________ ______ __ ____ ___ __ . _ ___ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __| / /\ | | || \| \ /\ \ / |\ || / \| | | | || | \ v v / | __| \__ /__\ | | ||__/| |/__\ v | \||| __|-| | |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| \ \| v | \|__/ \| | || \_|| | | __________________________/...hour two...\........|...|.......|....| LIVE! IIWF Coliseum, Portland, Oregon 4 October 1997 [The opening graphics fade from the screen as the shot mixes through to further interior shots of the IIWF Coliseum. The house lights drop, and another burst of pyrotechnics erupts in the rafters, sparks in a multitude of colours raining down on the fans, dying out and disappearing seemingly just feet above their heads. Bright spotlights swing over the sea of fans, casting them in kaleidoscopic colours. The lights rise once more, and the shot cuts to the broadcast table at ringside. Tim Dross is seated beside Steve Roberts once more, and addresses the camera while Roberts jaws with some fans behind him.] TD: Welcome back to the IIWF Coliseum, folks. Still to come tonight are those two huge championship matches -- Chris Quigley takes on Creed, and Requiem battles Brody Thunder -- but before all that, the first half of an exclusive interview I managed to conduct earlier this week when a former IIWF superstar stopped by Portland. SR: Oh hell.  So now we've got some dead weight coming back to try to make a second go of it, and more of our money in the process.   As if we aren't underpaid as it is. TD: Actually, Steve, the man I met has formally retired from wrestling after his departure from the IIWF, and we had an intersting discussion on life outside of the sport. SR: Retirement, retirement, retirement.  Dross, these people don't know when to retire.  They'll always come back for more, even when they can't hack it anymore. TD: Actually, the man I met was a champion in his own right.  Let's go to the footage in this special edition of "Up Close and Personal." [The scene cuts to the lounge of the Rothmoore Hotel in Portland.  Tim Dross is sat at a private table opposite another well-built man in an elegant grey pinstripe suit.  The man has dark grey-blue eyes, and long hair, tied back in a ponytail.  His face is well tanned and handsome, with only a small disfigurement in the form of a scar above his right eyebrow.  He toys with a brass-topped cane as Dross talks, a half smile playing across his face.] TD: Lord Byron.  Welcome back. LB: It's a pleasure to be here, Mr. Dross. It's not often I get the chance to talk to old colleagues nowadays. TD: I find that hard to believe. I always had the impression of you being a remarkably well-informed person. LB: [laughing] That's true enough, and I must admit, I try to keep abreast of events back in the States every opportunity I can.  And if you push me, I'll also admit that I've missed being around. TD: Yes, let's talk about your career for a minute.  You've been hailed in the past as one of the finest technical wrestlers in the world, but you stunned the sport after... ahem.. [Byron watches with a smile as Dross struggles with his words.] LB: The events of the past summer?  My expulsion from the IIWF?  Don't be afraid to talk about it, Mr. Dross.  That's one of the reasons why you're here, after all. TD: Very well, after your expulsion, you stunned the sport by announcing that you were to retire from wrestling as a whole.  After your success in the IIWF and elsewhere, many people expected you to move on to other challenges... [Byron pauses, leaning back and steepling his fingers] LB: It's true, I recieved a number of contract offers -- very generous offers -- from other leagues around the world.  The Japanese national league wanted me to return to help pull in the crowds, and several other American outfits, regional and national, all approached me.  But to tell the truth, Mr. Dross, I had become disenchanted with the entire sport.  After the events of Coronation Clash, I was at quite possibly the lowest point in my career, both mentally and physically.  I had been at the top of my game, a record holder and a man tipped to go to the top.  But I gambled everything I had, and ended up losing it all.  I've never been in the sport for the money, Mr. Dross, as I'm sure you know.  It was always the thrill of the match, pitting my intelligence and skills against the best in the sport, that drove me on.  And when I lost the career-ending match, I lost that opportunity, as well as my pride, my ambitions, and my motivation.  I had no desire to go anywhere else, fight against inferior opposition, when I knew that the best in the world were right here in America.  For a time, I was quite sickened by the way I had handled events. TD: Let's talk about that fateful match for a moment.  Do you regret taking it now? LB: What I regret, Mr. Dross, are some of the words I said, and some of the things I did.  For a while I had let my arrogance overcome me.  I had grown to hate Creed, not for what he was, but for what he had done to me.  That one defeat last January, that was a blot on my record that I could never erase, and I made the mistake of taking it personally, and letting it prey on my thoughts.  I thought that by eliminating Creed, I could wipe away all memory of that defeat, and so I set about doing it.  Some of my words and actions were totally unwarranted.  It became a psychological battle, and when that final challenge came, my pride wouldn't let me do anything other than accept. I don't regret the match, Mr. Dross, I had always respected -- no, I had always been _envious_ of Creed's ability in the ring.  [Byron pauses, brushing a loose strand of hair back from his face, and then rubbing the scar above his eye.  He smiles bitterly, and continues] LB: What I regret, Mr. Dross, is the way I handled the entire business. Had I not been so damned aggressive about the entire thing, maybe I would not be where I am now. TD: We haven't seen much of Creed in the ring recently... but he made quite an impact in the Intercontinental Battle Royal last week on his return. [A slight smirk passes across Byron's face at the mention of his former title, but he quickly continues] LB: I know.  I saw what happened with him and Mad Dog Watkins, Mr. Dross. I'm sure I mentioned that something like that would happen a long time ago. Creed, make no mistake, is probably one of the finest athletes I have encountered, and to him I would like to say this: don't make the same mistake I did with you.  I know you must be enraged by what has happened, but don't let it ruin your career.  Creed has a bright future if I ever saw one, Mr. Dross.  He still has so much to achieve in this sport.  He shouldn't fall into the same traps as I did. That said, with the positive attitude and resistance he showed us last week, I'll predict it won't be long before he rises to the top again. TD: Earlier on, Byron, you mentioned that you lost your motivation to continue in this sport, and yet you are now considering alternatives? LB: That's correct.  I have invested heavily in a gym in England, and I hope to have a wrestling school for Olympic and professional athletes up and running in two to three years' time.  In the meantime, I've also considered taking steps into broadcast journalism. TD: Quite a big change in career direction, then. [Byron slowly rubs at a gold ring on his finger, then starts and takes a drink before continuing.] LB: Like I said, I had become disenchanted with the sport.  I needed time to think, and plan ahead.  It was Milady -- the Lady DeWinter -- that helped pull me out of my self-imposed stupor and show me that I had so much I could still offer to this sport, even if I no longer wished to be directly involved.  And I must admit, it has helped a great deal.  It's no subsitute for the real thing of course, but if there's one thing I've found out in the last few months, it's that there's a great deal you can learn from rookies. TD: We're running out of time here, Byron, but if you wish, we can continue this interview later in the week. LB: I'll be there, Mr. Dross.  [Byron smirks somewhat bitterly] After all, I have nothing better to do with my time at the moment, do I now?  Ciao. [Byron stands up to pull on his jacket as the door across the room opens, and the stunning Lady DeWinter walks in.  Byron takes her arm, kisses her briefly, and the pair walk out.  The scene fades out, before cutting back to ringside.  Steve Roberts is shaking his head sadly.] SR: Let me guess, Dross.  He paid for the meal.  Now you're gonna get Becky baby all wound up again. TD: I'd let her conduct the next interview, but I doubt she and DeWinter would get on very well. SR: DeWinter's going to be there?  Say no more!  Did you see that dress she was wearing, Dross?  The Soundbite gots needs, baby dolls. TD: And did you see that ring Byron was wearing? [Steve's eyes glaze over, as though he's thinking hard.] SR: And tell him he owes me two grand next time as well.  I got debts to clear. TD: Well, it's certainly good to hear from Lord Byron again. Still to come, folks, two of the most eagerly-awaited championship matches in IIWF history: Intercontinental Champion Chris Quigley defends his title against the red-gloved wrecking machine, Creed; and IIWF World Heavyweight Champion, Requiem, now divested of his Genesis comrades, takes on the "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder in a match which will see Casey James handcuffed to the ring! Don't touch that dial, folks -- the action just keeps on coming! ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| Damage Inc. vs. The Machines |_||_| \_/\_/ |_|.................................................... WRITER: SK [Sparkplug Lee gulps down the remainder of the hot dog he's been munching on during the previous video segment and climbs into the ring.  He proceeds to read the introductions for the next bout unaware of the large dollop of mustard smeared on the end of his nose, which is painfully visible to the television audience and to the ringside fans, who are howling with glee at the sight.] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, the following tag team contest is scheduled for one fall.  Introducing first, weighing in at a combined 628 pounds, they hail from New Orleans, Louisiana and are accompanied by their manager, Jeandra... here are "The Ace" Alex Porteaux and "Mad Dog" Eddy Ramos, DAMAGE INCORPORATED! ["Reunited" by the Wu-Tang Clan pulses from the P.A. and the crowd responds with a hail of jeers as the ever-fetching Jeandra, clad in a skintight black catsuit with a short red toreador jacket and three-inch stilettos, appears in the entranceway, leading the way to the ring for Porteaux and Ramos.  The crowd seems indifferent as Porteaux stops occasionally to pose for the ringside fans and berate any that don't applaud his recent bodybuilding efforts, while Eddy Ramos just lumbers steadily on behind Jeandra, his countenance resembling that of someone conspiring to commit murder.  The only time the giant Ramos pauses is to shoot a chilling glance at Icehawk at ringside, but the affable Finn just picks up a program from the next seat and flips through it with mock curiosity, as if trying to figure out just who Ramos is.  Jeandra climbs the ring steps and holds the ropes open for the two men, who enter the ring and parade around, fists in the air in defiance of the crowd's boos, then pause to submit to a quick inspection by referee Chuck Sanders before the three move to their corner to go over last-minute strategies.] TD: Here is Damage Incorporated, and they appear to be quite focused on the match at hand, looking to score their first victory in the IIWF tonight after last Saturday's no-contest against the Prophets of Rage, Steve... Steve? SR: Huh? Oh, sorry, Dross... hottie in a tube top at seven o'clock.  Yeah, Thunder's gonna kick the holy bejeezus out of Boy Rectum.  TD: Steve... this is Damage Incorporated versus the Machines.  Can you please keep your attention on the match? SR: Aw, c'mon, Dross, winter's almost here, and I'm not gonna get much more action like that until next May.  Cut me some slack, man, I gots needs. SL: And their opponents, at a combined weight of 503 pounds, here are Paul Wong... Simon O'Neal... THE MACHINES! [The crowd pops wildly as "Welcome To The Machine" by Pink Floyd heralds the appearance of Wong and O'Neal in the aisle, the genial Wong smiling and slapping hands with the ringside fans, while O'Neal just strides down the aisle, glaring up at the members of Damage, Inc. as he approaches the ring. O'Neal starts to climb into the ring, then pauses as he realises that Wong is still in the aisle greeting the fans.  O'Neal stands on the apron, arms folded, looking very annoyed as Wong finally reaches ringside, and the smaller Machine gives his Asian-American partner an earful as the two step through the ropes and Sanders comes over to check them out.] TD: The Machines are now in the ring, being inspected by the official before this match gets underway.  It appears that Simon O'Neal wasn't too impressed with his partner's slow arrival to the ring, Steve. SR: I don't know why a stand-up guy like O'Neal lets himself be regularly embarrassed by this milksop, Dross.  O'Neal went right down to the ring to face up to Damage Inc., and this pantywaist Wong drags his feet and takes an hour to get down the aisle.  Disgusting.  It makes him look like he's scared of Damage Inc., and that's really gotta get on O'Neal's nerves. TD: "Drags his feet?"  He was greeting his fans! SR: Fans don't win you matches, Dross, unless you're Joe Petrow, and where's he now? [Sanders calls for the bell to begin the match, and Alex Porteaux and Paul Wong start off the festivities.  Porteaux and Wong lock up, with the Machine easily overpowering the smaller Porteaux, and Wong converts his leverage into a twisting armbar followed up by a short-arm clothesline! Big pop!  Porteaux springs to his feet, enraged, and catches the advancing Wong with a knife-edge to the throat, which makes the Machine back off a bit, and "The Ace" takes advantage of Wong's hesitation to lay him out with a beautiful standing drop kick!  Porteaux drops the elbow, but Wong rolls out of the way, rising to his feet behind Porteaux and dropping him with a quick, powerful belly-to-back suplex!  Pop!] TD: Good action to start this match, Steve Roberts, with Paul Wong really taking it to Alex Porteaux with his power repertiore. SR: Oh yeah, baby, that's it... clap those hands waaay over your head... now jump up and down... that's it... oh baby, you know what I like... TD: Steve... the match. SR: Can it, Dross.  There's nothing going on in that ring that could possibly be more entertaining than that hot young thang in the belly shirt in the fourth row.  Shake it, don't break it, sweetheart!  Whoo-hoo! TD: Good grief. [Back in the ring, Paul Wong picks up Porteaux and send him flying into the Machines corner, and Simon O'Neal wastes no time in grabbing the tag rope and using it to blatently choke "The Ace" in full view of Chuck Sanders, who moves to intercede, but is distracted when big Eddy Ramos charges into the ring to come to the aid of his partner.  Sanders blocks the way of the larger Damage Inc. member and orders him back to his corner, and while his back is turned, O'Neal increases the pressure on the rope as Porteaux begins to turn purple.  A split-second before Sanders turns his attention back to the action, Wong grabs Porteaux's legs and hoists him into the air as O'Neal releases his grip on the rope, sending Porteaux crashing unceremoniously to the mat as Sanders turns back to the action.] TD: Some shady tactics by the Machines here in the early going, but they are having the desired effect, Steve.  Alex Porteaux seems to be in big trouble. SR: Yeah,  I wonder how long it took O'Neal to convince Mr. Rogers to do the double team.  I still say he should dump the loser... hey, what's going on here? TD: It's the Prophets of Rage!  The Prophets are coming down to ringside! [Derek and Shadoe Rage, accompanied by Medusa Rage and Pizzazz, begin to saunter down the aisle to the ring as the crowd greets them with a loud heel pop.  The group takes up positions all around the ring, with Derek Rage standing quite close to Jenteal, who looks quite unnerved by their presence at ringside.  On the apron, Eddy Ramos glares down at the Prophets, his eyes smouldering with hatred.  Derek Rage makes a few audible comments about Jenteal's wardrobe, which the Damage Inc. manager just ignores as she tries to keep her attention on the match.  