________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __| | || | \ v v / | __| |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| ___ _________ ___ _______ ______ _______ ____ | \/ || || \/ __\| | | \/ || \/ | __\| _ \ | \ / || || \ \__ \| | | \ / || \ / | __\| / | |\/| || || / /__\ \ v | |\/| || |\/| | |__| \ \ |_| |_||_||__/\____/\_/|_| |_||_| |_|____\_|\_\ ___ ______ __ ___ ____ ___ ___ | \/ || \ | \ | \ | __\/ __\ / __\ | \ / || \ \ | \ \| \ \| __\\__ \ \__ \ | |\/| || |\ \| / /| | || |_____\ \___\ \ |_| |_||_| \_\__/ |_|_||____\____/\____/ Saturday 6 September 1997 + IIWF Coliseum ----------------------------------------- H O U R T H R E E [Fade back to the interior of the IIWF Coliseum, jam packed with its capacity crowd of around twenty thousand excited fans. The shot pans down past the stands, past the broken wreckage that was once the Guatemalan announcing table, behind which sit the bereft and tearful announcers, voicing their futility through their broken headsets, and comes to rest on the table at which are seated Tim Dross and "Soundbite" Steve Roberts.] TD: Welcome back to the Coliseum, folks! That was truly a tremendously entertaining matchup, Steve Roberts.  Marty Warnett and Chris Quigley really put on quite a show for these great fans. SR: I don't know, Dross.  It was entertaining in the way that a visit to the proctologist is entertaining... first, you dread it... you complain and complain.  But after a while it sort of starts to grow on you... then it gets pretty good... then really good... then so good you don't know what to do with yourself... Then, suddenly it's not so good anymore. TD: A match that is sure to be entertaining from the opening bell is coming up next, this group called Genesis has been running roughshod over the IIWF since its formation at Birthday Bash -- and the IIWF is taking one more stand, maybe a last stand in its attempt to put them down. SR: And they will, Dross... Watkins, the Syndicate and the Mystery Partners -- I'm predicting a shutout, Dross.  All five survive! TD: That brings up a huge question, the question that defines the night... who are the mystery partners?  SR: I want to guess!  Let me guess, Dross! TD: Okay, Steve Roberts... who are the mystery partners? SR: The "Outlaw" J.W. Hardin! TD: Okay, first of all, the Outlaw is only one man... as great a Champion as he was, he is only one man, he can't be both partners. Second, as we all know, J.W. Hardin is in an extended tour of Europe -- I understand that he will soon be competing in Sweden... although, not necessarily in the ring.  Our regards go out to the Outlaw. SR: You're always ruining my fun, Dross.  Let me try again.  Please? Pleeeeeeeaaassse? TD: All right, Steve Roberts... who are the mystery partners? SR: The "Outlaw" J.W. Hardin! TD: Let's get to the ring. ___ ___ | \/ |---------------------------------------------------------------. | \ /_|_ ___ MIDSUMMER MADNESS ELIMINATION MATCH: | | |\/|| \/ | Scott Rogers, Highwayman, Serge Annis & Cold Spell | |_| || \ / | vs. | | |\/| | Mad Dog Watkins, The Syndicate & TWO MYSTERY PARTNERS | |_| |_|---------------------------------------------------------' WRITER: JJ [Sparkplug Lee gives a thumbs up to the fans who have now begun a "Porn Star... Porn Star!" chant.] SL: Ladies and Gentlemen, the following contest is a the first half of the Midsummer Madness Double Main Event! [Big pop as the chant continues, now being led by Steve Roberts who is standing on the announce table, removing his leather jacket in an unfortunate strip tease.] SL: Let me introduce, the special guest timekeeper for this contest... [The chant continues: "Porn Star! Porn Star! Porn Star!"] SL: The timekeeper is an internationally known corn star... the lovely, the talented... Dr. Scholl! [The chanting slowly begins to fade away as the realization hits the capacity crowd... "Corn Star?" A middle aged man dressed in a conservative brown suit waves broadly as he enters the aisle.  Steve Roberts stops his gyrations dead on the announce table and rubs his eyes in an exaggerrated fashion, staring hard as Dr. Scholl, well known manufacturer of corn pads, hits the ring.] TD: [barely able to supress his amusement] Somehow, I don't think this is what you had in mind. SR: [Still standing on the table, grabs his headset.] Corn Star?  Corn Star?  What the hell is wrong with these people, Dross?! I got choices, baby.  I got other places I could go... I ain't stuck in Portland for the rest of my life like you and the suits, Dross.  Corn Star!  Corn Star?! [Roberts slowly starts to climb down as the L'il Soundbiters, in a greater state of inebriation that normal, begin to lead a good portion of the crowd in the chant: "Show your toes! Show your toes! Show your toes!"] SR: Good grief. TD: Steve, you're right.  They are morons. [The "Show your toes!" chant continues as the pediatrist is led from the ring to the timekeeper's table, Roberts takes an angry swipe at the unsuspecting man as he passes -- but further incident is avoided.] SL: Introducing first... at a total weight of 1380 pounds and being accompanied to the ring by the IIWF Heavyweight Champion of the World, Requiem, here are Serge Annis, Cold Spell, Scott Rogers and Highwayman... this is... TEAM GENESIS! [Huge heel pop as the lights drop... a blue spot hitting the aisle as the words, "From this day forth, until the end of time... there will be no mercy for the damned!" are heard over the PA, followed by a roar of a motorcycle and the song "Conquest of Paradise."] TD: Here comes Genesis, Steve Roberts!  And they are coming in style! [Serge Annis walks confidently in front, some fifteen feet ahead of his closest teammate.  The remainder of Genesis enters on huge black motorcycles, four gold belts aloft as the five men roar around the ring... Annis leaping inside as his team laps around, revving the engines, while Serge thrusts his arms dramatically outward -- and flames roar from all four corners.] TD: This group of men... this group of men has had the IIWF by the throat for months, they have dominated every encounter. They have cowed a number of previously unbreakable superstars.  And here they are at Midsummer Madness! SR: Corn Star.  Heads are gonna roll, Dross.  I don't know when... I don't know where... but heads are gonna roll.  [Each man's motorcycle sports the name of its owner, written in script on the side -- and is parked alongside the ring.  Cold Spell's bikes together, the Highwayman's with Rogers... and that of Requiem standing alone, the biggest, blackest bike of the bunch, including not just his name, but a mural picturing all of the IIWF commentators and President Daniel Spreadbury, cowering in fear.  Team Genesis stands in the ring as the heel pop intensifies, all collected in a huddle around Requiem.] SL: And their opponents.... [Big Pop as "Roots" begins, the Syndicate and Mad Dog Watkins making their ways down the aisle.] SL: They are accompanied down the aisle by former IIWF Heavyweight Champion Otto "the Butcher" Verhoeven... here is the Syndicate -- Casey "Blackheart" James and Tiger Claw -- alongside the IIWF Intercontinental Champion, Mad Dog Watkins! [Verhoeven wastes no time, hitting the ring quickly and getting in the face of the man who will soon be his opponent.  Claw and James soon follow, Casey standing with Otto, putting an arm on the Butcher's shoulder and quietly whispering to him.  Watkins enters last, the only one of the non-Genesis collection who hears some boos from aisleside fans. Watkins peers at a group of young black men with red left handed gloves, smirks, and enters the ring.] TD: Three of the five members of this mixed team are in the ring, Steve Roberts.  But we still do not see the other two men... we still do not see either of the two mystery... [The lights dim, a spotlight hitting the top of the aisle as the crowd begins to roar... two figures are now seen emerging from the back... two men, each wearing "Be Afraid.  Be Very Afraid." t-shirts and smiley faced masks.] TD: We saw this earlier in the evening, Steve Roberts... we saw these masks... the man who attacked Ike Sampson... the man who attacked the then Intercontinental Champion Creed... I don't... SR: I do, Dross!  I do! [Big pop as the men slowly remove their masks....] TD: IT'S THUNDER AND KOWALSKI!  IT'S THUNDER AND KOWALSKI! [The fans roar their wild approval as "Don't Fear the Reaper" blares out over the P.A., Steve Kowalski being tossed a mic:] SK: Hey Rectum!  The Fury, The Legends, Shaft and Billy the Bleepin' Kid are gonna kick your ass! [The pop grows wild now as Kowalski and Thunder make their way into the ring, the shock evident on the faces of the six Genesis members... Thunder and Kowalski high-five Watkins and then give quick nods to the Syndicate and the Butcher as all twelve men now stand in the ring along with referee Dave D'Amato.  Ding! Ding! Ding!] TD: I don't believe anyone saw this coming, Steve Roberts.  A number of names were bandied about... even yours... but not these two men -- two men who have been rivals for the past several weeks. SR: Don't you see the beauty of it, Dross?  Don't you see the beauty? Kowalski and Thunder were the guys who got screwed over at Coronation Clash!  They're the ones who shoulda met for the title in the first place... how long has this been planned, Dross?  Did we see who attacked Ike Sampson?  Did we see who attacked Creed?  TD: We also did not actually see Thunder and Kowalski attacked earlier tonight... this is looking more and more like a set-up, Steve Roberts. Steve Kowalski and Brody Thunder are here for payback... and they might be set to get it... right now! [The mixed Team IIWF shows no hesitation as whom will be their opening man... Mad Dog Watkins is clearly the choice as the other four men quickly move to the apron.  Genesis, however, has a moment of uncertainty as the Highwayman appears to champ at the bit to hook up with the Intercontinental title holder; however, it is Annis who remains unmoved from the center of the ring -- rebuffing any attempt to dissuade him from starting the match.] TD: We're gonna get it on now -- some early, I don't want to say turmoil, but some early doings from Team Genesis... it looks like Serge Annis is forcing his way into the number one spot. SR: It's about time these girls had a little catfight -- with MDW putting his belt up, you gotta believe the plan was for the unfrozen caveman wrestler to get the first crack.  Maybe this is a good sign, Dross.  Not as good a sign as "I Sold Out!" but a pretty good sign nonetheless. [Requiem and Otto move to the floor, the other eight men standing on the apron now as Annis and Watkins lock up. Serge quickly applies a standing side headlock, wrenching away at MDW, who elbows him to the side and goes behind into a wiastlock and then a hammerlock.  