[Fade up on footage captioned, "IIWF Saturday Night: Last Week", accompanied by the trance beat of Olive's dance hit "Outlaw." The footage shows the match between the "Masked Outlaw" and "Majestic" Maurice McArthur, and the mystery man is firmly in control: bearhugs, chokeslams, a Cattle Buster DDT and a Syndi-cutter are all executed on the hapless Triple M before the "Outlaw" scores the pinfall.] # Insidious / You creep away and do your deal / Seeing what you think is you / Couldn't be further from the truth / So cruel / Keeping us a secret fool / You surely are / So you, blind to all the damage done / You go too far # [A huge pop accompanies the arrival of Brody Thunder, Mad Dog Watkins and Steve Kowalski, all of whom fly down the aisle. The Masked Outlaw sees this and heads for the safety of the unguarded side, only to notice Otto Verhoeven waiting outside the ring. The masked man quickly looks for an alternate escape route -- but finds none!] # Couldn't you have told me before / I would have loved you so much more / Couldn't you have told me before / Feeling like an outlaw / So you got some / From another person / Uncanny how he looks like you / Except there is too much you cannot do # [Thunder, Kowalski and Watkins slowly back the masked man, who looks quickly left and right for an escape route, into the far corner. The trio then charge him, pinning him in the corner and tearing at his mask. The original soundtrack fades over the music:] TD: They've got him trapped! We're going to find out who has been under that mask right here on IIWF Saturday Night. [Brody Thunder finally grabs the top of the loosened mask and uses it to hurl the Outlaw toward the middle of the ring. As the big man's body hits the mat, Thunder is left with an empty mask in his hand. A nasty grin forms on his face as he recognizes the unmasked man and a collective gasp from the crowd seems to pull the oxygen from the arena.] SR: Oh, sweet mother of god, no...! TD: I can't believe it! It's.... [The footage freezes, and suddenly cuts back in monochrome to Midsummer Madness, to the match between Requiem and Otto Verhoeven. The Butcher drags the champion back to his feet, whips him into the ropes and hoists Requiem up into the air by his throat, before bringing him crashing down across his knee. 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! The original soundtrack is heard:] 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 as the masked man hits a Cattle Buster DDT on the Butcher! Huge, huge heel pop!] TD: Oh my! Cattle Buster DDT! Cattle Buster! SR: What the hell is going on?! No! [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!"] # It's not the problems / The way you shut your mouth is a real blow / Reputation tainted / I will not accept being the last to know / So cruel / Keeping us a secret fool / You surely are / So you, blind to all the damage done / You go too far / Couldn't you have told me before / I would have loved you so much more / Couldn't you have told me before / Feeling like an outlaw # [Cut back to the slow-motion colour footage of last week's show, the grin breaking out on the face of Brody Thunder as he holds the empty mask in his hand, while the commentary continues:] SR: No, this has to be some dream. TD: You can't deny it, Steve Roberts. It's right there in front of you! [The scene flash cuts to monochrome footage once more, this time to the 20 September edition of IIWF Saturday Night. Requiem battles Joe Petrow in the main event... Suddenly, the house lights abruptly go down! A gasp of fright goes up collectively from the crowd. Just as abruptly as they went out, the lights flicker back on again, revealing a scene of chaos around the ring. Mr. Hatori, the referee, is standing at the foot of the aisle, confronting the hordes of Genesis -- Highwayman, Serge Annis, Scott Rogers and Cold Spell -- who threaten to swarm the ring. Between the ropes, a villanous sight greets the eyes: a man wearing a long grey trenchcoat, a mask, and a cowboy hat pulled down low over his brow -- the Masked Outlaw -- is tucking Joe Petrow's head under his arm, before executing a punishing Cattlebuster DDT! The Japanese fans sit stony faced and silent, upset at the flagrant cheating, while the Masked Outlaw rolls under the bottom rope and out of the ring. Mr. Hatori turns away from Genesis, and seeing Requiem covering the comatose Petrow for the pin, dashes betweeen the ropes and drops down to make the count: 1 - 2 - 3! Ding! Ding! Ding!] # Couldn't you have told me before? / I would have loved you so much more... # [Cut back to the colour footage once again, still in slow-motion, as cameras flash all over the arena, the white lights pulsing like a heartbeat...] SR: No, no, no... TD: Finally, we know who the Masked Outlaw is! It _is_ Casey James! [Sure enough, Casey James is on the mat in front of Thunder, Kowalski, and Watkins, trying desperately to cover his face, but to no avail. The shot closes in on his face, still in slow motion, camera flashes casting shadows in one direction, then another... the expression on his face is one of a man in total and utter shock.] # Couldn't you have told me before? / Feeling like an outlaw... # [The dance music elides into the hard beat of the title music as the opening graphics explode onto the screen:] ________ ______ __ ____ ___ __ . _ ___ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __| / /\ | | || \| \ /\ \ / |\ || / \| | | | || | \ v v / | __| \__ /__\ | | ||__/| |/__\ v | \||| __|-| | |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| \ \| v | \|__/ \| | || \_|| | | __________________________/...hour one...\........|...|.......|....| LIVE! IIWF Coliseum, Portland, Oregon 4 October 1997 [The opening graphics fade through to interior shots of the familiar IIWF Coliseum, the twenty thousand strong hometown crowd clearly very excited to see the prodigal federation stop by on the Road to Ring Wars IV. Cameras flash all over the arena, from the floor to the mezzanine, with such rapidity as to almost create a strobe effect, briefly illuminating one area of fans, then another, then another... In the midst of the darkness is the beacon of the ring area, a huge rigging erected over the squared circle, many coloured spotlights spinning over the crowd and the canvas. Suddenly, the Coliseum itself seems to shake as huge volleys of pyrotechnics erupt in the rafters, rockets streaming up to the rafters from the head of the aisle. The crowd is now brought alive, the fans shouting their approval as showers of sparks fly as a path of fireworks explodes in turn down the aisle, finally reaching the ringside area -- and the four ringposts are together seemingly ablaze as brilliant white flame shoots up from each corner! As the smoke in the ringside area clears, the voice of Tim Dross is heard over this footage:] TD: Welcome everybody to the home of the IIWF! Welcome everybody to the IIWF Coliseum in downtown Portland, Oregon! Welcome to IIWF Saturday Night! [The shot cuts closer to the fans, many of whom wave signs and IIWF merchandise. Red-gloved fists wave hysterically, foam fingers point to the rafters, and the fans clamour to be caught on camera. Cut to the broadcast table at ringside, at which are seated Tim Dross, wearing his familiar IIWF blazer and a tie which bears the design of the Canadian maple leaf, and his partner, "Soundbite" Steve Roberts, who is wearing his trademark leather jacket over a "Say it ain't so, Casey!" t-shirt, and still sports the small trophy around his neck.] TD: Howdy, folks! I'm Tim Dross, and beside me, as always, is my tag team partner and broadcast colleague, "Soundbite" Steve Roberts. What a week it was last week in the Saddledome in Canada, when we found out that the masked man who has blighted the opponents of IIWF World Heavyweight Champion, Requiem, was, as many had suspected all along, Casey James! SR: It's really sad, Dross -- a fine champion like Casey James reduced to a candidate for the loony bin. TD: Whatever Casey James' motivations are, he's going to find it difficult to interfere in tonight's huge championship match, because he will be handcuffed to the ring throughout! In fact, so