[Fade up on an impressive sunset in the sparse Kansas countryside, the sun slowly dipping under the horizon, casting mirages of oranges, reds and pinks. The shot begins to move towards a facility in the distance, imposing in its black silhouette. The rumble of a vehicle travelling along a road is faintly heard some distance behind the camera, and gradually grows louder... and then the vehicle, a large truck, speeds past the camera. It is emblazoned with the crest of the Federal Penitentiary Service, and the back of the truck has a barred window, at which poke out the clearly alarmed faces of several members of the Jobber Justice Squad -- "Nifty" Ned Norton, Scott "the Whine" Bloom, and the weeping Smooth. The truck speeds off further into the distance, rapidly approaching the dark and forboding facility, which is the sole bump on the otherwise sparse and empty horizon. The truck slows outside its gates, and a number of armed guards inspect it fully. Soon, the gates are swung open, and the truck speeds into the facility. As the gates are slammed shut, the opening graphics likewise slam into view, accompanied by the sound of a large iron door being firmly closed:] ________ ______ __ ____ ___ __ . _ ___ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __| / /\ | | || \| \ /\ \ / |\ || / \| | | | || | \ v v / | __| \__ /__\ | | ||__/| |/__\ v | \||| __|-| | |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| \ \| v | \|__/ \| | || \_|| | | __________________________/..............\........|...|.......|....| _____ __________ _________ ______ |o o| |o o||o /o\ |o/o__ o\ |o o \ | | | || // \ |// | \ /\| |//\ | /|_| ||//_|_ \ |/__|_/ ///| |\ \ | //___ ||/\o \ | \o /// | /||o | |// | | /|| \___ /\| \__// \ | //|/ / |/ | | //|| | \// \ | \ \|// | / |o_o| |o_o||o_o| \o_o\_o| \o_o\o_o__/ __________ _____ _____ ___ ________ |o //o||o o||o/ o\|o o\ |o// o/ |__|o //__|| ||/ \ \ \ |//___/_ | //| | /|| \ o\\ \ |/ o/ |// | | //|| |\ / \ /\ | ___/ |/ | |// || | \/ \// \| |____ | | |/ || | \ \ // o| |o_o| |o_o||o_o| \o_o\_/___o| .----------------------------------------------------------------------. | LIVE + Leavenworth Federal Penitentiary + Leavenworth, Kansas + LIVE | | HOUR ONE + 18 October 1997 + HOUR ONE | `----------------------------------------------------------------------' [Fade through to the courtyard of the Leavenworth Federal Penitentiary, accompanied by the rocking beat of "Jailhouse Rock". A regulation IIWF ring has been erected in the centre of the courtyard, surrounded by makeshift bleachers, in which are seated the crowd: more than a thousand hollering, whooping and clamouring inmates, all resplendent in their orange jumpsuits and identikit haircuts. The camera spins over the crowd, catching a glimpse of the towers and walkways high above the courtyard, patrolled by numerous armed guards. A lighting rig is erected above the ring, powerful spotlights illuminating the canvas, on which the IIWF logo spins, and a makeshift aisleway runs to the main prison building, where closed heavy iron doors manned by four guards apparently conceal the backstage area. A huge Jumbotron video wall has also been erected, and relays the live footage to the crowd. Over these scenes comes the voice of Tim Dross:] TD: Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the most unique IIWF Saturday Night ever! Welcome to Leavenworth Federal Penitentiary... as the IIWF does HARD TIME! [A volley of fireworks shoots up into the darkening sky above the courtyard, illuminating the sky and showering sparks down on the crowd below, the brightly-coloured incendiary traces dying out just inches above their heads. Cut to the broadcast table at ringside, at which stand announcers Tim Dross and "Soundbite" Steve Roberts, Dross rather uncomfortably in his regulation IIWF blazer, and Roberts in an open-necked jumpsuit, with a pair of dog tags dangling from his neck. Behind them, many of the burly inmates clamour at the camera, nearby guards trying to quell their disquiet.] TD: Howdy, folks, and welcome to what is sure to be one of the most memorable nights in IIWF history, right here from the highest security, most famous federal penitentiary in the United States. I'm Tim Dross, and beside me, as always, is my broadcast colleague and tag team partner, "Soundbite" Steve Roberts -- and we will be here to guide you through the most extraordinary wrestling action you are likely to see for a very long time indeed. SR: Damned straight, Dross, my main man. We are gonna see two guys get thrown in the hole... we are gonna see six guys battle it out in the mess hall of this god-forsaken bile-pit of the dregs of humanity -- and