C + O + U + N + T + D + O + W + N     T + O
 ________      ______    __    ____   ___  __              .  _    ___
 | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|  /    /\  | | ||  \|  \ /\ \ /  |\ || / \| | |
 | || | \ v  v / | __|  \__ /__\ | | ||__/|  |/__\ v   | \||| __|-| |
 |_||_|  \_/\_/  |_|       \    \|  v |  \|__/    \|   |  || \_|| | |
 __________________________/..............\........|...|.......|....|
                                                     with Larry Morton
                                                Friday 10 October 1997

[Fade up on the interior of the IIWF's broadcast truck, in which is
seated Larry Morton, in front of a bank of monitor screens, each showing
various clips of IIWF footage past and present.  Larry, seated on a
swivel chair, spins round from the screens to face the camera.]

LM: Hello there, folks, and welcome to another "Countdown to Saturday
    Night".  I'm Larry Morton, and I'm sad to say that Brian Lau is not
    able to be here this week.  I don't have a great deal of information
    on the situation, but it appears that there has been some kind of
    altercation with the administration of the IIWF, and as of this
    time, it is unknown whether he will return.  I wish to extend my
    personal best wishes to Brian -- we may not have always seen eye to
    eye here on air, but I consider him to be a friend, and one of the
    most professional colleagues with whom I have had the pleasure of
    working.

    Brian Lau is apparently not the only untimely departure from the
    IIWF this week -- word also reaches me that the Syndicate, Brian
    Lau's long-term associates in the IIWF, and current World Tag Team
    Champions, may have walked out this week in protest at the manner in
    which the IIWF's officials reacted to the events of last Saturday
    Night.  Details are sketchy -- the front office is refusing to make
    any announcement, despite my repeated attempts to get in touch with
    my contact on the top floor of IIWF Towers -- but it appears that
    Casey James and Tiger Claw's association with the IIWF, which is as
    long as the league itself, may be at an end.  I understand that an
    official announcement will not be made until legal details have been
    ironed out, which means that this situation may be outstanding for
    some days.

    And to complete a triple whammy of losses to the IIWF this week, it
    appears that the Hall of Famer himself, "Outlaw" J.W. Hardin, whose
    return to the IIWF was upstaged by the opportunistic and ruthless
    Brody Thunder, the new IIWF World Heavyweight Champion, has also
    walked out on the IIWF.  He tore up his apparently unsigned contract
    during an interview taped for "Monday Musings" this past weekend...
    and although the front office, again, is not expected to make any
    formal announcement for the time being, it is unlikely that we will
    be seeing Hardin wrestle the Phoenix live from the Charlotte
    Coliseum tomorrow night.

    Be that as it may, we have plenty of other action coming up this
    weekend, and plenty more to talk about concerning this huge,
    history-making week in the IIWF.  So without further ado, let's get
    to the recap of Wednesday's house show.

 ________      ______
 | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|..................................................
 | || | \ v  v / | __|  REWIND: IIWF Wednesday War Room - 8 October 1997
 |_||_|  \_/\_/  |_|....................................................

[The results of Wednesday's show scroll across the screen, complete with
brief clips of each match:]

1. Equalizers               def.            Barnacle Brothers (sub.)
2. Ike Sampson              def.            "Nifty" Ned Norton
3. Prophets of Rage         def.            Masked Marauders
4. Ronnie Paris             def.            Scott "the Whine" Bloom
5. Ricardo LeBleu           def.            Tonnage
6. Natural Predators        def.            High Plains Drifters
7. The Down Boys            def.            The Machines
8. Scott Rogers             def.            Derek Mota (countout)

[Cut back to Larry in the broadcast truck.]

LM: It was quite a show this past Wednesday night, live from the
    Carowinds theme park.  Perhaps most shocking of all was the result
    involving the huge man mountain, Tonnage, who was narrowly defeated
    by the newest member of the Jobber Justice Squad, Ricardo LeBleu --
    who then proceeded to brutally attack his fellow prelim wrestlers
    when they dashed down to the ring to congratulate him.  Tonnage was
    said to be more than distraught by this humiliating defeat -- and
    from what I hear, there is far more to this Ricardo LeBleu character
    than meets the eye.

    Another shocking turn of events this past Wednesday saw the Prophets
    of Rage wrestle a team marauding -- if you will excuse the pun -- as
    unknown locals, the Masked Marauders... but who turned out to be the
    Rages' arch-enemies Damage Inc.!  So upset were the Prophets by this
    turn of events that they turned on one another -- which raises
    interesting questions as they head into their match this weekend
    against Licensed for Devastation.

    The tag team scene continues to hot up in the IIWF with the Natural
    Predators scoring a win over the High Plains Drifters, who have done
    little to prevent their slide since their return from alcohol rehab,
    and the impressive -- although slightly zany -- newcomers, the Down
    Boys, scoring a win over the unlucky Machines, whose tag team
    continuity, like that of the Prophets, appears to be suffering due
    to the inability of Paul Wong and Simon O'Neal to work together
    effectively.

    Well, folks, many of these superstars will be in action tomorrow
    night, live from the Charlotte Coliseum, so let's take a look at the
    card match by match.

 ________      ______
 | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|..................................................
 | || | \ v  v / | __|    PREVIEW: IIWF Saturday Night - 11 October 1997
 |_||_|  \_/\_/  |_|....................................................


------------------------------------------------------------------------
IIWF CRUISERWEIGHT TOURNAMENT FIRST ROUND:
Dexter St. Croix vs. "One Man Army" Dakota Bundy
------------------------------------------------------------------------

LM: This match pits two of the IIWF's newest cruiserweights against one
    another.  St. Croix has so far struggled to make his mark in the
    division, possibly his easy-going nature being used against him by
    less forgiving opponents -- although it appears that Dex may be
    taking measures to prevent his opponents taking him for granted in
    the future:

[The camera opens on Dexter St. Croix, dressed in khaki shorts, sandals,
and a Miami Dolphins t-shirt. He is alone, sitting on a small stool in
an empty, darkened gym. A wrestling/boxing ring can be seen in the
background, along with several sets of freeweights and benches. Dexter
appears solemn, almost depressed. Dex begins to speak, his head hung
low...]

DSC: Ya know, dis business o' professional wrestlin' is a funny one. One
     minute, ya sittin' on de top o' de world, gettin' ready to take on
     de champion o' de world, feelin' good, mon. De next minute, ya
     lyin' on a cold concrete floor, in a pool o' blood, while de man
     dey call de champion, de man who should be representin' the hopes
     an' dreams of so many people, dis man is standin' over ya, puttin'
     de boots to ya, tryin' to take ya out, mon. It's a feelin',
     physical and emotional, dat ya don' soon forget.

[Dexter raise his head to address the camera, and his look os one of
stone, almost machine-like. He continues to speak...]

     Dis Saturday night, in Charlotte, North Carolina, will mark de
     beginnin' of a new dawn for Dexter St. Croix in de IIWF. A
     stronger, an' more disciplined Dexter St. Croix. An' above all, a
     more dangerous Dexter St. Croix. Dakota Bundy, mister "One Man
     Army", ya gonna be in de wrong place at de wrong time, mon. An'
     when de ambulance is haulin' ya broken body to de hospital, ya can
     t'ank Derek Mota for de pain an' agony ya feelin', mon. Mister
     Bundy, ya gonna be de first t' feel the touch o' the new Dexter St.
     Croix, but, by all dat is holy, ya won't be de last. Peace out.

[Dexter hangs his head again as the scene fades to black.]

LM: In contrast to the reflective St. Croix, Bundy's manager, "The
    Mouth" Matt Malone, is all business -- and that business is sure to
    include Bundy progressing to the next round of the Cruiserweight
    contenders tournament, if he has his way:

["The Mouth" Matt Malone is sitting on his secretary's desk, finishing
off a memo...]

MM: "...And if I don't have reply by next Wednesday, with a full
    apology, I'm going to sue your sorry ass.  Yours sincerely, Matt
    Malone."

    Now, I want that in the post.  And make it a big envelope.  You know
    how I like big envelopes.

[The secretary grins knowingly. Malone smiles back at his secretary,
Warren.]

