heat with his latest sign, but the words have been video distorted. Seconds later, three members of the "IIWF Sign Goon Squad" are on the scene, going after Sign Boy. The crowd objects, and a slight disturbance begins in the background as Petrow continues:] JP: Now, tomorrow night, I get to face that fop, Scott Rogers. First of all, an apology is in order. I'm sorry about your nose, Scott. I didn't realize I was that strong, and that you were that fragile. But, my friend, you got me all wrong. I'm not out to destroy Genesis, because it doesn't need to be destroyed. As my Sychopaths know, for all the titles you hold, and the damage you inflict, if you don't have my respect, you are insignificant. You are as insignificant as that worthless belt you hold in another league, the one I once held for about an hour before moving on to a better one, but we won't go there again now, will we? But as I was saying, that makes Genesis insignificant, and you an insignificant cog in an insignificant machine. Saturday Night, I will prove just how meaningless you and your buddies are, by duplicating your feat! That's right big guy, I'm coming to play your game! Let's just say, I've made some calls, and got me some backup from a stable that was kicking ass long before you guys were even cutting your teeth in this sport! And as sure as I make Genesis a laughing stock, the Franchise will bring this sport, AND the IIWF's World Championship, back to honor. Because as the big man once put it, "AIN'T LIFE GRAND!" [A pop from the back, as the IIWF Sign Goon Squad has drawn out its billyclubs, as the crowd is riled up into a borderline riot. Petrow pays no attention to the spectacle, seemingly lost in his own world.] JP: Nils, warm up the bus, we got 50 more subdivisions to hit tonight! [Petrow walks back to the bus, leaving the chaos behind. Fade out] BL: Yes, that's funny stuff... Just one thing... Never mention the Syndicate and Genesis in the same sentence unless it's to say that we are better than they are. LM: Are? I thought the Syndicate disbanded. BL: Well, yes, we did... You know that, Larry. LM: Of course. I'm eager to see who will come out on top of this one. BL: Not me. I hope they both kill each other. -------------------------------------------- 6. IIWF INTERCONTINENTAL CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH: Mad Dog Watkins [c] vs. Tony Starks -------------------------------------------- LM: Mad Dog Watkins will have his first title defense since winning the belt this Saturday against Tony Starks... BL: See that? Defends the title the week after winning it. I like him already. Which reminds me... LM; No, don't... [As is almost expected, the picture of Creed pops up on the screen.] BL: [Imitating Creed] Ain't half the man that the Mad Dog be... No doubt. Only a matter of time before he kicked my red gloved rookie ass. LM: This is starting to get tasteless. BL: You wouldn't know taste if you had a mouthfull, Morton. Anyway, back to the match. Starks, huh? Can't say that I'm disappointed. Seems Starks has found his dark side. I like that. Much better than he was back during that whole Mr. Kobayashi business. LM: Something you had a hand in, I might add. BL: So? Back then I had my hand in everything... I heard someone say that back then you couldn't do anything in the IIWF without the Syndicate being involved. LM: Who said that? BL: Some guy... LM: I see. Well, speaking of Tony Starks, we have comments from the challenger to the IC title. Folks, here is Tony Starks... [Scene: A dimly lit room, coming from the darkness is the sounds of the Wu Tang Clans "C.R.E.A.M.", some of the words from the song echo: "Times was rough and tough like leather, I thought I went the wrong route, so I got wit a sick ass click and went all out..." A voice calls from the darkness of the room, it sounds cold:] TS: Ayo, that is autobiographical right there, that is life right there. You ivory tower cats dont know nothin' bout that though. The Rages, they know, we is family, know what I'm sayin'? Indivisible Click, nothin' comes between us, and we damn sure ain't gonna sell each other out...these streets, the same streets that made me, made them and that right there gave us a bond that ain't gonna get broke for nothin' not money, not envy and we damn sure ain't gonna break down over some gold belt... You don't know nothin' bout that though Watkins, all you is, you is a sell out...you sold your soul for some gold. Well, let me tell you something black, I am