Annis maneuvers out... but only into an MDW armwringer that quickly becomes a knucklelock... and then a top wristlock for Watkins. Annis begins to force MDW down, the crowd now begins hooting at him as he attempts to show his dominant strength... Watkins lashes out with a boot to the midsection, grabbing then at Serge and turning for a backslide...] TD: It's Otto!  Otto's in the ring!  Otto's in the ring! [As Watkins moved for the slide, Verhoeven, clearly unable to contain himself any longer, leaps into the ring, laying into Serge with a series of boots and drawing the wrath of Dave D'Amato...] TD: Here comes Requiem... here comes the Syndicate... everybody's hitting the ring! SR: It's adult swim in the IIWF, baby dolls... everybody's hopping in the pool! [Requiem dives at Verhoeven, the two men's brawl spilling over into an identical one between Syndciate and Cold Spell... Kowalski and Thunder are toe-to-toe with Rogers and the Highwayman, all twelve men in the match... all twelve men in this match now slugging it out in the ring!  All twelve men in the middle of the ring hammering on each other as the crowd stands and roars its approval!] TD: This has already broken down, Steve Roberts... this had the potential to get completely out of control and it has!  All twelve men in the ring! [Referee D'Amato runs to each faction, trying to exert some degree of control... he looks over to the timekeeper's table... perhaps contemplating throwing this match out. D'Amato looks over to see a number of the L'il Soundbiters salaciously waggling their socks at Dr.Scholl, and then turns back to the ring -- shaking his head and then pointing at Watkins and Annis.] TD: D'Amato's gonna try to work with this, Steve Roberts... we know he's the referee for this assignment... and we may well see a relaxation of some of the rules here... look at this!  Rogers and Thunder... Fitzgerald and James... and now Otto Verhoeven!  Look at the Butcher! [Verhoeven begins screaming... shaking the rafters in a way that only the screams of a three hundred pound German nicknamed the "Butcher" can... Otto clotheslining the fighting parties over the top rope... knocking Thunder/Rogers... Kowalski/Smith... even both tag teams -- all four men over the top rope with one incredible blow!  The crowd goes wild... the "Ot-to! Ot-to! Ot-to!" chants filling the arena. Verhoeven screams again as the ring now only contains Watkins/Annis, himself -- and the World Champion!  Requiem stands unmoved in the middle of the ring -- and the two men begin throwing right hands!  Verhoeven and Requiem begin throwing haymaker right hands at each other!] TD: There's not gonna be a double main event, Steve Roberts... it's gonna happen right now! SR: Damn, you are shameless, Dross.  That's why I loves ya!  Kick his ass, Otto! [Verhoeven and Requiem go tumbling out over the top rope and into the aisle, security quickly coming and attempting to separate the two men, the group quickly moving to the aisle... the right hands continue to be thrown all the way to the delight of the aisleside fans until the two combatants can no longer be seen. Outside the ring, the eight non-legal man continue their fights... three separate brawls spread out over the perimeter of the ring, D'Amato having given up completely on trying to force anyone back into the appropriate corner -- and just focusing on Watkins and Annis, who have remained focused on each other during the melée. The two men lock up again, Serge breaking the hold with a number of kneelifts to the midsection, Annis then springing off the ropes into a swing of a clothesline -- ducked -- Watkins grabs ahold of Serge, vining the leg and ramming into the mat with a side Russian leg sweep! Watkins to his feet, dropping a big elbow -- missed -- Annis rolls away and leaves the Dog with nothing but canvas!  Each man to his feet and Annis is behind with a waistlock.  Watkins throws back an elbow which catches only air and Annis locks back and flings Watkins over the top with a released German suplex... And Watkins stays on his feet!  Watkins stays on his feet!  Watkins kicks Annis in the midsection, underhooking the arms...] TD: Tiger Driver!  Tiger Driver! Watkins has just plunged Annis into the mat with a tiger driver! [Watkins goes to cover... 1 -- 2 -- ] TD: Kickout!  Serge kicks out! [Annis just manages to get a shoulder up, but Watkins is undeterred, bouncing off the backropes as Serge slowly rises and meeting him with a clothesline!  Pop! Serge moves again to his feet as Watkins moves to the other side, MDW coming off this time with a huge forearm that knocks Annis to the mat! Pop!  Serge rises again, Scott Rogers screaming for a tag... but Annis is unwilling or unable...] TD: Serge is ready to go here... for some reason he won't, or can't, tag his partners -- and MDW is on a roll! [Watkins comes roaring off the ropes, Serge ducks a clothesline but it only serves to build the momentum as MDW catches up with him and thunders Serge down with a tremendous belly-to-belly suplex!  MDW with the cover... 1 -- 2 -- NO!] SR: That's three! That's three! Even Dr. Scholl could see that, Dross.  Corn Star.  Unbelievable.  Where's the phone number of the MLW...? [Annis just gets a foot over the bottom rope -- his teammates making no effort that time to break up the fall.  Watkins shows a little disgust..maybe a little surprise at the resilience of Annis.  Watkins pulls Annis to his feet, delivering some huge european uppercuts and then springing off the backropes and charging... ...Into a big Serge backdrop... Annis sends Watkins high near the Genesis corner, staggering over, where he is slapped on the back by Icehawk... Watkins flies down to the canvas... but is caught in midair by a leaping Highwayman -- who nails him with a mid-air Daylight Robbery that has the crowd howling with shock!] TD: Daylight Robbery!  Daylight Robbery! SR: We've got a new Intercontinental Champion! [Highwayman quickly goes outside, sticking his hand to Serge whose move to slap it is halted by the image of Icehawk... barreling down like a missile from the top buckle with a frog splash on top of Watkins!  For the cover...] TD: Icehawk!  Icehawk's the legal man! [D'Amato slaps the mat... 1 -- 2 -- 3!  Three!] TD: Watkins is gone!  Watkins is gone!  Mad Dog Watkins has shockingly been eliminated by Icehawk of Cold Spell!  And it is five on four! SR: Yeah... Yeah... but no belt switch, Dross!  No belt switch... and the Highwayfreak is pissed at the gay guy!  We got something here! [Watkins rolls from the ring, clearly stunned with the result.  Not stunned at all is the Highwayman, who fully realizes that Icehawk has just cost him a chance to become Intercontinental Champion -- and he immediately gets into the face of the young gymnast.  The crowd begins to pop as Highwayman gives the broadly smiling Icehawk a verbal dressing down... and then a shove!  Fitzgerald then jumps into the ring, getting in Highwayman's face, clearly upset with the treatment of his partner... Annis now steps in between, trying to play the role of peacemaker... all four men, clearly heated -- yelling -- not at all aware of the goings on around them... Huge Pop!] TD: Syndicate!  Syndicate!  James and Claw are going up to the top buckle... look at this... look at this! [Highwayman pushes Fitzgerald now... who raises a fist at the bigger man... James smiles broadly as he and Claw reach the top buckle... James grabbing Claw up in the air for a vertical suplex!  A top rope vertical suplex!  The two men coming down!] SR: Wipeout!  Hah!  James and Claw just knocked Genesis down like dominoes.  Like drunk, midly retarded, overrated dominoes! [Huge pop as James vertical suplexes Claw from the top rope atop Genesis, knocking each man down, spilling across the ring -- James falling atop Fitzgerald and rolling him up for a quick cover... 1 -- 2 -- 3! Three!  Big Pop!] TD: James got Fitz!  James got Fitz!  It is four to four! SR: Yeah!  One man away from new tag champions!  Life is good, Dross! Life is... [Roberts takes another look over at the timekeeper's table... Dr. Scholl is now spread atop it, his feet up in the air as the L'il Soundbiters stuff dollar bills in his shoes.] SR: Morons.  Godforsaken Morons.  I need a drink. [Fitzgerald is up and protesting that he was not the legal man, D'Amato correectly explains that he counted the grab of Icehawk as a legal tag, Team Genesis bitterly upset as Fitzgerald stalks away from the ring, and the count is four to four. Scott Rogers attempts to make his way inside... but is stopped by Annis.  Serge waggling a big finger and moving Rogers back to the outside.] TD: I have no idea what's going on with Annis and Rogers... or Annis and all of Genesis... but we are seeing some dissention here -- and Highwayman is clearly hot at Icehawk. SR: He oughta be, Dross.  The gay guy just cost him some gold.  That's how they are Dross, selfish.  Only concerned about their own needs. What about my needs, Dross?  What about Papa Soundbite?  I gots needs. Goddamn corn star.  Unbegoddamnlievable.  Heads are gonna roll, Dross. Heads is gonna be a-rollin'. [Annis and James take over as legal men.  Serge moving quickly with knife edge chops and a corner whip that sends James hard into the buckle.  Annis charges with a clothesline... that connects!  Annis now peppering the former IIWF Champion with hard rights and lefts... Annis pounding James down in the corner with right hands and a flurry of boots... And James fires back! James fires back with right hands of his own! James backs Serge up -- and then tosses Serge into the corner himself! Casey James with a series of rapid fire boots the the midsection!  James with boots and knife edge chops!  James sending Annis for the cross-corner ride... hitting the buckle hard and bouncing back...] TD: Sidewalk Slam by Casey James!  James driving Annis into the mat and he's got the cover... [D'Amato counts 1 -- 2 -- NO!  Save by Rogers, breaking the count with a boot to the head.  Annis gets up... pushing at Rogers!  Annis clearly upset with Rogers as James looks on with bemusment!  Annis and Rogers yelling more loudly at each other... raising fists... And then bowling James over with double clothesline!  Pop!  James hops to his feet -- is whipped farside -- into a double big boot by Rogers and Serge!] TD: It's a set up, Steve Roberts!  It's a set up!  Rogers and Annis have set everyone up... there is no dissention -- and now they are dominating... look at that, Steve Roberts!  This is disgraceful! [Serge picks up James... whipping him into... into a sleeper hold!  