    He's a good man, that Warren.  Got a lot of time and respect for
    him.  Same as the man lined up for Dakota this Saturday, Dexter
    St.Croix.  Dexter, I know you're a good man.  The fans love you, but
    to be honest, that means nothing to me.  What is important is that
    you will fight a clean, fair fight, so that at the end of the night,
    you can turn to the fans and say, "I was beaten fair and square by
    the man who'll be the next Cruiserweight champion".

[Malone walks into his Mahogany filled office.  He rubs the green leaves
of his rubber plant.]

    I've got to admire your dedication, Dexter.  You've gone the long
    and hard way to become a wrestler, even lying to earn enough money
    to train.  But how much is dedication worth when you're against the
    "One Man Army"?  Not a lot.  Zilch, in fact.  Dexter, what you'll be
    facing is a man near the end of his career -- but also at his peak,
    under my guidance.  He's a man with a lot to prove in a small amount
    of time, and that, right now, means winning the Crusierweight title.
    And that means going through you.

    And just because I respect you doesn't mean I'm going to make Bundy
    go soft on you.  No way.  This tournament means too much money to
    me.  I know that, and Bundy knows it -- and now you know it.  We've
    got too much riding on this to roll over and die when some big-assed
    punk from Jamaica stands opposite us in the squared circle of the
    ring.

[Malone lights up his cigar.]

    Let me tell you something, right now, not many people are talking
    about Bundy.  They're more interested in lazy-brained morons like
    Brody Thunder, or slow-witted fools like Requiem.  Fine.  Let them
    be.  They can talk about the mentally-crippled Creed all they want.
    It doesn't bother me, not one little ounce.  You see, Bundy... he's
    silent, but deadly.  He doesn't need to shout his mouth off to
    reassure a fractured ego.  He knows what he's doing, he knows where
    he's going.  It's the rest of the scabs in the IIWF -- like Scott
    Rogers -- people who have too much identity and not enough ability.
    People like Billy Shakespeare who have too many words and not enough
    action.  It's all there in Bundy's head, you see.  Sure, maybe it is
    a twisted head, but the mind in it controls the body that's going to
    make the IIWF sit up and take notice of the man who is a watershed
    in the IIWF's history.  Starting with you, Dexter... starting with
    you.

[Fade]

LM: With neither of these men particularly dependent on aerial moves,
    this match will probably be played out on the mat -- and could be a
    tremendous display of the scientific know-how possessed by each man.
    But with a man like Bundy, who has a vicious streak a mile wide, in
    the running, St. Croix had better hope that he really has adopted a
    more determined, aggressive approach.  This is sure to be a
    fast-paced, exciting match.

------------------------------------------------------------------------
Duncan Macbeth vs. "Real Deal" Luke Steele
------------------------------------------------------------------------

LM: Duncan Macbeth has been on the ascendancy in the IIWF since his
    stunning victory in the Intercontinental Championship battle royal,
    in which he won the right to face Chris Quigley at Ring Wars IV.
    Tomorrow night, he goes up against the man who defeated him just
    days before that huge battle royal -- the man who, perhaps, spurred
    Macbeth on to victory and the shot at the IC title.  That man is
    Luke Steele, and he's keen to prove that the roll he has been on of
    late is no fluke:

[Scene: Luke Steele stands outside of the Charlotte Coliseum, with his
back to the camera.  He's wearing a black leather jacket overtop of a
grey t-shirt, white bandana on his head, and a pair of jeans.  Luke
knows the camera is there, and speaks for it's benefit.]

LS: Charlotte.  The next stop of the Ring Wars tour.  I'll say this for
    the Double-I, they sure do take you places when they want you to.
    They might as well call it the Steele Road to Glory, because so far
    I've been whipping through every challenge I've faced.

[Luke turns around now, and faces the camera.  His t-shirt can now be
read, and bears the message "For Real... Luke Steele".  Luke looks into
the camera and smiles, then starts to speak directly to(as opposed to a
soliliqy to himself).]

LS: Hey Baby Dolls, the Real Deal is flying high in Charlotte.  If you'd
    gone to me a month ago and said that I'd be doing as well as I am
    right now, I'd have said you were crazy.  Look at my past record
    lately:  I beat the Highwayman for the ESWP Television Title, then I
    took Ike Sampson down.  I defended successfully against Steve 'The
    Fury' Kowalski of all people, and just last Saturday Night I put the
    Subway Psycho on the first train outta Portland.  Luke Steele is
    finally proving his worth, ladies and gentlemen.

    However, I do want to speak to Derek Mota on a matter not really
    concerning this weekend, rather it is about last week.  Derek, I
    have to hand it to you.  You went out and won that TV title with
    pride, and I applaud you for it.  Congratulations, you earned it.

    So now this weekend I must face Duncan MacBeth, Tim Turner's brand
    new buddy.  MacBeth, if this was a month ago or even longer, then
    I'd admit, you probably would have had my number.  But Luke Steele
    is riding high and feeling fine, good enough to kick [Luke slips
    into a particularly bad scottish accent] yuir ass, wouldn't ye
    agree?  And come Saturday night, I'll be makin' sure that ye don't
    walk out of there alive, Sir Duncan.

[Luke goes back to his own voice.]

LS: And Turner, nice try with that story about going home to Victoria.
    Yeah, and I'm sure Requiem doesn't regret dropping his Genesis pals
    like a bad suit.  I'm sure I'll see you Saturday.  Later, Baby
    Dolls.

[Fade to black.]

LM: Let's hear from Duncan Macbeth, the fiery Scotsman bent on taking
    Steele down tomorrow night:

[SCENE:  The IIWF Coliseum, dark except for the emergency lights which
illuminate the exit doors ringing the auditorium, and the spotlights
which are focused on the ring at the centre of the huge arena.  The
camera shot pans across the rows of empty seats around the bowl of the
Coliseum, down to the floor where the ringside sections are located, and
finally settling on the ring itself.  As the camera moves closer, we see
a large man going throught a series of manoeuvres in the middle of the
ring, but the moves are not standard wrestling moves - back handsprings
into Russian splits, standing somersaults, pommel-horse leg swings on
the flat surface of the mat.  Finally, as the camera moves in to
ringside, the man completes a double-back-handspring twisting layout
tumbling run across the ring, landing directly in front of the crew,
revealing the taut, muscular form and intense green eyes of Duncan
Macbeth, clad in his blue-and-white-crossed wrestling attire.  The
feisty Scot is sweating profusely, but does not seem at all winded by
the exertion, and he brushes an errant lock of his ruddy-blond hair out
of his eyes as his emerald gaze fixes itself on the camera.]

DM: Wha's th' matter, lads?  D'yis think all wrestlers do t' work out is
    pump iron an' pop steroids like tha' musclebound Barbie doll, Scott
    Rogers?  I've always been a high flyer, but when I first started
    wrestlin', I was a wee bit lighter.  Now I'm a wee bit bigger, but I
    still work on me flexibility an' me acrobatics every day.  Tha's why
    I can still fly like th' Enigma at 270 pounds.  Tha's why I'm so
    bloody dangerous -- I can fight on th' mat, in th' air, an' in' th'
    back alley, an' I ne'er stop trying t' improve meself.

[Macbeth looks up into the rafters of the Coliseum, squinting into the
harsh glare of the spotlights.]

DM: Thanks, MacPherson, I'm done fer th' night.  An' if Spreadbury gives
    ye any grief about lettin' me use th' ring, ye tell 'im 'e still
    owes me th' per diem fer th' Calgary card, wha'!

[High above the ring, a faint voice comes out of the rafters, echoing
throught the empty arena.]

MacP: No problem, Mr. Macbeth.  And hey, kick Steele's ass tomorrow
      night, okay?

DM: I'll make a point o' tha', lad.

[Suddenly, the spotlights are cut off, shrouding the Coliseum in
darkness.  Only the faint glow of the emergency lights provide any
illumination in the arena now, with the exception of the reflection of
the lights in the jade-green eyes of the Scot, who turns his gaze back
to the camera.]

    Now, wha' about "I cannae tan, I jus' peel" Luke Steele, anyway?
    Changin' 'is clothes, changin' 'is music, walkin' around
    bad-mouthin' everyone in sight -- I guess 'e thinks a change o'
    attitude is goin' t' turn 'round 'is miserable luck in th' IIWF. 
    Well, like I said before, tosser, ye can change th' package, but th'
    product's still th' same.