here to collect that debt that you made to the devil. You gonna learn what pain is, you hear me? Do you Mad Dog? I seen what you was from day one, that is why I ain't hook up wit no Black Pack, and ain't need no mentor. The only thing that taught me besides my Old Earth was them streets... ...A lot of people think I am on edge, moody, dark...well what the hell do you expect? I have had nothin' but hell thrown at me since day one. But I know how to overcome it and it ain't be sellin' out my crew like you did Watkins. You ain't gonna be worth piss when I am done wit' you. Everything I have struggled against, every sell out that I seen just like you, all that is gonna come for you boy, you better pray to God Almighty cause he ain't gonna be wit' you in the ring...I am, and when you get fight me, you gonna be fightin' something more evil than Hell you gonna pay for your sins...you are goin to wish that you stepped on a land mine in Vietnam, you shook [bleep]. You like to say, "Be Afraid. Be Very Afraid." [Starks comes into the picture, half standing in the darkness, his eyes are cold and he casts a sneer] No boy, you had better be one to be afraid pray to God that you die before Saturday night, cause what I am gonna bring is worse than death, I am gonna bring pain, you here me? Every dog does have his day, and you are gonna learn that Saturday night...pray to God...Watkins, pray. [The shot focuses in on Starks cold stare and then fades echoing more words from "C.R.E.A.M."] BL: What, did he forget to pay the electric bill? Turn on some lights! LM: That's the dark and moody thing, I think. BL: Words of wisdom from Larry Morton. LM: Who do you pick, Brian? BL: I don't know. Mad Dog just won the belt, and I don't think he wants to give it up just yet. On the other hand, Starks is part of a group now... The Age of Rage. You know how I feel about the numbers, Larry. Starks has a definite advantage. However, I think Watkins will keep the gold. Look for a DQ or a pinfall from Watkins. LM: Well put. ---------------------------------------------------- 7. "Lone Wolf" Thunder vs. Steve "the Fury" Kowalski ---------------------------------------------------- LM: Did someone say this was going to be a wrestling match? I don't think so! BL: All out brawl. You've got to respect two guys like this that come in to a league where "wrestling" is part of the name, and just beat the hell out of each other. Sure, they can wrestle, but for a match like this, they choose not to. I like that. LM: But you don't like Brody Thunder, I assume... BL: Who said that? LM: Well, that whole World Title thing... BL: Big deal... I respect what he did. Hey, he said right off the bat when he came here, titles were a definite goal. LM: Okay, I can see that. This one isn't about titles, though... This is about bad blood. _Real_ bad blood. Let's hear comments from Steve Kowalski... [The camera fades into what seems to be a rock glass on a dirty bar. A large, scratched hand taps its fingers waiting for the inevitable drink that will come. A couple of ice cubes fall into the glass, with whiskey quickly following. The voice of the bartender is clear, as is the voice of Steve "The Fury" Kowalski.] BT: So what happened? I mean, you lost to Quigley? You messed him up good last time. [You never see Kowalski's face, just the rise and fall of the glass.] SK: I got me a mid-western invitation to kill someone, that Borrowed me a hat an' the punk came to collect when I wasn't ready. But hey, if I was ready fer every little thing, I would still be Cruiserweight champ. Ha ha ha! BT: Ha ha ha! [The bottle comes into view again as it pours more whiskey in the glass.] BT: So what you're saying is that Quigley didn't really beat you. I never thought he was that good. SK: [Pausing] That punk? Well he might make somethin' of himself someday. I' ll giveem another shot when I'm champ' gain. until then, he'll jus' be a midcarder. BT: What about that "Lone Wolf"? He's involving himself in "Fury" business. [The glass lifts up again, only to be emptied.] SK: I got ol saddle sore on a direct course with my fist. He can posture and proclaim all he wants, fact is he's realizin' that _I'm_ the big fish in the small pond. An' if he don't watch out, he's gonna be bait. BT: Shouldn't you be training? SK: [Finishing another glass.] I am training. Ha ha ha! BT: Ha ha ha! [Fade.] LM: I think that guy spends more time in the bar than he does in the ring. BL: So? Some guys do pushups, some guys jog. Some guys eat raw