make no mistake, this is my kinda place, Dross... we are gonna see two guys locked in a cell and batter one another until only one of them walks out... we are gonna see somebody spend the night in this place... it's gonna be great! TD: We do indeed have some of the most unique and exciting speciality matches coming your way tonight, just three weeks before the biggest show of the year, IIWF Ring Wars IV, which will be originating live on pay-per-view from the Los Angeles Memorial Coliseum, in front of nigh on one hundred thousand screaming fans -- but we could not be any further away from the razzamatazz of California here in Kansas if we tried, Steve Roberts. This crowd of... well, of convicted felons... is quite unlike any other I have seen in my life. SR: These guys are fanatics, Dross. Murderers, tax cheats, televangelists... My kinda people, Dross -- and they're all wrestling fanatics! TD: These people certainly do love the IIWF action, and they'll get all that they could ask for and more right here over the next one hundred and twenty minutes. The new IIWF World Heavyweight Champion, the "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder, will face an as yet unnamed challenger in the main event of the evening -- and this challenger could come from anywhere in the world, Steve Roberts. SR: I know who he is, Dross. TD: You do not, Steve Roberts. SR: Sure I do. TD: Go ahead and tell us, Steve. SR: I'll tell you one day. And it'll be the best weekend of your life. TD: Fine. In another huge match, we'll see three of the top tag teams in the world today -- the Prophets of Rage, Damage Incorporated, and the so-called Cold Quins -- in a triple threat tag team match, and, well... the rumours have been flying about this match, Steve Roberts. SR: They sure have, Dross. From what I hear, the Syndicate are gonna walk clean out of the IIWF tonight. TD: Certainly there has been some speculation that the IIWF World Tag Team Champions, Casey "Blackheart" James and Tiger Claw, who have not been seen since that huge triple-cross a couple of weeks back, have been raising hell in the front office, refusing to work contracted dates and generally voicing their discontent about the current situation here in the IIWF -- and they are scheduled to appear later on tonight for a special live interview. SR: What the hell were the suits thinking, Dross? Putting those two guys on live television when they're so upset... man, can anybody say, "Shoot, Syndicate! Shoot!" TD: That remains to be seen, Steve Roberts. On top of those two huge matches, which will take place right out here in front of us here in the courtyard in our second hour, we have six of the craziest, most dangerous speciality matches you will ever see. We will see Requiem and Otto "the Butcher" Verhoeven, two men who locked it up last week in Japan... SR: [interrupted] Don't get me started on that punk Requiem, Dross. TD: I don't believe I did, Steve Roberts. SR: You mentioned the freak's name, Dross. Bad enough. TD: Well, my colleague's distaste for the former World Champion aside, he and the Butcher will be thrown "in the hole" later tonight in a Solitary Confinement Match -- the only way to win being to escape this tortuous sensory deprivation cell. And we will hear from the Butcher a little later on tonight... I understand he may have some words for Lord Byron. SR: You better believe it, Dross. But I don't want to talk about has-beens like Byron -- what about the Shower Room Showdown. Quigley, Macbeth, Paris and Shakespeare, slipping and sliding around on wet lino floors, rusty pipes and gushing water... Sounds like Soundbite heaven, baby dolls! TD: Indeed, two of the hottest feuds in the IIWF today come together in the Shower Room Showdown -- and we will also see the three members of Genesis duke it out with Cruiserweight Champion Derek Mota, Kevin "the Cavalier" Christiansen, and the "Showstopper" Simon Lebec in the Mess Hall Brawl. What a match that's going to be. SR: There's something fishy going on with the Bangles, Dross. Something distinctly smells of the watery slop these poor morons get fed every damned day of the week. TD: Quite. We will also see two sworn enemies, Tony Starks and Ike Sampson, slug it out in a pinfall or submission only Behind Bars Match in one of the cells of this facility -- we will see an eight-man tag team elimination Chain Gang match... it's going to be an incredible night of action, and it all gets started with the following contest. SR: This is gonna be a doozy, Dross. Three guys in the ring, two of them scale that wall over there -- and the guy who gets left behind spends the night in one of these pokey little cells, with a guy who might look like the Smooth, but ain't anything like as friendly. TD: Indeed, it's an Over The Wall Match featuring three incredible cruiserweights -- Timothy N. Turner, Richard "Moxy" Blue and "One Man Army" Dakota Bundy -- and it's going to kick off tonight's show! Let's get up to the ring! SR: Dross, how can you be so excited?  