    Change yuir clothes, change yuir hair, yuir attitude, yuir sexual
    preferences, whatever -- ye're still th' same, boring, tired,
    aimless excuse fer a wrestler ye were yesterday, an' th' day before
    tha', an' th' day before tha'.  While ye've been tryin' t' improve
    yuir wardrobe, I've been improving me wrestlin' game, an' unless
    ye're plannin' on bringin' tha' worthless piece o' tin with ye again
    tomorrow nigh', I'd say ye've no' got a hope in hell o' beatin' me. 

    Ye see, _I'm_ th' "Real Deal", tosser. 

    Ye're just a pathetic joke.

[The available light in the Coliseum shows no sign of fading, but the
Scot's features seem to darken ominously as he continues.]

    An' Quigley -- ye don't think I'm takin' seriously, "champ"?  Well,
    if ye or tha' talkin' doorstop ye've takin' such a shine to prove
    foolish enough t' show yuir faces during me match tomorrow, yis'll
    _both_ see how seriously I take ye. 

    Ye see, Chrissie, ye've got somethin I've wanted since t' day I set
    foot in th' IIWF, an' it's been denied me at every turn.  I was
    ignored, sidetracked, an' railroaded out o' contention fer tha'
    title time an' time again, gettin' hungrier an' hungrier, until
    finally, I had t' go through eighteen men in one night t' get wha' I
    wanted.

    Eighteen men.

    Ye cannae get much more serious than tha', wha'.

    Now I've got th' IIWF Intercontinental Title within me grasp.

    An' when I get YE in me grasp, Quigley, ye're goin' t' find out just
    how serious I am about bein th' next Intercontinental Champion.

    DEADLY serious.

[Fade.]

LM: With Chris Quigley -- and that sick, demented Steve Manning, Jr. --
    both in attendance tomorrow night, Macbeth may well have other
    things on his mind.  Can Luke Steele keep his incredible run of
    victories going with another win tomorrow night?  Both men have a
    lot to fight for... it's sure to be a great one.

------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Harlequins vs. The Machines
------------------------------------------------------------------------

LM: A question mark currently hangs over the fitness of Harlequin Chaos,
    whose knee was injured last Saturday Night in a brawl with the
    Machines following the latter team's loss to Damage Inc.  Tomorrow
    night, they are scheduled to meet not in the aisle, but in the ring
    -- although we have been unable to reach the Harlequins and thus
    find out how Chaos' injury is healing.  Early indications were that
    he may have suffered a serious ligament injury, but no word has
    reached us as to whether or not this initial diagnosis on the scene
    last week proved accurate, since the Harlequins have refused
    requests for an interview.  Nonetheless, the Machines were more than
    happy to speak to us:

[The scene is the gym of the Machines.  Simon O'Neal is on the phone,
having an animated conversation.  Paul Wong is seated at a table,
reading a book.  He glances up at the camera.]

PW: Sorry about Simon over there.  We were recently fired from another
    league -- the fed's commissioner had a personal vendetta against us,
    and... to make a long story short, Simon lost his temper and punched
    the guy's lights out.  He's talking with some of the officials,
    trying to get our last paycheck.

[You can't make out much, but apparently Mr. O'Neal is telling the
person on the other end to perform an anatomically impossible action.]

PW: Yo, Simon!  We're being taped now.  Watch the language.  So... we've
    got the Harlequins this Saturday.  You know, I'm sure some people
    claim that their attack on us last week was some brilliant tactical
    move to throw us off our gameplan, or something like that.  Me, I've
    got a much simpler explanation... the Harlequins are cowards. 

    They can't take us on face to face, so they jump us from behind. 
    Well, we took your best shots, we're going to face you Saturday, and
    we're going to beat you.

SO: [into the phone] Yeah!  Well you can take your Chapter 14,
    Subsection G, Line 12 and shove it up your ass!

[Simon O'Neal slams down the phone on the table and heads over to the
camera.]

SO: Paul, talk to those bastards.  They're holding back our money, and
    if I have to hear their legal garbage one more minute, I'm heading
    back to finish the job and put him in the hospital.

[Paul rolls his eyes and goes over to the phone.]

    So, this week we've got Tragedy and Chaos and Comedy and Melody and
    the whole set of Greek muses... and I know what the Harlequins are
    thinking.  That the Machines are always fighting, they've lost the
    last two matches, they can't even beat the Down Boys.  They should
    be easy pickings for a couple of no-talents stiffs like the Tagedy
    and Chaos.

    Take a look, Harlequins.  Take a good look.  Paul and I argue and
    fight, and I think he's a damn Boy Scout and he thinks I'm an
    unethical lowlife.  But there's a reason we team together; it's
    because we work well together.  Very well.  When we are focussed,
    when we can put aside our differences, there's not a tag team in the
    world that can touch us.

    My point is... you picked the wrong people to mess with, Harlequins.
    I'm mad, the Boy Scout's mad... and for once, it's not at each
    other.  So when you two are recovering from both the loss and the
    pain and the humiliation we will inflict on you, think back to now. 
    You might just learn something.

[Cut back to the studio.]

LM: The Machines must surely be the favourites going into this one.
    With the Harlequins possibly being one man down, the Machines may
    have to be awarded this match on default.  We'll see tomorrow night,
    live from the Charlotte Coliseum!

------------------------------------------------------------------------
Prophets of Rage vs. Licensed for Devastation
------------------------------------------------------------------------

LM: There's a substantial amount of history between the hyper-active
    young partnership of Licensed for Devastation and the dark veteran
    tandem of the Prophets of Rage.  Reggie Starr and Jonathan Chaos
    scored an upset win over the Rages through the use of their taser --
    christened "Shock" and now in the possession of the High Plains
    Drifters -- but without that weapon tomorrow night, will LFD be able
    to make the same impact?  They certainly believe so:

[The camera opens to Reggie Starr and Jonathan Chaos, in front of a
black backdrop.]

RS: Prophets of Rage, we've been down this street before, and it always
    ends with you in the car wreck and us in the driver's seat like an
    alcoholic on his favorite drug.

JC: Word.  And Down Boys... ya'll got our attention... we think ya'll
    are kinda funny.  So if ya want to play with the best...

RS: We ain't hard to find. 

JC: Not much time this week, ya'll, gotta go train for dem punk-asses,
    Derek and Shadoe... or Pizzazz, or whoever da' hell come out this
    time.  It don't matter.

RS: We'll take on ten of ya.

[Fade to black.]

LM: Perhaps LFD's confident attitude is due in some part to the sudden
    and inexplicable friction that appears to have emerged this week
    between Shadoe and Derek Rage, previously two of the most united
    partnerships we have seen in tag team wrestling.  Their violent
    disagreement on Wednesday night seems to be only an augur of things
    to come:

[Fade in: The Prophets of Rages' dressing room.  The door is closed and
crashing is heard on the other side.  The camera creeps open the door
and gets just enough of a shot to see a boot go crashing into the mirror
and shattering it.  The dressing room is in shambles.  The Prophets are
yelling back and forth at each other.  Shadoe and Medusa are on one side
and Derek and Pizzazz are on the other.  Shadoe is still in his
wrestling togs after his match against the Masked Marauders.  Derek is
holding an ice pack to his head.  He doesn't look the slightest bit
amused.  Pizzazz clutches his arm and tries to hold him, but he is
shrugging her off.]

SR: Dammit where were you?  I had to fight two men myself!  What did you
    just forget we had a match?  Did you get too busy canoodling with
    Pizzazz to haul your ass down to the ring?

[Shadoe turns his back on his brother in disgust.  He spits on the
ground, slamming his fist into his palm.]

DR: If you'd been around, watching my back like a big bruh is supposed
    to do then Damage Inc. wouldn't have got the jump on us like that. 
    Man, they punked us.

SR: [spinning violently] Punked us?  [He shakes his head no and jabs his
    finger into Derek's face.]  No, they punked you.  And your little
    French filly and you had to embarrass my sister in the process.

MR: Shadoe, please.