fishes, but Steve Kowalski has a different training regiment. So what? LM: It's not exactly a good message for the folks at home... BL: So what? That's not what these guys are about. You want a role model? Go watch some stupid Christiansen match... Actually, no... The hookers aren't exactly for the whole family. LM: You're going to get in some trouble, mister... Mark my words. BL: Oh, yeah... You're really the type of guy I'd take advice from. --------------------------------------------- 8. IIWF WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH: Requiem [c] vs. Casey "Blackheart" James --------------------------------------------- LM: Here's a match I'm sure you're interested in, Brian... BL: Yeah, sure. LM: I thought you'd be going on about how James would be the first two time world champ! BL: Hmmf... Alright, listen. Can't anyone get it? Claw and James aren't singles wrestlers any more. They're a tag team. A unit. Indivisible. Then the suits pull this and put James in a singles title match. Since day one the Syndicate has been the victim of corporate sabotage. The IIWF top brass has tried to instigate dissention in our ranks since we started calling ourselves the Syndicate. It won't work, I'm telling you. Not at all. LM: Paranoid much? Why can't you just see this as the golden opportunity for your friend that it is? BL: Since when has the IIWF given us a golden opportunity? LM: I don't think we have enough time in the program to actually answer that fully, Brian... BL: Oh, ha ha... Funny, Morton... Really funny. Like a clown. LM: No need to get nasty now... Folks, let's first get comments from the IIWF World Heavyweight Champion, Requiem. [SCENE: The Cathedral Of Souls, Requiem's subterranean abode. The vast cavern is lit by the shimmering ghostly light of thousands of candles, casting deep shadows upon the wall and casting the entire scene into a curious golden tone. The camera enters a tunnel, leading to another room, the private gymnasium of Requiem. Requiem is absent, but in his place stands his sister. Gabrielle, dressed in an alluring workout costume, exercises with a large punchbag, kicks and punches hitting the bag with lightning speed. The camera stays for a long moment, then seems to start as Gabrielle spots it...] G : What're you looking at? What, you think I went to Hong Kong for the tourist attractions or something? Get real, guy! I've been getting some tips from the best in Asia! You're looking at a newer, buffer, Gabrielle. A Gabrielle that isn't afraid to smack someone who disses me. Or looks at me funny, if you know what I mean, Mr. Cameraman... [Gabrielle pauses for a moment, as if listening to unspoken words] What? Oh, you're looking for my brother? He's in the vault. Now get out, and let me get back to work here, OK? Beat it! [The camera slowly turns, seemingly reluctant to depart. As it turns Gabrielle resumes her martial arts exercise. As she strike the bag she can be heard quietly muttering "That one's for you, Heidi! And that one! And that one!"] [Fade out, to return to a curious scene. The encircling bank of high tech monitors and video equipment seem a curious anachronism amidst the golden light bathing the chamber. Sitting upon a comfortable swivel chair in the midst of this high tech is a white robed Requiem, a remote control in one hand and a cup of iced tea in the other. As the camera slowly moves around the circle, it can be seen that Requiem is gazing levelly at a bank of monitors showing IIWF superstars in action. On one screen, Casey James. On another, Deathbringer. A third screen shows Otto Verhoeven, a fourth, Dirt Dog Unique Allah. A monitor even shows the now classic match between Dan Kauffman and Chris Quigley. Requiem turns to face the camera:] RQ: It always pays to watch your enemies closely. A lesson the IIWF did not learn when Genesis first arrived upon the scene. Fortunately, it is a lesson I know well, and the IIWF video library is a treasure trove of useful material. Tomorrow night I face Casey James, and so for the better part of the week I have been reviewing this man carefully. Amongst others... Casey James, we have yet to face each other in a true match, and yet I feel I already know you well. And frankly, I like what I see. Trickery, deception, cruelty, evil, a soul almost as dark as coal. Yes, you are aptly named, "Blackheart". Very aptly named. A former IIWF champion, and yes - I acknowledge that I did not beat you to become IIWF champion, Casey. Instead I faced Scott Rogers, Luke