Inside the ring, Wong tags in O'Neal, and the smaller Machine goes to work on the downed Porteaux, jamming his boot onto Porteaux's throat as he lies in the corner and bearing down hard, using the ropes for extra leverage as Porteaux squirms under the assault.  Sanders soon puts an end to this, however, and O'Neal picks Porteaux up, pausing momentarily to taunt Eddy Ramos across the ring before whipping "The Ace" to the ropes.  On the rebound, though, O'Neal's backdrop attempt is foiled by a desperate sunset flip from Porteaux!  Sanders drops - 1 - 2 - kickout by O'Neal!] TD: What a desperation move from Alex Porteaux, Steve!  SR: You see, Dross, that's why these guys have been one of the most dominant tag teams in the game - toughness.  This team may not even have a gay guy, though by the looks of those tights Porteaux wears, we may still have a contender. [Porteaux scrambles to his corner to tag in the big man, Eddy Ramos, and O'Neal takes a step back but does not tag out as Ramos comes to the centre of the ring and holds a hand out, calling for a test of strength.  O'Neal just smirks, and goes to take out Ramos' legs, but Ramos anticipates the move and drops a heavy elbow on the back of O'Neal's head that stuns the Machine!  Ramos moves to pick up O'Neal, but is momentarily distracted when Derek and Shadoe Rage begin taunting Jenteal at ringside.  Jenteal is looking more and more uncomfortable as the Prophet keep up their assault of taunts, wolf whistles and sexual innuendos on the Damage Inc. manager, and Ramos pauses to point a menacing finger at the two Rages, who just scoff at the big man.  Suddenly O'Neal, still caught in the facelock, takes advantage of Ramos' distraction and pulls the big man down into a cradle! Sanders drops - 1 - 2 - kickout!  TD: Nice heads-up move by O'Neal there, but perhaps a bit premature.  Ramos is still very fresh. SR: Not as fresh as Derek and Shadoe Rage, Dross.  All that stuff they're saying to Jenteal down there's kinda turning me on. [Ramos quickly gets to his feet and mows O'Neal down with a lariat, and prepares to sling him into the ropes, but as he shoots O'Neal off, he is distracted once again by the Prophets at ringside, who have both moved within touching distance of Jenteal, who is looking desperately for a way out.  As Ramos is distracted again, O'Neal reaches out a hand to Paul Wong, who has climbed the turnbuckle, and when Ramos turns his attention back to the match, he is met not by a rebounding O'Neal, but by a huge flying shoulderblock from Paul Wong!  Huge pop from the crowd!] TD: What an incredible move by Paul Wong!  Wong came off that turnbuckle like a 747, and has taken down big Eddy Ramos!  The crowd is loving this! SR: Big deal.  Wong's still the legal man, which means the Machines are still in big trouble, with the biggest gay guy in the tag team business in there against Ramos. [Wong covers for the pin - 1 - 2 - kickout by Ramos, and Wong pulls Ramos up to the corner and tags in O'Neal, then slings Ramos across the ring. Meanwhile, Alex Porteaux has dropped from the apron to the floor and is heading over to where the Rages are threatening Jenteal, and pulls her away from them, stabbing a finger at Derek Rage and spewing threats.  In the ring, Wong and O'Neal join forearms for a double clothesline, but the big Ramos sees it coming, and double-clotheslines both Machines!  Big pop from the crowd, especially from the members of the Creed Army at ringside.  The Machines jump to their feet, but Ramos is like a house afire, scooping up Paul Wong with ease and atomic dropping him throught the ropes to the floor, then turning on O'Neal, who has produced a set of brass knuckles from his tights, and blocking his cold-cock attempt before pulling him up for a huge gutwrench backbreaker!  Pop!] SR: What'd I tell you, Dross.  The gay Machine costs them the match again. TD: I would disagree in part with that statement, Steve, but it certainly seems like the end of the line for the Machines tonight.  Eddy Ramos is going for his Dog Collar finisher! [Ramos pulls the stunned Machine to his feet, picks him up, and begins to climb the turnbuckle.  Before Paul Wong can get back in the ring to help, Ramos launches himself off the top rope with O'Neal locked in a powerbomb position, and drives the machine into the mat with incredible force!  Ramos covers for the pin - 1 - 2 - 3!  Ding!  Ding!  Ding!] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, here are your winners, as a result of a pinfall... Alex "The Ace" Porteaux and Eddy "Mad Dog" Ramos... DAMAGE INCORPORATED! ["Reunited" blasts from the P.A. signifying the victory by Damage Incorporated, but Eddy Ramos doesn't get a chance to celebrate his victory, as on the floor, Derek and Shadoe Rage have begun to rough up Alex Porteaux while Medusa Rage and Pizzazz start shoving Jenteal back and forth between them!  Ramos immediately drops to the floor, and floors Derek Rage with a swift roundhouse right!  Pop!] TD: Oh my goodness!  The tension caused by the appearance of the Prophets of Rage at ringside has reached the boiling point, and now we've got a full-scale brawl going on at ringside! SR: Don't you just love it, Dross?  Now _this_ is entertainment!  I love it, the crowd loves it... oh my God, the tube top girl REALLY loves it! Jump, jump for my love, baby dolls!  Whoo-hoo! [Alex Porteaux and Eddy Ramos begin double-teaming Shadoe Rage, the huge Ramos pinning the Prophet's arms back while Porteaux delivers a superkick to the jaw which rocks the Age of Rager, then wades into him with a flurry of fists.  However, Derek Rage struggles to his feet behind them, and quickly grabbing a chair from ringside, smashes it with murderous accuracy into Porteaux's lower back!  Porteaux crumples to the floor as Shadoe Rage powers out of Ramos' grip, and with unbelieveable speed drives a head butt into Ramos' forehead, grabs him by the scruff of the neck, and drives his head into a ring post!  Derek Rage raises his chair for another shot at Porteaux, but before he can bring it down, Porteaux desperately drives a fist below the belt, and now it is Derek Rage who folds over in pain and collapses to the concrete!  Shadoe Rage tries to ring Ramos' head off the ring post a second time, but the big man blocks the attempt with a forearm, grabs Shadoe by the back of the head, and drives him into the steel post instead!  Big pop!] TD: All four men are on the floor!  This is anarchy, Steve Roberts! Someone's going to get seriously hurt here!  SR: Forget about them, Dross.  Hell, forget about Miss Tube Top... we got ourselves a cat-fight!  Meow! [Indeed, while the men have been fighting tooth and nail, the women have been just as busy, as Pizzazz and Medusa go to work on Jenteal, slapping her in the face and pushing her back and forth.  The former female wrestler soon tires of this double-teaming though, and on one last push, nails Medusa with a lightning-quick lariat that sends the Age of Rage valet crashing to the floor!  Huge pop!  Pizzazz instantly sets upon Jenteal, grabbing a handful of hair and pulling her down to the floor, but Jenteal rolls on top and begins peppering punches about the head of Pizzazz!] SR: You know, there was a scene just like this in "Hollywood Bisexual Bikers Part Six".  Great film. TD: Actually, wasn't it Part Five, Steve... er, I mean... SR: GOTCHA, Dross!  Ha! TD: Well... I probably heard you talking about it in the studio or something... SR: Right, right... [While the Age of Ragers and Damage Incorporated brawl away at ringside, the defeated Machines, who have been all but forgotten in the confusion, slowly start up the aisle, hoping to slip out of the Coliseum unnoticed in the chaos.  Unfortunately for them, this isn't the case, because before they can get halfway up the aisle, they are suddenly jumped from behind by...] TD: THE HARLEQUINS!  The Harlequins have come out of the crowd, and they are pounding away at the Machines in the middle of the aisle!  My goodness, Steve, this is absolute insanity! SR: We got eleven people beating the snot out of each other down here, Dross!  This is the kind of top-quality family entertainment you can't find anywhere else but the Double-Eye-Double-You-F'n-F!  Kill that punk Wong, Chaos! [As the Prophets and Damage Incorporated renew their attacks on each other outside the ring and the three women roll around on the floor kicking, scratching, and pulling hair, Tragedy and Chaos start putting the boots to Wong and O'Neal as Comedy and Melody look on.  Icehawk, who is seated just a few chairs away from the action, looks as though he wants to jump into the fray, but holds his ground.  A shoulderblock by Wong soon puts Tragedy down though, and O'Neal, warding off vicious kicks from Chaos manages to grab a chair from ringside, and drives the chair with all his might into Chaos' knee!  Chaos bellows out in pain and falls to the concrete, and the enraged O'Neal leaps to his feet and brings the chair down onto Chaos' knee again, drawing another anguished scream from the downed Harlequin!  Wong and Tragedy are still trading blows as Comedy and Melody try to pull the chair out of O'Neal's hands, as the Machine attempts to deliver yet another blow to the knee of Chaos.] TD: Simon O'Neal is out of control!  He looks like he's trying to seriously injure Harlequin Chaos! SR: Well hey, if you had a big Prozac-popping gay tag team partner who kept ruining your matches, you'd be a little irate too, wouldn't you?  [O'Neal doesn't get a chance to attack Chaos again, however, because at this point, the Coliseum security team and the Jobber Justice Squad finally pour into the aisle, wading into the three separate brawls and struggling to separate the combatants.  The jobbers manage to pull Damage Incorporated and the Prophets apart without too much trouble, as the two teams are pretty much spent by this point, but Jumpin' Jack and Rasputin have a more difficult time breaking up the ladies, and the rookie Russian jobber gets a formal introduction into the perils of the JJS as he takes several slaps in the face from Medusa rage for his trouble.  The Coliseum security guards pull O'Neal away from Chaos, who struggles to his feet with the help of Comedy and Melody, and begins to slowly limp up the aisle as Wong and Tragedy are pried apart by more guards.  As Wong is herded off, Tragedy is momentarily held against the steel barrier, where he spies Icehawk, smirking at him from his seat.  The two men exchange heated insults, and suddenly, Tragedy takes a swing at Icehawk, which the Finn barely dodges! The Harlequin is then roughly yanked back by the security guards and is dragged up the aisle, all the while screaming insults at the Cold Spell member, who just stands and waves as Tragedy is pulled up the aisle and out of the arena.] TD: Well, what an incredible series of events we have just witnessed here, Steve Roberts.  Damage Incorporated score their first win in the IIWF, but that decision was soon forgotten in the wake of the chaos that followed. Three separate brawls going on at once -- with the Prophets of Rage demonstrating that they still have a score to settle with Damage Inc., and the Harlequins and the Machines going head to head in a conflict which you can be certain will only escalate in the coming weeks.  Even Icehawk of Cold Spell almost got invilved in the action, and the ill will between that particular individual and the Harlequins doesn't seem to have dissipated one iota. SR: Don't forget the ladies, Dross.  The way those babes were going on, they ought to add another match to Ring Wars IV -- Medusa, Pizzazz, and Jeandra in a Lemon Merengue Bikini Match. TD: Steve... you know there's no way the IIWF could sanction something that ridiculous. SR: Why not?  Does the ESWP hold the copyright?                 TD: Good grief. Once again, I apologise for the comments of my broadcast colleague. I believe Billy Shakespeare is still out in the stands getting opinions from the fans -- Billy? [Billy Shakespeare walks up behind the announce position, and then hops over the barriers, landing between Dross and Roberts. Dross nearly jumps out of his skin.] SR: Watch it, freak! TD: What the..?! BS: Sorry, Tim. I wanted to know who you and this guy next to you think     should be the next Cruiserweight champion. TD: Billy, you know as well as I that no championship belt is a popularity contest.  They're won in the ring, not the stands.  I ask that you end this little charade. BS: We'll count that as "no opinion".  How about you, Overbite? SR: A real man would put on some weight and stop slap fighting over who is the sissiest runtweight.  Lebec... Mota... Paris... Bundy. Whoever, 'cause it ain't gonna be you. BS: We'll count that as a half vote for each. Oooh, Mota has two and a     half, Our hero is a close second, and well, Ronnie's wife likes him.     [Shakespeare hops out from between Dross and Roberts over the broadcast table, waves to Steve Roberts, and then heads away from the announce position.] TD: Well, folks, Billy Shakespeare continuing on his crusade to be the voice of the people. SR: Damned moron. TD: What a thunderous tag team collision we are about to witness, as     the Genesis tandem of Scott Rogers and the Highwayman battle a pair     of long time friends, Duncan Macbeth and Timothy N. Turner. SR: I'm tellin' ya Timbo, this is gonna be an easy night for Macbeth     and TNT. They'll dispatch these Genesis freaks with ease. TD: What makes you say that? SR: Well, just take a look at what's been going on right in front of     your face, week after week! Genesis are crumbling faster than a     Scottish shortbread after Tonnage has stood on it: cartoon boy has     deserted them like the wet blanket nurse he is, they're all at each     other's throats on a nightly basis, they're all gunning for a shot     at the Intercontinental title... Genesis are leaderless,     directionless and hellbent on a crash course of self destruction! TD: But... SR: [interrupting] And you have to consider the momentum Macbeth and TNT     have going into this match-up. That Scottish ruffian is all on fire     after earning the shot at Chris Quigley for Ring Wars IV, and Turner     is making big waves as the premier newcomer to have arrived on the     IIWF scene over the past few months. These guys are hot, daddy-O! TD: Well, according to the "Soundbite" analysis, the odds are stacked     against Genesis, but I'm not so sure. You can never count a couple     of powerhouse wrestlers like Rogers and Highwayman out of the     running. Let's go down to Sparkplug Lee for the introductions. ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| Scott Rogers & Highwayman vs. |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| Timothy N. Turner & Duncan Macbeth ....................................................................... WRITER: RD [The spotlight falls on centre ring, where Sparkplug Lee freezes under the bright light like a deer in headlights. After staring out at the crowd in stupefaction for several long moments, the Sparkster suddenly snaps out of it and begins the announcements.] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, the following tag team contest is scheduled     for one fall!     