Annis has a sleeper hold on James... while Rogers smacks him!  Scott Rogers repeatedly smacking at the face of Casey James!  Huge heel pop as Rogers now flexes for James... showing him a big double bicep as Annis is clearly choking out Casey "Blackheart" James!  James begins to slump... James slumping down as Rogers lays in several choice right hands... then springing off the farside for a cross-body...] TD: Backdrop!  James backdrops Rogers over Annis... over the top rope... over the apron... and on to one of those motorcycles!  Oh my! [Huge pop as the three hundred pound Rogers comes flying down onto the huge motorcycle belonging to Requiem!  Rogers falls atop the metal with a sickening thud that brings a huge, huge roar of approval from the capacity crowd!] TD: Good God! SR: El Sucko ain't got no sex appeal -- but he's full of twisted steel!  [James takes advantage of the momentary confusion -- breaking the sleeper hold with a jawbreaker that sends Serge down and has the crowd roaring.  Casey attempts to whip a now standing Annis farside -- reverse -- James comes off the ropes and charges Serge... backdrop... James goes over the top rope.... But remains on the apron!  James hangs onto the apron and grabs onto Serge... suplexing him up, up and over...] TD: Annis onto the bike!  Annis onto the bike!  Casey James just suplexed Serge Annis all the way to the outside... all the way out onto the bike!! SR: El Sucko just rolled out of the way, or James coulda had himself a Genesis sandwich! [James pauses, brushing the hair away from his face and opening his arms wide... any lingering doubt about his loyalty seemingly disappeared as the former IIWF Champion takes ahold of the top rope -- and slingshots his 340 pounds to the outside!] TD: Big crossbody!  James just powered Annis to the bike... to the floor... Oh My! [James gets to his feet... pointing to the top rope and Claw begins to make his way to the top... James scoops up Annis -- setting him up... setting him up for a piledriver! Annis is hooked up as Claw readies himself to come off the top rope for the spike... Claw sets... And is struck in the back by a Rogers chairshot!  Scott Rogers climbs to the apron and whacks Claw in the back as he leaps... Claw spiraling down... down atop James and Annis...] TD: Caught!  Caught!  James just caught Claw... Claw's on top of Annis... both men being held up in the air by James!  What unbelievable... OH MY! [Enormous pop as James, holding both Annis and Claw in the air, is cut down by a combination flying chairshot by Rogers and a legsweep from the back by the Highwayman! All three men go crashing into the wreckage of Requiem's motorcycle, Highwayman himself not visible under the carnage of James, Annis and Claw... Rogers stands above... still weilding the chair... Scott Rogers accepting the huge heel pop... Scott Rogers clearly loving the wild heel reaction as he stands above the carnage -- all four men and a motorcycle! Rogers climbs up to the apron, chair still in hand and reaches the ring -- Rogers flashes a big double bicep as the "boos" continue... and then Rogers points to the only two men remaining on the "IIWF" side of the apron...] TD: Scott Rogers... Scott Rogers is calling out Thunder and Kowalski! Scott Rogers is waving that chair and calling out Thunder and Kowalski! SR: El Sucko could have a chair, a chainsaw, the 1978 Pittsburgh Steelers or the whole damn Red Brigade -- but he ain't ready for this, Dross... here comes the Fury!! [Kowalski and Thunder look at each other on the apron as Rogers motions them in -- the wear of their earlier battle is still evident on the faces... the bodies of each man.  Kowalski points to himself with a smirk -- as if saying "Me? You want me?" Rogers nods broadly... a huge smile taking over his face as he waves the chair.  Thunder motions to Kowalski that "he's all yours"... and the Fury -- to the wild pop of the crowd -- hits the ring! Rogers allows the Kowalski entrance -- then charges with a wild swing of the chair -- Slipped. Rogers again, now from the other side, makes a mad dash toward the Fury -- chair swinging with a fever... Ducked. Rogers now swears at the Fury -- and at the fans who begin taunting him: "Suck-o! Suck-o! Suck-o!"  Even Dr. Scholl stops signing corn pads for the ringside youngsters long enough to join into the chant and look up as Scott Rogers makes another dash across the ring -- waving the chair with a force that seems to slice the air like a ginsu through a freshly baked biscuit... Ducked.  And Kowalski plants a big boot into the stomach of Rogers... the crowd on its feet as Rogers drops the chair and doubles over... the Fury underhooking the arms...] TD: SKULLPUMP!  SKULLPUMP!  Right onto the steel chair! SR: Come on baby, don't fear the reaper! [The crowd is on its feet, the "Skull-pump!" chant filling the arena as Rogers is planted on the chair... Kowalski smiling broadly as he drops for the cover... 1 -- 2 -- 3!] TD: Rogers is gone!  Scott Rogers has been Skullpumped out of this match -- and now it is four on three! [Kowalski tosses the chair to the corner as Rogers makes his way out of the ring -- into the ring leaps Icehawk -- as the four men on the floor are only now beginning to slowly rise and make their ways back to their respective corners.  The Fury puts out a hand -- and tags in Brody Thunder!  The crowd roaring its approval as the "Lone Wolf" makes his way into the ring. Icehawk starts quickly, knife edge chops to the Lone Wolf and a corner whip. Thunder hits the buckle -- but slips the charge and lays into the gymnast with a series of sharp boots.  Thunder with now the cross-corner whip -- Icehawk smacking hard and stumbling back out to the middle of the ring -- where he is _dropped_ with a fisherman's suplex and the bridge by Thunder... 1 -- 2 -- NO!  Kickout by Icehawk.] TD: You know this is where Brody Thunder wants to be... he feels... he believes himself to be the uncrowned champion of the world -- and he wants to prove it tonight. SR: Dross -- Thunder's a doublecrossing backstabber -- but if James and Claw stand with him -- then he's all right with me, for one night -- Come on, Brody -- Kick the punk's ass! [Each man rises, Icehawk snapping out a crescent kick which Brody slips, Thunder responding with a charge of a clothesline that Icehawk slips... Icehawk leaping to the middle of the top rope and hurling himself back with a spinning heel kick that catches Thunder hard for the cover... 1 -- 2 -- NO!  Kickout by Thunder! Icehawk moves again... hitting the midrope and bounding back into...] TD: NO!  James nails Icehawk in the back with the frame from Requiem's bike!  Casey James reaches into the ring and nails Icehawk! SR: Vrooommmm.  Vroooommmm! [Icehawk drops like a shot to the mat... Thunder reaching up to tag in James... the two men whipping 'Hawk farside into an enormous powerslam by the former Champion for the cover... 1 -- 2 -- ] TD: NO!  NO!  Save by the Highwayman! SR: One second from new tag champions, Dross.  One second from the Syndicate taking those belts!  Damn! [James fires up at the Highwayman, driving him back with right hands -- and then Irish whipping him... but James drops his head too early and takes a rocker dropper from the Highwayman that drops him to the mat! Highwayman grabs James to his feet as Icehawk makes his way to the top rope... Highwayman hits James with a short clothesline -- Tiger Claw attempts to enter the ring... but is cut off by D'Amato -- allowing Annis to enter and the two men pick up James -- into a double hotshot... his neck draping over the top rope!  Serge then irish whips James before bailing out of the ring...] TD: Horizontal backbreaker!  Horizontal backbreaker!  Highwayman has James racked up... here comes Icehawk! [With James up in the backbreaker... Icehawk comes down with a guillotine legdrop that snaps, drives James' head down, Casey falling to the mat for the Icehawk cover... 1 -- 2 -- ] TD: Casey's foot's on the ropes!  Foot's on the ropes! [Annis pulls the bottom rope out as D'Amato slaps his hand on the mat...] TD: Three!  Three!  Casey James is gone -- and we are all even up at three on three! [Huge heel pop as the remaining members of Team Genesis begin stomping out the fallen James.  Claw again leaps into the ring, backing each man off with knife edges -- allowing him to drag James clean from the ring. Thunder then quickly enters, clotheslining Icehawk -- and then the Highwayman over the top rope... Brody turns to Annis who lifts... who lifts...] TD: OH MY!  Serge Annis just chokeslammed Brody Thunder over the top rope!  Over the top rope and onto those Cold Spell bikes!  OH MY! SR: What the hell has gotten into Annis?  This guy was done -- out of the IIWF -- back to the minor leagues forever... and now -- he has just chokeslammed Brody Thunder over the top rope! [Thunder crashes into the two motorcycles belonging to Fitz and Icehawk. Thunder motionless as Annis sneers at the "booing" crowd.  Annis moves to the outside -- picking up Thunder in a big bear hug and ramming his back into the ringpost! Annis maintains hold of Thunder... ramming him again into the ringpost, Brody's back crunching against the steel.  Annis then lays Thunder over top the two motorcycles, propping them up as best he's able.  Annis laying Brody Thunder over the two bikes... and... and he goes to grab the ringbell!] TD: Serge Annis is gonna lay the ringbell into Brody Thunder... Dr. Scholl didn't put up much of a fight as Serge Annis grabs the ringbell... this is gonna be... OH MY! [Enormous pop as the Deathbringer leaps from the crowd -- over the retaining barrier with a plancha -- driving into the back of Annis with the blunt end of the scythe!  Thunder is able to roll away... slowly climbing back into the ring as Deathbringer wails away on Annis with the blunt end of the scythe! The 'Bringer stands... allowing Serge to crawl to the motorcycles... Serge scrambling in his pockets for something -- Serge grabbing his famous Zippo lighter as the 'Bringer advances... turning the scythe around...] TD: Oh... Oh, this is bad... the Deathbringer is absolutely... totally out of control here, Steve Roberts. SR: Give my regards to my daddy, Annis -- the 'Bringer's about to send you to hell! [The crowd squeals as the 'Bringer swings the sharp end of the scythe down toward Annis... Serge is just able to slip the blade... the scythe puncturing the gas tank of Icehawk's motorcycle.  Gasoline begins to pour from the bike as the 'Bringer grabs the Zippo lighter...] TD: Good God!  Good God!  We've got fire!  We've got fire!  Good God! [A tremendous explosion is heard as instantly a swarm... a swarm of security personnel is all over the Deathbringer, while the fire is bathed in a chemical mist that netrualizes it instantly.  