Steele, Ronnie Paris, Brody Thunder and Kowalski. Now, Casey, I know that you moan and bitch about how I'm an unworthy champion, how I cheated my way to the top and it's not fair... I'm calling my mommy! I'm calling my lawyer! I'm calling my buddy Steve "I have no idea what asai means" Roberts! Casey, and all you other wrestlers out there who think the same ... Shut the hell up. All you "fan favourites" out there that I beat ... what the hell did you expect? A nice clean match? I don't think so. I am the Angel of Destruction, and I take no prisoners. Gentlemen, I even warn you at the start of every match: "From this day forth, there shall be _NO MERCY_ ...". Ringing any bells? All you "bad guys" out there - like you, Casey - what's your problem? Jealous? Envious? Can it be that the same Casey James who pretended to be a masked "Outlaw" at Coronation Clash _disapproves_ of my tactics? Oh, I'm so ashamed... You don't like me? Fine, I'm not that keen on you either. But frankly, I for one am getting sick of grown men whining about what a cheater I am... Don't like it? Get in the ring with me and take the belt from me, if you can. Words mean little, only actions count. Casey James, tomorrow night we'll see if your body can back up your mouth. Personally, I do not doubt that I shall be hard pressed, but I do not doubt also that I shall emerge victorious. Why? Because the Genesis Generation is with me, and I with them. United, we cannot fail. And because, blackhearted as you are, I'm just a little bit more ruthless, a little bit more vicious, than you. At long last, the Herald Of Damnation gets a chance to get his hands on the loathsome little soul of Casey James. Be very certain, Casey James, before you step in the ring with me. There is no shame in turning away from a battle you cannot win... [With that, Requiem turns again to examine the matches playing before his eyes, using his remote to 'slow motion' certain points of the match. Mere moments later, Gabrielle enters dressed in a shimmering dress of black silk and clutching a bucket of popcorn] G : Hey, Bro! Does that thing get MTV? RQ: Gabrielle, I am not convinced that your trip to Hong Kong was as positive an influence as you maintain... [Fade to black] LM: And now the challenger, who I'm told is standing by via satellite link from the Dojo, Casey James... [Casey and Claw appear on the video wall behind the two journalists.] BL: Casey! Claw! How are you? CJ: Not too happy, Brian. This whole load of horse sh[BLEEP] has got me a little annoyed. LM: Care to elaborate? Perhaps with milder language? CJ: Really coming out of your shell, Morton, aren't you? Alright, I'll elaborate. I'm a tag wrestler. Okay? Sure, I was the greatest Heavyweight champ of all time. Nobody can deny that, not even me. But now I'm competing in the tag ranks with my partner and good friend Tiger Claw. It's no secret that the suits want him out. Look at all the obstacles they've thrown at him. So we hook up to make it a bit more difficult, you know? Then what happens? I get thrown into this match. What a crock. LM: Be that as it may, it's still a great opportunity for you to get that title back. CJ: Yeah, I guess. But who says I want it back? I held that belt for the longest period of time out of all the champs in the IIWF. That's a fact. I don't need to prove anything against some guy with bleached hair and funky contacts. BL: That's right... But what about the comments we just heard? CJ: It's bull. Requiem's going on about how I've been whining or whatever. I never whined in my life. Hell, look at me. Do you think I need to whine about anything? All I ever said was that the dork never beat me. Never pinned my shoulders to the mat. Until he does, he's a goddamned nobody. See, I come down to the ring tomorrow, it's not a case of me having to beat him for the title. It's a case of him having to beat me for pride. I don't need that title. I already did that. That act has already been played. The thing is, Requiem never beat me in his life, and he never will. He can parade around with his shiny belt all he wants, but it doesn't mean anything, because the people know who's the goods. I can live on without regaining the title, but Requiem can't go on with a sense of pride without beating me, and he'll never even get the chance. I'm too good, I'm too smart, and I'm too fast for that crackhead to ever get the best of me. LM: So you're saying that you will beat him tomorrow? CJ: I'm not saying anything except he'll never