We're in prison.  The slammer.  The lockup.  Don't you remember Mexico? TD: Actually, Steve, I'd managed to push those memories from my mind,     but thank you very much for reminding me.  At least the Smooth     will be at home in here. SR: I'd just rather be at home than in here.  I've had way too many     hardened criminals wink at me this evening, and it's downright scary. TD: Well, let's get down to Sparkplug Lee in the ring, where he's about to announce our first contest. ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| OVER THE WALL, LOSER SPENDS THE NIGHT MATCH: |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| Timothy N. Turner vs. Richard "Moxy" Blue vs. "One Man Army" Dakota Bundy ....................................................................... WRITER: RR [Scene cuts to the ring, where Sparkplug Lee is fidgeting nervously as four or five bulky men in prison outfits make kissy-face motions at him from the front row of the bleachers.  Relieved to see that the camera is actually on him, he diverts his attention from the smitten convicts, clears his throat and starts the announcements.] RA: Goooood evening, Leavenworth! [The crowd cheers raucously, causing the guards in the ringside area to take a few steps forward cautiuosly.] RA: Welcome, one and all, to the IIWF's Saturday Night... HARD TIME!     There's one heck of a card lined up for all of you, and you won't     want to miss a minute of it, so don't go anywhere! [Lee is met with dead silence from the crowd at the mention of "not going anywhere", save for some snickers from guards.] SR: [over the headset]  Wow, Lee's just asking for an accident tonight. TD: [over the headset]  I'm afraid I may have to agree with you there, Steve. [Sparkplug clears his throat again, looks around, and decides that changing the subject might be the best course of action at this point.] RA: Ahem... so, ummm... yes!  Our first match of the evening, is an OVER THE WALL match!  The first two men to clear the top of that twenty foot wall... [Lee motions to the wall, which stands about fifty feet from the ring and has a ladder propped up against it.] RA: ...will be free!  The last man, however, has the distinct privilege of spending a night here in beautiful, scenic Leavenworth Federal Penitentiary with all of you! [The crowd cheers wildly again, and a few of the prisoners can be seen making their way through the bleachers, taking odds.] RA: So, introducing the first participant in this match... TIMOTHY     N. TURNER!  [Tony Bennett's "The Good Life" plays out over the prison PA system as Turner struts out from the back, flanked by guards.  He doesn't look exceptionally pleased to be here, but as he arives at the ring, he walks over to the corner, checks underneath, and then slides in.] SR: [over the headset]  From the Ritz to the rock.  Timmy, my man, you     NEED to talk to your travel booker. RA: And now, our second participant... RICHARD "MOXY" BLUE! ["The Good Life" is cut off by a shrill shout of "Oh yeah... RIGHTEOUS!" as well as the guitar chords of a sped up version of "Blue Moon".  Richard Blue strides out from the back with his complement of guards, playing along with his theme music on a harmonica... an action which is quickly mimicked by a few men in the crowd.  He jumps into the ring and grins at Turner, then waits for the final participant.] RA: And the last participant in this over the wall match... "THE ONE MAN ARMY" DAKOTA BUNDY! [Prodigy's "Climtbatize" now blares out over the loudspeaker, as Dakota Bundy heads out to the ring.  He pushes whatever guards are around him out of the way, much to the delight of the crowd, and makes a break right for the ring, diving under the bottom rope.  As is normal by this point, Lee has to make a hasty exit, and the bell is rung for the match to begin.] TD: Look at Bundy go!  He seems to be a man with a purpose here tonight. SR: Well, look at his from his point of view.  He's an ugly violent guy, getting to whup peoples [BLEEP]es in front of a bunch of other ugly, violent guys.  He's got the homefield advantage. [Bundy immediately starts hammering on Blue with solid punches, tackling him to the mat and pummeling him mercilessly.  He rolls over quickly and hooks a leg while Timothy Turner slaps the mat in a rather fast mock-three count... then jumps to his feet, and hauls off on Turner as well!  