Numerous ringside fans begin to gag, greedily scooping up the orthopedic socks thrown to the crowd by Dr. Scholl and placing them over their faces in an attempt to avoid the noxious fumes. Deathbringer is dragged away from the ring, Serge Annis... Serge Annis with a look in his eye as if realizing the extent to which he has pushed the Deathbringer scrambles back into the ring... Serge back into the ring and turning around...] TD: There's Brody Thunder!  There's Brody Thunder with a front facelock! SR: CATTLE BUSTER DDT!  Don't tell me the Outlaw doesn't live, Dross! Thunder with the Cattle Buster DDT!  Count him out, D'Amato! [Thunder hooks a leg as D'Amato counts... 1 -- 2 -- 3!] TD: Annis is gone!  Serge Annis is gone!  It is three on two! SR: Now we're gonna see, Dross!  Now we're gonna see how Genesis reacts when the numbers go against them!  Culture Club is one second away from finding out how much the IIWF really wants to hurt them! [Highwayman wastes no time as Serge rolls from the ring, jumping on Thunder and blasting him with right hands.  Highwayman whips Thunder farside, grabbing on a full nelson and driving over the top with a dragon suplex that leaves Thunder laid out on the mat! Highwayman advances, picking Thunder up again and into an Irish whip, Highwayman misses a clothesline, Thunder leaping up top in an attempt at a crucifix... Thunder struggling with the takedown attempt... Claw moving to one top buckle... Icehawk moving to another top buckle... Each man leaping with a missle dropkick... Highwayman with a huge Samoan Drop...] TD: Oh MY!  Claw and Icehawk just collided in mid-air... both men are out! Both men are out! SR: Highwayfreak with the cover... he's got the cover on Thunder! [D'Amato dives down... 1 -- 2 -- ] TD: NO!  NO!  Save by Kowalski!  Save by Kowalski! [Kowalski kicks Highwayman to the head, breaking the count.  Kowalski grabs the fallen Claw, propping him up on the top buckle and slapping him hard in the chest.  Highwayman lunges at Kowalski... grabbing a double hammerlock and elevating... Thunder smacks the hand of Tiger Claw... Claw stands up on that top buckle, leaping down toward the Highwayman, hitting him across the chest with a somersault senton and hooking the legs... 1 -- 2 -- 3!  Three!] TD: It's three on one! It is three on one! Team IIWF is up three on one! SR: Hah!  They're down to the gay guy, Dross!  And Icehawk's got such a purty mouth! [Icehawk slowly moves to his feet as the Highwayman leaves the ring. The crowd now stomping, stomping and clapping as all three men advance on the lone Icehawk.  Icehawk attempts a dropkick -- catching Kowalski in the chest... but to no effect. Icehawk stands again, springing off the nearside with an attempt at a crossbody to Thunder...] TD: Caught!  Caught! [Thunder rams Icehawk down with a fallaway slam!  Icehawk staggering to his feet, only to get dropped with a round/reverse round combination by Tiger Claw.  Icehawk now slowly makes his way up, the chants are clear... and they are growing louder... "SKULL-PUMP! SKULL-PUMP! SKULL-PUMP!"] TD: We are gonna see Genesis put away forever, Steve Roberts!  Steve Kowalski is going to plant Icehawk and bury Team Genesis where they belong! SR: Yeah, Dross!  Come on over to my side!  Step on over to the dark side, Dross... chant with me... "We-Want-Blood!  We-Want-Blood!" [Kowalski kicks Icehawk to the midsection, hooking the arms as Thunder and Claw begin to welcome the applause -- accept the roar that waits them -- by the IIWF fans -- Kowalski has the arms... yelling out for all the world to hear... "Eye, Eye, Double U, F'n F!"... And then Skullpumping Icehawk into the mat! The roar intensifies, twenty thousand fans on their feet, all chanting: "IIWF! IIWF! IIWF!" as Kowalski moves to cover... 1 -- 2 -- ] TD: There's a tricycle in the ring, Steve Roberts!  Someone has just thrown a tricycle in the ring! [Kowalski stops the count, standing and grabbing the tricycle.  Kowalski yells, "I got a fight to win, mother-[BLEEP]ers!", drawing a huge pop from the crowd as he throws the tricycle back into the seats.  Kowalski turns back to Icehawk... and then a barrage of tricycles hits the ring... dozens and dozens of tricycles -- tricycles of all shapes, sizes and colors... dozens of tricycles pouring into the ring from all four corners as the chants continue: "IIWF! IIWF! IIWF! IIWF! IIWF!"] TD: It's a rain of trikes, Steve Roberts!  It's a rain of trikes! SR: Hallelujah, it's raining trikes, hallelujah! [Kowalski tosses a tricycle to Thunder -- each man moving to the top rope, each man moving up to an opposite rope and the crowd begins the chant of... "Moon-sault! Moon-sault! Moon-sault!" Kowalski and Thunder turn from the ring... the tricycles at the ready... And they each land powerful moonsaults onto the prone Icehawk! The crowd pops wildly as both men rise -- motioning to Claw who ascends to a top buckle -- and comes down atop Icehawk with a Golden Tiger Strike!  And a cover... 1 -- 2 -- 3!] SL: Your winners... as a result of a pinfall... TEAM IIWF!  And your _NEW_ IIWF WORLD TAG TEAM CHAMPIONS... THE SYNDICATE! [Huge pop as the Thunder, Kowalski and Claw's arms are all extended... James and Watkins hitting the ring soon thereafter -- each man soaking up the roars... "IIWF! IIWF! IIWF!"] TD: It is over, Steve Roberts.  Genesis has lost the tag team belts... Mad Dog Watkins has retained the Intercontinental belt -- and we are now just minutes away from that big main event... Otto Verhoeven vs. Requiem for the biggest prize in all of wrestling! SR: The people wanted to see the thumping -- and for once -- they weren't disappointed.  Oh, sure -- they're disappointed with the damn corn star... but they have new tag champions... Team Genesis is on its way out of town... and Requiem is about to make a visit to the Slaughterhouse! [Team IIWF leaves the ring together, the crowd cheering wildly for all five men as each smacks the hands of aisleside fans as they exit. As the crowd continues to chant, "IIWF! IIWF! IIWF!", clearly pumped up for the next match by the cataclysmic climax of Team IIWF's victory over Genesis, cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: [with a hand on his earpiece] I'm hearing from backstage that throughout that last match, security staff and referees alike fought to keep Requiem and Otto Verhoeven away from one another -- when they brawled away from ringside, the locker room area was transformed into a war zone... and I've just heard that the brawl was apparently broken up when Requiem was struck by somebody with a metal object... SR: That'll be one of El Sucko's sex toys. TD: Please, Steve Roberts, there's no need for that. I'm told that Larry Morton is backstage with somebody who might be able to shed a little light on this attack on the IIWF World Heavyweight Champion. [Cut to Luke Steele, standing backstage in front of the Midsummer Madness logo.  He seems to be in a good mood.] LM: Hello Luke, why are you in such a good mood? LS: Well Larry, I'll tell ya.  Requiem, leader of that ratpack Genesis, is about to lose his precious World Title to the German Juggernaut. LM: That's not entirely true, Luke.  Sure, he's about to meet Otto Verhoeven, but who's to say that he will for sure lose? SR: [over the headset] I'll say so, Morton.  But what the hell gives _you_ the right to say so, Steele? LS: Well, it's simple, Stevie.  And first of all, when you wrestled, did they call you the "King of Swing"?  Anyways, that's another story, one told fabulously by Becky LaRue.  I'll tell you and the world why I'm so confident Otto's going to pound the snot out of Reqqie.  This. [Luke reaches behind him, and produces a steel rod.  He grins, and takes a swing in the air with it.] Batter up.  Like the mighty Babe Ruth, I too took a swing towards immortality tonight.  Man, I tell ya.  Req's knee has to be pretty soft now.  Otto, take a hint.  Learn the figure four leglock ASAP. LM: What, you mean it was you who attacked Requiem earlier tonight? SR: [over the headset] It figures, "Just tell me when to kneel" Luke Steele has to go out and use a piece of metal to take him down.  Boy Requiem no less.  Please. LS: Well, Steve, let's see.  You retired because of a back injury, right? And yet you're such a ladies' man.  Heh, I'm wondering if those fat insurance cheques are really necessary.  Anyways, off topic again.  Yeah, Larry, it was yours truly who took it upon himself to soften the competition, if you will. LM: I, for one, am shocked to think you would perpetrate such a vicious beating.  I'm no Genesis fan by far, but why would you do that? LS: All I'm trying to do is help the IIWF back on its feet.  The only reason Requiem ever won that title is by crook.  It was by crook that he defeated Scott Rogers, or so they'd have had us believe.  It was by damn sure crook that he beat me -- thanks for that, Scotty, by the way.  And it was by crook, or a group of crooks, that he beat Kowalski.  What better way for him to lose than by crook?  Admit it, Larry, it's better than him winning yet another one because of that goof troop. LM: But, Luke... LS: [interrupting] Sorry Larry, gotta run.  I've got a date.  Haven't met her yet, but I talked to her on the phone.  Says her name's Maggie and she's in the building.  