DR: My little French filly?  What's up, bruh?  What, you still steamin'
    that it ain't you with her?  Huh?  You still mad vexed that you and
    Pizzazz couldn't make it?  Is that it?  Maybe y'all'd be still
    married if you didn't have a tendency to argue with your hands,
    bruh.

P: Derek, zat iz far enough.  Do not zay zuch things.  You are brozers. 
   Please.

SR: Stay out of this, Pizzazz.  No, little bruh, got somethin' on his
    mind.  And I wish he would say it and say it to me right now.

[Shadoe gets right up into Derek's face.  Derek looks away in disgust. 
He chews his lip and then looks back and says it.]

DR: I think you still want Pizzazz.  Happy?  I think you lust after
    Pizzazz.  If she snapped her fingers now you'd jump right back in
    with her.  I know it.  I bet your girl, Marissa, knows it to.  I see
    the way you look at Pizzazz when she's changing in here.  I see all
    the jealousy and the bitter-sweet memories.  And I'm asking you
    nicely to get it out of your head before I have to remove it myself.

MR & P: Derek!

SR: [raising an eyebrow]  That's what you think?  You think I lust after
    Pizzazz?  Let me tell you something.  I think you need to feel that
    to feel like you done accomplished something.  All you did was scoop
    another man's wife, bruh.  I think you're still feeling guilty and
    sick because you know exactly what it was that you did and the fact
    is.  It's despicable.  You know it.  I know it.  And there ain't
    nuthin that can be said to change it.

[Derek grabs Shadoe by the throat.  He hoists his brother up, but Shadoe
kicks him in the groin doubling him over and raps him smartly with a
rabbit punch.]

SR: [screaming] You want to try that again?  Huh?  I tell you right now
    that's not gonna happen.  Don't you ever touch me again, Derek.  You
    may be big, but I'm bad.  And I swear to you if you ever touch me
    again.  I'll kill you!

P: Shadoe, non!

MR: Come on, you don't mean that.

SR: Don't I?  Let him try me.  C'mon, baby bruh, c'mon.  This Saturday
    against LFD why don't you just do what you do best and let me carry
    you to victory.  You just stand there and look down Pizzazz's
    cleavage like always, alright.  You just do that.

DR: [coughing and doubled over] You just watch your back you dumb son of
    a bitch.  Payback's comin' for you.

SR: I heard payback's a bitch.  I guess, lookin' at you, they was
    right.  Get the [CENSORED] outta my way.

[Shadoe kicks the cameraman aside as he storms out of the dressing room,
leaving his brother staring after him with hatred in his eyes.]

LM: The question here is whether or not Shadoe and Derek will be able to
    overcome their disagreement and focus on LFD.  If they are able to
    channel their fury at Starr and Chaos, chances are we will see the
    devastation -- possibly of both teams -- in one of the
    hardest-fought, hardest-hitting tag team matches of the year.

------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Spotlight" Billy Shakespeare vs. Tony Starks
------------------------------------------------------------------------

LM: The crowd pleaser Billy Shakespeare is 0-2 against Tony Starks over
    his whole career, although tomorrow night's match will only be their
    second in the IIWF.  Tony Starks, who has been on a psychotic tear
    as of late, attacking Ike Sampson and Mad Dog Watkins apparently
    indiscriminately with his Katha Jime choke hold, is one of the most
    dangerous opponents one could face, and he seems in no mood for
    Billy's light-hearted fun and games:

[Scene: Darkness. There is music playing: "Gotham City Remix" by R.
Kelly.  Finally the music quiets a bit and a cold voice calls from the
darkness:]

TS: You should know, you reap what you sow.  They say that there are
    seven deadly sins, I think there is another: betrayal.  That is
    what Watkins did, betrayed Creed and Sampson.  I don't give a damn
    about those two stooges but someone had to break Watkins...
  
    ...so I did it.

[Suddenly, a hand turns on a light, the shot widens to show a dimly-lit
winding staircase. Tony Starks can be seen, half hidden in shadow, towel
in hand, the light shining off of hsi eyes, which look hollow.]

TS: How did it feel Dog? How did that Katha Jime feel? I could hear you
    trying to breathe, trying to escape. The sound of your throat
    collapsing was music to my ears.

    A whole lot of the clowns here make a mistake, the Katha Jime ain't
    no armbar or leglock... it is the most lethal choke in the world.
    Some holds work on the joints or by trying to break a bone... damn
    that.  I am trying to end careers with it, my whole career is based
    on putting people in wheelchairs.

    Ike, you better make right with life 'cuz when you get in there with
    me, and when I break you, there ain't gonna be no time left.  You
    can't say goodbye when you are in a coma, [Starks sneers] or when
    you got a tube down your throat trying to help you breathe.

    I know they got some good doctors in Carolina... I should call them
    and get a MEDVAC unit at the arena for poor little Hamlet.  Hamlet,
    you got some bravery in you, no brains though.  I got respect for
    you, you signin' the match for Saturday and all.

    Last mistake you'll ever make...

[The shot closes in on Starks face, half cast in shadow. Starks just
stares into the camera with a 1000 yard stare.]

TS: I got a message for everybody: watch what happens to little Billy
    Saturday night, remember what happened to Watkins.  Because every
    single time I walk down the aisle or whenever I even show up, I
    got one goal: to cripple whoever is in my way.  No remorse.

[The shot closes on Starks eyes, finally goes black and all that is
left is the music.]

LM: Neither of these men will be in a jovial mood tomorrow night,
    particularly given that Ronnie Paris, Shakespeare's arch enemy, Ike
    Sampson, home-town hero and local favourite -- not to mention Tony
    Starks' current nemesis -- and Cruiserweight Champion Derek Mota,
    over whom the squabble between Shakespeare and Paris seems to rage,
    will all be in attendance!  This one will be explosive, folks.

------------------------------------------------------------------------
IIWF INTERCONTINENTAL CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH:
"Quickstrike" Chris Quigley [c] vs. Serge Annis
------------------------------------------------------------------------

LM: Serge Annis has never before received a title shot in the IIWF --
    and tomorrow night he will attempt to bring some gold back to
    Genesis as he faces Intercontinental Champion Chris Quigley, who
    appears to be trying to make regular -- some might say foolishly
    regular -- defences a hallmark of his reign.  Let's hear from the
    challenger, who has had problems of his own with the red-gloved
    wrecking machine, Creed, lately -- remember, Annis interfered in
    Quigley's first defence last week against young Creed, and prevented
    the California native from a chance at capturing the gold for a
    second time.  Annis, however, is fully focused on his opponent and
    his entourage as he goes into this match:

[The camera shows an IIWF locker room. The lockers behind the camera
have the words "Genesis Sucks" written on it in spray paint. An angry
Serge Annis stands next to them.]

SA: This is the blatant lack of respect we have to put up with each and
    every night in the locker rooms.  Well, to the wise guy that painted
    this, I have news for you.  Genesis does not "suck."  In fact,
    Genesis is quite the opposite. But I won't get into that.

    What I will get into is you, Chris Quigley, albeit not the way you'd
    like me to.  When we meet in the ring for your IC championship this
    Saturday night... I'm going to teach your saucy crybaby ass a
    lesson... heh heh... a lesson in pain, sissy-boy.  The question
    everyone seems to be asking you is, "Do you know my name?"

    Well, I won't give a song and dance.  The name you have on the
    contract says Serge Annis, and that is exactly what you're gonna
    get.  And Sissy Boy, that means you are going to be beat.

    So bring Steve Manning... heh heh... I'd love another chance to
    knock his sick head off... I never thought I'd see the day where I
    called someone sick... but what more can I expect from a pair of
    Newf's?  I'm no patriot, but Newfoundland is an embarrassment to
    Canada, and Chris Quigley is no different.  I'm gonna beat that
    drunken hick into the mat... and maybe, just maybe, I'll save some
    in store for the red-gloved rookie if that idiot wants to show up...

    Chris "Tickle Me Here" Quigley, this is my first IIWF title match.
    And all I need is one, because come Saturday, the IIWF will have a
    brand new IC champ... heh heh... whether Sissy Boy likes it or not!

[Fade to black.]