He seems to be basking in the shouts of the convicts about him, as Blue slowly pulls himself up off the mat, and Turner rolls out of the ring... only to dive back in a moment later when a hefty black man in the front row gooses him.] SR: This is out of hand. TD: Actually, if you're talking about Turner's derierre, it was most     definitely in hand. [As Roberts turns to the crowd, asking some of the spectators if they want him to toss Dross up there, Bundy continues his onslaught, picking Blue up and slamming a forearm over his back.  Turner has had about enough of this, however, and takes it upon himself to run at Bundy's back and jump up, spin around, and catch him in a rana that sends him through the second and third ropes to the outside.  He then runs off the ropes again, diving over the top into a cross body block that sends both himself and Bundy toppling to the floor, and raising a loud cheer from the convicts.  Another cheer goes up, however, as Blue stands up in the ring, runs to the opposite side... and mimics Turner's move, landing directly on top of the pile outside on the floor!  He springs to his feet and starts throwing punches every which way, as does Turner, who is the next to rise.  Bundy pulls himself to his feet with the help of the railing outside, then spins, pulling a guard's nightstick out of its holster in one movement, and slaps it across Turner's back!  With a grin, he hands it back to the bewildered guard, and the oddsmakers can be seen scrambling through the seats again, collecting the "First Use of a Weapon" bets.] TD: And Bundy is showing no remorse out there!  He's using whatever's     near...  Steve, what are you doing? SR: [shouting to the odds man]  Gimme fifty on the ugly guy!  Yeah, you heard me!  FIFTY! TD: Good grief. [Blue sees the attack as Turner crumples before him, and takes off running towards the wall.  Bundy's not having any of it, however, and football tackles him as he goes by, causing the two men to roll down the aisle a bit and nearly bowl over another guard.  They start trading punches again, never stopping as they get to their feet, and are too distracted with each other to see Timothy Turner sprint past them towards the ladder and the wall, despite shouts from the crowd to that effect.  The two others stop brawling long enough to see what's happened, take another shot at each other for good measure, and then take off down the aisle after Turner.] TD: And the match has suddenly changed from a brawl to a footrace! SR: Turner's got too much of a headstart.  He'll be home sipping champagne before the others even get to the wall. [Turner starts up the ladder, climbing up to the top and jumping atop the wall as Blue and Bundy arrive at the bottom.  He sits on top of the wall and looks down at the two below and salutes them... but suddenly is pushed off the wall from behind, sending him falling the full twenty feet on top of the other men!  All three hit hard, and lie sprawled out on the floor, the ladder finally tipping over as well and falling with a clatter on top of them.] TD: What in the world?  Turner was pushed off the top! SR: We got all three men on the ground, Dross!  Who's up there? [A figure emerges from over the top of the wall, drawing shouts of threats and protest from the assembled prisoners watching the spectacle.  Standing on top of the wall now, laughing down at Turner and the others is none other than "The Real Deal" Luke Steele.  The men on the ground finally start stirring, first Bundy, then Blue, and finally, slowly, Turner.  Turner limps off towards the ring again, while Blue and bundy both start brawling once again and trying to get the ladder set back up at the same time.] SR: Oh great.  What business does Steele have poking his no-talent nose into this match?  The bum. [The ladder is somehow set up again, but both men take different routes up it, each climbing up a different side and ultimately meeting at the top, where Steele is still standing.  Turner has, at this time, made it back to the ring and ducked under it, disappearing from view for a few moments, before he re-emerges, dragging a large contraption with him into the aisle.] TD: What is that THING that Turner has? SR: I have no ide.  It looks like... oh, in the name of everything green and leafy, I don't believe this! TD: Ladies and gentlemen, Timothy N. Turner has somehow managed to procure himself what appears to be... SR: It is, baby dolls.  Timmy boy's got himself a god-damned jet pack! [Turner straps the device onto his back, fastening the safety belts as fast as he can possibly do so.  