Introducing first, accompanied to the ring by the "Epitome of Evil",     Serge Annis, at a combined weight of 582lbs, please give them a big     welcome, here are Scott Rogers and Highwayman -- the Genesis     Generation! [The "new wave" eighties groove of "Stand and Deliver" by Adam and the Ants blasts out over the loudspeakers as the powerful figures of Scott Rogers and Highwayman make their appearance. A few scattered cheers go up from the beret wearing Genesis Generation members of the crowd, but mostly loud jeers greet the arrival of the duo. Rogers flashes Highwayman a baleful look as the two walk down the aisle, perhaps miffed that his soundtrack was passed over in favour of his partner's. Serge Annis follows closely behind, wearing a black scowl on his face.] TD: Three towering, powerful wrestlers -- three of the most feared men     in the IIWF. Even without Requiem, Genesis remain an awesomely     intimidating troupe of wrestlers. SR: Personally, I feel the Jobber Justice Squad inspire more fear than     these guys. What I wanna know is, when are Genesis gonna get some     sense in their skulls and kick the crap out of Requiem? TD: Why on earth would they want to do that? SR: Well hell, everybody else does! RA: And their opponents, at a combined weight of 500 lbs, the number one contender for the Intercontinental title and his long-time partner, please give a big welcome for Duncan Macbeth and Timothy N. Turner! [A good round of cheers greets the arrival of Macbeth and TNT, who jog down the aisle to the tune of "Scotland the Brave". Macbeth wears a twinkle in his eye as he roughly slaps the hands of a few fans, while Turner stares at the crowd quizzically, unaccustomed to the support of the fans.] TD: Duncan Macbeth is definitely a ruffian, but he's always been popular     with the IIWF fans. Timothy N. Turner, however, has openly courted     the hatred of the fans ever since he made his debut, and it's unusual to see him cheered like this. SR: The people may be stupid, but they have enough sense to root for     anybody going up against Genesis. Next week, TNT will be back to     wielding foreign objects, pulling tights on the pinfall and bustin'     heads. These morons will be booing him again before you can say     "Chris Quigley is a big girl's blouse". That's the fans for ya Timbo     -- fickle as well as stupid -- just like any woman you'd care to     mention... TD: Good grief. [The four combatants face up in centre ring, glaring at each other menacingly, while Serge Annis bails to the outside and stands in the Genesis corner. After both teams confer in seperate huddles for a few moments, Turner and Highwayman retreat to their respective corners, and it's Rogers and Macbeth to open the match. Ding! Ding! Ding! Both men immediately lock up in a power struggle, but reach a stalemate and shrug each other off. Macbeth grapples in again, looking for a collar and elbow tie up, but Scott Rogers twists the hold into another power test, and utilising his superior height and weight, forces Macbeth down to his knees. The rugged Scotsman, ever with an eye for an opening, thrusts his head forward and butts Rogers right in the breadbasket, winding the big muscleman and forcing him to release his grip. As Rogers doubles up, Macbeth applies a standing side headlock, squeezing on the pressure with his big, brawny arm. Rogers shifts his weight forward, clinches Macbeth around the waist, and then hurls himself backward, breaking the hold and blasting Macbeth with a belly to back suplex! Both men leap to their feet, Macbeth somewhat more awkwardly after the powerful suplex, and Scott Rogers snaps out his hand and clinches the Scot around the throat! Grunting under the effort, Rogers hoists Macbeth into the air, staggers over to the ropes, and hurls Duncan bodilly to the arena floor! Shocked pop from the crowd as Macbeth sprawls out on the concrete! Rogers goes to his corner and tags in the Highwayman.] TD: Duncan Macbeth, uncharacteristically attempting to force a     scientific match at the outset, but Scott Roger's power was simply     too much for him. SR: He might have flashy muscles, but this guy Rogers... he only knows     six or seven moves. That's gonna cost him against a scientific     master like TNT, and I don't think he's gutsy enough to get down to     the dirt under the fingernails brawling with Duncan Macbeth. [Macbeth staggers to his feet on the outside, as Highwayman charges across the ring and launches himself over the top rope with a suicidal plancha dive! Macbeth dives out of the way at the last moment, and this time it is Highwayman who tastes the concrete! Big pop from the crowd! Macbeth staggers over to his foe, drags him up, and rocks him backwards with powerful overhand rights. As Highwayman totters unsteadilly, Macbeth grabs him by the scruff of the neck, and rams him face-first into the steel crowd railings! Highwayman lolls groggily under the impact, and Macbeth charges him over to the ring steps, smashing him again into the cold hard steel! Highwayman flops down on the arena floor, and Duncan Macbeth pumps his fist to the air as the fans give him a big pop!] SR: See! These Genesis guys are all flash and no substance. A real tough     guy like Duncan Macbeth wipes the floor with wrestlers like the     Highwayman! TD: Well, that plancha was certainly a stunningly acrobatic move for a     big man like Adam Smith, but he executed it way too early in the     bout. You've got to set your man up properly before you try     something like that. [Macbeth rolls Highwayman beneath the bottom rope, following closely himself and tagging in Timothy N. Turner. Both men drag the Genesis member to his feet and hoist him into the air for a double vertical suplex, slamming him down to the mat with awesome force! Macbeth scampers back through the ropes to his corner before the ref reaches the count of five, and Turner smirks arrogantly as he hooks the leg of Highwayman for the cover: 1 - 2 - Smith kicks out with authority! Turner wipes the smirk off his face, replacing it with an ugly scowl. He gets up and brutally stomps on the fallen Highwayman, working over his chest and shoulders. Highwayman crawls to the neutral corner as Turner stomps away at him, pulling himself up with the aid of the ropes. Turner nimbly ducks in and grabs the Brit's tights from behind, rolling him up for the pin. Before the referee can count, however, Highwayman rolls through with it and reverses the pin attempt! 1 - 2 - Turner reverses the pin back again! 1 - 2 - kickout by Highwayman! Both men spring to their feet, and Highwayman throws a ham-fisted right. Turner catches the blow with ease and quickly flips Highwayman down to the canvas with an armdrag, retaining his grip on the limb and applying a painful armwringer. Highwayman's face contorts in agony, but he powers up to his feet. Turner immediately takes down the Brit with a second armdrag, then flips right over Highwayman's body, wrenching the limb painfully, and follows up by fastening on an armlock/leglock submission! Solid pop from the fans for Turner's technical expertise!] TD: Brain is taking brawn to school right now, as Timothy N. Turner     nullifies Highwayman's power arsenal with a series of scientific     maneuvers. This is what wrestling is all about! SR: Ha! It's really about bloodying your opponent's nose with a     well-placed fist, snapping his spine over the steel guard rail and     then bludgeoning him repeatedly over the head with a blunt object --     but I gotta hand it to this kid; Timothy N. Turner has the skills,     the attitude and the cunning to be a major player in the IIWF. I     just wish somebody would give the Scottish guy a shot of Kessler's so we could witness some real Glasgow pub style carnage! [Highwayman yells out in agony, pain etched on his face, but he can't seem to find a way out of his predicament, and Turner wears a smug expression for his scientific mastery of the situation. The ref asks for the submission, but Highwayman furiously shakes his head; his eyes though, speak a different tale, glazed over with agony, the Brit's pain threshold clearly reaching its limits. Suddenly, Serge Annis leaps up onto the apron, grinning like a demon and flicking his zippo lighter. The ref immediately turns his attentions away from the action and gets in Annis' face, yelling at him to get off the apron. Siezing the opportunity, Scott Rogers charges the ring and stomps on the head of TNT, breaking the hold! The crowd howls with outrage, and Duncan Macbeth, beet-red with anger, charges through the ropes to get at Rogers. Annis drops down from the apron, and the ref turns back to the action, blocking Macbeth's lunge at Rogers, who snickers and retreats back to his corner, extending his middle finger at Macbeth! The Scotsman yells and blusters in fury, but the ref will have none of it, and orders Macbeth from the ring.] TD: Whoah! We almost had a huge donnybrook erupt right there, with all     four  men in the ring at once and at each other's throats! Tensions     are building high in this match up, folks! SR: Pretty soon these guys are gonna get so pissed off they're gonna     throw technique out the window and start beating each others brains     in with the ringbell... or steel chairs... or maybe nightsticks and     handcuffs! Bring out the brass knucks! Bring out the beers! Bring on the dancing girls! Whooo! TD: Settle down, Steve. Hang on -- Derek Mota is coming back out here! [Indeed, the crowd gives a big pop as the IIWF Cruiserweight Champion saunters out into the aisle, the glittering title around his waist. He carries the steel chair he brought out to the ring earlier in the evening. Serge Annis, standing at the bottom of the aisle, folds his arms and cuts an imposing presence at ringside, clearly daring Mota to come down and take him on.] TD: Derek Mota interrupted a Genesis interview last night at the Saddledome, and tonight he's coming back out -- undoubtedly to taunt Scott Rogers again. SR: He's a tough little bastard, Dross, but is he gonna get past Serge Annis? TD: Well, we may not get a chance to find out -- because here comes Simon Lebec! [Another big pop from the crowd as the "Showstopper" Simon Lebec sprints down the aisle, clattering into Mota from behind! The two cruiserweights begin slugging it out in the aisle, and Serge Annis takes it upon himself to break things up. He heads up the aisle and puts the boots to both Mota and Lebec -- and then grabs each man by the neck!] TD: Oh my! Serge Annis has both men by the neck and... SR: Double chokeslam! Double chokeslam! [Annis brings both Mota and Lebec crashing down to the concrete arena floor with a big double chokeslam, and simply leaves both men lying as security pour down the aisle to break things up. Annis returns to ringside, and security help the two cruisers back to their feet.] TD: Quite a display of strength there by the powerful Serge Annis -- and it appears that neither Mota or Lebec will be interfering further in this match. [Meanwhile, in the ring, Highwayman turns his attentions to Turner, who is against the ropes clutching his aching head, and sends him reeling with a powerful double axe-handle. A big boot to the midsection doubles Turner over, and Highwayman follows up by blasting him into the mat with a rocker dropper! Cheers erupt from the scattered Genesis fans. Highwayman drops atop Turner, hooking his leg for the cover: 1 - 2 - kickout by Turner to a pop from the fans! Highwayman gets up, dragging Turner with him, only to dump him back down to the mat with a bodyslam. The Brit goes over and tags Scott Rogers, and togethor the two Genesis members approach Turner. Highwayman hoists him up into a piledriver position, and Scott Rogers lends a hand by spiking Turner on the downward plunge, and his head smashes into the mat with tremendous velocity! Grinning evilly, Highwayman retreats safely back to his corner as the count reaches five.] TD: Oh my goodness! What a devastating maneuver! This match may be     drawing to a close for Timothy N. Turner... SR: Now we get a chance to really see what this kid is made of! Can he     come back from adversity? Can he take the punishment? Hell, Scott     Rogers is set to dish him out some more damage! [Instead of going for the pin, Scott Rogers grabs hold of the nearly comatose Turner and hoists him into the air! The crowd looks on in dismay as Rogers brings Turner crashing down to the mat with a pulverising powerbomb! Turner shudders and goes still, and Rogers goes for the pin: 1 - 2 - 3 - Turner kicks out! Big pop from the crowd!] TD: Oh my goodness! That's unbelievable! Timothy N Turner kicked out     right on the count of three! After those two devastating maneuvers,     where the heck did he find the desire to do that! SR: Scott Rogers ain't none too happy about it! He thought he had the three count! [Scott Rogers is furious as he argues with the referee about the count. Turner, meanwhile, stirs on the canvas and begins crawling painfully over to his corner, where Macbeth waits with his arm outstretched as far as humanly possible. Rogers won't let the matter drop, but the referee is in no mood to argue, and Highwayman begins to yell at his partner to turn his attention back to the match.] TD: This is it! He almost has the tag!... [Scott Rogers suddenly whips around, and lunges for the still prone, still crawling Turner, grabbing hold of his legs and holding him fast... but too late! Duncan Macbeth just manages to graze his partner's outstretched hand with his own, and charges into the ring! Huge pop from the crowd! Scott Rogers gets up and backs away hesitantly, but Macbeth lunges forward and gets stuck right in, rocking the taller man with thunderous lefts and rights! Turner crawls under the ropes and into his corner, while Highwayman buries his head in his hands. Macbeth continues to pummel Rogers around the ring, drawing a bigger pop with each blow! The fiesty Scott grabs Rogers by the arm and whips him to the ropes, launching himself into a flying cross body and flooring his foe on the rebound! Big pop! Macbeth immediately gets astride his foe and continues to pour in the shots to the defenceless head of the prone Rogers, following up by repeatedly smashing his head violently into the canvas!] TD: Duncan Macbeth is all on fire and cleaning the clock of Scott     Rogers! He can only hope he'll be able to muster this kind of     intensity against Chris Quigley at Ring Wars IV! SR: Y'know, I used to think Duncan Macbeth was some glorified extra     from "Braveheart", but now I realise he's a brawlin', bloodthirsty,     Genesis ass-kickin' roughneck, just like me! What is it with that     movie "Braveheart" anyways? Winning three academy awards... what a     crock! TD: Mel Gibson is a very fine actor and director, Steve Roberts. SR: Ha! Ha! Ha! He's a damn nancy boy, that's what he is! How come they     didn't tell the story of the real William Wallace, huh? How come     they didn't put in the bit where Wallace skinned an English warlord     and made him into a belt? How come they skipped that part then, huh?     Instead they have some cheesey Hollywood moment where Mel Gibson     yells out "Freeeeeedom!" before he dies, like he's fighting for     democracy or something. What a crock. "Mean Streets" should have     cleaned up at those awards. TD: How could it? It was released in 1973! SR: Well what about "Taxi Driver"? TD: That was '76. SR: Aw hell, better late than never. Rocky over Taxi Driver... damn     punks. How come Scorsese always gets the raw deal, huh? How come     that? TD: I think we'd better concentrate on the match. [The ref orders Macbeth to fight clean, so he finally gets up from Rogers and drags him up to his feet, clinching him around the waist and executing a gutwrench suplex! Macbeth with the pin attempt: 1 - 2 - Rogers kicks out with a wince of pain. Macbeth drags his foe up once again, blasting him with a powerful short-arm clothesline! Macbeth retains his grip, not allowing Rogers to fall, and pulls him in for a second short-arm clothesline, nearly shearing the big man's head off and flooring him with authority! Big pop! Macbeth turns his attentions to the neutral corner, climbing up onto the second turnbuckle and launching himself off with a flying headbutt! Macbeth lands head to head with the prone Scott Rogers, the crack of noggins audible right around the arena and drawing winces from the crowd! Scott Rogers clutches his skull in agony, but Macbeth doesn't even seem to feel the impact!] TD: Ouch! I almost felt that one myself! What a stout maneuver from     Duncan Macbeth! SR: This is a guy with one hard head, Timbo. You can only get that kind     of conditioning when drunken brawlers constantly smash pint glasses     over your head in a Glasgow pub. TD: Uh, quite. Look at Macbeth, he's going to the top once again! [Duncan Macbeth climbs up the buckles and perches himself on the top ropes, his back to the ring. Highwayman looks on anxiously, his partner apparently senseless down on the canvas.] TD: What is he... Duncan Macbeth looks set to attempt a moonsault! This     270 pounder is gonna finish Rogers off with a moonsault press! [All eyes are fixed on Macbeth, including the referee's, as he launches himself off the top rope, flipping through the air and careening down at Scott Rogers with tremendous velocity. Highwayman, however, noticing the distraction of the referee, has stretched his body halfway under the bottom rope and grabs the unconcious Scott Rogers by the ankle, dragging him out of harms way! Just at that moment, Macbeth strikes the canvas like a missile, in the place where Rogers WOULD have been. The crowd howls in outrage as Macbeth crumples into a small heap.] TD: What an outrage! Duncan Macbeth missed that stunning moonsault, and     this is the second time the skullduggery of the Genesis Generation     has allowed them to escape