LM: After Serge Annis attacked Chris Quigley's #1 fan, the tragically
    crippled Steve Manning, Jr., last week, it seems that the man known
    as "Quickstrike" is keen for payback -- and to make it known that he
    believes himself to be the true champion of the IIWF:

[SCENE: What appears to be the front steps of the Charlotte Coliseum. 
Chris Quigley is sitting there wearing jeans and a "Quigley vs. Macbeth
-- Ring Wars IV" t-shirt.]

CQ: I've been doing a lot of thinking lately.  I sat back and I waited. 
    I waited for over a year before I finally got the perfect
    opportunity to win a title in the IIWF.  I have no idea why it took
    so long, and right now, I hardly care anymore.  The fact is, I'm the
    Intercontinental Champion.  I won the belt cleanly, and without any
    sort of shortcut.  The World Champion can't say that.  Hell, when
    was the last time an IIWF World Champion _could_ say that?  Not even
    Kauffman won the title without controversy.  But the point is
    this... the Intercontinental Title is the most prestigious title in
    the IIWF today, simply because of who holds it and how he obtained
    it.  I've pinned Brody Thunder before.  I don't think there's
    anything to prove there.  Besides, Verhoeven or Hardin will end up
    tearing him apart in the end.  And then, I've beaten Verhoeven, and
    don't even try to tell me I couldn't beat Hardin.  But wait... I'm
    not even going to get started on all that. 

[Stares up into the sky.]

CQ: I'm holding the most important title in the Federation, and because
    of that, there's some pressure to be the very best champion in the
    Federation.  That's why I'm putting my title up again this week. 
    That's why I'll put it up again next week.  And the week after.  And
    the week after.  It doesn't matter to me.  First, I've got to
    correct myself from Musings.  Annis didn't ruin my first defence,
    because we all remember how I humbled Scott Rogers. 

[Quigley shakes his head.]

CQ: But Creed... 

[pause]

CQ: Wrestling Creed had some real significance for me.  The guy hasn't
    put half the work into his career that I have, but still, he's more
    than a worthy opponent.  But listen to me closely Creed.  You are
    _not_ better than me.  Maybe in your warped mind, you kicked my ass
    for 20 minutes, but facts are facts, and what those facts state is
    that it was a fairly even fight that I ended up winning.  You talk
    about cheapshots and dirty tricks.  The only reason I hit you with a
    chair is because you were about to make the biggest mistake of your
    life.  You were about to attack a man in a wheelchair!  What the
    hell is wrong with you?!  We'll meet again, and you can beat up your
    fake Universal Powers, and you can bring your little red glove, but
    the end result will be inevitable.  I'll make you scream "Uncle!" in
    front of the entire Creed Army, and there ain't anything you can do
    about that!

[Quigley reaches up and rubs his head, as if recalling Duncan Macbeth's
cheapshot last Saturday.]

CQ: Macbeth... I don't even know why I'm acknowledging you.  Our fight
    isn't now.  It's at Ring Wars IV.  But you seem to want to go back
    to Scotland in a pine box, because you keep getting in my face over
    and over again.  Ya might think you're "rowdy" but I see through
    your act so easily.  Your entirely insecure and afraid of facing me
    at Ring Wars IV, your trying to do everything possible to get me off
    my game.  It's not going to happen, Duncan.  Your facing a wrestling
    machine at Ring Wars IV.  A machine that will not stop, will not
    quit, and will not stay down.  A machine that's duty is to knock you
    out, beat you down, and pin you or make you submit in the middle of
    the ring.  There's absolutely no use in attempting to intimidate me,
    or throw me off.  I'm not scared of anyone or anything.  Especially
    when they're wearing a skirt.

[Quigley half smiles, but his face turns to its usual stone seriousness
again.]

CQ: On IIWF Saturday Night, it's not a revenge thing, Annis.  Although I
    have a lot to pay you back for.  The only reason your facing me on
    Saturday is because your just another fraud in a long line of 'em
    here in the IIWF.  You shouldn't even be in the same Federation as
    me, let alone the same ring, and on Saturday Night, I'm going to
    humiliate you.  Get ready to meet a Quickstriker.

[Quigley glares at the screen, until off-camera, the familiar voice of
Steve Manning is heard.]

SM: Hey!  Hey!  Wait!  You're shooting the interview _now_?!  I want in
    on this!

[Then, shockingly, Steve Manning comes hurtling down the stairs, his
wheelchair bouncing along the concrete steps, teetering on a collision
course with the ground.  Somehow, Manning keeps the balance, and makes
it to the bottom unscathed.]

SM: Freakin' backwards Charlott-ers.  Not even wheelchair access to
    their God damn stadium!  Maybe some of the lazy invalids would get
    discouraged.  [laughs]  But not me...

[Quigley rolls his eyes and looks at Manning.]

CQ: You have anything important to say here, or are you just hoping to
    give the censors another run for their money?

SM: [laughs] Oh, I could [BLEEP] the [BLEEP]ing censors so bad they'd
    [BLEEP] the [BLEEP] out of their [BLEEP]ing [BLEEP]!

CQ: Yeah, I figured.

SM: But that's not all!  Serge Annis, you noxious, inauspicious,
    envenomed scum of the earth!  Why, I could almost like you!  If ya
    hadn't sent me sprawling last week, that is.  But, you know what
    they say.  One good turn-over deserves another, and believe me...
    what I do to you, you'll deserve!

[Manning laughs a little manical for a few seconds, then looks back at
the camera, dead serious.]

SM: Serge Annis as the "Epitome of Evil"?  I demand a recount!

[Quigley cracks a smile as Manning makes some weird eyes into the
camera, before spouting off a long string of profanity that is all
bleeped out, as the camera fades.] 

------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Outlaw" J.W. Hardin vs. The Phoenix
------------------------------------------------------------------------

LM: As I mentioned at the top of the hour, I have no concrete
    information concerning this match, although since the Phoenix is a
    native of North Carolina, coming from Cherokee a couple of hours'
    drive to the north, he will be in attendance tomorrow night, and
    perhaps he will have something to say about this situation -- even
    if we are not going to see a match.  Folks, I can't say any more
    about the "Outlaw" situation... some feathers have clearly been more
    than a little ruffled, and until the front office has resolved the
    current disputes, there seems little point in speculating.  We'll
    see what happens tomorrow night.

------------------------------------------------------------------------
NON-TITLE MATCH:
"Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder vs. Otto "the Butcher" Verhoeven
------------------------------------------------------------------------

LM: New IIWF World Heavyweight Champion Brody Thunder steps out of the
    frying pan and into the fire tomorrow night when he meets one of the
    men whom he brutally attacked last weekend in that shocking,
    history-making triple cross which netted him the most coveted prize
    in all of wrestling.  Otto Verhoeven, who was one of four men
    handcuffed to the ring ropes and who received a beating at the hands
    of Thunder and the Syndicate, is determined that in this match, even
    if he is unable to take the title from Thunder, he will take
    something else from him:

[SCENE: Extreme close-up of a pocket watch, lying on a wooden table. The
watch is decorated with the intricate design of a classic cowboy,
six-shooter in hand. It is silent except for the familiar "tick-tock" of
the watch.]

VOICE: A clock. A masterpiece of technology. It works without error,
       driven by wheels within wheels within wheels within...

[Suddenly, the camera zooms out quickly and pans around to show Otto
Verhoeven sitting at the table, his facial expression tense, his eyes
glaring with barely contained fury He is wearing a simple navy blue tank
top and black trousers.]

OV: ...just like in the IIWF.  Always some sinister plot to hatch,
    everybody has some secret agenda, everything is not as it seems to
    be.

    Someone masquerades as Hardin to help Genesis.  Disturbing.

    Thunder and Kowalski reveal that it was James who rescued Requiem
    twice the fearsome former champion, terror of the federation,
    suddenly turns into a drooling idiot.  Right.

    It turns out that it was a plan made by the Syndicate, Thunder and
    the real Hardin to give Brody the title, a plan that may have been
    in the works for a month.  Why it has been a complicated mystery
    plot like that instead of a simple run-in, which would have had the
    same result... [he shrugs] I guess that is connected to Hardin's
    manic need for melodrama.

    The final element was Thunder turning on everybody who was even
    remotely connected to the whole thing: Kowalski, James, Claw, Hardin
    and [he scowls] me.

[Verhoeven slowly clenches his fist, then sends it crashing down on the
pocket watch, smashing it and sending the clockwork spinning wildly.]