See ya boys. [Luke walks off camera, leaving Larry speechless. Cut back to ringside.] TD: That certainly puts a new spin on events here tonight, Steve Roberts. SR: Anything that helps Otto Verhoeven take the title from Boy Rectum is fine by me, baby dolls. TD: Let's take a look at the moment at which the hostilities between these two men exploded -- the contract signing, some two weeks ago. [Cut to footage captioned, "IIWF Saturday Night: 23 August 1997" A wide-angle shot shows the chaos in and around the ring from the contract signing between Requiem and Otto Verhoeven, as the "old gen" forces brawl with the Genesis hordes. Cutaway shots show Gabrielle attacking Nurse Heidi with a chair... Verhoeven clotheslining Gabrielle... Heidi being stretchered away from ringside, Verhoeven following behind. The footage freezes as the words of the athletes float over the scenes:] OV: It is time for the masks to fall. It is time to take all of your mythical stuff away, strip you down to your true identity and show the world just who the leader of Genesis really is. RQ: I'm very good at what I do. It may not be pretty, it may not be "honourable," it may not be "respectful"... But it's damned effective. OV: You kick out of the Meathook, no problem, I can put you in your place with a Slaughterslam. You kick out of that... we start it all over again. And again. And AGAIN! RQ: Win, lose, or draw -- I intend to leave Otto Verhoeven a battered and broken man Saturday night, and I will do it all for you, Steve Roberts! [Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: Requiem has dedicated this match to you, Steve Roberts. You must be very honoured. SR: Honoured my ass, Dross. First Serge "back from the brink" Annis decides that the most important thing in the universe is the approval of the Soundbite -- and, dammit, it is -- and now it's Boy Rectum, bringing an apple to school for the teacher. Well, let me tell you something, punk -- as long as I live, I will never be impressed by you, Requiem. TD: That's enough, Steve. SR: No, it's not, Dross. As long as the _real_ superstars of the IIWF -- the Kowalskis, the Mad Dogs, hell, even the Thunders -- live and breathe, Boy Rectum and his Culture Club will never be the most destructive force in the IIWF. They've been taken apart, piece by piece, already tonight -- and the last piece of the jigsaw is about to be smashed by the Butcher! Bring it on, baby dolls! TD: There are so many unknowns in this match, Steve Roberts: how badly affected both Verhoeven and Requiem will be by their backstage brawl; the effects of the subsequent attack by Luke Steele on the champion; and, perhaps most importantly, what role the special guest referee, "Sychosys" Joe Petrow, will play in this match. SR: Show Crazy Joe the wa-wa, Butcher. Show him the wa-wa! TD: Quite. Well, it's time to get down to the ring. Here we go! ___ ___ | \/ |---------------------------------------------------------------. | \ /_|_ ___ IIWF WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH: | | |\/|| \/ | Requiem [c] vs. Otto "the Butcher" Verhoeven | |_| || \ / | | | |\/| |---------------------------------------------------------' |_| |_| WRITER: DS [Sparkplug Lee steps back into the ring as the "IIWF! IIWF!" chants continue from the capacity crowd.] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest, scheduled for one fall and with a sixty-minute time limit, is the second half of tonight's double main event, and it is for the IIWF World Heavyweight Championship! [Big pop from the crowd! The shot pans down past the ringside fans, many of whom are waving signs in support of Verhoeven.] RA: Introducing first the special guest referee for this match. Here is the self-proclaimed "franchise" of the IIWF... "Sychosys" Joe Petrow! ["The Dividing Line" from the brand new Genesis album knifes through the IIWF Coliseum sound system, as an enormous cloud of white smoke builds up on the entrance ramp.  After several seconds of buildup, Sychosys steps out of the clouds. Unlike the normal referee's outfit, Sychosys wears a shirt that is 99% black, with only one thin straight line of white going down each side, with all black pants.  He has also painted his face with black and white vertical stripes.  Petrow carries the IIWF United States Tag Team title belt over his shoulder, one last time.  Around his waist is a large engineer's utlitity belt, with many pockets, holding many things.] TD: And here he comes, Steve Roberts! The man who, arguably, holds the key to this match -- will he lean either way during this match? Will he side with Requiem? Will he side with Verhoeven? [Petrow makes his way slowly, methodically, to the ring, stopping occasionally to slap hands at ringside, hitting the fans' hands so hard as to nearly injure them in the process. As he nears the ring, he pauses, turns around, and extends his arms out in a cross to the crowd, waiting for the pop from his Sychopaths, which he duly receives. He then turns to face the broadcast crew, and stares at them... stares... then runs!] SR: Hey, Crazy Joe's headed this way! Heads up, Dross! [Petrow runs, gets to the table... and leaps on top, to another pop!  Then he beckons to the crew to come up with him.  Dross politely declines, but the Soundbite accepts, and both men stand on the table, preening to the crowd, giving them what they want to see like the salivating dogs that they are.] TD: Good grief. Would you get down from there, Steve, and... uh, Mr. Petrow. SR: Aw, quit your moaning, Dross! The fans are getting a load of the two best-looking guys in the IIWF today! [Finally, the two men climb down from the table, Roberts returning to his seat, while Petrow kisses the U.S. title belt goodbye, and leaves it at the timekeeper's table, implying that this "Franchise" title also goes to the winner of this match.] Petrow hits the ring, bounces off the ropes a couple of times... then points to the broadcast table again!  He runs towards them, bounces off the ropes, runs to the far side, boucnes off again, builds up great speed, then launches himself with a plancha towards the table...] TD: Oh my! Look out, Steve Roberts! [But Petrow catches the top rope as he goes over, slingshotting himself back into the ring, to one last pop.  Then Petrow settles into a corner, as Sparkplug, who looks a little freaked by the display, retakes the centre of the ring and raises his microphone once more.] RA: And now, introducing the combatants. First, the challenger... [The lights drop to a blood red, a meat cleaver spinning on the crimson canvas of the ring thanks to an overhead light filter. A bank of white spotlights swing from the ring, along the aisle, to the head of the entranceway, where a thick, heavy carpet of dry ice is seeping out from behind the curtain. The eerie theme from "Hallowe'en" echoes across the PA as the crowd explodes into a pop!] RA: ...hailing from Essen, Germany, and weighing in at 340lbs, here is... Otto "the Butcher" Verhoeven! [There is a pause, and then Verhoeven steps out into the aisle, his skin covered in water droplets, his expression fixed with determination. His black hair, closely cropped in the military fashion, glistens as he turns his head and looks around at the fans, apparently the only acknowledgement of their support he is prepared to give. He clenches his fists in his crimson fingerless gloves, and then begins the walk to ringside.] TD: Here he comes, Steve Roberts. Here comes Otto Verhoeven -- alone, you'll notice, by virtue of the fact that Nurse Heidi is apparently still in hospital recovering from the brutal attack sustained at the hands of Genesis two weeks ago. SR: Pity we don't have the eye candy, Dross, but one thing's for sure: if Verhoeven was determined to win before, he'll be even more determined now. The Butcher's out for revenge. [Verhoeven walks slowly down the aisle, pausing at a particularly vociferous pocket of Genesis Generations fans. As one fan gets in his face, he threatens to punch him, and as another stands out of his seat, Verhoeven spits in his face. Big pop from the crowd! Verhoeven turns back towards the ring and continues to advance on the ringside enclosure. He finally reaches the ringsteps, still followed by the pair of white spotlights that have tracked his progress down the aisle, and climbs into the squared circle. As he squares up to Joe Petrow, the lights rise once more, and the theme from "Hallowe'en" fades.] TD: Otto Verhoeven having words here with Joe Petrow... it appears that the Butcher is seeking assurances that Petrow will call this match down the middle. SR: Nah, he's making sure that Petrow got the cheque okay. Wouldn't want any monetary misunderstandings costing Verhoeven that nice shiny belt, would we? [Sparkplug Lee once again raises the microphone, but just as he is about to speak, the lights drop completely, so that the arena is in almost total darkness! Big pop from the crowd!] TD: Oh my! [The sinister voice booms out across the pitch black Coliseum: "From this day forth, until the end of time, there shall be no mercy for the damned!" The throaty roar of a motorcycle is then heard, and out of nowhere, a brilliant white headlight lances out into the aisle, the light belonging to the slightly dented but still impressive night black Harley Davidson motorcycle, ridden by Requiem. Huge heel pop as the huge frame of Requiem is cast in the half-light as he rides down to the ring, with Gabrielle apparently riding pillion, clinging onto her brother. Sparkplug, illuminated in the glare of the motorcycle's headlights like a startled animal, finally completes his introductions:] RA: And his opponent... representing Genesis, and accompanied to the ring by Gabrielle, he weighs in at 306lbs... he is the IIWF World Heavyweight Champion... he is... Requiem! [Requiem halts his bike at the foot of the aisle, shutting off its engine and its headlight as the arena lights rise once more. It becomes apparent that the ring attire of the champion is slightly different than usual: he is wearing an ankle-length plain black duster, accompanied by blood red boots, wristbands and kneepads, as well as his newly-donned red fingerless leather gloves. As he dismounts the cycle, his duster parts and his black tights become visible, the words "Herald Of Damnation" emblazoned in fiery letters down his right leg and "Angel of Destruction" in similar fashion, with the exception of the letter "i" which is replaced by a tiny halo, on his left. He raises a gloved hand to his right shoulder, where the IIWF World Championship belt is slung, and with his left hand, removes his black sunglasses, revealing his startling white eyes. He fixes both Verhoeven and Petrow, who watch the champion's arrival intently, with a confident gaze, before turning to Gabrielle.] TD: A different appearance for the Champion here tonight, Steve Roberts, but he looks as confident as ever. SR: Look at that pasty-skinned waif, Dross. TD: I hardly think Gabrielle qualifies as a waif, Steve. SR: I was talking about Boy Requiem. [The Champion is in conference with his sister, who is attired in a black denim shirt tied around her waist and exposing her pale midriff, black jeans, black fingerless gloves, and sunglasses. She appears to be chewing gum and is, as always, visibly more excited than her brother. She looks past him from time to time at the two men standing in the ring, and then talking animatedly to the champion. Requiem nods, and then turns back to the ring, ignoring the yells and shouts of the capacity crowd, which is now hushed in anticipation for the beginning of the match. Requiem moves towards the ringsteps, his right knee apparently giving him some trouble as his gait is slightly uneven, and then climbs up onto the apron. Verhoeven makes a move to charge the champion, but is held in check by Joe Petrow, who places himself in between champion and challenger.] TD: Requiem does seem to be favouring that right knee following Luke Steele's attack, Steve Roberts, but if he is in considerable pain, he's hiding it very well. SR: Aw, my heart bleeds for him, Dross. TD: Requiem now, stepping into the ring... you can feel the tension building here, Steve Roberts... Otto Verhoeven wants to rip the champion apart for what he did to -- hang on! [Huge pop from the fans in the aisle as two men make their way down to ringside.] TD: It's the Syndicate! It's the new IIWF World Tag Team Champions! [Indeed, the crowd roars a huge ovation as Tiger Claw, his latest title belt strapped around his waist, and Casey "Blackheart" James, his tag title held aloft in a single huge hand, make their way down to ringside. Joe Petrow, apparently having overdosed on caffeine, darts around between Requiem and Verhoeven and the side of the ring nearest the aisle, as if trying to gauge the situation.] SR: Come on, Joe, ring the bell! TD: Despite the fact that both competitors are in the ring, Joe Petrow appears reluctant to start this match while the Syndicate and Gabrielle are roaming around ringside. [As Gabrielle, seated on the saddle of Requiem's bike at the foot of the aisle, her arms folded, blowing bubbles with her gum, confronts the arriving Syndicate, there is a huge pop from the Genesis Generation fans either side of the aisle near the entranceway...] TD: Here comes the cavalry! Requiem has reinforcements on the way -- Serge Annis... Scott Rogers... the Highwayman... oh my! [Bursting past Annis, Rogers and the Highwayman, all of whom are sweat, and in some cases, blood, stained, are Icehawk and Edmund Fitzgerald, making a beeline for the Syndicate in the aisle. Casey and Claw turn from Gabrielle at the last moment, alerted by the yells of the fans, and are clobbered by a football tackle from Fitz and a dropkick from Icehawk! Huge pop as a brawl erupts in the aisle! Joe Petrow leaps from the ring and interjects himself in the middle of the melée, leaving Otto Verhoeven and Requiem facing one another in the ring.] TD: Oh, we have all kinds of chaos breaking out right here, folks -- we have a brawl in the aisle -- Rogers, Annis and Highwayman making their way past and down into the ringside enclosure, surrounding the ring, a member of Genesis on each side -- Petrow struggling to keep Cold Spell and the Syndicate apart... and still Verhoeven and Requiem simply stand in the ring, staring intently, one man at the other... [Casey James clobbers Icehawk with his gold belt, knocking the gymnast for six, while Tiger Claw finally breaks free of Fitz with a vicious enzuigiri kick. Petrow seizes the opportunity to get inbetween the two teams, and points Cold Spell back towards the locker room! Big pop!] TD: I believe Joe Petrow is banishing Cold Spell from ringside -- but apparently not the Syndicate. SR: Hey, the Syndicate didn't start it, Dross. There they were, exchanging pleasantries with that little hussie at the foot of the aisle, when all of a sudden, out come those sore losers and blindside them. Petrow's quite right to send them away. TD: I'm not convinced by that argument, Steve Roberts, but that would seem to be the case here. [Security officers swarm the aisle and transport Cold Spell forcibly back to the locker room, Fitz shaking his head as he backs away, Icehawk gesticulating wildly and throwing insults. Claw mockingly waves them goodbye, while James simply smirks and turns back to the ring, where Petrow has reinstated himself -- just as the impasse between Verhoeven and Requiem is broken! Huge pop as Verhoeven, unleashing a torrent of verbal abuse that the microphones don't pick up, issues the champion with a vicious slap across the face, the *crack* echoing around the Coliseum. Petrow signals for the bell -- Ding! Ding! Ding! -- as Requiem, whose head was turned by the force of the slap, slowly turns his face to Verhoeven once more. The Butcher continues his verbal barrage, punctuating his final insult with another hard slap, again turning Requiem's face. The champion, however, makes no move to strike back.] TD: This match is underway -- and Requiem is simply not responding to this abuse, verbal and physical, from the Butcher. SR: Verhoeven's trying to make him mad, Dross -- trying to rile him up in the early going. TD: But still -- oh, and another hard slap! Another hard slap from Verhoeven! But still, Requiem makes no move to retaliate. [An arrogant smirk passes Requiem's lips, as he casually enquires something of Verhoeven; the cameras don't pick up the precise words, but the query appears to be why Heidi would have chosen to jump on Scott Rogers' back a couple of weeks ago: "He's a handsome man, don't you think?" That's all the provocation Verhoeven needs -- and he launches himself at Requiem, fists and boots flying, as the crowd explodes to its feet, cameras flashing all over the arena as these two huge men, these two monsters, leather one another with hard rights and lefts!] TD: And now we are well and truly underway, Requiem going straight for the jugular -- he knows how to press Otto's buttons, Steve Roberts. SR: Maybe so, but Requiem can't compete with the Butcher in a knock-down, drag-out brawl -- Verhoeven is a former Golden Glove boxing champion, baby dolls. TD: Indeed he is -- and he certainly has the upper hand in this early exchange, backing Requiem into the ropes... [Petrow calls for the break, but Verhoeven continues to pummel his opponent with vicious uppercuts, mixing open hand and closed fist shots, sending the champion reeling. Petrow once again interjects himself between the two men, risking injury from a wild fist from Otto, and pushes the Butcher away -- only for Requiem to jam a thumb in the Butcher's eye! Verhoeven staggers backwards, and the champion lunges past Petrow, raking his opponent's face. Huge heel pop! Requiem backs Verhoeven into the ropes, and Scott Rogers serruptitiously grabs the Butcher's ankle, to prevent him from moving, while the champion lambasts the challenger with hard body shots.] TD: Petrow hasn't seen Rogers -- he hasn't seen this blatant cheating by Genesis... Verhoeven is disorientated, and now he is being blasted by the champion. Requiem may not be able to compete with his opponent in a one on one brawl, but this isn't one on one, Steve Roberts! SR: Come on, Crazy Joe, whose side are you on here?! TD: Folks -- folks, I'm getting word from the back that officials have had a further altercation with the Deathbringer in the past few minutes. I believe Larry Morton has more details. Larry? [While the action in the ring continues, Petrow distracted by Gabrielle leaping up onto the ring apron, a caption, "Voice of Larry Morton", flashes up, as Larry speaks in a voice over:] LM: [voice over] Yes, Tim, just a few minutes ago, Deathbringer had another confrontation with IIWF officials. Earlier tonight, at the climax of his match, he chokeslammed countless IIWF officials, including head of the Special Concerns Committee, Poutine Janois. He was then involved again just half an hour or so ago in the first half of tonight's double main event. It was my understanding that Deathbringer had been told to report to the office of the IIWF President on Monday morning following his first major infraction -- attacking IIWF officials -- but following his irresponsible and potentially lethal use of the scythe which resulted in a fire breaking out at ringside earlier on, I believe he was confronted backstage by an already seething Janois, who is said to have issued the big man with his pink slip -- essentially an on the spot suspension... TD: Hang on, Larry, we'll come back to you in just a moment... Look at this! [Requiem ties Verhoeven up in the ropes on one side of the ring and continues to pummel away at his midsection with hard body shots. Petrow is still distracted by Gabrielle as Scott Rogers relinquishes his hold on the Butcher's ankle and pushes a ringside official off his chair, grabbing it and folding it up. Suddenly, a number of things happen at once: Casey James drags Gabrielle down from the apron, Petrow turns back to the combatants in the ring -- and Scott Rogers swings the chair on the outside, hitting the trapped Verhoeven hard in the back! Big heel pop!] TD: Oh my! What a chair shot from Scott Rogers -- and Petrow saw it! Petrow is right there -- he's untying Verhoeven from the ropes... and he's ordering Genesis away from ringside! [Huge pop as Petrow leans out through the ropes, yells reprimands at Scott Rogers, and gestures that Genesis must leave the ringside area! Rogers flips Petrow the bird, and is joined by Annis and Highwayman, while Requiem continues to work on Verhoeven behind Petrow's back, choking him out with his boot.] TD: This is a very dangerous situation, Steve Roberts. Petrow needs to clear the ringside area before somebody is seriously injured. [Petrow retrieves a canister of something from his utility belt, and waves it in the faces of the Genesis members on the outside -- but Rogers and company seem decidedly unimpressed.] SR: What's that, Dross? TD: I believe it's a canister of tear gas, Steve Roberts! But we've already had fire at ringside tonight -- I don't think we're going to see tear gas here... [Petrow appears to give up on forcing Genesis away from ringside, turning back towards the centre of the ring for a moment -- where Requiem has applied a reverse chinlock on the Butcher -- but then, with apparently a single motion, Petrow leaps, twisting in mid-air and soaring over the top rope with a suicide dive onto Rogers, Annis and Highwayman! Huge, huge pop!] TD: Oh my! SR: What the hell is Petrow doing, Dross?! TD: I guess he's making sure that his policies are enforced -- Petrow now, picking himself up and summoning Sparkplug Lee over... [Petrow says something to Sparkplug Lee, who makes an announcement as the stunned Genesis members pick themselves up:] RA: I have been informed by the special guest referee that if Scott Rogers, Serge Annis, Highwayman, and Gabrielle do not leave ringside immediately, Requiem will not only forfeit the match... but also the IIWF World Heavyweight Championship! [Another huge pop rocks the Coliseum! Outside the ring, the Genesis members seem to throw a temper tantrum, while in the ring, Requiem immediately releases the chinlock, allowing the Butcher to slump to the mat, storming to the side of the ring, and yelling at Petrow about "what the hell he thinks he's doing."] TD: Joe Petrow is really rubbing Genesis up the wrong way here, Steve Roberts. SR: Well, this proves it, Dross -- the Butcher paid in full! Verhoeven's got the wa-wa, baby dolls! [A contingent of security personnel again make their way to the ring to escort the four angry Genesis representatives away from ringside, again mockingly wished farewell by the Syndicate, Casey James breathing on his belt and buffing it up as