certain defeat! Is this referee blind? SR: No, he's just stupid, like every damn referee in the IIWF. If I was Timothy N. Turner, right now I'd grab a crowbar and start caning ass no matter what the consequences. [Scott Rogers is now close enough for Highwayman to tag himself in, which he does so, much to the ire of the crowd. He rolls his partner under the bottom rope, and then begins to stomp away furiously at the fallen Macbeth. Smirking, Highwayman goes for the pinfall: 1 - 2 - desperate kickout by Macbeth! Highwayman slaps the mat in frustration and drags Macbeth up to his feet, hooking his arms and launching him overhead with a double-underhook suplex! Macbeth crash slides across the mat, his back taking considerable punishment. Highwayman runs to the ropes, bounds off, and pastes Macbeth to the mat with a thunderous legdrop! Smirking, once again sure of victory, Smith makes the pin attempt: 1 - 2 - kickout with split seconds to spare by Macbeth! The crowd gets behind the Scot with a rallying pop!] TD: Adam Smith is back firmly in control of this bout, but he just can't     seem to put Duncan Macbeth away! SR: Listen to these fans! They're really getting under the skin of the     Highwayman! [Once again, Highwayman slaps the mat in frustration and leaps to his feet. He leans over the ropes, furiously shaking his fists at the fans, who are starting up a "Genesis sucks!.. Genesis sucks!" chant! Macbeth gets up to his knees, and shakes his head, trying to rid himself of the cobwebs. Suddenly his eyes blaze into focus and he see's the vulnerable Highwayman against the ropes, his back turned. The recovering Scott Rogers yells out a warning, but too late! Macbeth leaps to his feet and blasts Highwayman from behind with a powerful ghetto blaster kick, sending him sprawling right over the top rope! Huge pop from the fans!] TD: Look at the resiliency of this man! Highwayman got extra careless,     and Duncan Macbeth may have saved the match for his team! [Macbeth groggily staggers over to his corner, and tags in the rejuvenated Timothy N Turner, who nimbly runs across the apron and launches himself at Highwayman with a flying elbow drop! Turner nails his man with unerring accuracy, and Highwayman is out cold on the concrete!] TD: That was Turner's finishing maneuver, the TNT! An old fashioned     move, the flying elbow drop, but an extremely effective one in the     hands of a master. SR: He executed it outside the ring though, Timbo. What does he want, a     win by count-out? TD: No, look! He's rolling Highwayman back into the ring! [Turner follows his foe back into the ring, and makes the quick tag to Macbeth. Macbeth whips Highwayman to the ropes as Timothy N. Turner perches himself on the top turnbuckles in anticipation for... Highwayman bounds off the ropes, and Macbeth leaps up into the air, catching his foe in a flawless Claymore frankensteiner, smashing his skull into the mat! Big pop from the fans! Turner leaps off the top turnbuckle, crashing into the prone Highwayman with a second punishing elbow drop! Another huge pop! Turner gets up, grandly gesturing to his partner to make the pinfall, and Macbeth is only too happy to oblige. The ref makes the count: 1 - Scott Rogers charges the ring looking to interfere - 2 - Turner meets Rogers with a clothesline in centre ring, depositing him to the mat - 3! Ding! Ding! Ding! Huge pop from the crowd!] RA: Here are your winners, as the result of a pinfall: Duncan Macbeth     and Timothy N Turner! TD: What a stunning finish by these long time friends! BOTH men hit     their finishers for a pinfall victory! SR: Heh, heh... Genesis have gotta be upset by this one. [Timothy N Turner and Duncan Macbeth exchange handclasps, then raise their fists to the air, clearly very pleased with the victory. Scott Rogers gives them a black scowl, then helps his partner from the ring. Both head back up the aisle, nursing their injuries, and appear to argue briefly before stepping through the curtain backstage. They are followed closely by Serge Annis, who seems disinterested with the whole affair. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: I understand we can go back to Billy Shakespeare out in the fans one last time. [Cut to Shakespeare, who crouches in the aisle halfway up one side of the Coliseum.] BS: This is Billy Shakespeare one last time. [He turns to a young fan in a "Serge Cola" t-shirt.] FAN: Gotta be Billy Shakespeare! BS: There you have it.  The people have spoken.  They want that     Cruiserweight belt around Billy's waist.  Mota, sorry, you just don't have the support.  Ronnie... well... I don't know what to say.  Maybe if you joined Genesis you could beat people into liking you.  Back to you at ringside! [Cut back to the broadcast table.] TD: Well, I'm sure this won't sit well with Ronnie Paris, but for now, we have more immediate matters to which we must turn our attention. SR: The latest "Sports Illustrated" swimsuit issue? TD: No, Steve Roberts. The action just continues to heat up as we march toward Ring Wars IV, and you have to feel, Steve Roberts, that something wicked this way indeed comes. SR: Yeah, and it's called Chris Quigley. You can smell the guy a mile away -- kinda like the Venusian Death Cell used to after "Burrito Night" at the IIWF Cafeteria. TD: There's an image I think we can all do without. SR: Quigley stinks, Phoenix sucks. Quigley... stink. Phoenix... suck. Know the difference, boys and girls! TD: Could we please just discuss our next match? It appears that Duncan Macbeth is taking a personal interest in this matchup because he isn't leaving the ring area. [The camera cuts to Macbeth, who meets a ring attendant and pulls on his kilt and a "Glasgow Chamber of Commerce" t-shirt. He also grabs a steel briefcase from the attendant and takes a seat at ringside.] SR: Hey, those are expensive seats at ringside. Did Macbeth buy a ticket? TD: I think Duncan Macbeth is getting more respect in the IIWF after winning last week's battle royal in Calgary. Perhaps more importantly, he earned a shot at none other than IIWF Intercontinental Champion Chris Quigley at Ring Wars IV. SR: That's assuming Quigley still _has_ the belt. He's got a big bullseye on his back, which is a pleasant change from pictures of Tom Cruise that Troy used to tape to Quigley's back. TD: Why would Troy...? Good grief. You're completely disgusting, Steve! SR: Coming from you, Drossy, I'll take that as a compliment. TD: The bad blood between Creed and Chris Quigley has been flowing for nearly nine months. SR: Hey Dross, don't say "nine months" when Becky is watching. TD: I'm fairly certain Becky spends her Saturday nights elsewhere. Anyway, you'll recall that after a one-month leave last year, Quigley targeted Creed upon his return and blasted the rookie with a steel chair. SR: Who's your daddy? BAM! TD: Yes, well. After being betrayed by Mad Dog Watkins, Creed took two months off before returning two weeks ago -- with a chair shot to Quigley's head. Creed refuses to let this battle go, although Quigley seems to think Creed isn't even worth discussing. SR: He's right. Although Quigley isn't worth discussing either. It's pointless. Let's just skip this match and go on to the main event where we've got... who's in the main event? TD: Requiem and Brody Thunder. SR: They aren't worth discussing either. Let's just call it a night and go check out the Prom over at Portland West High School. Love them cheerleaders... "Portland West, Portland West, everyone knows our girls are the best!" TD: Moving on.... SR: Cherry pie. Mmmmmmmmmmm! TD: Moving on! It will be interesting to see how the battle unfolds between these two men tonight. Will the bad blood boil over? Let's go up to Sparkplug Lee for our introductions. ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| IIWF INTERCONTINENTAL CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH: |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley [c] vs. Creed ....................................................................... WRITER: SO [The spotlight falls on Sparkplug Lee, who seems to be counting ceiling tiles in the coliseum. He quickly catches himself and raises the microphone.] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, this contest is scheduled for one fall. Introducing first, hailing from Oakland, California, and weighing in at 276 pounds, here is the man they call... Creeeeeeed! [Big pop as the arena lights dim and the video wall flashes to life as Pearl Jam's "Indifference" blares over the PA. Red lettering appears on the monitors: "Anyone... Anywhere... Anytime." The pop grows and a "Creed... Creed" chant begins as Creed enters the coliseum and is immediately bathed in a red spotlight which follows him down the aisle. The challenger is attired in black trunks with a red kneebrace over his once-injured joint. As he raises his red-gloved left hand high above him and walks to the ring, the camera makes out the word "HardCore" burned into his right tricep. Several "Welcome Back Creed" posters are visible in the crowd, although one teenager waves a "Chris Quigley is Yo Daddy" sign. Creed ignores everything until he enters the ring and jumps to the second turnbuckle, letting the pop wash over him.] TD: Quite an entrance from Creed here tonight. The fans in the IIWF Coliseum certainly seem pleased to have him back. What a reception! SR: Morons... all of 'em. TD: I think it's evident that this is not business as usual for Creed tonight. Chris Quigley has struck a nerve deep in this man. Tonight... it's personal. It's the culmination of... SR: Don't make me hurt you, Dross. [As the pop slowly dies, the "Creed" chant continuing among the members of The Creed Army, Sparkplug Lee again raises the microphone.] SL: And his opponent, about to make his way to the ring, is the reigning IIWF Intercontinental Champion. Hailing from Corner Brook, Newfoundland, Canada, and weighing in at 238 pounds, please welcome "Quiiiiiickstrike" Chris Quiiiiiiigley! [A good pop as "For Those About to Rock" by AC/DC blares in the Coliseum. Quigley enters, attired in his black leather jacket with the Quickstrike skull and cross lightning bolts on back, and a pair of silver wire rimmed shades. The IIWF Intercontinental Championship belt is strapped around his waist. Flashbulbs pop as he strides to the ring and several young women proudly display their "Quickstrike... finally!" t-shirts which feature a caricature of Quigley holding the IIWF Intercontinental belt aloft.] TD: The IIWF fans welcome Chris Quigley back to the Coliseum... this time as a champion. SR: It's a good thing I haven't had a big meal tonight. TD: Steve, you can't deny that... hang on, what's Quigley doing? [Seeing Duncan Macbeth seated at ringside, Quigley sneers and points at his title belt. The microphone picks up Quigley saying "This belt will never be worn above a skirt!" Macbeth doesn't have time to respond before a turnbuckle pad flies past Quigley's head.] TD: Look at this! Creed is tearing the padding away from the turnbuckles! SR: Ooh, big bad man beats up turnbuckle pads! I'm real impressed. Now maybe Quigley will put the Thirdstrike on one of the pads outside the ring and everyone will go home happy. What are the odds of a piece of the ceiling falling off and crushing both of these.... TD: Not good, I'd say. Check out the look on Quigley's face. [Quigley, watching Creed remove the final turnbuckle pad, merely shakes his head at the challenger and jumps to the ring apron. He hands his jacket and shades to a ring attendant, then casts one final look at Duncan Macbeth who has removed a notepad and pen from his briefcase and is jotting down some notes.] TD: Quigley seems rather preoccupied with Duncan Macbeth tonight. SR: I always knew Quigley was a leg man, just like Marv Albert is a back man. TD: Not that subject again. SR: Yeah, can't you see "Andy the Blow-Up Doll" when Quigley does his Marv Albert impression and starts biting? "Oh Andy, you bitch... why are you hissing at me?" TD: Folks, _again_ I apologize for Steve Roberts. [Creed, having tossed the last of the turnbuckle pads out of the ring, stands in the middle of the squared circle and waves his gloved hand at Quigley as if to invite him to stand toe-to-toe. Quigley acts as if Creed is not even in the ring, stepping between the ropes and turning his back as he tests the ropes.] TD: It looks like the mind games are already going on in there. SR: And these guys are both unarmed. TD: Quigley just does not seem to respect anything Creed... look out! [Creed attacks Quigley as referee Chuck Sanders shrugs and calls for the ring bell to officially begin the match. Creed rains forearm blows to Quigley's back and neck, then grabs his head and rams it into the exposed turnbuckle. A big pop is led by The Creed Army. Creed whips Quigley into the opposite corner and Quickstrike's back hits that exposed turnbuckle with a sick thud. He winces in pain and drops to one knee on the mat.] TD: Creed comes out on the attack and apparently Chuck Sanders is going to let the exposed turnbuckles remain that way. SR: Finally, a good decision. Let's see some blood! [As Creed approaches, Quigley fires a right hand to the bigger man's midsection with seemingly no effect. Creed throws Quigley through the ring ropes, then follows him to the coliseum floor and stomps away with his left leg. From his ringside seat, Duncan Macbeth notes that Creed puts Quigley's head between his legs and prepares for a piledriver, but Quigley powers out of the hold and backdrops Creed onto the arena floor. Big pop.] TD: These men are taking it outside early on and appear to be ready to turn this into a brawl. There's no love lost between these two. SR: If Quigley ain't gonna bleed, I want some biscuits. [Quigley rolls under the bottom rope to break the referee's count, then rolls back out to the arena floor and stomps on Creed's right knee. He grabs the ring bell and pounds it into Creed's knee, which draws some heat from the fans at ringside. He pulls Creed to his feet, grabs his head and rams it into the ring post, then whips him into the steel crowd barrier. Creed goes down as Quigley again climbs into the ring to break the count, but then he suddenly climbs the turnbuckles.] TD: Quigley is going up top! What in the world is he...? SR: This'll be great! Of all the things Quigley ain't -- a real champion, a good dresser, a heterosexual -- he sure ain't a high flyer. [yelling toward the ring] I hope you kill yourself, moron! [Quigley balances himself carefully because of the missing pad and measures Creed's knee before launching a kneedrop from the top rope. But Creed rolls out of the way and Quigley hits the mats hard outside the ring. Huge pop.] TD: Nobody home! Quigley may be hurt after a high-risk move like that. SR: We can only hope. [Sanders' count reaches seven before Creed rolls back into the ring, but he immediately rolls back out and tosses Quigley under the bottom rope. Upon entering the ring, Creed begins a high-impact attack on Quigley. A swinging neckbreaker and spinning spinebuster do the majority of the damage. Creed finally stands over Quigley as the ring mic picks up his words: "You know my name now, Quigley? You know who I am now?" This brings a huge pop from The Creed Army and the rest of the Coliseum follows.] TD: Listen to this crowd! They've really gotten behind this young man! SR: When Quigley is in the ring, you have to be careful who gets behind you. [The cheers include a smattering of boos as heads begin to turn toward the aisle, where Steve Manning rolls slowly toward the ring in his wheelchair. He is wearing a makeshift "Creed Army: Homosexuals Welcome" t-shirt which draws huge heel heat from the Creed Army. Manning ducks a half-eaten chicken leg that whizzes past his head and just laughs at Creed's supporters.] TD: Steve, I don't think that Steve Manning has any business at ringside. This is a dangerous sport and he is very vulnerable. SR: Vulnerable? The kid may be a cripple, but he ain't a cripple like Billy Shakespeare. This kid'll roll over a grandmother's toes to get a stray quarter. TD: There's no call for that. [Creed notices Manning coming to ringside. He walks to the ropes and says something to the young man, who seems to ignore him. Creed does not notice Quigley recover and throw a shoulder block into Creed's right knee. The champ quickly rolls up Creed: 1 - 2 - kickout! Quigley nods at Manning and slides from the ring, pulling Creed toward a corner. He viciously slaps Creed's knee against the ring post, then repeats the performance as Manning