determined are both competitors that Casey James will not interfere in the bout, that _two_ sets of handcuffs will be used! Tonight, the "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder will face World Heavyweight Champion Requiem for the title he feels he should have won from Casey James himself back in July. SR: It's been a long road for the "Lone Wolf," Dross, and while I may not have approved of him in the past, anybody who hangs with Steve "the Fury" Kowalski and Mad Dog Watkins is okay by me. TD: ...although, Steve Roberts, we won't be seeing Mad Dog Watkins here tonight. The former Intercontinental Champion was the victim of not only a defeat at the hands of former protegé Ike Sampson, but a vicious attack from Tony Starks -- putting him on the shelf for the time being. All of us here at the IIWF wish Mr. Watkins a speedy recovery. SR: Speedy recovery, my ass. First the guy loses the IC belt to Quigley, and then he loses to Ike Sampson. Take all the time in the world to heal, Mad Dog -- you got some serious soul-searching to do, big guy. TD: Nonetheless, we fully expect Brody Thunder to bring the New Jersey Nightmare, Steve "the Fury" Kowalski, down to ringside with him tonight for one of the biggest championship matches of the year! And speaking of huge championship matches, Intercontinental Champion "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley will make the first defence of the title he won just two weeks ago from Mad Dog Watkins, as he goes up against the red-gloved wrecking machine, Creed -- himself a former Intercontinental Champion. SR: It's not often I cheer on that over-pushed, under-talented punk kid, but against Chrissie, what choice do I have, Dross? TD: It's going to be an explosive contest, that's for sure -- both men have their fans, and the atmosphere here in the Coliseum is going to be simply electric when Quigley and Creed lock it up in our second hour tonight. Also in our second hour, we will see a tag team match scheduled in the fall-out -- no pun intended -- of last week's battle royal to determine the #1 contender to the Intercontinental Championship for a title match at Ring Wars IV. The eventual winner of that event, Duncan Macbeth, will team up with his long-time friend, Timothy N. Turner, to face the combination of Scott Rogers and Highwayman, who certainly had their differences last week. SR: Culture Club are like a bunch of headless chickens without Boy Requiem, Dross. They're falling apart -- and ain't nothin' gonna save em. TD: Having said that, Steve Roberts, it was Duncan Macbeth who -- apparently inadvertently -- eliminated Tim Turner in the battle royal, and there is every chance that there exists a certain amount of professional jealousy on both sides of this tag team encounter. The third member of the new, streamlined Genesis, the "Epitome of Evil" Serge Annis, hot off his runner-up performance in the battle royal, will go one-on-one with the "Party Maniac," Marty Warnett, here tonight -- and Warnett seems to have attracted the unwanted attentions of one "Superstar" Stud Stetson, Steve Roberts. SR: Stetson back in the IIWF? Give me a break, Dross. TD: The Cruiserweight contenders tournament continues tonight with the third of the first round matches -- Simon Lebec and Ronnie Paris have already advanced to the semi-finals, and tonight either the Phoenix or the Dirt Dog Unique Allah will join them in the next round. SR: I can hear that sucking sound already, Dross. TD: We'll also see some tremendous tag team competition here tonight in the Coliseum, folks. In just a few moments, we'll see two teams making their IIWF Saturday Night debuts, the Natural Predators and the Down Boys, square off -- and in our second hour, we'll see the Machines, hot off their victory in last week's triple threat tag team match, do battle with Damage Inc., who had an impressive showing last Saturday Night against the Prophets of Rage. And on top of all that, later tonight we will see the first part of a very special interview I recently conducted with a superstar we have not seen for some time in the IIWF. SR: I know who it is, Dross. TD: You do not know who it is, Steve Roberts. SR: Do too. TD: Okay, then -- who did I interview earlier this week? SR: Not telling. TD: Of course. Folks, let's get up -- hang on a moment, we're being joined out here by Alex Rio! [The crowd gives a mixed pop in reaction to the arrival of the young, cocky Alex Rio, who saunters down to ringside and, standing in front of the broadcast table, grabs the spare headset from beside Dross.] AR: Okay, Timmy, that's enough outta you.  TD: But I wasn't even talking about you!  Then you come over here and interrupt the... AR: [interrupting] I didn't interrupt anything.  Now, the big question on everyone's mind right now is, without a doubt: "What is Alex Rio doing back in the IIWF?"  Well, I originally had to leave the IIWF to spend more time at home with my wife and seven kids, Tommy, Stacie, Katie, Aaron... TD: [interrupting] You don't have any kids!  You left the IIWF due to contract disagreements with league officials, everybody knows that. AR: Who are you gonna believe?  A bunch of uptight businessmen or yours truly, Alex Rio?  [Dross sits wondering if he should bother answering that.] AR: Now, I bet you all thought Alex Rio faded out like The New Kids on the Block and picked up a new career making Egg McMuffins.  Well, it ain't so. I'm still here and Hangin' Tough, whoa-oh-oh-oh-oh ... and now I'm back in the IIWF to support the IIWF's greatest find and top prospect, my man "Dirt Dog" Unique Allah.  [smiles]  You're probably saying to yourself, "Alex Rio isn't black" and, "Alex Rio can't rap."  Au contraire, my friends, this is your lucky day.  You're all gonna see the master of the mic rock the house. HIT THE MUSIC! ["Ice Ice Baby" by Vanilla Ice starts up, Alex tries to rap along with it.] TD: God help us. AR: [rapping] Alright stop, collaborate and listen!  Ice is back with my brand new invention.  SOMETHIN' grabs a hold of me tightly, then I flow like a ... [loses his spot] ... [regains his spot] ... and I'll glow.  To the extreme I rock a mic like a vandal, light up a stage [loses his spot] ... [regains his spot] ... candle! [Alex Rio does a funky dance, until the music stops.] AR: THANK YOU!  Now, just one last thing before I leave.  I'd like to take this opportunity to promote my homie, M.C. Hammer's new album "Family Affair" which will be released soon.  M.C.'s had some hard times recently so go out and buy it.  I don't care if you like him or not, the poor guy needs some money, so buy his album.  Have a heart. ["U Can't Touch This" by M.C. Hammer starts up and Rio leaves, tossing the headset back on the table as he goes.] TD: Well, Steve Roberts, I don't quite know what to say. SR: You gotta love the cocky little moron, Dross. He walks out on the IIWF, then walks out here, a year later, and raps. You gotta respect that in a guy. TD: If you say so, Steve Roberts. Who knows what the relationship between the Dirt Dog and Alex Rio is -- Unique Allah will, of course, be wrestling the Phoenix later on here tonight, so perhaps our question will be answered then. Right now, let's get up to the ring for our first match, without any further ado. SR: Are you out of your mind, Dross?! This is a colossal waste of time. Who wants to see these four losers in the ring at the same time? The Down Boys are geeks, plain and simple. As for the Predators... where's Brody Thunder when you really need him? TD: Brody Thunder won't be out until the main event. Why do you ask? SR: Were your parents siblings? ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| Natural Predators vs. The Down Boys |_||_| \_/\_/ |_|.................................................... WRITER: RP [Sparkplug Lee stand perfectly erect and proud as he calls out the first match of the evening. As a matter of fact, he does it so well that there are rumours flying around the arena that this is actually his twin brother, Spindoctor Lee, who has a job with the U.S. government.] SL: The next match is a tag team attraction with one fall. Introducing first... hailing from Kinzua, Pennsylvania and Norfolk, Virginia respectively... weighing in at a combined 632 pounds... and accompanied by Kuyler Greyson... here are Bear... Wolf... the Natural Predators! [The crowd gives a respectable pop as the Native Americans head down to the ringside. They climb into the ring and Wolf gives a good natured slap onto the buckskin clad chest of his partner.] SR: I'm bored already and Bon Jovi hasn't even come out yet! SL: And their opponents... hailing from Miami, Florida, and Malibu, California respectively... weighing in at a combined weight of 457 pounds... and accompanied to the ring by their manager, Awesome T... here are "Superstud" Adam Peterson and "Dazzling" Dan Oliver...The Down Boys! ["Down Boys" by Warrant plays as Peterson and Oliver come out in a mock hunting style. They are wearing ridiculous looking acid-washed hunting fatigues and are "sneaking" to the ring in an exaggerated manner.] SR: Now I don't think much of Big Fuzzy and his faithful dog in the ring there... but I really hope they lay these two clowns out. They have got to be the two biggest losers ever to set foot in the IIWF. TD: They are... a little odd. The biggest losers, though... what about Prisoner #109? SR: Maybe it's a toss-up. No, wait. I almost forgot Quigley! [The Down Boys climb into the ring and the match gets under way, with Bear and Adam starting.] TD: This is a bit of a switch. I understand that Wolf usually prefers to start the match, but today we have Bear. SR: I don't care as long as Peterson becomes the "Supersmudge" before this is over. [Bear motions to Peterson, challenging him to take a run at him. Adam, never one to back down from a challenge, foolishly does so and runs right into a bearhug by the bigger man.] SR: All right! Pop him like a pimple! TD: How wonderfully... graphic. Bear has him securely and he... oh! He turns him over in a brutal belly-to-belly suplex! SR: We've got the "Supersmudge"! [Bear scoops Peterson back up and throws him onto his own shoulder in position for a powerslam. Before he can complete it, though, Adam slips off his shoulder and drops right behind him into a sleeper position!] TD: Adam Peterson has taken advantage of... not for long! [Bear runs backwards into his own corner, forcing Peterson to let go as he gasps for breath. Bear then tags in Wolf.] SR: Ah no. Don't tag in the smaller guy! I want to see this loser scraped off the mat! TD: It looks like Wolf can be just as effective! He just laid Peterson out with a thundering superkick! [Wolf lifts Peterson back to his feet and then takes him over with a snap suplex. He hoists him back up and jumps into a standing dropkick...but Peterson is no longer there!] TD: Adam Peterson avoided that dropkick and now Wolf is down! Dan Oliver has been tagged in and he is going to work on Wolf! SR: I knew it! Bring in the big guy! You guys are too pathetic to beat up these losers! [Oliver whips Wolf into a neutral corner and flies at him with a handspring flying elbow and hits... an empty corner!] TD: Oliver underestimated Wolf! He wasn't anywhere near worn down enough for that move! SR: These eighties rejects are just too stupid to wrestle. Why did Danny sign them anyway? [Wolf fires a dropkick to the face of Oliver, still in the corner slumped against the turnbuckle. He then goes over and tags Bear back in.] TD: There you go, Steve. Are you happy now? SR: No. I'm just bored. Who do we have after this? [Bear puts Oliver with a vertical suplex and then drops on him with a legdrop. He then slaps on a full nelson... almost. Oliver goes limp and slides out of his grasp. He then dives over to his corner and tags Peterson back in.] TD: The big Predator couldn't quite put that full nelson on. That's a good thing for the Down Boys. SR: Too bad for us though. We could have moved on to... what? Psycho against Steele?! That's it! I'm leaving! TD: You stay right where you are, Steve Roberts! [Peterson runs into the ring, only to be dropped by a clothesline by the big Bear. The Predator drops an elbow on Peterson and then picks him up. He grabs him around the waist and runs, full-bore into his own corner, tagging Wolf as he does so.] TD: We've got the Natural Selection! The Natural Predators have beaten the Down Boys! [Wolf comes into the ring and lines up a superkick to finish the Predators maneuver, but Peterson breaks free from Bear's grasp!] TD: Adam Peterson has slipped out of Bear's grasp and Wolf has leveled his big partner! Peterson has Wolf and whips him into the ropes! It's a tilt-a-whirl backbreaker! Here comes Dan Oliver! It's the Unskinny Bop! A 450 degree splash off the top rope! [Oliver hops up to make sure that Bear can't break the pin as Peterson makes the cover. Chuck Sanders makes the count... 1 - 2 - 3! Ding! Ding! Ding!] TD: The Natural Predators have been defeated! What a surprise from the Down Boys! SR: Oh. Boy. [The Down Boys quickly slide out of the ring as its clear that the Predators are a little frustrated. They are laughing as they head up the aisle, to a moderate level of cheers from the crowd and then...] TD: It's Licensed For Devastation! Starr and Chaos have come out of the crowd and attacked the Down Boys! Jonathan Chaos has hit Oliver with a Baltimore Blaster! He's got Peterson! Reggie Starr is standing on the retaining barrier! It's the "Breach of Contract"! SR: Now this is worth watching! Ah heck... here comes the redskins to ruin the fun! TD: That's not an acceptable term, Steve Roberts... but you are correct. The Natural Predators reach the fracas and... Starr drops Wolf with a lariat! Chaos kicks Bear in the midsection and... a thundering axekick! LFD is going crazy here, Steve Roberts! SR: This is great! LFD has destroyed both of these loser teams! They're laying the boots to the Predators! This is great! TD: Finally the Jobber Justice Squad is coming out, but the damage has already been done! Licensed For Devastation is laughing their heads off on the way back to the locker rooms... at the expense of four men who have been savagely attacked. SR: Poor babies. If you can't take the heat... get out of the IIWF! TD: Well, it's a travesty. Both teams are being helped to the back as we get ready for the next match. Hang on -- bear with us, folks. I understand that Billy Shakespeare is out in the stands here in the Coliseum. Billy? [The camera cuts to Billy Shakespeare in the mezzanine stands, surrounded by screaming fans.] BS: Derek Mota... Ronnie Paris... Billy Shakespeare: who should wear the Cruiserweight title?  I've decided to take this to the people. [He turns to a blonde beside him.] BS: Who would you like to see as the Cruiserweight champion? BLONDE: Why, you!  Billy Shakespeare. BS: There's one for me.  And you, sir? MAN: Derek Mota, dude!  He so rules!  MAN'S FRIEND: Hell yeah, dude! BS: I'll be back in a moment with some more opinions from the people. [Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] SR: What the hell's up with that, Dross? TD: I have no idea, Steve Roberts, but I'm sure we'll be hearing more from Billy Shakespeare and his opinion poll as the evening wears on. Right now, back to the ring for our match between The Subway Psycho and... SR: ...some other loser. TD: Ahem... between the Subway Psycho and the "Real Deal" Luke Steele. SR: That's what I said. Some other loser. TD: Let's get to Sparky for the announcements. ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| Subway Psycho vs. "Real Deal" Luke Steele |_||_| \_/\_/ |_|.................................................... WRITER: RR [Scene cuts to the ring, where Sparkplug Lee is about to let Socko, his powder-blue tuxedo-clad sock puppet, start the announcements for him. He finally realizes that nobody can hear the puppet, and discards him to begin the real introductions.] SR: [over the headset] I think someone switched Sparky's medication this week. RA: Ladies and gentlemen, this match is scheduled for one fall, and has a twenty minute time limit. Introducing first, at 6'5", 255 pounds, and hailing from the Subways of New York City... THE SUBWAY PSYCHO! [Ozzy Osbourne's "Crazy Train" screeches out over the loudspeaker as the lights dim. A single spotlight beams down onto the entrance ramp, where the Psycho emerges from the curtains, throws both his arms up into the air, and strides down to the ring.] RA: And his opponent... hailing from Cleveland, Ohio, and weighing in at 275 pounds... "THE REAL DEAL" LUKE STEELE! ["Crazy Train" fades into the opening chords of Janet Jackson's "Black Cat" as the spotlight sweeps back up the aisle to focus on the challenger. Steele emerges from the back, a determined look on his face, and walks directly towards the ring, shedding his vest about halfway down. He tosses it into the crowd, and starts a mad dash towards ringside, sliding under the bottom rope and forcing Lee to take the quickest route out as the opening bell rings.] TD: And look at Steele go... he's taking the fight right to the Psycho! SR: Ah, I was wondering where Sparky's medication had gotten to. Someone must've spiked "Third Wheel" Steele's Gatorade... that boy's never had the cajones to do THAT before! [Indeed, in the ring, Steele has confronted the Psycho immediately with hard rights, backing the New Yorker into a corner. Ignoring the ref's call for a break, Steele then begins laying the boots into the Psycho's midsection, backing off only when the referee reaches his four count. Wasting barely any time, he grabs the Psycho by the hair, drags him against the ropes, and whips him to the far side, levelling him with a running dropkick as he rebounds back. Rolling over quickly and grabbing a leg, he watches as the referee slaps the mat once... twice... and stops as the Psycho jerks a shoulder up at the last moment.] TD: And a near-fall there by Steele! SR: Oh, please. Even is the Psycho had knocked himself cold and Krazy Glued himself to the mat, Steele would have found a way to blow the pin. [Steele is up immediately, dragging the Psycho to his feet... and slamming him to the mat with a body slam, followed almost instantly with a series of leg drops that leave the Psycho clutching at his chest and throat afterwards. "The Real Deal" is relentless, however, picking the Psycho up again and whipping him into the ropes. On the return, Steele launches himself into the air and grabs the Psycho in a rana, dragging im over and hooking the legs as the referee counts again.] TD: Three! He got him! He got... no, the referee is only saying two! The Psycho got his shoulder up at the last moment again! SR: Dammit, Dross, you nearly gave me a heart attack there. If you EVER do that stupid "One... two... three! He got him! Oh, wait, no he didn't!" thing again, I will be forced to get violent. Or nauseous. Or violently nauseous. But I swear that all of them will be aimed at you. [Luke Steele looks up at the referee in obvious disappointment, but quickly begins to vent his anger on the Psycho by straddling his chest and raining punch after punch down on him. He stops at the referee's four count again, barely avoiding disqualification, the picks up the Psycho. He whips him into the ropes again, but this time, puts his head down for a back body drop a bit too early, and is caught by his oncoming opponent. The Psycho twists Steele's head and neck up into position for a standing neckbreaker and, out of sight of the referee, kicks the heel of his boot straight backwards into Steele's more sensitive areas. He then drops down, snapping Steele's head off the mat with tremendous impact, and leaving his opponent trying to clutch weakly at both his groin and his neck at once while the Psyho protests his innocence.] TD: A particularly underhanded move there by the Psycho, and the momentum of this match has swung in the opposite direction. SR: I don't know why that hurt Steele so much. I mean, the man's got no... TD: [interrupting] Steve, this is a family program! SR: After that shot, I don't think Steele's gonna have to worry about a family ever again. [The Psycho brushes the hair out of his eyes, looking down upon his now-fallen opponent with something vaguely resembling a grin on his face. He grabs Steele by his hair and picks him up, then unloads on him with a solid right cross that sends Steele reeling... then another... and then a third! The referee is standing almost directly in the Psycho's face, yelling warnings about closed fists, but these admonitions seem to be wholeheartedly ignored by the Subway Psycho. The Psycho grabs Steele again, tossing him out of the ring between the second and third ropes, then following, leaping off the apron onto his opponent with a double axe-handle to the head that leaves Steele sprawled out on the floor, a thin trickle of blood running down from above his left eye.] SR: Hey, what's that smell? Can it be... it's... it's... oh, glorious day! WE HAVE BLOOD! TD: Speaking of medications, Steve, don't you think it's time for yours? [The Psycho grabs Steele again, dragging the battered wrestler to his feet, and pulling him across to the corner of the ring, where he slams Steele's forehead into the ringpost. A loud *CLANG* echoes throughout the arena, drawing a shout of approval from many of the watchers in the audience, as well as Steve Roberts. The Psycho backs up, leaving Steele leaning limply against the steel post... then charges forward, clotheslining Steele and sandwiching his head between his arm and the steel ringpost! "The Real Deal" crumples to the ground like a rag doll, and it takes barely any energy for the Psycho to roll him back into the ring under the bottom rope, then climb in after him. He hoists Steele up into a standing position, then picks him up into a torture rack, stretching him with the move for a few seconds... then lets go of Steele's legs, spinning him around and dropping him face-first onto the mat with a bulldog-esque move that has the crowd roaring with approval!] TD: Train Wreck! That was the Train Wreck! SR: And "Done Deal" Steele's laid out... what's the Psycho doing? [The Subway Psycho stands with one foot on the prone Steele's back, looking out into the crowd with his arms spread wide. He motions to them... first a thumbs-up... then a thumbs-down... then shrugs, as if asking for their opinion on what to do next.] SR: [shouting] HURT HIM! MORE BLOOD! TD: Please, Steve, have a little decorum. SR: I do... a very little bit. [The crowd roars its agreement with Steve Roberts, a multitude of "thumbs down" signals being thrust into the air simultaneously. The Psycho grins and nods, grabbing Steele by the hair again... and is dropped to the mat in a small-package! The referee dives into position... one... two... and the Psycho kicks out a moment too late!] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, the winner of this match, as a result of a pinfall... "THE REAL DEAL" LUKE STEELE! SR: WHAT?! HOW?! NO! [Steele rolls out of the ring almost immediately, leaving the stunned Psycho standing in the center, shaking his head slowly. "The Real Deal" groggily heads back to the locker room, using the steel railing for support... but is suddenly driven to the ground as the Highwayman leaps from the audience and begins beating on him with stiff forearms and punches!] TD: Oh my! The Highwayman has just jumped Luke Steele in the aisle! It appears that Genesis will do just about anything to get at the "Real Deal"! SR: [sarcastically] Oh no. Let me go and help him, Dross! TD: Will you stop? [The Psycho looks on impassively as the Genesis member administers his beating, who stops only when security and the JJS force him to the back. Steele is helped to his feet by the officials, casts a glance back at the ring, where the Psycho is merely applauding slowly, then dashes off to the locker room to find his attacker. The Psycho climbs out of the ring walking to the back, and finally disappears behind the curtains. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: Well, it appears that the Psycho's desire to quench the fans' thirst for blood has cost him dear here tonight -- but you can be sure that the Psycho will be back, Steve Roberts. SR: Shame. TD: Be that as it may, let's go to our next match. The Party Maniac, Marty Warnett, is scheduled to face the man who finished second in last week's Intercontinental Championship battle royal -- the "Epitome of Evil" Serge Annis! SR: Aw, but what do you get for finishing second, Dross? To the winner go the spoils -- but to the over-rated, never-was stiffs of Genesis goes a fate worse than death: a match against Marty Warnett. TD: That's hardly fair -- and Serge Annis was more than impressive in that battle royal. Let's get up to the ring. ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| Marty Warnett vs. Serge Annis |_||_| \_/\_/ |_|.................................................... WRITER: DS [Sparkplug Lee steps into the ring and raises the microphone:] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall. Introducing first... ["Some Days It's Dark" blares out over the PA, and the lights drop to a deep crimson, smoke beginning to pour from behind the curtain at the head of the aisle.] RA: ...hailing from Oakville, Ontario, Canada, and weighing in at an even 290lbs, and representing Genesis, here is... the "Epitome of Evil", Serge Annis! [A big heel pop greets Serge Annis as he throws aside the curtain and steps out into the aisle, his shortened hair glistening and his skin beaded with water. His black tights are adorned on one leg with what appears to be blood dripping down one side. As usual, the scar on his cheek is covered by a single line of black face paint. He cuts a truly imposing figure as he makes his way down to ringside, pausing only to thrust his fist in the air as he passes the Genesis Generation, who cheer their man on.] SR: Those damned freaks. Don't they know that this guy is as stiff as they come? TD: I believe the Genesis Generation respect the athletic abilities of this man, and, indeed, the rest of Genesis. SR: Even the bodybuilder, Dross? Even that inane, irritating bodybuilder? TD: Even Scott Rogers, Steve Roberts. SR: Poor, poor demented souls. They needs help, baby dolls! [Annis climbs the ringsteps, steps between the ropes, and thrusts his fists into the air, with the result that the crowd renews its jeering reaction. The lights rise once more, and the strains of Dave Lee Roth's "Just Like Paradise" kick in over the PA. Huge pop!] RA: And introducing his opponent... from Cardiff, Wales, and weighing in at 245lbs, here is the Party Maniac... Marty Warnett! [All eyes turn to the head of the aisle... but Warnett does not appear. Several moments pass, and still there is no sign of Marty.] SR: Don't tell me Warnett's scared to come out here and wrestle Annis, Dross! TD: I won't, Steve Roberts. There must be some explanation for this -- hang on -- look at the video wall! [The video wall above the entranceway flickers into life, showing what appears to be Warnett's locker room. As the shot moves around the door, the body of Warnett can be seen, lying prone on the floor, while a figure clad in a leather jacket stands above him, baseball bat in hand.] TD: Oh my! SR: That's Stud Stetson, Dross! Stetson has jumped Warnett backstage! This is great! [The figure has obviously already pounded Warnett down with the baseball bat, as the miscoloured ribs of the fallen Welshman attest.  The figure then lands several more hard kicks into the ribs, before heading for the exit, never once turning to face the camera.  Security quickly arrives -- but not until after the figure has already retreated. Officials tend to Marty, who rolls over, his teeth clenched with the pain. "Just Like Paradise" fades from the arena PA.] TD: Steve Roberts, something must be done about the poor security backstage! Last week, Dexter St. Croix was jumped by Derek Mota before the two men could even have a match, and this week, it appears that Stud Stetson -- who no longer has any involvement with the IIWF, I hasten to add -- has managed to bluff his way into the Coliseum, and has attacked Marty Warnett! SR: Aw, Dross -- look at Warnett! He's black and blue! TD: He is indeed -- and I would suggest that he should be pressing criminal charges against his assailant, if he is, as it appears, Stud Stetson himself. What a dreadful turn of events. Fans, you'll remember that last week, during that battle royal, a stretcher team appeared down at ringside once Marty had been eliminated. Let's go back and take a look: [Cut to the chaotic scenes of last week's show, captioned "IIWF Intercontinental Battle Royal: Last Week." Marty Warnett staggers away from the pack... climbing to the top rope and leaping upon Creed and Thunder...] TD: Caught!  Creed and Thunder catch Warnett!  They've got a double fallaway slam over the top rope!  Marty's gone!  Marty's gone! [Warnett crashes to the floor outside the ring, knocking his head on the steel crowd barriers. Referee Dave D'Amato checks on Warnett's condition, but is surprised by a stretcher team arriving on the scene without him having to call for one.] TD: Hold on, Steve Roberts -- here comes a stretcher team! SR: Get Warnett out of here! He's history! TD: The stretcher team now, pulling the cover from the stretcher -- and there's something on that stretcher, Steve Roberts. There are some metal plates on that stretcher! SR: They're license plates, Dross! Look, they're license plates -- they say "STUD 1", "STUD 2" and "STUD 3"! TD: Stud?! As in former IIWF competitor "Superstar" Stud Stetson?! What is this, Stud Stetson's latest car? SR: Well, Dross, Stetson always did have a habit of wrecking cars left, right and centre. Maybe this is what he's reduced to since he left the IIWF. [Warnett is lifted onto the stretcher, knocked silly by the fall from the ring and offering little resistance. However, as his sweaty back touches the cold metal license plates on the stretcher, he seems to be instantly revived, leaping up and trying to clear his head, clutching the back of his sore skull with one hand. He looks down at the license plates on the stretcher -- and then nails one of the stretcher team! Big pop as Warnett takes out all four of the emergency medical team, before storming back to the locker room! Cut back to live action in the IIWF Coliseum.] TD: I don't know how Stud Stetson has managed to manipulate IIWF security as he clearly has, but the IIWF President is going to have to look into this matter very seriously. SR: Hey, Dross -- up in the ring. Look at Serge! [Indeed, in the ring, an angry Serge Annis is pacing around, first directing his anger at Sparkplug Lee, who awaits further instruction from official Dave D'Amato, who also receives a lungful of abuse from the furious Annis. Annis moves to the side of the ring nearest the aisle, and beckons for Warnett to come out, yelling, "Come on, punk!"] TD: I don't believe Marty Warnett is going to be in any state to wrestle here tonight after that vicious attack, Steve Roberts. [The video wall shows Warnett, having been helped to his feet, having his ribs strapped. A medical team can clearly be heard advising Marty to go to hospital for further examination, but Warnett, his face contorted with pain, shoves them aside, and agonisingly barges his way out of the locker room!] TD: What's Warnett doing? Where's Marty going? [The cameraman, knocked away from the door by Warnett as he leaves the locker room, spins to follow Warnett's journey -- and it becomes apparent that Warnett is heading to the entrance curtain! The fans give a huge pop as the curtain is thrown aside again, and Warnett appears in the aisle, his ribs strapped, and his pain etched on his face! Huge, huge pop! "Just Like Paradise" is hastily cued and kicks in once more!] RA: Ladies and gentlemen... making his way down the aisle... Marty Warnett! SR: Is he coming out here to forfeit this match, Dross? TD: I don't believe so, Steve Roberts... I think Marty Warnett is determined to fight this match! I believe he is determined not to let this attacker -- whether or not it is Stud Stetson -- get the best of him. What heart we are seeing from Marty Warnett! SR: What stupidity, you mean, Dross! That attack must have knocked what little sense Warnett had left out of him -- but it looks like Serge Annis will take great pleasure in beating it back into him! TD: Oh my! Here we go! [Annis, despite the protestations of Dave D'Amato, leaps over the ring ropes onto the apron, then hops down to the floor, and races up the aisle to intercept Warnett! Huge heel pop as Annis immediately begins pounding away at