they are led away. Petrow climbs back into the ring, and Requiem turns back to the centre of the ring -- huge, huge pop!] TD: Chokeslam! Chokeslam! Verhoeven was up, and he has just driven the champion to the canvas with a chokeslam! SR: Aw yeah, Dross -- this is what it's about! Whoo-hoo! [The crowd chant "Otto! Otto!" as Verhoeven stands above the stunned Requiem. The Butcher eschews the cover, and immediately drags the champion back to his feet, whips him into the ropes -- grabs him by the throat, and... and... is bent double by a fist raised sharply to his groin! Petrow is immediately in Requiem's face, admonishing him for use of a questionable tactic, but the champion simply steps around the referee, and labels the challenger with a hard uppercut. Verhoeven is straightened up again, and staggering backwards -- Requiem bounces off the ropes, and then blasts Verhoeven to the canvas with a big clothesline! Huge heel pop!] TD: Requiem showing remarkable tenacity, straight back up from that chokeslam and once again in control. SR: Come on, Butcher! [Requiem attempts to drop an elbow on Verhoeven, but the Butcher rolls away, and both men are rapidly back to their feet, Otto slightly less nimbly than the champion. Requiem lashes out with a vicious kick to the Teutonic terror's knee, which buckles underneath him, and he crumples back to the mat. Requiem continues to stamp away at Verhoeven's right knee, and then grapevines the leg, putting as much torque on the ankle and knee as possible. Petrow is right there again, checking for the submission, but always with one eye on the Syndicate, who still remain at ringside. Requiem continues to verbally berate the Butcher, asking him how Heidi's hospital stay has been and so on. Verhoeven lashes out with his gloved fists, but Requiem strains backwards to avoid the blows. Verhoeven pushes himself up on his powerful arms, and begins to walk himself towards the ropes with his hands. Requiem attempts to resist being dragged towards the side of the ring, but Verhoeven's upper body strength proves sufficient... and the Butcher grabs the bottom rope! Big pop! Petrow calls for the break, but Requiem continues to yank away at the knee.] TD: Petrow is putting the count on Requiem here -- and Requiem is refusing to break the hold! The champion is trying to even up the score -- his own knee is tender, and he's trying to take out one of the Butcher's legs... SR: Come on, Petrow! Get in there! Whose side are you on?! [Petrow's count reaches five, and still Requiem refuses to break the hold. The crowd erupts in a huge pop as Petrow forcibly breaks the grapevine, Requiem standing in the ring and yelling yet again at Petrow, towering over the man he outweighs by seventy pounds. Petrow, unbowed, reprimands Requiem -- and receives a shove for good measure from the champion! Big heel pop as Requiem shoves Petrow and then returns to Verhoeven, who is trying to pull himself to his feet using the ropes -- Requiem blasting Verhoeven's left knee with another vicious kick! Petrow once again gets in Requiem's face, but the champion simply ignores him as he lays Verhoeven's leg across the bottom rope -- and then brings his whole mass crashing down on the knee, wrenching it further. Otto grimaces in pain, while on the outside, Casey James sizes up to Requiem, yelling at him from the floor. Requiem leans out through the ropes, harsh words being exchanged between the current and former World champions, and... Huge pop!] TD: Oh my! Oh my! Casey James just blasted Requiem with a steel chair! He was holding a steel chair -- he swung that chair, and caught Requiem right on the head! That's a disqualification right there! [Requiem flies backwards from the force of the impact, landing flat on his back in the centre of the ring. On the outside, Casey admires the newly-altered contours of the steel chair, until his examination is interrupted by Joe Petrow leaping out of the ring and snatching the chair away from him, jabbing a finger in his face and then pointing towards the locker room! Heel pop!] SR: What the hell is Petrow doing, Dross?! TD: Well, if there was any question of bias in favour of the challenger here, surely it's dispelled now. Joe Petrow is sending the Syndicate away from ringside -- and I'm surprised that he hasn't disqualified Otto Verhoeven, Steve Roberts. SR: Petrow knows what the people want to see, Dross -- they want to see a new champion. In fact, this isn't just about a new champion, this is about a new _franchise_ -- so Crazy Joe's gonna get it right at whatever cost. [The Syndicate react furiously to Petrow's demand that they leave ringside, Casey squaring up to the guest official, but his partner Tiger Claw seems to understand that in this instance, discretion is the better part of valour, and places himself between James and Petrow. Casey listens to Claw, never taking his eyes from Petrow's gaze, and then finally the new tag team champions slowly back away from ringside, Claw apparently trying to calm Casey as they disappear towards the locker room, the fans responding to Petrow's decision with a big heel pop.] TD: The Syndicate are out of here, Steve Roberts. Finally, it's one on one -- it's just Requiem and the Butcher. SR: No, Dross, you forgot Petrow. That crazy son of a bitch doesn't know whose side he's on! TD: Isn't it possible, Steve Roberts, that Joe Petrow has every intention of calling this match straight down the middle? SR: What the hell are you talking about, Dross?! TD: This match is far too... oh my, look at that! Requiem has just sat up, and look at his face! SR: Yeah, the crimson tide comes to Boy Rectum! Whoo-hoo! [Indeed, as Requiem stirs in the centre of the ring, it becomes apparent that he has been busted open by Casey James' chair shot, a long cut having opened up on Requiem's forehead, blood running down his pale skin into his white eyes. The champion, clearly dazed, wipes his forehead with his hand -- and the bleary sight of blood on his fingers seems to reignite the huge 306lbs Angel of Destruction, fighting to his feet -- where he stands face to face once more with Otto Verhoeven who, limping noticably, has also returned to his feet. The crowd explodes into a huge pop as Requiem lunges at Verhoeven, blasting him with a boot to the midsection -- and then locks him in position for a suplex.] TD: Requiem now, lifting Verhoeven high, high in the air! What power here from the champion, holding Verhoeven vertical... and now, Requiem staggering backwards -- is the Butcher too heavy? Oh my! [Huge heel pop as Requiem finally completes the suplex motion, but having staggered close to the ropes, as Verhoeven drops, his neck is stun-gunned over the top rope, and the Butcher falls to the floor outside the ring! Huge heel pop!] TD: What an unbelievable manoeuvre! Verhoeven is fighting for breath right out here in front of the broadcast table -- what a devastating, career-shortening manoeuvre from the champion! A suplex stun-gun to the outside. SR: Come on, Butcher, get up! [Requiem again wipes the blood from his face, and flicks it at Petrow, who warns Requiem against leaving the ring -- but the champion simply steps over the top rope and out onto the apron, measuring Verhoeven, who slowly rolls to his feet... Requiem waits for Verhoeven to turn around -- and leaps! Huge pop! Huge pop as Requiem leaps -- right into the arms of Verhoeven, who then lifts Requiem up, up and over -- dropping him face-first on the steel ring steps!] TD: Oh my! Both men are down on the outside, Requiem's face just smashing into those ring steps, Verhoeven still struggling for breath -- where did he find the strength for that, Steve Roberts?! SR: Look at Petrow, Dross -- he's counting both men out! TD: He is indeed -- and I don't know that either of these men is going to beat that count. It seems that neither man is able to get a truly decisive advantage in this match. [As Petrow's count reaches seven, Verhoeven drags himself back into the ring, rolling in under the bottom rope to break the count, and then immediately rolling straight back out to meet the rising Requiem, whom he whips along the side of the ring -- and Requiem slams into the steel crowd barriers, nearly breaking the legs of the fans in the front rows, who scatter. Petrow now leaves the ring, placing himself between the fallen champion and the advancing Butcher, who yells at the official to remove himself or be forcibly removed -- but Petrow stands his ground! Verhoeven appears to lose his patience, and grabs Petrow by the throat, lifting him off the ground and throwing him aside -- and Petrow lands on the Spanish announcers' table, sending their equipment flying! Huge pop!] TD: A bad evening for the announcers here in the IIWF, Steve Roberts... SR: You're not kidding, Dross. Corn star? I still can't believe that. TD: Petrow is really putting his body on the line in the interests of trying to keep this match as sportsmanlike as possible -- but as he picks himself up from amidst that electrical equipment, he is making no move to signal for the bell. I can only imagine that he is determined to see a decisive victory either way in this match. SR: Requiem's taken a couple of shots at him, Verhoeven has too -- and Crazy Joe just keeps on going, Dross. He wants to see somebody get pinned here -- but the question remains: who? [Verhoeven rams Requiem with his knee, sandwiching the champion's head between bone and unforgiving steel crowd barriers. Big pop! Petrow now interjects himself between furious challenger and stunned champion, pushing Verhoeven back towards the ring while Requiem attempts to clear his head, blinking away the blood that continues to flow into his eyes. The Butcher berates Petrow as the two men return to the ring, Petrow showing no fear in standing up to the 322lbs monster who stands angrily before him. Turning back to the outside, Petrow puts the count on Requiem -- but Verhoeven immediately rolls back outside the ring and drags the champion back in. Requiem fights to his feet as Verhoeven follows him in, and whips him into the ropes. As Requiem comes back off the ropes, Verhoeven scoops him up and slams him hard to the mat with a side suplex -- and makes the cover! Petrow drops to the mat and makes the count: 1 - 2 - Requiem kicks out! Heel pop! Verhoeven rises, and drops a knee across Requiem's throat, causing the champion to clutch at his neck, apparently choked by the move. Verhoeven quells Requiem's struggles with a couple of right hand shots to the head, and makes another cover, this time hooking the legs. Again, Petrow is right there: 1 -- 2 -- kick out! As Verhoeven complains of a slow count, Requiem rolls onto his front and tries to push