OV: One of these days all of these wheels won't help you anymore,
    Thunder.  I have asked myself just why _I_ had been handcuffed to a
    post on Saturday.  After all, I was practically out of the whole
    affair.  No connection to Requiem, no connection to you... and my
    animosity towards Casey James shouldn't be reason enough to involve
    me.  But after the match everything was clear.
 
    You fear me, Thunder.  You wanted to lure me into your little trap
    were you and all of your ex-friends could jump me while I was
    helpless, hoping to scare me away from you for the future.

    Didn't work, Dungfarmer.  You just made me mad.  While I don't have
    the opportunity to take that belt away from you on Saturday night I
    certainly will exploit the situation and give you some memorable
    payback, a small reminder just who you can mess with in this
    federation and who you better stay the hell away from...

    As for your former partners in crime... I lost any respect for them
    now.

    J.W. Hardin IV, the "maker of champions", the much lauded legend...
    what have you become?  A pathetic goon for hire for the likes of
    Thunder and Herr Lau.  After Saturday night I thought about you,
    too, Hardin.  What is it that makes you a legend in this sport?  It
    is true, you dominated the IIWF during its first few months, being
    its first champion and demolishing people who have all but
    disappeared these days.  You had some great moments but your
    opponents where all sub-par and you only excelled when you could
    gang up on your enemies, like you did with the American Heroes, the
    Horsemen, Tony Starks, Deathbringer, the Subway Psycho, the Player's
    Club... you always had people covering your back.  After that you
    returned every half a year for some sneak attacks and some glorious
    words from the legend, leaving as soon as you could before someone
    could actually target you.

    Today, when they talk about Hardin they think of his triple-cross,
    about the Alliance of Evil, et cetera. Did they forget how the
    Psycho beat you within an inch of your life before he ended your
    title reign, how Deathbringer dismantled you at the first Midsummer
    Madness?  You are far from invincible in the squared circle, Hardin,
    you and I know it, and your admirers will learn it soon enough
    again.
  
    You acquired your legendary status before the IIWF became the
    premiere federation in North America.  You never had to fight
    Quigley, Creed, Kowalski, Requiem, Petrow or any of the other stars
    who made the IIWF after you left.

    Your time has passed, Hardin.  Face it and run off again.

[After a long, cold stare, he visibly relaxes and a smirk appears on his
face.]

OV: Finally, my old stablemate Lord Byron has found the guts to show his
    ugly mug again.  Why?  I am not sure.  It seems like his wounds have
    finally healed and now he hopes to earn some money to pay the
    doctors.  But if he has the intention to stay here, I will just have
    to beat some sense into him.  Your time in the IIWF is over, Byron,
    and I would be happy to be the one who reminds you of the pain you
    felt all of these months ago, when your body failed you.  Beware,
    your lordship, beware.

[Fade to black.]

LM: Brody Thunder himself is riding the crest of a wave after his
    shocking coup last week -- but he is mindful of the fact that the
    gold belt around his waist is nothing more than a target on his
    back:

[The camera opens with a shot  of "The Butcher", Otto Verhoeven, in the
IIWF lockerroom. He's holding an ice pack to his head and appears very
angry. His cold eyes stare into the camera as he speaks...]

OV: You made too many enemies in one night to survive in the IIWF on
    your own! Revenge shall be MINE!

[The TV appears to then be shut off as the picture quickly vanishes and
is replaced  by a blank screen.  The camera pulls back to reveal Brody
Thunder, in another lockerroom having just turned off the television
monitor. He stands dressed in street clothes, jeans, t-shirt, boots and
black hat with one foot on a bench, the other on the floor. He leans on
the bended knee and looks back at the monitor. Under his hat, a crimson-
stained bandage is visable.  An evil grin can be seen despite the
smoldering cigar clenched in his teeth.]

BT: Seems ya don't think too much o' my lil show last Saturday night,
    Verhoeven.  Hmmmm... S'too bad too, y'see, Otto...

[Thunder looks back into the camera.]

    ...yer my encore.

    Now ya weren't supposed ta be involved.  Ya weren't part o' the
    plan.  But now you've gone an' stuck yer Baltic beak in my bizness,
    an' ace... that jus' ain't healthy.  You've got yer shot this
    Saturday night.

[Thunder removes the cigar and admires it.]

    At me.

    Yer a tough guy, but ya ain't never been confused with no Rhodes
    scholar.  If ya were _that_ smart you'd have kept yer piehole shut
    an' stayed the hell outta this whole deal.  But it didn't go down
    like that, did it, big man?

    No.

[Thunder puts his foot on the floor, standing up and the IIWF title's
now visible as it is hung over his right shoulder.]

    Well, it don't matter ta me if it's James, Hardin's or yer squash I
    knot up ta keep this strap.  This belt means money.  That's how I
    put food on the table.  So yeah... you can bet I'm gonna buy the
    missus an' my kid some presents.  An' yeah... I _am_ gonna smoke a
    few havanas an' down some o' Kessler's best.  An' can ya guess what
    I'm gonna do next there, "Kreskin"?

[Thunder returns the cigar to his mouth and smiles.]

    I'm comin' down ta that ring an' put ya on yer ass fer three.  Ain't
    no fancy plannin' needed.  It's pretty straight forward.  I'm comin'
    ta slaughter the legend o' "The Butcher".  Believe it, Otto.  Cuz I
    ain't one fer games.

[A cloud of gray smoke exits Thunder's mouth, swirling around his head
as he watches it.]

    _You_ want revenge?  Heh... that's rich.

[He rubs his jaw then slowly turns his head towards the camera.]

    Well, sport, I don't much care 'bout what you want.  But I will
    tell ya what yer gonna get... an' that's the toughest flamin' fight
    o' yer career.  Requiem was fond o' sayin' he "needed" this strap.
    I don't 'need' it... I _want_ it.  An' that means I'll do whatever I
    have to to keep it.  An' Saturday night...

    ...that means goin' through _you_, amigo.

[Thunder slings a gymbag over his left shoulder.]

    So lace'em up tight, leave the skirt at home an' pack a lunch, big
    man.  It's gonna be a long night.  An'one you ain't likely ta fergit
    anytime soon... I guarantee.

[Thunder drops the cigar to the floor and rubs it out.]

    See ya Saturday, Otto.  I'll bring the belt.

    You bring yer blood.

[Thunder walks off as the camera closes in on the blank TV screen.  Fade
to black.]

LM: So there you have it, folks -- the hottest two hours of wrestling
    action anywhere on the planet.  Don't miss a second of the action,
    live tomorrow night from the sold out Charlotte Coliseum!

 ________      ______
 | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|..................................................
 | || | \ v  v / | __|                                        Trash Talk
 |_||_|  \_/\_/  |_|....................................................

LM: Now it's time for this week's trash talk segment, in which we hear
    from wrestlers not involved in tomorrow night's action.  Our
    producer is signalling me that we have a phone call he wants us to
    take on the air.  It seems that Timothy N. Turner has a few words
    of wisdom to share with us.  Are you there, Mr. Turner?

[The screen changes to a still of TNT with the caption "Caller: Timothy
N. Turner, Victoria, B.C., Canada.]

TNT: I'm here, Morton.  Now just shut up, because I want to talk about
     Derek Mota.  Here you have the most accomplished man ever to wear
     the Cruiserweight strap.  A man of his caliber should not have to
     put up with the likes of Billy Shakespeare or Ronnie Paris.  These
     two conspired to eliminate me from the tournament as well.  At
     least now we know that somebody has some honour.  Derek Mota,
     recognizing who the truly greatest wrestler in the world today is,
     has offered me, Timothy N. Turner, a shot at the Cruiserweight
     gold.  President Spreadbury, I accept this challenge.  While I
     applaud Mota's courage, I do have to question his intelligence in
     this regard.  Ah well, maybe he doesn't want to have to put up with
     Paris and Shakespeare anymore and wants someone else to carry the
     belt.  Anyway, that's all I have to say today, gentlemen.  Carry on
     with your show.

[Cut back to the studio.]