beat _me._ He can go through fifty four men in a night if he wants, but he'll never beat _me._ You want to talk about the next generation of superstars? We're right here. With a career only one year long, we're the biggest stars to ever come out of the IIWF. We've never been truly dominated. All those who have crossed us felt the pain. BL: You've learned well, Casey. CJ: Damn straight. LM: Claw, you've been quiet thus far... Your feelings? TC: I have no words for you, Morton. LM: I see... BL: Claw... How do you really feel about this whole thing? TC: Well, Brian, I'll try to be brief, although, as I'm sure you know, that will be no small feat given my feelings on the matter. You see, Casey and I are a unit, and to split that unit would be, well, disadvantageous to us. That is exactly what the suits in the Towers want. Casey and I have run rampant in the IIWF for over a year, without ever showing signs of slowing down. Sure, this past month we've been taking time off to work on our tag skills, but that is to be expected when considering the fact that we are now venturing in to new territory... Territory that beforehand was unexplored by us. I'm talking about tag team wrestling. If the suits truly wanted to pit the Syndicate against Genesis, they would give us a title shot against Cold Spell, or perhaps a special tag challenge with any two other members of Genesis. Instead, they decide that they will pit Casey himself against Requiem. Sure, this is a great opportunity for Casey, and I asked him time and time again to reconsider his first reaction to reject the contract. I talked him into signing the contract, thus scheduling the match tomorrow night. I am honored that Casey respects me enough to be willing to make such a sacrifice. As you've said, Brian, we taught him well. Of course, I could not respect myself if I let him pass this up. LM: Pretty yappy for a guy who's got nothing to say... [Claw glares at Morton] BL: He said he had no words for _you,_ Morton. See, it's my _job_ to talk to you. Claw has no such commitments. Claw, I trust you're training Casey for the match tomorrow? TC: You could say that, Brian. I'm sure the IIWF will be thrilled by what they see tomorrow night. Nothing less than spectacular. BL: Thanks, Claw. Casey, good luck. CJ: Thanks, Brian... Oh, by the way... Can you show that thing again? BL: The thing? Oh yes! Of course! LM: Oh, come on... [The picture of Creed pops up again, and Lau, Claw, and Casey can be heard laughing] LM: Alright, that's enough. It's bad enough with all the stuff the guy's been through... [The picture fades and we once again see the studio with the Syndicate on the video wall.] BL: Alright, guys, thanks for your comments. [The video fades.] LM: You guys are just... Just... Bad. BL: Stop, Larry, you're being too eloquent for me. ======================================================================== -------------------------IIWF-TRASH-TALK-------------------------------- ======================================================================== LM: Our Trash Talk segment is rather short this week, with only two stars giving their comments. First we have comments from the Reaper of the IIWF, former World Champion, Deathbringer. [SCENE: The mortuary. The hall is illuminated by a strange, red light which seems to be coming from a door in the rear wall. This light casts sinister looking shadows at the walls, and one of these shadows seems to be the shadow of Deathbringer, who is sitting behind the usual old table. A skull has been placed on top of the table, impaled by a torch. Furthermore the broken remains of a violin lie upon this table. Deathbringer is looking at those pieces as he notices the camera, looks up and begins to speak in his low, growling voice after a few seconds] DB: Wrath... A mortal emotion causing destruction and chaos all around... I once thought that I would be free of these emotions, the emotions which make mortals to what they are... But as I look upon this table, I see broken wood... broken wood that used to be a violin, _my_ violin... and I wonder... am I, in the end, not better than all those mortals, am I just like them? ... A few days have passed since I stepped into the IIWF interview area and said those words which you could hear on the last Monday Musing's show... words full of wrath... full of pain... full of hate... [Deathbringer stands up, takes a last look at the remains of the violin and then walks around the table, just to come to a halt right in front of