himself back up with his arms -- but Verhoeven stomps viciously on the small of the champion's back, and then applies a camel clutch, wrenching as hard as he is able on Requiem's lumbar region.] TD: Otto Verhoeven is now firmly in control of this match, Steve Roberts, but I have to wonder how long Joe Petrow is going to stand for the open hostility extended to him by both competitors -- sooner or later, he's surely going to snap. [The Genesis Generation fans begin to stamp their feet in time, some sounding their air horns in support of Requiem, and the champion begins to fight the camel clutch, inching towards the ropes, which lie tantalisingly just outside his grasp. He reaches weakly with an outstretched arm, but just comes up short... and as Petrow bends to ask the champion whether he wishes to submit, he grabs Petrow and yanks on him, pulling him over, and he clashes heads with Verhoeven! Petrow clashes heads with Verhoeven, and the Butcher releases the hold. Both challenger and referee fall stunned to the mat, and Requiem begins to fight to his feet once more, dragging himself to his feet using the ropes as the crowd jeers in derision.] TD: Listen to these people, Steve Roberts! Verhoeven is down, Petrow is down, and Requiem is dragging himself to his feet. Once again, this battered, bloody but unbowed champion is showing that he is legitimately a very tough competitor indeed. SR: He ain't showing that to me, Dross. What he's showing to me is that he'll still take every shortcut he can find to hang on to that belt by the skin of his teeth. Come on, Butcher! TD: Requiem now, moving over to the Butcher and -- legdrop! Oh my! What impact! And again -- and again! Steve Roberts, Requiem is repeatedly dropping that huge leg across the throat of Otto Verhoeven, without even standing up... SR: He's guillotining him, Dross! [Once Verhoeven seems suitably subdued, Requiem repositions himself, placing one foot on each of the Butcher's shoulders, sitting on his lower body, and yanks on the arms, pulling them almost out of their sockets. Big heel pop as Requiem continues to yank away, while Petrow, still dazed from his collision with Verhoeven, begins to stir, totally out of position to ask for the submission.] SR: What the hell do you call that, Dross?! TD: I'm not quite sure, Steve Roberts -- it's almost an inverted camel clutch, if you will, yanking on the arms in the opposite direction. The hold appears to be designed to neutralise upper body strength by weakening the arms -- but I've not seen any hold quite like this before. [Suddenly, the crowd erupts, as Verhoeven manages to flip Requiem over backwards, and repositions himself so that he has the champion in a pinning predicament! Huge pop as Verhoeven presses Requiem, coiled tightly with his shoulders against the mat, down against the canvas -- but Petrow is facing the other way!] TD: Oh my! Verhoeven has Requiem for five, six, seven -- Petrow out of position -- he turns... makes the count... we have one... we have two... We have a new champion! No! No, so close! SR: Dammit, Petrow, what the hell do you think you're doing?! What the hell is he doing, Dross?! Is he crazy?! TD: Joe Petrow finally turned and made the count there, but Requiem was able somehow to kick out -- and Verhoeven is livid. He thinks he should be the first ever two-time IIWF World Heavyweight Champion right now, and not without justification! He had Requiem down for at least a count of eight. [The crowd is on its feet, joining with Otto Verhoeven in its anger at Petrow's decision. Verhoeven wisely, however, turns back to his opponent, who lies prone in the ring, blood now caking on his face, his chest heaving, and drags Requiem to his feet. Verhoeven drags the champion back to his feet, whips him into the ropes and... huge pop!] TD: Oh my! Oh my! It is over! It is over! SR: Slaughterslam! Slaughterslam! [Verhoeven hoists Requiem up into the air by his throat, and then brings him crashing down across his knee. However, instead of going for the pinfall, he drags the champion back to his feet once more and again whips him, apparently semi-conscious, into the ropes. Again, Requiem bounces off the far side, Verhoeven grabs him by the throat and... the crowd explodes!] TD: Another Slaughterslam! Requiem is out! We have a new World Heavyweight Champion! SR: Two Slaughterslams, Dross! Two goddamned Slaughterslams! Whoo-hoo! Kiss it goodbye, Boy Requiem! TD: No -- no, what's this?! [The crowd continues to holler at almost deafening levels as suddenly there is another figure in the ring -- a man wearing a long plain grey trenchcoat, wearing a mask... a big, muscular man who surely weighs in at more than three hundred pounds.] TD: It's Casey James! Casey James is back out here! SR: No, Dross -- it's the Outlaw! It's the Outlaw! [Joe Petrow doesn't have enough time to react -- as Verhoeven stands over the prone body of Requiem, the victim of two devastating Slaughterslams, suddenly in the ring is this masked man... and then there is a front facelock... and then the impact of head against canvas! Huge, huge heel pop!] TD: Oh my! Cattle Buster DDT! Cattle Buster! SR: What the hell is going on?! No! TD: Otto "the Butcher" Verhoeven has just been Cattle Bustered by Casey James! For some reason -- and who knows what it is -- Casey James has just DDT'd Otto Verhoeven -- and the Butcher is out! He is out! [The crowd erupts in a chant of "YOU SOLD OUT! YOU SOLD OUT!" as Petrow herds the huge masked man out of the ring, the "Outlaw" dropping to the arena floor and then pointing for Petrow to turn around -- as Requiem groggily drapes an arm across Verhoeven's chest... Requiem with the cover... Petrow turns... drops to the canvas -- a look of absolute disgust on his face as he... as he makes the count: 1 ---- 2 ---- 3! Petrow signals for the bell, shaking his head as he does so... Ding! Ding! Ding! And the chant continues: "YOU SOLD OUT! YOU SOLD OUT!"] TD: This match is over, Steve Roberts -- and Requiem is still the IIWF World Heavyweight Champion! SR: I can't believe it, Dross! What the hell is going on around here?! [Sparkplug Lee strains to be heard over the tumult of the incensed capacity crowd: "YOU SOLD OUT! YOU SOLD OUT!"] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, here is your winner... and _STILL_ IIWF World Heavyweight Champion... Requiem! [Petrow stands in the ring, hands on hips, apparently unable to believe the decision he has been forced into making, while Requiem lies in the ring, a single gloved fist raised skywards as the only sign that he realises he has won the match. And then... then Verhoeven rolls from the ring! Otto Verhoeven rolls from the ring -- and confronts the masked "Outlaw"! "YOU SOLD OUT! YOU SOLD OUT!"] TD: Look at this, Steve Roberts -- Otto Verhoeven is confronting Casey James, the man who has just cost him the IIWF World Heavyweight Championship... SR: That's not Casey James, Dross! That's the "Outlaw" himself! But why in hell's name would he help Genesis?! I don't get it, Dross! TD: Well, Steve Roberts, the motivation may not be clear -- but the fact that this masked man is not Hall of Famer J.W. Hardin. That is Casey James -- and he is backing away! Verhoeven, holding his head -- it's incredible he's even on his feet after that devastating DDT... the Butcher on James' tail! [As Verhoeven follows the retreating masked man up the aisle, Requiem is suddenly joined in the ring by his Genesis comrades, who come not from the locker room, but from the stands! First it is Serge Annis who hops over the crowd barrier, then, through the crowd that is near apoplectic with rage, comes the Highwayman... then Scott Rogers... then Cold Spell... all joining their leader, the IIWF World Heavyweight Champion, Requiem, in the ring.] TD: Genesis now, in the ring, celebrating their victory, helping Requiem to his feet... and still Joe Petrow stands there, apparently in disbelief, apparently disgusted with himself and with Requiem for the way in which this match was ended... Oh my! [Suddenly, the crowd explodes yet again as Petrow lunges at Requiem, punching, kicking and screaming at the champion: "YOU SON OF A BITCH! YOU RUINED IT! YOU RUINED EVERYTHING!" The rest of Genesis stand aghast for a moment, shocked at Petrow's assault -- and are then forced to try and drah Petrow away from their leader as he applies the Mandible Claw on Requiem! Requiem slumps to the mat, apparently paralysed by the intense pain of the claw hold being pressed under his tongue, Petrow still screaming, "YOU'LL PAY FOR THIS, DAMMIT! THE SYCHOPATHS WILL BE AVENGED!" Finally, Genesis manage to drag Petrow away from Requiem, Cold Spell tending to the champion, while Annis, Rogers and Highwayman begin to lay one hell of a beating on Petrow.] TD: Joe Petrow attacking Requiem in a near-suicidal decision, Steve Roberts! Petrow waited until the whole of Genesis were in the ring -- and then he attacked the champion! They're going to kill him in there! SR: Good, Dross! Good! That moron made a million bad decisions in that match -- and now he's going to pay for it! TD: This is bad -- Highwayman hitting his Daylight Robbery neckbreaker on Petrow... now Serge Annis, whipping Petrow into the ropes and -- oh my! That is a truly devastating chokeslam, the way Annis sweeps those legs out from under his victim... oh my! Petrow is in deep, deep trouble. [Security storm the aisle and attempt to enter the ring to rescue Petrow, but are held at bay by various Genesis members, who strike the security staff down as soon as they get as far as the apron. Petrow has practically disappeared under a sea of flying fists and boots, Requiem now joining in the collective beating on the special guest official. The crowd continues to roar in a mixture of emotions.] TD: Folks, we are right out of time here tonight, we have to leave you -- this is total carnage out here. Otto Verhoeven has chased Casey James back to the locker room, Genesis are simply destroying Joe Petrow in the ring, simply destroying him... but Requiem is still the IIWF World Heavyweight Champion. Folks, we hope you have enjoyed Midsummer Madness -- join us again in November for Ring Wars IV... For now, this is Tim Dross, for "Soundbite" Steve Roberts, saying: so long, everybody! [Cut to a wide-angle shot of the ring as garbage begins to be hurled into the squared circle, where Genesis continue to decimate Joe Petrow, security staff regrouping in the aisle, apparently unable to drag the assailed official from the ring. As the carnage continues, fade.] +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= 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 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+