Warnett's strapped ribs, the Welshman in too much pain to guard from the attacks. Annis throws Warnett towards the ring -- via the steel crowd barriers, the concrete floor, the steel ring steps -- and then picks him up, Warnett limply held in a cross-body position... and Annis rams him into the ring post, ribs first! Huge heel pop!] TD: What a merciless display from Serge Annis! SR: What do you expect, Dross? Is Annis supposed to wait for that moron to limp down to the ring, hold open the ropes for him, and then invite him to take his best shot? TD: Well, no... but I do not believe that referee Dave D'Amato should allow this match to start. SR: You know what they say about D'Amato, Dross. He's the referee that lets things go. Ain't that right, morons? [Steve Roberts turns to the drunken pocket of fans behind him, who immediately begin chanting, "D'Amato lets 'em go!"] TD: Good grief. Serge Annis finally rolls Marty Warnett into the ring now... and Dave D'Amato is signalling for the bell! [Ding! Ding! Ding! Annis immediately begins stomping on Warnett's ribs, prompting chastisement from the official, but the Genesis member simply ignores his reprimands, and continues to work on the rib area with kicks and punches. Annis drags Warnett to his feet, whips him into the ropes, and as he comes back... catches him in a bear hug! Huge heel pop!] TD: Oh my! Serge Annis is simply crushing the life out of Marty Warnett! Those ribs of Warnett's must be cracked, if not broken, and Annis is putting huge pressure on them! [Warnett somehow musters the strength to lift his arms -- and jabs a thumb right in Serge Annis' eye! Annis drops Warnett and staggers backwards. Warnett, too, finds it difficult to stand up, and slumps against the ropes. Annis, regaining his bearings, yells out and charges at Warnett -- who ducks out of the way, and Serge sails over the top rope, crashing to the floor outside! Huge pop! Warnett is slow to get to his feet, his face still showing the strains of his injured ribs, but ignores the pleas of the official to stay inside the ring, and clambers awkwardly through the ropes to stand on the apron. He raises his arms above his head into a double-axe handle position, wincing as he does so, and then launches himself at the recovering Annis -- who snatches him out of mid-air into another bear hug! Huge heel pop! Warnett yells out in pain!] TD: This is awful, Steve Roberts! Marty Warnett's pride wouldn't let him go to the hospital rather than risk severe injury by coming out here -- and Annis is going to make him pay... oh no! Against the ringpost! [Annis repeatedly rams Warnett against the steel ringpost, the Welshman's head also bouncing back against the hard metal, and then rolls him back into the ring. Annis climbs to the apron once more, measures Warnett -- and then uses the ropes to slingshot himself over the ropes with a hard legdrop, which finds the mark! Huge heel pop as Annis makes the cover: 1 - 2 - Warnett just manages to get a shoulder out!] TD: Unbelievable! Marty Warnett kicked out! But -- what's this, Steve Roberts? SR: It's that stretcher team again, Dross! The stretcher team is coming out here to ringside! This is Warnett's transport after this match, baby dolls! [Indeed, the crowd jeers as four green-jumpsuited medical personnel roll a stretcher down the aisle, positioning it beside the ring, and then simply standing beside it, as if awaiting their passenger. In the ring, Annis drags Warnett to his feet, scoops him up, and... brings him crashing down over his knee with a backbreaker! Big heel pop! Annis does not release Warnett, and instead raises him up once more -- and brings him crashing down over his knee again! And again!] TD: Three -- four! Four backbreakers from Serge Annis... Marty Warnett's career could be on the line in this match, Steve Roberts! SR: I never thought I'd see the day that I would actually enjoy seeing that never-was firebug wrestle, Dross -- and I was right. Even though Warnett's getting a grade one ass-kicking in there, it just doesn't feel right if it's that stiff dishing it out. Where's Casey James when you need him? TD: Probably drowning his sorrows, Steve. Casey James is a shadow of his former self at present following the revelation that it is he who has been disguising himself as the "Outlaw" J.W. Hardin -- and we will see Casey later on, when he is handcuffed to the ring. Oh my! [Annis clotheslines Marty clear over the ropes, and Warnett lands on the stretcher at ringside! Huge heel pop as the four medical personnel prepare to wheel Warnett away from the ring, until Serge Annis steps out of the ring through the ropes and yells at the paramedics to stay where the hell they are. Annis then leaps -- and lands an elbowdrop with his full force on Warnett's rib area, forcing the stretcher to collapse under their weight! Huge heel pop! Annis removes himself from the wreckage, and shoves the shocked paramedics away from the area.] TD: Oh, this is bad, Steve Roberts! What started as mind games last week have become something far more serious here tonight -- that stretcher, sent out here by whomever it was who attacked Warnett so brutally in the locker room before this match -- oh no! Serge Annis tips Warnett off the stretcher, picks it up and -- oh my! [Annis manages to pick up the battered and bent stretcher -- and throws it down on Marty Warnett! Huge heel pop! Dave D'Amato finally jumps down from the ring to force Annis away from Warnett, and orders him back into the ring. Annis grudgingly obliges, and D'Amato follows him in to begin administering the count on Warnett: 1 - 2 - 3...] TD: There's no way Marty Warnett is going to beat this count, Steve Roberts. He's not even moving! SR: Aw well, at least that means Annis will be out of here in a minute. [The count continues: 4 - 5 -- Marty Warnett begins to stir! Warnett begins to stir! -- 6 - 7 -- Warnett drags himself up onto the apron, his battered and bruised body unwilling but his spirit unbroken -- 8 - 9 -- Warnett just manages to roll into the ring under the bottom rope! Huge, huge pop! Annis pounces on Warnett, going straight back to the ribs and stomping away!] TD: I cannot believe it, Steve Roberts! What guts from Warnett to get back into the ring -- he simply will not be beaten here tonight! SR: I doubt that very much, Dross. The moron can't even stand. [Annis drags Warnett to his feet, and sets him up for a suplex -- blocked! Warnett blocks the suplex attempt, and... and rolls Annis up with a small package! The ref makes the count: 1 - 2 - Annis kicks out! Annis is straight back to his feet, a shocked expression on his face!] TD: You simply cannot count a wrestler like Marty Warnett out of this match, Steve Roberts! He's running on instinct in there! SR: It's not going to get him very far, Dross... look at Annis go! [Indeed, Annis has dragged the exhausted Warnett to his feet, and backed him into a corner with huge, bruising blows, which he continues to rain down on Warnett's wrapped ribs. Huge heel pop as Warnett struggles to defend himself, but is unable to... and then Warnett raises his leg sharply! Huge pop as Annis staggers back, bent double! Warnett launches himself out of the corner and hits Annis with a well-executed double arm DDT! Both men are out on the mat, and D'Amato begins a count! The fans chant: "Mar - ty! Mar - ty! Mar - ty!"] TD: What a smart piece of wrestling by Warnett, Steve Roberts! He's bought himself some much-needed time with that double arm DDT! SR: Neither man is moving, Dross! We could see a double countout right here... which would be kind of fitting to the talent level we have in the ring at the moment. TD: You are, as ever, being more than a little unfair, Steve Roberts. We have seen an exceptional display of courage from Marty Warnett in this match, and a fine display of the punishing, brutal ruthlessness that is one of Serge Annis' main weapons. And now -- Annis is stirring! Annis is going to be first to his feet! [As D'Amato's count reaches five, Annis stirs and rolls to his knees, trying to shake off the cobwebs of Warnett's DDT. He staggers to his feet, and moves to drag Warnett with him, grabbing hold of Warnett's