LM: Well, whether or not Duncan Macbeth will miss Turner's moral support
    remains to be seen, but one man who will definitely be in attendance
    tomorrow night to offer moral support to his allies will be Scott
    Rogers of Genesis... who is determined that he will no longer play
    the role of the body-building whipping boy of the IIWF:

[SCENE: An IIWF backdrop with Scott Rogers standing before it. Rogers,
as ever, is grinning and seems literally a different man to the one
caught on film last Saturday evening, shown on Monday Musings; his face
is a radiant glow. He's wearing a very tight, short sleeved yellow polo
shirt and dark blue jeans. He has a cross and chain around his neck.]

SR: You've heard Serge Annis say it about himself, well now it's time
    for Scott Rogers to make the same announcement. Yeah, the 'real'
    Scott Rogers has hit town. You may remember Joe Petrow -- remember
    him? -- once referred to me as "The Fop." And I know every one of
    _you_ knows me by that name too. So, Tim Dross. So, Steve Roberts,
    that's exactly what you're gonna refer to me as from now on. Okay? I
    mean, I couldn't care less if you don't, but it'd be rude not to,
    now wouldn't it?

[Rogers laughs as he mocks Roberts.]

SR: You see, since Requiem left Genesis, we're no longer considered the
    force we once were, and, like Mota'll have you know, we're more like
    Wednesday Wonders now than top billing.  All interest in us is gone,
    as far as the suits are concerned.  And that suits me fine.  They
    want the ratings to dip, keep it up.  But Genesis are _far_ from the
    forgotten men around here... but if it means we gotta break up to
    prove it, that's exactly what we'll do.  But if we gotta get in some
    new blood, we could run to that too.

[Rogers pauses for a moment to gather his thoughts.]

SR: Yeah, I know you're thinkin' -- "But only last week he got dumped by
    Christiansen, whoever he is" and I'm happy to hold me hands up and
    say, yeah, I don't believe it meself. 'Cause The Fop ain't used to
    losin' to trash like that.  And The Fop _wouldn't_ lose to a guy
    no-one's ever heard of.  Ya see, since I've been here, I ain't been
    the guy you all know I am.  Nah, I thought the suits wanted me to
    play a different role, but I ain't gonna carry that off no more.
    The problem was they thought no-one knew who I was... and now it's
    time to show anyone who _still_ doesn't know, exactly what Scott
    _"The Fop"_ Rogers is all about.

[Rogers again pauses then continues, slowly.]

SR: And if that makes anyone unhappy, then you'll just hafta deal with
    it.  For any of ya who saw it, finishin' Deathbringer's career was
    just the start of it.  There's much worse to come, I can promise you
    that much.  And The Fop _never_ makes promises he ain't gonna keep.

[Fade out. Cut back to the studio.]

LM: One of the many important events overshadowed by the controversy
    surrounding the World title picture at present is the injury of one
    Marty Warnett at the hands of an assailant who beat him last
    Saturday Night with a baseball bat.  All the evidence points to this
    man being none other than the "Superstar" Stud Stetson -- who, I am
    informed by the front office, in one of the few matters they _will_
    comment on, has not been and will not be offered an IIWF contract.
    Tim Dross met up with Marty Warnett in the aftermath of last week's
    show, and even got close to finally revealing conclusively the
    identity of the assailant:

[SCENE: The outer car park at IIWF Arena, Portland, Oregon.  Tim Dross
stands, IIWF blazer and Canadian tie prominent, facing the camera.

Over his shoulder we see a hugh crowd, unable to gain tickets to see
their heroes do combat in the sacred heart of the IIWF, the old cattle
market building.

They mob said heroes, asking for and receiving autographs from all IIWF
competitors, even from the Soundbite after a verbal lashing from IIWF
President Spreadbury.

There is a sudden commotion, as a large man, hidden by a full body suit,
leather jacket and large hat, casting a shadow over his features laughs
heartily, running towards a red Porsche.  He turns and hurls abuse at
the fans, the microphone picking up "How's your hero now, little boys
and girls?".

He stops, upon seeing Dross and the cameras.  He looks at the car, then
walks towards the IIWF staff.]

TD: Are we rolling? Maybe we can find out what Stetson's agenda is?
    Stud, over here!

[Dross waves his hands excitedly.  In a low voice, the camera picks up
the comment "At least I'll win that Apter award, then Soundbite'll have
to respect me!".

The figure turns, but then the crowd starts to cheer, the figure, face
still obscured, growing more and more cocky, as if such a thing was
possible.  The crowd noise gets louder.  And louder.]

TD: Quick, Gregg, look over there!

[Gregg, the dim-witted but eager trainee cameraman available on minimum
pay slowly turns, the picture finally settling on the disguised figure
walking closer and closer.  The focus is fuzzy, Gregg getting the
settings all wrong, so the man is a blur, whereas the wrestler's
entrance door is clear as daylight.

Until...

The door bursts open and Marty staggers, half stumbles out, holding onto
a lead pipe!  The crowd explode as Marty breaks into a run, his ribs
visibly swollen and bruised. ]

TD: Why the unprovoked attack?  Why haven't you wrestled?

[The disguised man is unable to reply as Marty discards the pipe, diving
onto the man from several feet away.  They tussle, the figure's hat
being discarded.  The two men roll around, both faces obscured, as the
Porsche screams to a halt.  A blonde woman leans out from the driver's
side, spraying Marty in the face with Mace!  As the Welsh superstar
rolls around in agony, trying to clear his eyes, Stetson leaps into the
back of car, which nearly takes out several members of the Tim Dross fan
club.  As it swings out, a license plate is thrown at Marty.]

TD: Get some water out here immediately!  Where's security? [picks up
    license plate] STUD 4?

[The picture fades, revealing that the incident took place at an earlier
date.  Sat on a sofa in Marty's apartment are Marty Warnett and Tim
Dross.]

TD: Folks, we just saw exclusive footage that took place in the car
    park at the IIWF Coliseum last Saturday night.  I'm here with the
    Party Maniac himself for some exclusive words.

[Marty, wearing a demin shirt and ripped jeans shakes his head.]

MW: Okay, Timmy, let's shoot.

TD: Well, actually, I think the suits don't like that, after the time
    Joe Petrow revealed his love for the Alphabet Boys... nearly led to
    a lawsuit from Abie, over "infringing his intellectual property".

MW: [Laughing] Sure, like Abie and Zed  _had_ an intellect.  Did the
    suits settle out of court?  One lump of sugar or two?

TD: Ha ha ha, well, back to Saturday night.  Another loss, this time to
    Serge Annis.

MW: [Frowns] You see, Dross, just one slight problem with that.  Annis,
    I had Stetson jump me backstage, trying to break the NFL field goal
    record on my ribs, and yet you couldn't finish me off quicker than
    that?  Epitome of Evil?  You probably wear a woollen cardigan and
    sip mugs of hot chocolate.  More weevil than evil.

TD: There's nothing wrong with cardigans ...

MW: ...that a tub of sulphuric acid couldn't fix.

TD: Hmmmm.  So it definitely was Stud Stetson, then?

MW: Hell, yes Dross.  Couldn't you tell?

TD: He looked similar in build, and he did sound like him, but...

MW: Dammit Dross, as Soundbite would say, if it moves like a biscuit,
    quacks like a biscuit, bite it!  The red Porsche, the blonde, it
    Stetson, and Lace with the mace.

TD: But Marty, nobody backstage has seen Stetson, or indeed, Lace, and
    certainly, he isn't on the active roster right now.

MW: Having run him out of the IIWF before, I'm not surprised he wants
    to sneak around and play mind games.  Stud, it won't work, I know
    it's you behind all this, so you may as well come right out.

TD: That sounds like a challenge.

MW: Damn straight.  I want to issue this challenge, right here, right
    now.

    I'm out of action for two weeks, I went to Portland General after
    coughing up blood.

TD: Ouch.

MW: Yeah, right.  I suffer severe internal bruising to the ribs, and
    I'm damned if I'm going to end up addicted to painkillers...  I'll
    take the time to heal up good and proper before opening a can, naah,
    make it a keg, naah, make it a brewery of whoop-ass on Stetson.

TD: Sigh... another lawsuit.

MW: Stud, if you want me, I'm available.  I want you in the worst
    possible way, because like when you tried to run me over, you've
    failed to get the job done... here I am, to remind you, of the mess
    you left when you went away.  It's not fair, to deny me, of the
    cross I bear that you gave to me, you, you, you [coughs] oughta
    know.