it] DB: Every mortal fears Death, every mortal fears the dark side... You must not be ashamed of these feelings... Be honest to yourself, accept your boundaries... I spoke these words a long time ago... And today someone could very well say them to me... No, I am not afraid of Death, as I _am_ the Reaper and I _am_ the Dark Destroyer... And no, I am not afraid of the dark side as well... afterall it was me, who created it... But... maybe... just maybe... something like fear grows within me as I think of those words which I spoke on last Monday Musing's... I listened to myself again and again... and I realized that there is no compassion left within me, nor is justice... I do not know what made me to what I am today, but... and that is a fact... I am no longer the creature which you knew from the past... And I am no longer just the personification of Death himself... No, something grew within me, and it still grows... maybe it will take over this mortal body, maybe it will take over this shell which makes me visible to you mortals... and maybe I will not be able to control that beast which is about to be unleashed... I will try, though, and I will try to remain true to myself... [Deathbringer walks over to a huge casket, which bears the letter R.W.II on the side. He opens the lid, revealing the hooded form of what looks to be a corpse wearing a cowl. He stares into the casket for a few seconds and continues to speak in a very faint way] DB: I had suspected something like this... Time is about to repeat itself... But this time it is not the fault of the Coroner's breed, this time it is a battle which I fought against myself... And in my struggle to defeat what I did not want to be true I did not realize that someone was about to stab me into the back... Someone who goes by the name of Deathbringer... [Deathbringer reaches into the casket and touches the hooded figure slowly] DB: You, my friend, have passed away because of my fault... You trusted in me... and I betrayed you... The only thing that I ever succeeded in during my personal war was to end your existence... I am sorry, my friend... [Deathbringer suddenly begins to laugh in his diabolic way for a few seconds. He then closes the casket. His voice now sounds as usual again] DB: My power is like fire... and fire loves to burn... [Deathbringer raises his arm and suddenly the casket catches fire. Deathbringer looks into the flames, laughs again, and heads towards the left wall, where his scythe stands. He takes it into his right hand, turns around to the camera and continues to speak, this time in a louder, more evil way] DB: The past is dead and buried... [He looks over to the burning casket] DB: Ashes to ashes... and dust to dust... [Deathbringer looks into the camera again, which picks up his piercing red eyes] DB: Darkness is about to engulf the IIWF... It did before, and it will do so again... Do not worry, Soldiers of Hell, I am still on your side, just as I ever was... And I still know what mission lies ahead... the mission to eradicate all evil here on earth... in the past I failed to defeat that evil breed, and I often stood by that door [he points towards the door which leads to the graveyard], looked out into the night and wondered what it was that I was not doing the right way... Well... I just was too kind... But I feel that there is no more kindness left within me, and I feel that there other ways which will lead me to success here in the IIWF... It is time to leave the path which I wandered upon during the last centuries and it is time to show the world just what powers lie buried within me... Yes, from now on, I will walk upon the path of success again, and I will use whatever means are necessary to stay upon this path... I am not scheduled to fight within this week, and therefore I do not know just who my next opponent will be... But whoever it is, and no matter how big and how tough he might be... I will take him directly to the gates of Hades... No more fun... Just death and destruction... [Deathbringer laughs in his diabolic way again] DB: Yes, death and destruction are what I am about to bring here to the IIWF... And... at the thought of doing so something overcomes me... and I would say that it is ... joy... [Deathbringer walks to the right and the burning casket becomes visible again. Deathbringer looks upon it, and begins to laugh in his diabolic way again. He then swings at the camera with his scythe causing the camera's front glass to break. The scene turns