cheers from his wheelchair.] TD: We've not seen much resembling _wrestling_ from the Intercontinental Champion here tonight. SR: Why should tonight be any different? [Quigley rolls back into the ring and stomps on his opponent's knee. He then applies a falcon leglock and Creed grunts in pain as Quigley locks it on tightly. Sanders drops to the mat and asks Creed if he wants to submit, but the big man grunts a "no." Sanders keeps checking Creed, who slowly makes his way to the ropes, forcing Quigley to break the hold. Both men get to their feet, although Creed seems to be favoring his right knee leg. Quigley dives at the leg, but Creed plants his boot in Chris's face, then presses his boot against Quigley's throat, using the top rope for extra leverage. Sanders finally gets Creed to break the choke, only to see Creed drop to the mat and begin pummeling Quigley with right hands.] TD: Creed is back on the attack. He doesn't seem to care about the title as long as Quigley leaves the ring on a stretcher. SR: And when you get right down to it, isn't that what we all want? [Creed pulls Quigley to his feet, only to floor him again with a short-arm clothesline. Creed then snaps off a quick German Creedplex, followed immediately by a Tiger Creedplex. Rather than cover Quigley, he runs to the ropes, only to encounter Steve Manning, who reaches up and grabs Creed's ankle. A look of unrepressed anger crosses Creed's face. He jumps through the ropes and stands in front of Manning, who slowly backs up his wheelchair. Manning puts up his arms and begs for mercy as the crowd pops for Creed to put Manning out of their misery.] TD: Steve Manning is in danger here! Would Creed really hit this disabled young man? SR: I'm so sick of the little punk, _I'd_ hit him! [The pop becomes a gasp as the crowd sees Quigley grab a steel chair and raise it behind Creed... SMACK... bringing it down hard over the back of Creed's head. Quigley drops the dented chair and Duncan Macbeth rises from his seat, holding his pen and notepad.] TD: What a despicable act by Chris Quigley! He seems to be willing to do anything it takes to win these days. SR: Chair shots ain't bad. TD: Why wasn't that a disqualification? This match should be over! SR: Because... Chuck Sanders is a moron? [Quigley tosses a few insults at Duncan Macbeth before rolling back into the ring. Sanders, possibly giving credence to Soundbite's theory, stops his count and begins lecturing Quigley about the use of the steel chair. Quigley shakes his head at the referee and points at Creed outside the ring, almost forcing Sanders to begin a new count.] TD: Perhaps the IIWF Special Concerns Committee _will_ be looking at this match very closely. The question now is... SR: Could Poutine be Creed's daddy? TD: No! Whether or not Creed can get back in the ring. [Sanders' count reaches seven when a large arm grabs the bottom rope. The count is at nine when Creed slowly slides his body under the ropes. Outside the ring, Manning begs Quigley to put the Quickstriker on the weakened Creed, but the champ pulls Creed to his feet and cinches on a waistlock. Creed summons the strength to back into the corner, pounding Quigley's back against the exposed turnbuckle, but the champion will not release the hold. Finally, Creed, using his superior size, surprises everyone by breaking into a dead sprint and flipping forward -- taking Quigley with him -- and landing atop the champion.] TD: A back-to-belly front Creedplex! I've never seen a move like that before! And Creed bridges: 1 - 2 - he got him! SR: Nice try, Dross, but it was only a two count. Foot on the ropes. TD: Oh my, I thought we had a new champion there! [Creed stands and finds that the move has weakened his knee even more, but he pulls Quigley to his feet and sets for a snap suplex. However, his knee buckles and Quigley actually lands on top of Creed: 1 - 2 - kickout! Both men are slow to recover, but Quigley is the first to his feet. He stands over Creed, who reaches with his left leg and kicks Quigley back against a turnbuckle. Quigley winces as Creed gets back to his feet and charges into the corner, pummeling the champ against the steel turnbuckle.] TD: These blows must be taking their toll on Quigley's back. SR: Nah, Quigley spends a lot of time on his back. [Creed whips Quigley into the opposite corner and charges after him, but the champ leaps to the second rope and springs back with a cross-body block. Creed manages to duck the move, but the referee is not as fortunate as Quigley hits Sanders square in the chest.] SR: Referee down! Referee down! TD: And it's not a good time for this. We've got trouble! [As Quigley and Creed both stagger back to their feet, Serge Annis rushes down the aisle. He stops near the ring and spots Steve Manning. Grinning, he kicks over Manning's wheelchair, sending the young man sprawling at ringside. In the ring, Creed and Quigley exchange blows in one corner, with Creed reversing the champ and gaining the advantage.] TD: What is Annis doing here? He just attacked a helpless man. SR: Manning helpless? He's just like a toothless shark, huh? [Serge tosses the wheelchair into the ring and then climbs in himself. He bashes Creed from behind with the wheelchair, sending the big man through the ropes and to the mat outside the ring. Annis then smiles at Quigley before waffling him twice with the chair and adding a headbutt that sends Quigley face first to the mat.] TD: Serge Annis has indiscriminately cleaned house. SR: I wonder if he does apartments. [Annis tosses the dented wheelchair outside the ring and it lands with a clang beside Creed. Annis jumps through the ropes, hooks his arm around Creed's head, and delivers a DDT onto the wheelchair. A streak of blood immediately appears on Creed's face as he falls away from the mangled metal.] TD: Annis is going after Creed! What a cheap shot. He's... oh no, he's going to do it again! [Annis lifts Creed once again and hooks his head, driving him one more time into the mangled wheelchair. Huge heel pop as Annis stands with his hands raised, walking toward the aisle and stepping casually over Steve Manning on the way. Chuck Sanders picks a most inopportune moment to recover, spotting Quigley on his knees and Creed outside the ring. After a moment's hesitation, he begins the count on Creed.] TD: Serge Annis had no business at ringside. Was this a personal attack or a message from Genesis? SR: Who? [Sanders continues his count: 7 - 8 - Creed amazingly gets to his feet, but drops back to one knee - 9 - 10! Ding! Ding! Ding!] RA: Here is your winner, by countout, Chris Quigley! [A small pop emanates from the Coliseum crowd, most of whom expected a much different ending. The pop grows, however, as Creed begins limping up the aisle in pursuit of Serge Annis. He tackles Annis at the top of the aisle and the two tumble into the back area, out of the crowd's view.] TD: Creed is still after Annis. That fight could rage for awhile... no, I'm told the Jobber Justice Squad is on the scene. SR: Watch the flying elbows, Smooth! [While the crowd watches that altercation, they do not notice Duncan Macbeth jump the ring barrier and slide into the ring with his steel briefcase.] TD: Hang on -- Duncan Macbeth is in the ring, Steve Roberts! SR: Oh no! If he opens his mouth, we're all done for! [After pushing aside Chuck Sanders, Macbeth winds up and clocks Quigley with the briefcase, knocking him cold, then opening the briefcase and producing a big frilly pink tutu which he pulls over Quigley's head and around his waist. The Scot then looks angrily at the ringside camera then back down at Quigley.] DM: NOW d'ye ken wha' ye're in store for, tosser? So ye've never lost t' someone ye've never heard of, have ye no'? Well, ye've heard of me NOW, wha'! An' ye're goin' t' KEEP hearin' of me, 'till I do th' IIWF a big favour, an' put an end t' yuir title reign at Ring Wars! [Macbeth turns to Steve Manning, who has managed to pull himself up to the ring apron.] DM: Oi, Manning -- who d'ye think looks better in a skirt... me, or yuir boy-toy Quigley 'ere? Ha! [Macbeth climbs from the ring and stomps back up the aisle, leaving Quigley to slowly revive.] TD: A stunning end to this matchup, Steve. I don't think Creed is finished with Serge Annis -- but I'm fairly certain that Chris Quigley will be looking for Duncan Macbeth. SR: When Quigley wakes up, you mean. Chair shots, briefcase shots, it was a lot more entertaining that I expected. TD: Well nothing was decided between Creed and Chris Quigley, but they both have other things to occupy their minds right now. SR: You know my motto, Drossy: drink 'til she's cute, but stop before the wedding. [Security staff make their way down the aisle to tend to both Quigley and Manning, retrieving the latter's wheelchair and placing him back in it. Manning is turning the air blue with his complaints to the officials, while Quigley is helped to his feet and given back his Intercontinental title by referee Chuck Sanders. Quigley stands under his own power, and groggily leaves the ringside area with Manning wheeling himself along beside him. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: Well, Steve Roberts, a tremendous Intercontinental Championship match -- but Chris Quigley retains the title, largely thanks to Serge Annis. SR: Damned punk Quigley. TD: Quite. Folks, we're now just moments away from our huge main event. Requiem is scheduled to face the "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder in what is sure to be a history-making match for the World Heavyweight Championship. With Casey James -- the man revealed last week as the "Masked Outlaw" -- cuffed to the ring at the request of both men, along with Otto Verhoeven, Steve Kowalski and the Highwayman, there will be danger on all sides for the two combatants... but there will be no interference! IIWF Special Concerns Committee chief Poutine Janois has personally taken every measure to ensure that security is not compromised in this match. SR: What's the little jerk gonna do, Dross? Beat up anybody who comes near him? Two words for ya, Janois: "Skullpump." TD: That's only one word, Steve. In any case, not only will there be an extra contingent of security personnel assigned to the ringside area, there will also be a barricade erected in the aisle -- complete with a specially commissioned mural by the students of the Portland College of Art. SR: Portland has a College of Art?! TD: Indeed it does, Steve Roberts, and I am told that the mural this group of young artists have produced is a fitting testament to the historic gravitas of this special Championship match. Without further ado, let's get up to the ring. ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| IIWF WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH: |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| Requiem [c] vs. "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder ....................................................................... WRITER: DS [The crowd is clearly excited as a number of burly security men filter into the aisle. Sparkplug Lee takes centre ring, and raises his microphone:] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is your _main_event_ of the evening! Allow me to introduce to you the head of the IIWF Special Concerns Committee... please welcome Poutine Janois! [Polite applause for the diminutive, bespectacled French-Canadian IIWF official as he makes his way down to ringside in his customary suit. He climbs the ringsteps and enters the ring, flicking back the tails of his jacket to reveal a number of sets of handcuffs on his belt, glinting in the glare of the overhead spotlights.] RA: Mr. Janois has decreed, at the request of the participants of this match, that for the duration, four men must be handcuffed to the ring ropes in order to prevent their interference in this contest. [Janois nods as the crowd gives a big pop.] RA: Introducing first, Otto "the Butcher" Verhoeven! [Another big pop from the crowd as the theme from "Halloween" drifts over the PA, a bank of red spotlights swinging towards the head of the aisle. From the entrance curtain emerges Otto Verhoeven, in his street clothing, a scowl painted on his face. He makes his way down to the ring, jawing with the fans as he comes. As he reaches ringside, Janois hops down from the ring, removing a pair of handcuffs from his belt.] TD: Here comes the Butcher, Steve Roberts. One of the victims of "masked outlaw" attacks in matches against Requiem, you can be sure he's going to be keeping an eye on Casey James in this match. SR: This is crazy, Dross. Handcuffs all over the place, and no sign of Becks. [Verhoeven trudges round to the opposite side of the ring, and grudgingly holds out his left wrist, allowing Janois to cuff him. Janois then cuffs the other manacle around the bottom rope of the ring, as Verhoeven yells at some of the front row fans, who find his plight amusing.] RA: Coming down the aisle, the Highwayman! ["Stand and Deliver" cuts in over the PA, and an extremely disgruntled looking Adam Smith makes his way out into the aisle in his wrestling attire and beaded with water droplets from the shower.] TD: Here comes the Highwayman, fresh from his tag match earlier tonight with fellow Genesis member Scott Rogers. I hear that there have been a number of arguments in the locker room about the decision to have Smith cuffed at ringside -- Genesis are claiming that they respect their former leader's request to go it alone, and had no plans to interfere in this match in the first place. SR: Yeah right, Dross. I trust Culture Club about as far as I could spit them. [The Highwayman makes his way down to ringside, also responding badly to the taunts of the crowd, and heads over to another side of the ring. He allows Janois to cuff him to the bottom rope, all the while debating the wisdom of the ruling with the official, who takes no notice. Then... the opening chords of "Don't Fear The Reaper" blast out over the PA. Massive pop!] TD: Oh my, Steve Roberts! Here comes the Fury! [A spotlight swings down to the head of the aisle, and out from behind the entrance curtain comes the brawny New Jersey Nightmare himself to a huge, huge pop! Fans throughout the Coliseum chant, "Fu - ry! Fu - ry!" as Kowalski surveys the scene. The camera picks up him saying, "Man, this is crazy shit." as he begins his walk down to the ring.] RA: Making his way down the aisle... Steve "the Fury" Kowalski! TD: Here comes Brody Thunder's sole supporter, Steve. With Mad Dog Watkins put on the shelf this past Wednesday, only the Fury remains in Thunder's "wolf pack," if you will. SR: No, I won't, Dross. Quit the lame puns. They belong in that bush league down south. TD: This is a volatile situation, Steve Roberts -- there's quite some history between Steve Kowalski and Poutine Janois. It was Kowalski who put Janois out of action for a number of months with a vicious Skullpump onto the concrete aisle right here in the Coliseum, and Janois was present at the Birthday Bash match between the Fury and "Sychosys" Joe Petrow -- but have they called it quits? SR: If the Fury's got any sense, Dross -- and you know he has -- he's gonna Skullpump that little freak into the middle of next year! [Kowalski sidles up to Janois, his 6'4" frame looming over Janois, who is several inches shorter. Kowalski murmurs something threateningly at Janois, who simply shakes his head, takes a step back, and demands that Kowalski extend his left arm. The Fury, laughingly, extends his left arm -- and then takes a swing at Janois with his right! Janois, however, ducks out of the way, grabs the arm, and slaps the cuffs on! Before Kowalski has a chance to protest, Janois has cuffed Kowalski to the ropes, and dodges to the last unoccupied side of the ring before the Fury can get his hands on him. Big pop!] SR: I don't believe it, Dross. The Fury handcuffed to the ropes! There's no justice in this world. TD: Which is precisely why he's there, Steve Roberts. Only one man remains to make his entrance here, Steve, and he will be cuffed right out here in front of us, on the side of the ring where we are situated. ["Roots" by Sepultura kicks in over the PA, greeted by a big heel pop from the crowd.] RA: And finally, making his way down the aisle... Casey "Blackheart" James! [It is a scruffy, deshevelled Casey James who emerges from the curtain at the head of the aisle and makes his way slowly down the aisle. Dressed in his wrestling tights, Casey sports a full week's growth of beard, and his piercing blue eyes are shadowed with