TD: Folks, we're out of allotted time, Stud Stetson -- should it be he
    -- has definitely made himself a determined enemy ...

[Cut back to the studio.]

LM: And finally for tonight, folks, the second part of our in-depth look
    at the work of Kuyler Greyson, known to IIWF fans as the manager of
    the Natural Predators, but a distinguished wrestler and manager in
    his own right.  Take it away, Chris Garrison:

[Intro: "Kuyler Greyson, part 2.  Hosted by Chris Garrison."]

NARR: Last time we saw the rise of a young superstar in the wrestling
      ranks, Kuyler Greyson's championship dreams, and a near end to his
      career. Today we'll be taking a look at the Kuyler Dynasty, how it
      started, and what future lies ahead.

[Cut to Colin Gehan, his name in a subtitle under him:]

CG: The problem with managing is that there are always bigger and better
    stables.  Kuy wanted to start up an environment where young
    wrestlers could become the superstars of tomorrow.  He asked if I
    would take a youngster in for Tag Team purposes, and I said sure.

NARR: That youngster was 21 year old Victor Milsson, a native of Carver,
      Massachussetts, who had entered the wrestling spotlight as a
      rookie who defeated Malachi Steelblood in a prelim match. At
      6'10", 372, he wrestled as a masked wrestler to keep his youthful
      ID secret.  Kuyler bought out his contract and called him "Apex",
      the pinnacle of power, and set about training him.

[Cut to Victor "Apex" Milsson.]

A: It was amazing.  Kuyler was this wrestling guru, he'd been around for
   so long... and here he is saying he wants to manage me... Of course I
   wanted to go for it!  He took me in, this big goofy young wrestler...
   started teaching me these moves I had never tried... taught me a
   single shoulder backbreaker, said I had broad enough shoulders that
   that would work as a finisher... and put me and Colin Gehan together.
   Master and Apex.  Idealization.

NARR: And Idealization worked well together.  Kuyler also had a young
      Native American from Kinzua, PA, named Daniel Twin-Bear.

[Cut to Kuyler Greyson.]

KG: Daniel... you know, Bear... was a strong man in a circus, of all
    things.  Again, young, with a lot of potential.  I signed him, and
    thought as a Native American wrestler, he already had some knowledge
    of brawling moves, and the build... why not call him Bear and teach
    him?  It was then that I saw Paul Wolcott wrestle in a local show.

[Clips of Paul Wolcott.]

NARR: Paul was a half Native American aerial wrestler who was struggling
      in the sixth year of his career as a singles wrestler. Kuyler
      liked what he saw though, and signed him to be the fourth member
      of the Kuyler Dynasty.

[Cut to Paul "Wolf" Wolcott]

WOLF: Does anyone ever really want to admit their career is stalling?  I
      hit #15 in the ranks once, as a singles wrestler.  That's it.  I
      was near calling it quits, and I had just been totally humiliated
      by this big idiot, Thog, and Kuyler Greyson comes in, black suit
      and all, saying he wants to manage me.  Give me a tag team.
      Native American. Wans my expertise.  And says he can get me title
      shots in the space of two months.  Two months!  I signed with him.
      Met Bear and thought, God, this guy is a brute.  A tag team in
      himself.  What does he need me for?  But we worked together, as a
      team.  And we were good.

NARR: Good enough to earn the TV Tag Titles in the SAW in under two
      months.  Idealization started slow, as Kuyler had expected, but in
      the matter of a month and a half had earned the World Tag Titles
      in a legendary match against Fade to Black.

A: Here we were, a new team, and Fade to Black was no weak team.  We
   were neither fan faves or bad guys, but here we were, with the tag
   titles!

CG: It was something I had dreamed of.  Tech Support was a good team,
    but Idealization just clicked.  We did well.

NARR: To add to the titles, Bear defeated Mugatu the Ape man for the
      Continental Singles championship on the night the SAW closed for
      the first time.

BEAR: I still have that belt.  They started up again, but they had to
      get a new belt.  That was mine.  The TV tag belts were ours.  And
      the Tag Team Championship stayed with Idealization.

NARR: Before the SAW closed, Kuyler added five more wrestlers to his
      stable, Diego carnival, an 18 year old Luchador from Sao Paolo,
      Brazil, now one half of teh IEWA champion Wild Cards, Donovan
      Etienne, a 21 year old young man from Iraklion, Greece, the other
      half, Josef Tadeuscz, a 24 year old Polish wrestler who is
      currently the EEF European Champion, and "Power Outage" -- Damon
      Casaglio and "Big" Jake Durgan.

KG: Those last two... they lost the only match they had with us, but
    were great teachers to Bear and Apex.  Couple of huge men, combined
    800+ pounds... taught them a lot about the strength game.

NARR: When the SAW closed, the new FFPW called for the two championship
      teams to join their ranks.  Idealization and the Natural Predators
      joined the FFPW ranks.  Kuyler sold the contrats of Josef Tadeuscz
      and Big Jake so they could continue wrestling under someone, and
      Damon Casaglio retired.  The "Wild Cards" were used as a sparring
      team as the Natural Predators and Idealization went on to claim
      the Continental and World Tag team championships, respectively.
      It was here that Bear and Wolf got National Focus.

WOLF: We were interviewed for "SHOOT!" on the basis of our title reign.
      We only lost twice in the FFPW, and put that tiny new league on
      the map.  The fans loved us.  It was great to go out there and be
      cheered like that.

CG: Idealization and the Natural Predators.  Quite a Dynasty for Kuyler.
    The FFPW was mentioned twice in "SHOOT!", both times because of the
    Kuyler Dynasty.  And when it closed, Vic and I had another set of
    World Tag Titles to keep.

NARR: Sadly, when the FFPW closed, the Kuyler Dynasty splintered.  Apex
      wanted a shot at singles wrestling, and Kuyler sold his contract
      to the NACW, where he has, untli recently, wrestled.  Colin Gehan
      went on to the SEWA, where he is one of their top ranked
      wrestlers.  And The Wild Cards have found success on their own.
      So why the Natural Predators?

KG: The Kuyler Dynasty falling apart is what hurt the most.  These were
    great young talents, and all of a sudden, it's gone.  Over.  The
    Natural Predators still wanted me to manage them... to take them to
    this new level.  We set out and started on the long road to the
    IIWF... and here we are.  Top of the heap, and a long way to the
    titles.  Do I think we'll be the titleholders here someday?  Yeah.
    These two are the future of wrestling.  They stick to the
    fundamentals, and ge the job done.  Will they be fan faves forever? 
    I don't know.  People change their opinion quickly.  And a good
    action one night makes for a villain the next.

WOLF: Kuyler has been a great guide for us.  He keeps us in touch with
      what the fans want.  And keeps us true to ourselves.

BEAR: People ask me if I'm like the Bear they see on television.  Those
      are my beliefs.  I believe in the elder spirits, I believe in the
      power of nature, and I believe they guide everyone's lives.  If
      the fans like it, great.  If not, I won't stop believing in what I
      believe just for a few dollars.

KG: You grow into a challenge if you stick with it.  Win or lose, you
    find something along the way to make it a learning experience.  Bear
    and Wolf are well on their way.  And who knows?  Maybe the Kuyler
    Dynasty will grow again here in the IIWF.  Stranger things have
    happened.

NARR: This is Chris Garrison... and this has been a look at Kuyler and
      the Kuyler Dynasty -- past and present.  As for the future, no one
      knows... but it will be exciting to find out. Good night.

[Cut back to the studio.]

LM: Well, folks, that brings us to the end of this week's "Countdown".
    I apologise for the uncertainty concerning tomorrow night's "IIWF
    Saturday Night" telecast, live from the Charlotte Coliseum, but I
    assure you that you would be foolish not to tune in and catch the
    hottest two hours of live wrestling action available anywhere.  I'll
    see you next week for another "Countdown", but until then, this is
    Larry Morton, saying: so long, and thanks for watching.

[Larry turns back to the bank of monitors behind him, presses a few
buttons on the console in front of him, and the monitors flicker to
black.  Larry retracts his ballpoint pen and places it in his inside
breast pocket as the shot fades.]

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