black, but still Deathbringer's voice can be heard as he continues to speak] DB: Deathbringer, the King of Destruction... Coming soon to the IIWF... [Fade, as Deathbringer's demonic laughter is heard] BL: Ohhh, scary. LM: Say what you will, but Deathbringer is more than able to right the wrongs in the IIWF. BL: Whatever... LM: Up next, we have comments from former Intercontinental champion, Creed. BL: Better believe it! Roll that footage! [The now familiar picture of Creed jumps up onto the screen.] LM: Just stop... BL: [Imitating Creed again] Damn, did I ever take a whuppin'! I don't think I can even think of a time that I took a whuppin' like that... Not even my momma... LM: Alright, that is just about enough! This has gone too far! [The picture lowers from the screen.] BL: Okay, okay... You've got to admit, though, that was funny. LM: No... I don't think so. Folks, we got these comments from the _real_ Creed... [SCENE: An emptied gymnasium. The uneasy stillness of the heavy bag and the haphazard way in which the free weights are strewn about is suggestive less of a workout naturally concluded than of an unnaturally abrupt stoppage to something of far greater import. Pearl Jam's "Indifference" plays as the camera finds a shadowy wrestling ring, its milky blackness momentarily obscuring the chiseled red gloved figure who stands almost accusingly in the ring... It is Creed.] CR: Ain't gonna talk 'bout yesterday. Not that I don't care. Every knife that plunged into my back... every kick that was laid into my ribs... every time the name Creed was sworn at, laughed at, mocked like some no-work, no-heat chump with a loud voice and a paper belt... every time some punk who felt like he got a pair 'cided to get his rocks off with a back alley rip at a man he sure as hell couldn't stand in front of one-on-one.... I felt all of it. I got names. I got numbers. But I ain't got no more interest. 'Cause I walkin' out the door. [Creed pauses, the camera focusing on his hard, deadened eyes as the lyrics of Eddie Vedder now ring throughout the shot:] # I will stare the sun down / Until my eyes go blind I won't change direction / And I won't change my mind # CR: I got other places to go. Other things to do. Other guys to beat the hell out of. And if I showed anything at all over the last eight months... it that I can beat the hell out of any damn guy I want... any damn where I want... any damn time I want. And that go for everyone in the IIWF. Just 'cause I walkin' out that door -- it don't mean the door closed. That door always be open to me. Tomorrow. Next week. Next month. Next year. That door always be open. Maybe one day I use it. And maybe one day somebody want to use it to come get me. Maybe someone decide they gotta prove they stripes against the man who brawled with 13 guys in one night...against the man with the 15 match unbeaten streak...against the man who beat James, Warnett, Watkins, Highway, Macbeth, Byron and that damn Dog. Maybe someday... somebody come knockin' on Creed's door. But know this... If you knock. Creed will answer. Ain't no puppet gonna answer. Ain't no one's "boy" gonna walk back in to take another one for the team. If you knock... you gonna get Creed. You gonna get the man who will meet.. ...and beat.... Anyone. Anywhere. Anytime. You understand what I sayin'? ANYONE. ANYWHERE. ANYTIME. You better learn it. You better know it. You better remember it like you remember your middle name or your momma's birthday. 'Cause if you want Creed... If you want Creed... You gonna get Creed. [The song reaches a crescendo as the shot holds on the eyes of the former Intercontinental Champion... the red-gloved rookie Creed... and then fades.] BL: I think mine was better... LM: It was not. Folks, it looks like Creed is, for the moment anyway, taking some time away from the IIWF. I have a feeling he'll be back, though. BL: Yes, he'll be back, to take a grade-A ass kicking the likes of which nobody has ever seen before. LM: What do you have against Creed, Brian? BL: Nothing that I don't have against you. LM: That's an invigorating thought. Folks, it seems that we're out of time here this week. I'd like to thank you for tuning in. Anyway, for Brian Lau... BL: Don't pretend to speak for me, Bubba. LM: Alright, fine. Folks, this is Larry Morton saying so long, and see you next week! +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= 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 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+