grey rings that suggest he hasn't slept a great deal for some time. His blonde hair is ragged and greasy, some of it teased out of place as he runs his fingers through it, apparently trying to accustom himself to being out in a huge arena in front of twenty thousand people.] SR: Aw, this is just too sad, Dross -- to see one of the finest champions in IIWF history reduced to a gibbering nutcase. TD: Casey James certainly makes for a harrowing picture right there, Steve Roberts. He does not look at all well. [Casey slowly continues down to the ring, making his way past the Fury, who yells out obscenities at the World Tag Team Championship co-holder, who simply ignores them. Casey walks past the broadcast table, from where Steve Roberts looks on, shaking his head at the sight of this broken man. Janois asks for Casey's left hand, and James mumbles, "Bring on the goddamned handcuffs," extending his arm with no resistance whatsoever. Janois quickly fastens the cuffs on the ropes.] TD: Well, Steve Roberts, all four men are now handcuffed to the ringropes out here in front of us... and they don't look at all happy. [Kowalski and Verhoeven have already moved themselves to the corners of their sides of the ring nearest Casey James, and both of them yell abuse at the tag champ, who stands in the centre of his side of the ring, looking dejectedly at the floor. Meanwhile, Sparkplug Lee raises his microphone once more:] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall, and it is for the IIWF World Heavyweight Championship! Introducing first, the challenger... [Huge pop as the theme from the "High Plains Drifter" kicks in over the PA.] ...hailing from "the town too tough to die," Tombstone, Arizona, and weighing in at 267lbs, here is... the "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder! [All eyes in the Coliseum, save for those of Casey James, turn to the head of the aisle, where the curtains are thrown aside, and out steps Brody Thunder, twirling the "smiley face" mask that has become a trademark of his alliance with Steve Kowalski and Mad Dog Watkins on his finger. He wears his usual ring attire, the brim of his black cowboy hat pulled down over his eyes, in which can be seen a confident sparkle glinting out under the hat. He wears his usual leather vest, but underneath the vest he also wears a black t-shirt which simply reads: "PAYBACK TIME".] TD: Here is the challenger, Steve Roberts -- and Brody Thunder looks confident here tonight! SR: The "Lone Wolf" is ready, baby dolls. He's ready to take the title he should have won in July. Boy Rectum is backstage shining that belt up for the very last time. Probably sobbing into his carrot juice as we speak. TD: I doubt that very much, Steve Roberts. The fans here in the Coliseum giving Thunder a very positive reaction -- I guess that just demonstrates the depth of the anti-Genesis feeling in the fans of the IIWF. SR: Who doesn't hate that bunch of no-talent mid-carders, Dross? The bodybuilder, the stiff, the undead caveman wrestler... and this guy, Dross, this guy Requiem -- does he think that by walking out on his only slightly less talented lackeys, suddenly everybody's going to respect him? Not going to happen, baby dolls. These morons are baying for Boy Requiem's blood, and they're damned well gonna get it tonight, Dross! TD: That remains to be seen, Steve Roberts, but Brody Thunder is nearing ringside -- he has words for Steve Kowalski, and now moving round to Casey James... [Thunder approaches Casey James, who briefly looks up, a doleful expression on his face. Thunder gives a smirk, removes his hat, and places it on James' head, before feigning fear and pretending to back away from him. Casey absently knocks the hat from his head, not lifting his face once more, and Thunder shakes his head before climbing into the ring. He removes his vest and t-shirt, and limbers up in one corner.] SR: And introducing his opponent... hailing from parts unknown, and weighing in at 306lbs, here is the IIWF World Heavyweight Champion... Requiem! [The deep, ringing tones of Requiem's voice boom out over the PA: "From this day forth, until the end of time, there can be no mercy for the damned!", the words almost drowned out by the ferocious heel pop that erupts in the Coliseum at the mere mention of the champion's name. Suddenly, the lights in the arena drop to complete darkness, with even the video wall flickering to black... and when they rise a couple of moments later, there in the centre of the ring stands Requiem! Big heel pop! Requiem simply stands there and waits for Thunder to turn around. The "Lone Wolf" slowly turns to face the champion with a shake of his head and a smirk on his face. Requiem keeps his gaze fixed on Thunder as the two men stand a few feet apart.] TD: Oh my! Requiem simply _appeared_ in the ring, Steve Roberts! SR: Don't get so damned excited, Dross. We've seen dead guys do it a million times. Besides, Boy Requiem knows that if he were to walk down the aisle, he'd be pelted with trash from these morons, and he'd never even make it into the ring with those four guys handcuffed to the outside. Looks like even the undead caveman wrestler wants to beat him up. TD: Well, whatever the reasoning, it is surely a smart move by the champion to avoid any peripheral disputes: this match is about those two men in the ring, and that gold belt currently held by Requiem. [Indeed, the IIWF World Heavyweight Championship belt is slung over the shoulder of the clean-shaven Requiem, whose white eyes remain fixed on Thunder as he reaches up and tosses the belt to the referee, Earl Alfonso, who struggles to catch it. Requiem is dressed from head to toe in black -- black shirt, black loose-fitting wrestling pants, black pads, black boots -- with only the words on his shirt -- "ANGEL OF DESTRUCTION" on the front and "HERALD OF DAMNATION" on the back -- bringing any colour to the ensemble, as they are printed in blazing letters. As the two men continue to stare one another down, Alfonso holds the belt aloft to a big pop, before handing it to a ringside attendant. Poutine Janois re-enters the ring, and collects another pair of handcuffs from Requiem, who still does not remove his gaze from Thunder.] TD: And there is the second pair of handcuffs that will be used to keep Casey James right out here in front of us. SR: Jesus, Dross, there are more handcuffs out here than in a whole Simon Lebec "straight to video" movie. [Janois fastens the second set of cuffs around Casey James' wrist, who offers little resistance, and then moves to the bottom of the aisle, where the burly security staff have erected a barricade, one side of which has been daubed with paint. The camera moves to get a good look at the mural, which is a spectacular rendition of many memorable moments in IIWF history.] TD: Security staff are now erecting the barricade in the aisle which will prevent any interference from any wrestlers back in the locker room -- and in front of the barricade is the spectacular mural. SR: Hey, Dross -- this thing's great! Look, there's the real "Outlaw" triple-crossing the Horsemen and the American Heroes... there's Tiger Claw hitting that moonsault off the top of the steel cage at Ring Wars... there's Joe Petrow crashing through several tables on top of Dirt Dog Unique Allah... TD: Indeed, many of the IIWF's finest moments captured in oils on this specially commissioned work of art. Prints will be available next week -- call the IIWF hotline for details. SR: There's Casey James with Dan Kauffman's dog... there's that red gloved punk lying crumpled on the floor after that Mad Dog Watkins superbomb... there's Billy Shakespeare getting knocked off the top turnbuckle by your truly. Wow, finest moments is right. TD: Well, fans, this mural will be moved to the IIWF Hall of Fame after tonight's event, but we are very privileged to be able to show you this fine work of art here in the Coliseum! I believe Poutine Janois is satisfied with the security arrangements -- we have half a dozen men across the aisle, and twice as many in the stands... nobody's going to interfere in this match, Steve Roberts. SR: There's Dan Kauffman being stretchered out of the Coliseum after his match against Deathbringer... TD: Steve Roberts, I believe the match is about to get underway. SR: Forget the match, Dross -- what could be more important than art? TD: And this from the man whose appreciation of art extends to slavering over young actresses in so-called "art movies" which tend to involve a heck of a lot of nudity. SR: Are you jivin' with me, Dross buddy? I got to take you to the cinema more often. Ashley Judd, Dross -- I'd step over the broken bodies of reasonably close relatives for Ashley Judd. TD: I stepped over the broken bodies of... no, on second thoughts, let's get back up to the ring. [Earl Alfonso signals for the bell. Ding! Ding! Ding! Meanwhile, Requiem and Thunder have inched closer together, and now they stand nose to nose in the centre of the ring, neither man willing to back down. The impasse continues for a moment, until Thunder spits right in Requiem's face and yells, "Let's see what ya got, runt!" Huge pop as Requiem turns his face slowly, and then looks back up, apparently unfazed by the attack -- but then takes a big swing at Thunder with his right arm! Thunder blocks the shot, and fires back with a right hand of his own which staggers the big man, before pulling Requiem's shirt over his head, obscuring his view, and allowing Thunder to take several free shots at the big man.] TD: Oh my! An explosive start to this match -- Requiem can't see, and Thunder is trying to chop this big man down! [Thunder goes straight to the legs, planting a number of kicks on Requiem's right knee. While Requiem struggles with his shirt, Thunder bounces off the ropes, and dives with a shouldertackle at the back of Requiem's leg, taking the champion down hard. Thunder quickly grapevines the leg, and yanks back with as much pressure as he can. The tall Requiem, however, is able to reach the ropes, and Alfonso calls for the break. Thunder refuses to break the hold, putting even more torque into the leglock -- and only relinquishes when Alfonso's count reaches four. Thunder argues with the official as Requiem gets back to his feet, already favouring his right leg a little. Thunder, with one eye on the champion all the time, pushes past the official, and lands another kick on Requiem's right leg. This time, the champion is ready for Thunder, and rakes Brody's eyes! Big heel pop as Thunder staggers back, clutching at his face -- and is taken down to the canvas hard by a big clothesline from Requiem!] TD: Requiem fighting fire with... well, fighting fire with ice here, Steve Roberts. Requiem is brutal -- but he is so dangerous because he just does not lose his cool. SR: Except for when the Soundbite tells him the truth, baby dolls. When the Soundbite tells the world the truth about this over-rated, over-sized gimmick, Mr. Freeze heats up in a hurry! TD: Nobody knows what you're talking about, Steve Roberts. SR: Just the way I like it, Dross. [Requiem moves towards Thunder, who is trying to roll to his feet -- and stomps on his hand! Big heel pop as Thunder grabs at his hand and rolls out of the ring.] TD: Thunder's in no man's land right about now! He's rolled out of the ring right in front of the Highwayman -- and Highwayman labels him with a big right hand! [Requiem bends out through the ropes and drags Thunder back onto the apron -- only for Thunder to drop back to the floor, hotshotting Requiem over the top rope in the process! Big pop as Requiem staggers back towards the centre of the ring. Meanwhile, Thunder nails Highwayman with a huge punch from his sore hand -- causing him to flinch -- sending the Highwayman crashing to the floor, wrenching his left arm which is cuffed to the ropes. Thunder jumps back to the apron, then uses the ropes to slingshot himself into the ring -- and he hits the still groggy Requiem with a flying clothesline! Big, big pop! Thunder goes for the cover: 1 - Requiem kicks out with authority! Thunder gets to his feet -- and is then hit by a low blow from the recovering Requiem! Thunder staggers back in agony, and Requiem gets to his feet, planting a number of punches into the breadbasket and ribs of Thunder, who is unable to guard from the blows. Thunder is forced back into the turnbuckle, but as Requiem follows him in, Thunder raises his boot sharply between the champion's legs. Alfonso yells a warning to Thunder, but finds himself shoved out of the way as the "Lone Wolf" charges Requiem again, and levels him with another clothesline. Requiem drops hard, and Thunder makes the cover: 1 - 2 - kickout!] TD: Big clothesline from Brody Thunder with that huge right arm of his -- not to mention that elbowpad, Steve Roberts. SR: Why the hell would you want to mention the elbowpad, Dross? TD: There has always been a good deal of speculation that Thunder loads that elbowpad to ensure his clotheslines have their intended devastating effect -- but be that as it may, that shot wasn't enough to put Requiem down for the count. [While Thunder continues to stomp away on Requiem's right knee, on the outside, Otto Verhoeven yells at Casey James from his corner of the ring. James looks up, apparently disinterested, to see the fuming German trying to reach around the ringpost and grab him. Casey simply hangs his head once more as Verhoeven kicks the ringsteps in his fury, knocking the upper half off and sending it clattering to the floor. Steve Kowalski yells for the Butcher to "keep it down", and Verhoeven beats his free hand on the apron. Meanwhile, in the ring, Thunder locks a figure four on the fallen Champion, who beats the mat in his discomfort. He reaches out behind him for the bottom rope, but even depsite his great height, his fingertips merely brush the rope, and he is unable to grab them.] TD: Requiem seems to have been slowed by that clothesline, Steve Roberts, and he's in a whole world of trouble early on here. [Requiem anchors himself up into a sitting position, his face etched with the pain he feels, and attempts to untangle Thunder's legs from his own with his hands, putting immense pressure on his knee as he does so. Failing to unlock the hold immediately, Requiem is forced to halt his efforts, and slumps back to the mat. Again, he reaches out behind him for the ropes, but is unable to grab them, still not quite close enough... Requiem tries to drag himself closer to the ropes -- he inches closer -- and grabs the ropes! Big heel pop! Alfonso calls for the break, and again Thunder takes his time in releasing the hold. Requiem, meanwhile, tries to pull himself up to his feet using the ropes -- but finds himself on the side of the ring occupied by Steve Kowalski, who nails him with a hard right hand shot to the jaw! Big pop! Requiem is momentarily stunned, and reaches out through the ropes to ram the Fury's head into the ring apron -- big heel pop! -- but is then caught off-guard by Thunder from behind, who brings his full weight crashing down on the champion's back, again hotshotting him across the ropes. Big pop!] TD: These men may be handcuffed to the ring, Steve Roberts, but they are determined to play a part in this match. SR: Go on, Fury -- take a few shots at the over-sized freak! [Kowalski does indeed shake off the effects of having his head rammed into the canvas, and takes the opportunity to use his free arm to hotshot Requiem over the ropes again! Big pop! Requiem falls backwards into the ring -- and is immediately hit by a legdrop across the throat from Thunder! Pop! Thunder drags Requiem to his feet, whips him into the ropes, and takes another swing at the champion with his right arm -- but Requiem has the presence of mind to duck under the attempt...] TD: Requiem ducks under, puts on the brakes and... oh my! Oh my! Requiem just hit Thunder with the "Retribution"! Requiem just hit that belly-to-back piledriver on Thunder, and he has the count -- this one is over! [The crowd go crazy as Earl Alfonso drops to make the count: 1 -- 2 -- kickout! Thunder kicks out! Huge pop! Both men lie on the canvas, Requiem clearly feeling the effects of the early assault, and Thunder winded by the impact of the Retribution.] TD: The Champion has turned this match around, Steve Roberts! A single move, and Requiem is back in the driving seat -- but the big man has to capitalise on this advantage, and he looks decidedly groggy in there. SR: Dammit, come on, Thunder! [Both men begin to stir at the same time, rolling to their feet