hair. He fires a couple of shots into Warnett's midsection, and then whips him into the ropes. Warnett comes back as Annis attempts a clothesline -- ducked -- Warnett leaps off the ropes with a flying cross-body -- but is caught by Serge Annis! Huge pop as Annis catches Warnett! Annis hurls Warnett over his head with a tremendous fallaway slam that sees Warnett almost fly out of the ring through the ropes! Huge heel pop!] TD: Oh my! What a move! Warnett managed to find that burst of speed from deep within himself, but Annis is just so strong, so powerful, and with Marty at such a disadvantage in this bout... oh no! SR: Here it comes, Dross! Chokeslam city! [Annis signals to the crowd for his chokeslam, drawing his thumb across his throat as he drags Warnett to his feet with his free hand. Annis whips Warnett into the ropes, and grabs him around the throat, sweeping Warnett's legs out from under him as he is sent crashing to the mat with incredible force. Annis makes the cover, hooking the leg, as D'Amato drops to make the count...] TD: Can Warnett kick out? Annis has one... he has two... he has three! This match is over! [Ding! Ding! Ding! Dave D'Amato stands and raises Serge Annis' arm in victory. Annis snatches his arm away from the referee, and lays a couple more kicks into Warnett's midsection before leaving the ring to the strains of "Some Days It's Dark".] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, your winner, as the result of a pinfall... Serge Annis! [Huge heel pop as Annis backs away up the aisle, kicking the remains of the stretcher sent out by Warnett's attacker as he goes. Meanwhile, in the ring, Dave D'Amato bends over Warnett. A close-up shows his face to be twisted with the agony of his rib injuries, his arms enfolded around his chest.] TD: This looks very bad, Steve Roberts. It was a valiant fight by Marty Warnett, but he may have suffered all kinds of injuries here -- cracked or broken ribs, possibly internal injuries such as a punctured lung... this could be very serious indeed. I'm sure he will be spending a few days in Portland General after this match here tonight. SR: Good riddance to him, Dross! If he's going to act like a moron and come out here like some kind of over-pushed red-gloved punk kid I won't mention after taking one hell of a beating, he ought to be damned sure he's not going to end up flat on his back in a hospital bed for the rest of the tour, Dross. TD: Dave D'Amato is helping young Marty to his feet now -- and listen to the reaction of this capacity crowd, Steve Roberts! These fans truly appreciate the courage and spirit of Marty Warnett. SR: But where has it got him, Dross? Where the hell does pleasing these morons ever get anyone? What about the Subway Psycho just a few minutes ago, Dross? When will these guys learn? [Warnett is helped from the ring and gingerly makes his way up the aisle, supported by Dave D'Amato as he goes, while the fans applaud and chant: "Mar - ty! Mar - ty! Mar - ty!" Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: I understand we can now go back to Billy Shakespeare out in the stands with the fans, as he asks them who they believe should be the Cruiserweight Champion: Derek Mota, Ronnie Paris, or Mr. Shakespeare himself. [Camera cuts to Billy Shakespeare in another part of the Coliseum.  He holds the microphone to a small boy.] BOY: Billy Shakesepare... you're the best ever.  I think you should win      all the belts. BS: So do I lad. But all in good time.  Looks like the vote is two for     Shakespeare, two for Mota, and Paris with none.  But look here, it's     Maggie Paris.  Let's get her opinion. MP: Get out of my face. BS: We'll take that as a vote for Ronnie.  In a moment I'll be back with     the professional's opinions. [Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] SR: What the hell is Shakespeare trying to prove, Dross? That he can train the morons to say his name? TD: I have no idea, Steve Roberts, but we must continue with Cruiserweight tournament action right now, as Dirt Dog Unique Allah and the Phoenix -- two men who would undoubtedly wish to add their names to the list of those who should wear the Cruiserweight title -- square off here in the Coliseum. Let's get up to the ring! ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| IIWF CRUISERWEIGHT TOURNAMENT FIRST ROUND MATCH: |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| The Phoenix vs. Dirt Dog Unique Allah ....................................................................... WRITER: MB [Lee, already in the ring, waits patiently for the camera, then, like the consummate professional he is, begins:] RA: Ladies and Gentlemen, our next match of the evening is scheduled for one fall. Introducing first, weighing 238 pounds and hailing from Brooklyn, New York... Dirt Dog Unique Allah! ["Snakes" by Ol' Dirty Bastard sweeps across the arena as the crowd issue a mixed pop, the hardcore fans cheering but the majority booing his arrival. The curtains part as a bald Dirt Dog, wearing denim shorts and a vest, almost falls through the curtain to the aisleway, leaning on the guardrail to keep himself vertical. The fans in close proximity surge forward to touch him and charge even quicker backwards when his eyes glaze over and he belches loudly! A look of complete disgust crosses their face as his cheeks fill, Allah screws his face up and swallows, hard. The crowds keep a respectful distance as he lifts himself from the guardrail, wipes his mouth and after taking a swig from a bottle in a brown paper bag, staggers towards the ring, very slowly.] RA: And his opponent, hailing from Cherokee, North Carolina, and weighing 235 pounds. The Phoenix! [Fireworks explode from around the entrance as Phoenix arrives, "Fire on the mountain" taking up where "Snakes" drawing a great face pop from the crowd. Phoenix is set to charge to ringside but is momentarily stopped as Dirt Dog, a few yards in front of him, drops to his knees after another swig from his bottle, making awful retching noises. Phoenix, showing a great amount of caution approaches slowly, a look crosses his face suggesting he thinks its a scam and he balls up a fist just as Dirt Dog takes another drink, almost retches again and drops to his side. Phoenix looks more than a little concerned as he reaches down to the Dog to check his breathing, only to have a mouthful of liquid spat into his face!! Heel Pop!! Phoenix's mask seems to have shielded him from the majority of the liquid, but he staggers back holding his face, collapsing against the rail ripping his mask from his head and throwing it to the floor, rubbing furiously at his eyes as Dirt Dog stands, laughs and drags the struggling native American Indian to the ring.] SR: Hahahahaha! He's a laugh a minute, isn't he? I told Phoenix all that sucking would be his downfall, but would he listen? Did he stop sucking? Hahahaha! TD: I don't know who I disapprove of most -- you or Dirt Dog. That was despicable! [The bell rings as Lee makes a hasty exit and Phoenix makes as hasty an entrance, not under his own power, as his hands are clenched tightly to his face. Dirt Dog, slides in after him and wraps him in a full nelson with Body Scissors, stopping Phoenix from clearing the stinging liquid from his eyes. The ref complains bitterly at Dirt Dog about the incident outside the ring, but Dirt Dog is completely oblivious to his ranting. On the mat, Phoenix writhes in pain, struggling to free his arms with his eyes watering like crazy. Showing the strength that can only be born from desperation, he pulls hard on his arms and Dirt Dog's intertwined fingers begin to lose their grip, and eventually slip, freeing Phoenix from the Full-Nelson! Pop! The Phoenix was still wrapped up in the body scissors though and his hands went immediately back to his eyes as Dirt Dog grabbed him by the hair and rapped his head off the mat sharply, twice, before trying to apply a double hammer-lock, with little success!] TD: This is a whole new side to Dirt Dog that we haven't been privy to before -- that isn't just the will to win. What he is doing in there is vicious, cold, merciless. SR: Great, isn't it? Nice to see you're enjoying