as Alfonso stops his count. Requiem is first to his feet, and attempts to drag Thunder to his feet by the hair -- but Brody launches with a headbutt into Requiem's midsection, doubling the champ over! Thunder immediately slaps on a side headlock...] TD: Cattle Buster! No! No! Requiem got out! Requiem dropped to the canvas! [Requiem rolls out of the danger zone and away from Thunder, who attempts to drop an elbow on the champion -- who rolls away again! Big heel pop! Both men get back to their feet, and Thunder charges Requiem -- who hiptosses him straight back to the canvas! Thunder charges again -- and again is hiptossed back to the mat! Big heel pop! Thunder gets back to his feet, more cagey now, eyeing the champion suspiciously. The two men lock up, collar and elbow -- Thunder slips Requiem into a headlock, the larger champion is quickly able to slip out, and locks Thunder into an armbar. Thunder lashes out behind him with his free arm, and catches some of it, forcing Requiem to break the hold. Thunder wheels around and attempts to level the champion with a clothesline -- but Requiem brings Thunder down with a drop toe hold! Big heel pop!] TD: Several faster exchanges there, Steve Roberts -- but it looks to me that Requiem's right knee is bothering him. Thunder's been working hard on that area, attempting to chop down the big man right from the get-go. SR: Hey, Dross, on that mural -- you're getting choked by the Venusian Death Cell! Ah, happy days! TD: There is a match going on here, Steve Roberts. SR: Sure, Dross. Just wake me up when somebody gets busted open. [Again, Thunder and Requiem get back to their feet, the champion indeed appearing to favour his right leg slightly. Thunder approaches Requiem, and wipes the sweat from his brow before flicking it at the big man, prompting Requiem to lash out with a barrage of blows to Thunder's stomach and rib area. Thunder finds himself backed into the corner as Requiem continues to unleash hard body shots on Thunder, who seems unable to guard against them. Requiem whips Thunder cross-corner, and the "Lone Wolf" slams hard into the opposite turnbuckles. Requiem charges in after the cowboy -- who dodges out of the way!] TD: I believe Requiem is getting careless in there, Steve Roberts -- he's not so much fighting like a champion as a man with something to prove. He is desperate to prove that he is no paper champion, and he is taking chances in there -- and this time, it didn't pay off. [The champ manages to put on the breaks, however, and wheels around -- only to be met by a kick to the knee from Thunder, which topples the near seven foot "Angel of Destruction". Thunder again drops on top of Requiem, sitting on the small of his back and wrenching away at his right leg. The champion's face is once again distorted with pain as his knee is twisted by the persistent cowboy. Requiem is able once again to grab the bottom rope -- but Otto Verhoeven unlocks the champ's fingers from the rope before the referee can see it! Big pop!] TD: Did you see that, Steve Roberts? The Butcher just stopped Requiem from breaking this hold! SR: Quite right too, Dross. Verhoeven wants payback -- against Requiem, against Casey James -- and I wouldn't want to get in the Butcher's way. [Requiem again reaches for the ropes, and Verhoeven again unlocks the champion's fingers -- but this time, Alfonso catches the Butcher in the act, and calls for the break. Thunder continues to sit back on the small of Requiem's back, putting his free hand to his ear, pretending to be unable to hear the official's count. Eventually, Alfonso steps in and forces Thunder to release Requiem's knee, prompting the cowboy to stand and argue with the referee. Meanwhile, Requiem drags himself to his feet, again favouring his right knee. Thunder pushes past Alfonso, and once more makes a beeline for the champion's bad leg, but Requiem parries the kick attempt, lands another winding blow to the cowboy's midsection, and then whips him into the ropes.] TD: Thunder now, being sent for the ride -- this match has gone back and forth, both men making hits and both men taking hits -- Thunder ducks under a clothesline, he comes back again, and -- oh my! [Huge pop as Requiem manages to scoop Thunder up as he runs back towards him and press him over his head! Requiem's face is screwed up, betraying the toll that this display of strength is taking, his leg clearly weakened. Requiem heads towards a corner of the ring, Thunder still held above his head -- and drops him hard down across the turnbuckle and ring post!] TD: Oh my! Requiem with a Reqbreaker! Thunder's back was just dropped across that steel ring post -- that could break his back right there, Steve Roberts! SR: Somebody's got to do something about this, Dross -- this is outrageous! [Huge heel pop as Requiem, limping, approaches the corner where Thunder lies prone across the top buckle -- and knocks Thunder to the outside with a well-placed kick! Thunder turns in mid-air, and plunges to the arena floor some twelve feet below -- landing face-first on the steel steps dislodged by Otto Verhoeven earlier in the match! Huge shocked pop from the crowd!] TD: Oh no, Steve Roberts! Oh no! Brody Thunder has just fallen all the way from the ring onto those steel steps... This is bad. This is bad. [Requiem slumps in the ring to try and regroup, while Earl Alfonso immeidately jumps down to the arena floor, concerned for Thunder's condition. He forces Otto Verhoeven away from the challenger, and looks over his shoulder to see whether Casey James is likely to make any move on Thunder, but finds the tag champ still in the same desolate state, ignoring the jeers of the crowd. Alfonso bends over the motionless Thunder.] TD: It looks to me like Alfonso is ready to stop this match, Steve Roberts. Brody Thunder isn't moving after that devastating combination of a backbreaker across the steel ringpost and the fall to the outside onto the steel steps... this could be very bad. SR: Thunder may not be the smartest guy on the block, Dross, but he's one of the toughest -- you'll have to kill him to stop him. TD: That may be so, Steve Roberts, but Thunder isn't moving -- no, hang on, Brody Thunder is moving! The "Lone Wolf" is moving! [Thunder slowly, painfully, pushes himself into a sitting position amidst the carnage of the displaced steel steps. It is immediately apparent that he has a nasty cut above his left eye, and another gash on his left arm.] TD: Oh, Brody Thunder is busted wide open, Steve Roberts! By the looks of that eye cut, he may have suffered a compression fracture of his eye socket -- and that gash on his arm could have severed tendons. I don't believe Thunder is in any state to continue this match. [Thunder continues to drag himself to his feet, checking his spit for blood, putting his hand first to his cut eye and then to his cut arm, the sight of blood on his fingers apparently only making him more determined. Alfonso tries to interject himself into Thunder's line of vision to ask him whether he is able to continue -- and Thunder nails him with a right hand! Thunder sends Alfonso crashing to the floor near Casey James, and climbs back up onto the apron, preparing to roll under the ropes and into the ring -- but he is met by Requiem, who stomps on his midsection as Thunder attempts to evade the champion. Meanwhile, on the outside, Poutine Janois rushes around the ring to attend to Alfonso.] TD: Poutine Janois is right out here in front of us now, and Earl Alfonso appears to be okay. In the ring, Requiem is taking it to Brody Thunder, continuing to work on his midsection, but Thunder is fighting to his feet! Thunder is fighting to his feet and -- sweet Jesus! SR: Whoa! [Suddenly, the audio from the broadcast booth is cut out, and there is a huge pop from the crowd! In an instant, a figure had leaped from the stands, over the barrier, onto the broadcast table, and then hit Poutine Janois! Various rumbling and crackling noises are heard as Dross replaces his headset.] TD: Oh my! Are we on? SR: Unbelievable! Whoo-hoo! TD: Are we on? Tiger Claw -- folks, this is carnage out here! Tiger Claw just came out of nowhere, he came out of the stands -- he just used our broadcast table as a springboard... he has knocked out Poutine Janois! Tiger Claw hit Poutine Janois with a vicious flying heel kick to the back of the head, and Janois is out -- Alfonso caught some of it too -- there's equipment all over... oh my! SR: I love it, Dross! I told you Janois' security measures weren't up to muster, and boy, has he ever paid for it! [While Requiem and Thunder continue to trade blows in the ring, chaos reigns on the outside. Only Casey James appears not to be shocked by the turn of events. Steve Kowalski is frantically reaching around his corner of the ring, trying to get hold of Claw, who is searching the pockets of Janois' clothing. On the opposite side of the ring, the Highwayman pounds the apron with his free arm, while Otto Verhoeven frantically tries to find a way of freeing himself from his cuffs. Tiger Claw finally stands upright again, having found what he was looking for: a bunch of keys!] TD: Oh no, Steve Roberts -- Tiger Claw has the keys to the handcuffs! SR: He's gonna let James out?! If Claw lets Casey out of those cuffs, who knows what that maniac might do. Hey, Claw! Let Kowalski out! Let Verhoeven out! Damn it, let the undead caveman wrestler out if you must, but leave James alone! TD: I believe Tiger Claw fully intends to free his tag team partner, Steve. [Claw tries one key in both sets of cuffs -- neither are opened. On the inside, Requiem whips Thunder into the ropes, Thunder ducks a clothesline, puts on the brakes... Thunder taps Requiem on the shoulder, the champion wheels around, Thunder ducks under the wild fist, and rams his shoulder into Requiem's breadbasket. The champion is doubled over, and Thunder attempts a gutwrench powerbomb -- but he doesn't have the power first time, and as he regroups to lift Requiem a second time, the champion backdrops the bloody cowboy... Thunder manages to hang on, and brings Requiem over with him, bridging into a cover -- but there is no referee! Requiem kicks out, and the two wrestlers become tangled in the ropes. Meanwhile, Claw has managed to unlock one set of cuffs.] SR: Dross, he's got one set open! I've got to go stop him! TD: You'll stay right there, Steve Roberts -- this situation is crazy enough as it is. [Kowalski and Verhoeven both strain at the fullest extent of their manacles and yell at Claw, who slots the fifth key into the second set of cuffs -- and they click open! Huge pop!] TD: Casey James is free, Steve Roberts! Casey James is free, and he's -- he's rolling under the ring! SR: What?! What the hell is James going to do under the ring?! [At that moment, two security men approach Tiger Claw from either side. Claw takes one down with a crescent kick to the jaw, and spins around, hitting the second burly officer with a similar kick, all in one fluid motion. Kowalski and Verhoeven both clamour to be released, but Claw simply conceals the bunch of keys in his tights for safekeeping, and wisely stays put on that side of the ring. In the ring, Requiem has managed to regain the upper hand on Thunder, and is stomping away at his ribs and midsection, but the "Lone Wolf" refuses to lie down and take it, attempting to rise between every blow. Blood flows freely from both his arm and his face, now and again splatting onto the canvas, where it is rapidly absorbed into crimson patches. Meanwhile, Earl Alfonso drags himself back up to his feet, unable to revive Poutine Janois, and rolls groggily back into the ring.] TD: Earl Alfonso is back in action, Steve Roberts, and I'm amazed he hasn't called for the disqualification here. SR: After the suits went to such trouble to make this match happen, Dross, these morons would riot if we didn't have a winner -- and that's what we're going to get. TD: Casey James has not reappeared from under the ring, Steve Roberts. SR: Good. Let him hide under there like the gutless coward that he is. [In the ring, Requiem, still favouring his right leg, catches Thunder coming off the ropes, and executes a nasty-looking tilt-a-whirl stomachbreaker on his opponent, dropping Thunder's stomach hard across his knee. Requiem makes the cover, and Alfonso provides a sluggish count: 1 --- 2 --- Thunder just gets a shoulder up, and once again immediately tries to rise, his face a crimson mask, and his eye swelling badly. Requiem grabs Thunder by the hair and drags him up to his feet, but before he can do so, Thunder rams his head into Requiem's lower abdomen, stunning the champion. Thunder yanks hard on Requiem's legs, bringing the champion crashing down to the mat, and keeps hold of his feet as he stands. Thunder then stomps viciously and repeatedly on Requiem's lower abdomen, the champion reaching up, vainly trying to shake Thunder off. Thunder then turns Requiem over onto his stomach, applying a Boston crab. Brody leans back as far as possible, putting untold pressure on the big man's knees.] TD: Throughout this match, Thunder has been working on Requiem's legs to curb his mobility, and I believe the strategy may be working. I don't believe we're going to see the champion submit, but these are punishing, punishing holds, and the "Lone Wolf" is making every one of them count. SR: Look at the guy, Dross. He's bleeding like a stuck pig in there, but he's unbowed. I tell ya, to stop Thunder, ya have to kill him! [Requiem reaches out for the ropes, and finds that he has to drag himself on his elbows to reach them... he reaches out again -- not far enough... again, he pulls the entire of Thunder's body weight on his strained back, clawing those inches towards the ropes... he reaches out again -- and grabs the ropes! Requiem grabs the ropes! Alfonso calls for the break, and Thunder, chest heaving, complies on the count of four, but immediately stands and begins stomping on Requiem's right knee. Alfonso physically interjects himself, trying to push Thunder away from the champion, but the cowboy simply steps past the official and grabs Requiem's feet as the big man tries to pull himself up to a standing position using the ropes. Requiem lashes out with his boots, and catches Thunder in the ribs, sending the challenger staggering backwards. Requiem pulls himself up, wheels around, and launches himself with a clothesline -- but Thunder ducks out of the way, and Requiem nails Alfonso, whose slowed reactions do not allow him to duck as effectively as Thunder! Huge, huge pop from the crowd!] TD: Referee down! Requiem just knocked out the official again! SR: Hey, Dross -- Casey James is coming out from under the ring! [Sure enough, the skirting around the ring is moved as a figure rolls out from under the ring... dressed in a long grey trenchcoat, and with a black hat pulled low over his face! Huge, huge heel pop as the "Masked Outlaw" appears at ringside, and both Kowalski and Verhoeven redouble their efforts to free themselves, while Claw merely looks at the figure with resignation. In the ring, Thunder has grabbed Requiem in a waistlock -- and hits a superb belly-to-back suplex, dumping the champion on his head! Thunder follows up straight away with an elbowdrop to Requiem's knee, but as he stands, he sees the "Masked Outlaw" at ringside.] TD: Oh, this is bad, Steve Roberts. This is very bad news for Brody Thunder -- Casey James has already cost Joe Petrow and Otto Verhoeven their shots at Requiem, and it seems that Tiger Claw has freed him here tonight so that he can do the same for Brody Thunder. SR: I've got to go up there and stop him, Dross! TD: You'll stay right where you are, Steve Roberts. This battered, bloody Brody Thunder, looking down out of the ring at this masked man, at this delusional former World champion, and... oh my! Requiem from behind! Requiem from behind with a clubbing blow, and Thunder goes down! [Now it is Requiem who sees the "Masked Outlaw" for the first time, fixing the disguised figure with his white eyes. A moment later, Requiem turns his attention back to his opponent, dragging the recovering Thunder back to his feet, and whips him into the ropes.] TD: Thunder sent for the ride, and... Requiem has Thunder by the throat! We're going to see a chokeslam -- no! Thunder blasts the champion in the gut with a hard punch, Requiem releases the hold -- and Thunder and Requiem slugging it out in the centre of the ring! These two big men, both of them want the belt -- both of them _need_ the belt... Earl Alfonso is still out on the canvas, Steve