it too, Dross! TD: You're incorrigible, Steve. [Phoenix's eyes seem to clear enough for him to mount a comeback as Dirt Dog still tries to put both arms into a hammer-lock succeeding with only one, but he wrenches that hard. The crowd show their obvious displeasure at Dirt Dog's antics, but this just seems to intensify Dirt Dog's attitude and he begins to bounce Phoenix's head off the mat over and over until the ref feels he's seen enough and forces him to break the hold. Out of character, Dirt Dog jumps up immediately, only to get into the face of the ref, shouting "What is this, favouritism?"] SR: He's got a point, Dross! [While the ref and the Big Apple native argue the rules, Phoenix gets to his feet, shaking the kinks from his arms and rubbing to clear his vision. Dirt Dog gives up on his argument and turns to face Phoenix..] TD: Kick to the stomach... caught! Enzuigiri! Oh my! That nearly took Dirt Dog's head clean off! SR: Damn Ballerina! [Allah hits the mat hard, but Phoenix isn't in any condition to capitalise on it fully, squinting and blinking to clear his eyes. He drops a quick snap-legdrop to the back of Allah's head, then thinking it best to keep a hold of him if he can't see him properly, grabs him by the hair and chops him into the corner. A volley of punches is followed by a picture perfect drop-kick that leaves Dog to smash into the buckle and collapse to the mat! Pop! After quickly positioning Dirt Dog, the Native American quickly climbs up the buckle, facing the crowd, he jumps...] TD: Sweet Lord above! Did I just see that! SR: Hey! He stole that from me! That was a "Flying Feather Boa Splash"! [Jumping up and backwards into the ring, Phoenix spins through 450 degrees into an inverted Scorpio Splash! Huge Pop!] SR: Not as fluid as I could pull them out, but not bad. TD: Steve Roberts! You _never_ managed anything half as spectacular as that, and I watched every one of your matches! SR: You were a fan, Dross! Here, give me your hankie and I'll sign it for you! [The crowd roar their approval as the ref drops to the mat and counts: 1 - 2 - Kick out!] TD: Amazing! How did he escape a move like that? SR: Sloppy execution, Dross. You get a real competitor in there like the Soundbite, and -- BAM! -- he doesn't get up. [Phoenix pulls the New York native back to his feet and whips him to the far corner, but Dirt Dog slides under the bottom rope to catch his breath. Phoenix, seeing him slide from the ring, runs towards the corner, leaps to the top rope and planchas down onto Dirt Dog, who just manages to stagger out of the way to watch Phoenix hit the floor with a sickening thump! Heel Pop!] TD: We have company! [The curtains part and out walks Derek Mota, the Cruiserweight Belt strapped around his waist and a steel chair in his hands. The crowd issue a good pop for his arrival as he sets the chair up in the aisle and sits down for a ringside view of the action.] SR: That's what it's all about, Dross, that piece of gold around Mota's waist! [Dirt Dog doesn't see the crowd turn to face the aisle, and sets about destroying the already prone Phoenix. He stands on his hair with one foot and stamps away at his head, arm and shoulder with the other, ignoring the abuse some of the crowd begin to throw at him and ignoring the complaints of the ref who is threatening to leave the ring, but begins a count instead. Dirt Dog jumps clear on the count of -4- and climbs onto the apron to land an axe-handle when he gets up, but sees Mota in the aisle and elects to go over to speak to him. Mota unclasps the belt and lays it across his lap with some ceremony, which succeeds in riling Allah further who storms up the aisleway, only to be tripped by a rising Phoenix! Pop! Phoenix wipes a spot of blood from his lip as he slams some quick kicks into the chest of Dirt Dog, then whips him towards the corner-post and ringsteps! Dirt Dog manages to put the brakes on though and reverses the whip to leave Phoenix to crash horribly into the steps! Huge Heel Pop!] TD: Oh my! That was horrible! Did you see the way he crashed his knee into the steps? SR: That's gonna slow him down -- which is good. Normally he jumps around like a damn pneumatic hammer! [Dirt Dog, forgetting about Mota for a moment pulls the hurting Phoenix to his feet and lands a vicious knee to the groin to double him up and wipes him out with a stunning DDT before throwing him into the ring and following him in.] TD: I've never seen Dirt Dog this vicious! Shakeemah has a lot to answer for! SR: Give it up, Dross! That was a perfectly legal Greco-Roman low blow. TD: Greco-Roman low blow? Good grief. [The ref sees Phoenix doubled-up in pain and guesses what's happened, so elects to argue with Dirt Dog when he gets back into the ring. Dirt Dog listens for a few moments then shouts back "Did'cha see anything?" The ref warns him about tone of voice and attitude when talking to the official but is forced to agree and allows Dirt Dog to continue. Dirt Dog, sensing a victory, drags Phoenix up and lifts him up in a spinebuster type hold but drops backwards sharply instead, hot-shotting The Native American across the top rope! Heel Pop!] TD: Oh man, this is cruel! Phoenix can barely stand, he's got a busted lip -- and Dirt Dog is wrapping him up in a figure four now! This one is mercifully over! SR: Ring the bell, the man is finished. [The ref checks Phoenix for a submission as Dirt Dog hammers some hard punches into his injured knee, each one weakening Phoenix's resolve. The ref asks again, but Phoenix has slumped back to the mat, almost forced into unconsciousness from the pain shooting up his back from the pressure on his knee and the continual beating it is taking. The ref, noticing Phoenix's shoulders are on the mat, elect to count.. - 1 - 2 - Shoulder - 3 - up! Pop! The ref Jumps and raises two fingers, shouting "Two! It was a two count!". Phoenix tries desparately to get up but a final blow from Dirt Dog on the point of the jaw drops him back to the mat as Dirt Dog claws viciously at the knee! The ref drops again and counts as his shoulders once more slump to the mat... 1 - 2 - 3! Ding! Ding! Ding! Heel Pop!] RA: And your winner by pinfall... Dirt Dog Unique Allah! [Dirt Dog releases immediately, jumping to his feet to survey the damage he's inflicted, then remembering Mota he leaves the ring while the ref checks on the condition of Phoenix.] TD: An impressive win for Dirt Dog, but I have to admit, I don't like his new attitude! SR: You wouldn't, Dross! I'm gonna have to let Shakeemah buy me a drink! [Dirt Dog walks up the aisle to the seated Mota, who smiles smugly at the approaching Brooklyn native. Allah reaches him as Mota stands, and Allah pushes him hard! Heel Pop! Mota stumbles back into the chair and the chair collapses backwards, leaving Mota sprawling on the floor! Heel Pop! Mota jumps to his feet, grabbing the dropped belt and teases Allah, saying "You want some of this? Not a chance!". Allah's frustration is evident as he steps forward and balls his fists. Mota smiles smugly again and steps back, looking confidently to the crowd! Allah looks about to throw a punch when the ref steps between the two men! Pop!] TD: Derek Mota's cockiness could be his downfall one of these days, Steve Roberts. [Allah tries to get past the blocking ref as Mota walks back up the aisle with his belt held high, smiling to the crowd as the ref struggles to hold Allah back. Phoenix rolls from the ring, clutching his knee in a deep grimace of pain as Mota stands in front of the curtains, a wide grin painted across his face. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: Folks, that's it for hour one. We'll be right back in a few moments with those two huge championship matches -- Chris Quigley defends the Intercontinental Championship against Creed, and World Heavyweight Champion Requiem faces the "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder -- as well as a very special interview with one of the biggest stars from the IIWF's past. Stay right there! [Cut to a wide-angle shot of the jam-packed Coliseum. 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 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+