Roberts! SR: Watch the Outlaw, Dross -- watch Casey James! He's up on the apron, Dross! TD: Oh my! Casey James is entering the ring -- Brody Thunder's days are numbered! [The "Masked Outlaw" steps between the ropes and into the ring. Requiem and Thunder, both flagging and sluggish, exhausted from their exertions throughout the match, turn to face the huge, thick-set masked man.] TD: We need more security out here -- another referee -- somebody has to do something! Casey James now, pointing at Brody Thunder, and... oh my! [Huge, huge pop!] SR: Yes, Dross! Yes! Whoo-hoo! TD: Casey James -- Casey James just blasted Requiem with the Syndi-cutter! Requiem is _out_, Steve Roberts! James just kicked Requiem in the stomach and hit that inverted neckbreaker -- and Requiem is flat out on the canvas! But Thunder -- Thunder isn't out of the woods yet! [The crowd pops like crazy, cameras flash all over the arena, the men on the outside of the ring watching on in shock as the masked man turns back to Thunder, who stands, unbowed, blood still flowing from his eye and his arm... and the "Masked Outlaw" moves to Requiem once more, dragging him up.] TD: What are we seeing here, Steve Roberts? What does this mean? SR: It means Requiem is in the biggest trouble he's ever been in, Dross! [Requiem resists, flailing with his fists -- but the masked man plants a kick in the champion's midsection, and then... Huge, huge pop!] TD: Oh my goodness! Cattle Buster DDT! Casey James just hit Requiem with a Cattle Buster DDT! SR: This is great, Dross! Casey James has finally come to his senses -- he's helping Thunder! TD: This is incredible... the "Masked Outlaw" now, signalling to Brody Thunder, who moves over to the fallen champion... look at the Highwayman, Steve Roberts! Look at Verhoeven! Look at Kowalski! They're going spare on the outside! [Indeed, the men cuffed to the ringropes attempt to climb up onto the apron, but are hampered by their manacles. Thunder nods to the masked man, then drags the semi-conscious Requiem to his feet himself, slaps on a side headlock, and... another DDT! Thunder drives Requiem's head down into the canvas a second time! Huge, huge pop! The masked man rolls out of the ring to the safety of the side occupied by Tiger Claw as Thunder attempts to revive the official. Alfonso stirs, and slowly drags himself over to where Thunder has Requiem covered.] SR: You can count to a hundred, baby dolls! We got ourselves a new champion! TD: Oh, this is dreadful, Steve Roberts. Much as I may disapprove of Requiem's methods in his tenure as champion, this is an appalling way for it to come to an end. Earl Alfonso crawling over to Thunder to make the count... [Alfonso's hand hits the mat once... twice... three times! He rolls over and signals for the bell as the Coliseum explodes in a huge face pop, all the fans rising to their feet in a single motion! Ding! Ding! Ding!] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, your winner, as the result of a pinfall, and _NEW_ IIWF World Heavyweight Champion... the "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder! SR: Aw, Dross, that is music to my ears. That is like the sweet, soulful singing of angel voices to the ears of the Soundbite! We got a new champion! TD: Chaotic scenes here at ringside -- it appears that Brody Thunder has joined the Syndicate once again! The man who left the Syndicate when his aspirations to Casey James' World title got the better of him appears to have joined the Syndicate again -- and this time, it's him wearing the World belt! And Tiger Claw now, releasing Steve Kowalski from his cuffs! SR: The Fury is free, Dross! He's free! Look at this, Casey James is kicking Requiem out of the ring, and in comes the Fury! TD: Thunder and Kowalski -- shaking hands! It looks like the Fury has joined the Syndicate too! We have Tiger Claw, Brody Thunder, Steve Kowalski and the masked Casey James in the ring -- is this the new Syndicate? [The four men in the ring turn their attentions to the men on the outside, much to the delight of the crowd. Thunder and James leave the ring and begin assaulting Otto Verhoeven, who has trouble defending himself with only one arm free. Thunder hauls one half of the ring steps on which he fell so badly earlier in the match -- and slams it down on Verhoeven's cuffed wrist! The Butcher howls in pain, and slumps against the apron -- and the masked man slams an elbow into his gut. Meanwhile, Tiger Claw pummels the trapped Highwayman with kicks, and Kowalski grabs the steel chair on which Poutine Janois had been sitting, folding it up -- and then clobbering the Highwayman over the head! Huge, huge pop!] TD: This is absolute chaos, Steve Roberts! Highwayman -- it looks like Adam Smith has been knocked out cold... and Thunder now, grabbing the World title from the timekeeper's table -- oh no! [Thunder repeatedly hammers Otto Verhoeven about the head with the heavy gold championship belt, while the Masked Outlaw restrains his free arm and legs.] TD: They're humiliating the entire IIWF, Steve Roberts! They've unseated Requiem with a devious plan, and now they're beating Otto Verhoeven, the man who should have won the World title at Midsummer Madness, with the very belt that he covets! This is sick, Steve Roberts! SR: Aw, you got to love these guys, Dross! Beating 'em while they're down! TD: This is dreadful -- both Otto Verhoeven and the Highwayman appear to be unconscious, slumped there on the floor, only their handcuffs keeping them remotely upright... this is horrible, Steve Roberts. [All four men roll back into the ring, Thunder wiping the blood away from his face, and then thrusting the World title into the air, jubilant that the belt he has worked so hard for is finally in his possession. Huge pop! Thunder slings the belt over his right shoulder, wincing with pain at the use of his left arm, and all four men -- Tiger Claw, the masked Casey James, Steve Kowalski, and the new Heavyweight Champion of the World, Brody Thunder -- link hands, and raise them to the fans! Huge, huge pop!] TD: The roof is going to come off this place, Steve Roberts! These fans can't believe what they're seeing... these four men, the new Syndicate, and... oh my! SR: No, Dross! No! [Suddenly, Thunder turns on Steve Kowalski, and blasts the fury with a hard clothesline, rocking the stunned New Jersey Nightmare. In a flash, Thunder, Claw and the masked man are beating viciously on the Fury, while the crowd looks on in shock!] TD: What?! What in hell's name is going on here?! SR: Those sons of bitches! They double-crossed the Fury! They set him up, Dross! I got to go in there and help him out! TD: You stay right where you are -- these men are like a pack of dogs! They have turned on Steve Kowalski... this was all just a huge set-up! Thunder has played that man like a violin, Steve Roberts... This is unbelievable! [Thunder lays the gold belt on the canvas, and then grabs the woozy Steve Kowalski, kicks him in the gut, doubling him over -- and then hits a vicious Cattle Buster DDT right onto the World Championship belt! Kowalski's head bounces back off the hard metal, and he appears to have been busted open. Thunder stomps on Kowalski's bleeding forehead, attempting to open up the wound further. The trio drag Kowalski to his feet again, Thunder holding him in place -- and Claw hits him with a vicious reverse crescent kick, catching him flush under the jaw! Meanwhile, the masked man has gone to the outside and grabbed the steel chair Kowalski was using to beat on the Highwayman, blasting it over Adam Smith's head one more time for good measure, and returns to the ring.] TD: Casey James now, with that chair... Kowalski is bleeding, he's hurt bad, Steve Roberts. I cannot believe what we are seeing! SR: I can't believe the Fury fell for this, Dross! He's getting beaten like an animal in there! [The Masked Man whacks Kowalski repeatedly with the chair -- on the back, forcing Kowalski down to his knees, again on the back, laying him out on the canvas. Kowalski battles back to his knees, trying to fight back to his feet -- and is clobbered over the head again with the steel chair. His eyes roll back in his head as he slumps back to the canvas, blood pouring from the nasty gash on his forehead. Claw, Thunder and Casey brutally kick Kowalski to the edge of the ring, and out to the arena floor.] TD: That looked bad, Steve Roberts -- I think the Fury may have suffered a severe head trauma in that attack... he is out! And these three men are absolutely gorging themselves on their heinous actions! SR: Now what are they doing -- what's Claw doing? TD: Tiger Claw appears to be lifting the skirting around the ring... is he signalling for somebody to come out from under the ring? Hang on -- oh my! SR: It's Casey James! [Huge, huge pop as a figure rolls out from under the ring, and then clambers into the ring, leaping excitedly to his feet and thrusting his fists into the air before patting the World title which is now back on Thunder's shoulder... it is Casey James!] TD: Casey James has just entered the ring to stand alongside Tiger Claw and Brody Thunder -- and that masked man! So if Casey James isn't the masked man... [There is an earth-shattering reaction from the fans assembled in the Coliseum as the masked man discards his hat, removes his mask... and reveals...] TD: Oh my! SR: It's J.W. f'n' Hardin, Dross! It's the _real_ "Outlaw"! TD: The "Outlaw" J.W. Hardin, IIWF Hall of Famer, is back! SR: What a set-up, Dross! Okay, so they had to beat up the Fury -- a guy's gotta do what a guy's gotta do -- but damn, Dross, this is a thing of beauty! It's the "Outlaw"! [Hardin throws back his head and laughs as Claw, Thunder and James point to their esteemed comrade. The crowd begins a chant, "Har - din! Har - din! Har - din!", almost unable to believe that the original Outlaw himself has returned to the IIWF!] TD: What a monumental set-up, Steve Roberts! Look at Hardin -- he is more muscular than when we last saw him... seeing him next to Casey James, their builds are similar. Who knows, we may in fact have been seeing Hardin out here attacking Requiem's opponents -- and all to ensure that Thunder would get the World title! SR: Hell, Dross, it might go back even further than that. Maybe this whole break-up of the Syndicate was a set-up in the first place! These guys have strung the entire IIWF along -- only the "Outlaw" could have come up with a plan like this, Dross! This is brilliance -- genius! The reign of that over-sized, over-gimmicked Boy Requiem is ended by the very first champion of the IIWF, the "Outlaw" J.W. Hardin! Whoo-hoo! TD: Brody Thunder is signalling for a microphone, Steve Roberts... Let's hear what these men have to say. [Thunder looks down at the belt now around his waist as Hardin hands him a mic. Thunder accepts it and a wide grin comes across his face.] BT: Well, hoss... hope ya don't mind if I borrow a few o' yer own words here when I say...     AIN'T LIFE GRAND! [Huge, huge pop from the assembled crowd, as Hardin gives another deep laugh.]     I said all along that one-on-one Requiem couldn't beat me! The deck was stacked against ya from the beginnin', runt. I said all along I hedge my bets when it comes ta that title an' this time I had the backin' o' these men right here. That outclassed yer merry lil band o'misfits from the getgo. Like I said before... how's it feel ta finally meet someone who can play the game a little better'n you, a little rougher'n you, an' a whole lot smarter'n you? This here's the big leagues, runt. Ya don't come in here an' kick sand in our face. We'll put ya outta this sport fer good. But I think ya already got _that_ message tanight, didn't ya? [The group laughs.]     An' then there's my dear ol' pal, Kowalski. How ya doin', Fury? Ya think I fergot 'bout all them stitches ya put in my squash? I played ya like a fiddle, son, an' then I put ya away when I was finished. Y'see, you an' Watkins were jus' a means to an' end, ace. _This_ end. [Thunder points to the title belt.]     An' ya played yer part well, but yer ticket jus' got punched an' this is where ya get off, Fury. Happy landin's, chump. [Thunder unstraps the belt from his waist and admires it once more, basking in the accomplishment he just achieved.]     I said by hook or by crook it was my destiny ta wear this strap. I told y'all I was the best in this sport today an' this proves it. An' I couldn't done it without these men right here. There's a new era 'bout ta be born in the IIWF. An era o'martial law. An era o' survival o' the fittest. An era... led by the best this sport has ta offer. An' that new era starts right here tonight. Right here in _this_ ring.     Right... now! [Suddenly, Thunder wheels around, belt in hand, and clobbers Casey James around the head! James drops like a ton of bricks as Thunder spins, taking a shot at the shocked Tiger Claw with the belt, catching him upside the head and knocking him cold to the mat. Thunder turns back to face Hardin, who has an expression of shocked puzzlement on his face -- and the World Champion blasts Hardin in the gut with a kick, bending him double, grabs a front facelock, and... BAM!] TD: Oh my God! Oh my God! Thunder has just Cattle Buster DDT'd J.W. Hardin! Thunder has turned on Tiger Claw, he's turned on Casey James -- and he's turned on the "Outlaw"! He double-crossed Kowalski, Steve Roberts, but he has _triple-crossed_ the Syndicate and Hardin! SR: I can't believe this, Dross! Thunder just DDT'd a damned _legend_! [Thunder puts the boots to all three men in turn as they lie motionless on the canvas. The new World Heavyweight Champion stands amidst the carnage, and grabs the microphone once more, yelling out into an arena that is completely shocked by what it sees.] BT: LIKE... I... SAID... [Thunder smirks.]    A new era begins here tonight. Right now. An era that serves notice on alla y'all... the era o' the Wolf. Ever since I came ta this flamin' fed I been screwed over... by Spreadbury... by     Shakespeare... by Requiem an' his pack o'idjits... by James an'     the Syndicate.     Well... no more.     I told everyone tonight was payback time. Well, I got ya all.     Kowalski. Told ya I weren't done with ya, ace. Requiem. Ya never were my equal, runt. I knew it. Now you do. Claw. Ya ain't a-risin' son... heh, least not fer awhile anyways. James. Hope ya enjoyed the slaughter. Ya earned every bit o' it. That leaves just one. Mi amigo... the "O-riginal Outlaw" himself.     J.W. Hardin. [Thunder directs his actions towards the fallen cowboy.]     Ever since I hooked up with yer crippled ol' carcass I've been     beaten up, stitched up, held up... an' now...     ...I'm fed up.     Fed up with yer flamin' ego an' yer promises o' gettin' me gold. What I got was squat. Thanks, pardner... thanks fer showin' me the light. All I ever heard was about how ya did this with the Syndicate an' that with the Syndicate. Now ya can lay with the flamin' Syndicate, "hoss." When ya wake up in whatever hospital they cart yer ass off to, yer gonna wonder... why? Guilt by association. It was yer idea ta side up with Lau's gang, not mine. I never liked 'em. You knew that an' still ya insisted on joining them. Guess this is where we part company... an' yer skull. Far as I'm concerned the only thing you an' the Syndicate can do fer _me_...     ...is kiss my flamin' ass! [Huge, huge pop from the crowd as Thunder throws down the mic onto Hardin and raises the belt above his head once more. He then slings it over his shoulder and exits the ring, leaving absolute carnage in and around the ring.] TD: This is a dark dawn for the IIWF, Steve Roberts! SR: You're damned right, Dross! I can't believe this. I can't goddamned believe it. TD: It's a plot worthy of Hardin himself -- but just look at the ring, look at these bodies out here in front of us! What incredible events here tonight in the Coliseum... we are right out of time, folks, but you can be sure we'll have a full update on this situation in the days to come. For "Soundbite" Steve Roberts, this is Tim Dross, saying: so long, everybody! [A wide-angle shot of the ring area shows Thunder heading up the aisle, the IIWF World Heavyweight Championship thrusted aloft, fans clamouring to touch the new champion, to congratulate him, while the bodies of Otto Verhoeven, the Highwayman, Requiem and Steve Kowalski litter the ringside area. In the ring, Casey James, Tiger Claw and J.W. Hardin lie apparently motionless. 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 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+