In the meantime, Bundy and Blue have reached the top of the ladder and are slugging it out with each other... again... with an errant swing from Blue catching Steele right in the face!  Enraged, Steele starts firing back, and before you can say "life sentence" all three men are trading punches.  Finally, Steele has had enough of it and hammers Blue with a forearm that sends him sprawling off the top of the ladder, and Bundy takes the opportunity to dive over the wall past him.  At the same time, a loud FWOOSH is heard from the aisle as Timothy Turner gracefully sails up into the air and over the wall... and off into the distance.  Some convicts leap over the railing and dive under the ring, possibly looking for spare jetpacks with which to make their escapes as well, but are wuickly corralled by the vigilant guards.] SR: [shouting after Turner]  Hey!  Come back!  Take me with you! RA: Ladies and gentlemen... Both Dakota Bundy and Timothy N. Turner have     successfully cleared the wall... albeit in a somewhat unorthodox     manner.  As a result, the LOSER of this match, who will be staying     overnight in the prison here... RICHARD "MOXY" BLUE! [Guards emerge from the back with shackles and start walking towards Blue, who screams and runs away from them as fast as he can.  He dives into the crowd in hopes of escaping, but is unceremoniously picked up and "floated" by the prisoners back towards the aisle.  The guards grab him from the convicts hands and slap the shackles on him, dragging him off to the back as, the entire way, Blue is screaming for his mother.  Amidst a shout of "See you tonight, lover!" from the prisoners, Blue disappears into the holding area with the guards. Cut back to the announcers' table at ringside.] TD: Well, an unfortunate turn of events here, Steve Roberts. Poor Richard "Moxy" Blue will be spending one of the longest nights in his life right here in Leavenworth after only his second official IIWF match. SR: Them's the breaks, kid. I wonder where Turner will land. TD: A very good question, Steve Roberts. However, we must move on. A little later on tonight, we will see Otto Verhoeven thrown into a solitary confinement cell with Requiem -- but let's hear from the Teutonic terror right now: [Cut to a block of the prison that the IIWF uses tonight as the locker room area. In one of these redecorated cells we can see Otto "the Butcher" Verhoeven and Nurse Heidi, both already in their ring attire. Verhoeven is busy performing sit-ups.] OV: 76... 77... 78... [snort]... 79... NH: Liebling, the camera crew is here. [Verhoeven stops and reaches for a towel to wipe some sweat from his face.] OV: Ach, gut. I am in the mood to talk today. I have prepared all week for tonight, and, now, when I am anxious to get it on, yet I still have to wait, I want to address someone else, talk about someone who seems to want to insult Germany's premium athlete. Somebody who has no longer a place here in the IIWF, yet he comes back. Like the victim of an accident who just barely survived the crash, but returns to the site of the tragedy, a moth who longs for the deadly heat of the flame.     I am talking about the suicidial Lord Byron. I thought I got rid of him once and for all at Birthday Bash, though I would never have to see his ugly British grimace again! I thought his sneer would have disappeared from the face of the earth. But I turn around and see him again, smiling like the king of the hill. He should be a gottverdammte CRIPPLE now!     But I am not going to tolerate his presence here! I already issued a warning to him last week, which I will renew now. If you drecksschwein ever return to the IIWF, I will personally make sure that that will be the worst mistake you ever made! I will tear your little ugly head from your weak shoulders and kick you right back to that forsaken island you should never have left!     Your time in the IIWF is _over_, Byron. Learn to live with it, learn to accept the truth that this part of your miserable life is over! If you don't do that you will have to pay, and pay dearly. Even if I have to drag you to the ring like a screaming girl, you won't forget the lesson you will be taught if you don't wise up.     Beware, Byron, beware that you don't repeat your mistakes and tangle with a superior opponent. Beware the vengeance of the Butcher. [Cut back to the announcing table at ringside in the courtyard of the facility.] TD: Well, Steve Roberts, we will see Otto Verhoeven in action against Requiem in that Solitary Confinement match in just a few minutes -- after we have witnessed what is sure to be a brutal and punishing encounter between two men who have a very severe dislike for one another: Tony Starks and Ike Sampson. It's the Behind Bars Match -- let's go to the cell now, somewhere in block 47D of this huge facility. ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| BEHIND BARS MATCH: |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| Tony Starks vs. Ike Sampson ....................................................................... WRITER: RD [The camera cuts to inside the penitentiary, directly in front of the bare concrete walls and enclosing steel bars of a prison cell. The cell is sparsely furnished - comfort and aesthetics clearly not in the forefront of its designer's mind - there's just a rickety looking bunk bed, a stained porcelain sink and a toilet that looks as if it gets cleaned about once a month. Sparkplug Lee, his powder blue suit and bow tie oddly out of place amid the surroundings, stands at the ready in front of the bars. Tony Starks and Ike Sampson, each obscured by a team of prison security guards, wait in the wings.]  RA: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest will be a "Behind Bars"     grudge match! The stipulations are as follows: anything goes until a     pinfall or submission occurs!      Introducing first, hailing from North Carolina and weighing in at 304lbs, here is "Big Dog" Ike Sampson!  [A prison warden unlocks the cell door, and Sampson steps out from the cluster of security guards and into the cell, where referee Earl Alfonso is already waiting. Out in the courtyard most of the prisoners cheer loudly for the young fan favourite. Sampson wears a focused, yet concerned expression on his face, perhaps a little intimidated by what will surely be the most violent match of his young career. The cell door is slammed shut once again, and Ike paces around the confined space impatiently.]  SR: Oh man, that kid is in for one rough night. TD: Ike Sampson is a very tenacious competitor, Steve Roberts. I'm sure     he'll be able to handle himself quite adequately in there.  SR: Are you serious? This kid is as green as a billiard table and only     half as streetwise. Tony Starks comes from a real bad brotherhood,     y'know what I'm saying? Ike Sampson was probably pussyfooting aroung     playing college football while Starks was serving hard time     for breaking kneecaps. Starks knows how to survive behind those     bars.  RA: And his opponent! Hailing from Staten Island, New York, and weighing     in at 269 lbs, here is the most feared submission fighter in the     IIWF, Tony Starks!  [The prison guards part, and out steps Tony Starks, his customary white towel hanging over his head and a look of pure deadly intentions in his eyes. Out in the courtyard, most of the prisoners are jeering Starks loudly for his recent heelish behaviour, but a few, seeming to be old pals of his, fervently declare their support. The prison warden unlocks the cell door for a second time, and Starks immediately bursts forward, the towel flying off his head. He lunges into the cell at Ike Sampson, immediately unloading with fist and knee strikes! The cell door slams shut behind him, and Starks savagely batters away, forcing Sampson back into the corner of the cell. The rookie attempts to fight back but is soon overwhelmed by Stark's onlsaught, huddling into the corner and covering up in defence. Starks delivers several more kicks and punches, then grabs Sampson murderously around the throat, heaving him out of the corner and around into the back of the bunk bed! The bed's steel railing bites hard into Sampson's back, but Starks shows no respite, and heaves Ike back round, slamming him into the concrete wall, knocking the breath from the rookie's body! Starks takes hold of Sampson's head, and begins to bash it repeatedly into the concrete!]  SR: Ha! Ha! Ha! Tony Starks is just taking Ike Sampson apart in there!     This kid Ike just doesn't stand a chance against such an experienced     street brawler. What a beat down ass-whoopin', and what a killer     instinct we're seeing from Starks these days!  TD: Look at the way Starks is just bludgeoning the head of poor Ike     Sampson into the concrete wall! That's just complete lunacy! I have     a feeling something has gone very wrong in the head of Tony Starks     over the past few weeks. Can Ike Sampson come back from this early     assault? Things don't look too good for the "Big Dog", folks.  [Earl Alfonso grabs Stark's shoulder and warns him to let up. Starks whips around, his eyes glazed over with psychosis, and shoves the referee hard in the face, sending him careening over into the opposite wall. Alfonso bangs his head and slumps to the floor. The prison guards immediately make a move to stop the carnage, and the warden fumbles to unlock the cell door. As the door swings open, Starks grabs the warden by the wrist and hauls him into the cell, sending him skidding across the floor! A security guard rushes in at Starks with his nightstick, but the veteran ducks under the blow and hauls the guard over his shoulder, hurling the hapless fellow bodilly into his comrades! The security guards all sprawl in a pile outside the cell. Starks slams the door shut, turns the keys in the lock, then throws them overhead into the toilet, where they land with a loud Kerplunk!]  TD: Oh my goodness! Instant carnage has erupted already in this match,     and Tony Starks has clearly lost his mind completely! Now that     nobody can get in or out of the cell, there's no telling what he     might do!  SR: And look closely, Timbo, that security guard dropped his nightstick     in the cell! We're gonna see some red flow tonight, baby dolls!  TD: Listen to the prisoners out here in the courtyard, they're in an     absolute frenzy! I hope they don't get too excited and start a     revolt or something!  SR: Heh, heh! I guess they enjoy it when the rigid, boring, oppressed     order their lives are governed by breaks down into anarchy, much     like any tax account you would care to mention. Ain't this the     greatest?  TD: I don't know about that, Steve. I'm starting to feel distinctly     uneasy.  [The prison guards on the outside scrabble to their feet and bang on the bars, yelling and making a fuss, but there's no way they can get at Starks now. The warden, still trapped in the cell, covers his head and crawls underneath the bottom bunk, praying for the best. Starks bends over to retrieve the dropped nightstick, but Ike Sampson, blood streaming from the back of his head and over his shoulder blades, shakes off the cobwebs and charges Starks from behind, knocking him flat with a huge double axehandle! Sampson drops an elbow across the back of Starks neck, then grabs him around the head, and this time it is Ike who deals out some noggin bashing on the concrete! Starks grits his teeth and whethers the assualt, but soon his head splits like an overripe water melon, and blood spills out onto the concrete floor.]  TD: This is a sickening spectacle, I can hardly bear to watch! SR: What are you talking about man? What could be finer than sipping     on a brewski and watching two violent, hate-fuelled men on a     determined quest to crack each other's skulls in? Where's your sense     of taste and culture, Timbo?  [Sampson drags Starks to his feet and slings him across the cell into the wash basin, then picks up the nightstick. Sampson gives a yell and charges at his foe, unleashing a mighty swing with the weapon, but Starks ducks underneath the blow and rugby tackles Ike back down to the floor. The two men grapple for a superior position and control of the nightstick, as the prisoners yell encouragement from outside. Starks thrusts his head forward and butts Sampson hard in the nose, giving him a chance to wrest the stick away and break free. Both men leap to their feet, and Starks takes control by driving the pointy end of the nightstick into Sampson's midsection. Sampson grabs his gut and gasps in pain. Starks whips the stick back and then cracks it hard across the jaw of his foe. Sampson's head snaps back and a spurt a blood and saliva flies out of his mouth. Demonstrating the cold, clinical viciousness of an assassin, Starks lashes out with the stick once again, and this time there is a sickening crunch as Sampson's nose breaks under the impact. Sampson slumps down across the bunk, and Starks begins to whale away on his body with the nightstick, leaving big red welts across the rookie's chest.]  TD: Tony Starks is bludgeoning young Ike Sampson into a bloody pulp!     We've got to get some sort of order restored around here, this kind     of mayhem could put Sampson out of action permanently!  SR: Not a chance! Stopping the match now would be against the rules! TD: What the heck are you talking about? SR: Didn't you listen to the stipulations? Anything goes until a     pinfall or submission result is reached. That means they can whack     each other with nightsticks, shear limbs off with chainsaws...     anything they damn well please until there is a clear winner!  TD: Good grief! [Earl Alfonso stirs on the other side of the cell, and Starks finally decides to toss the nightstick aside. He drags Sampson up off the bed, who appears to be in a state of unconciousness, hoists him up into the air, and executes a pulverising brainbuster on the concrete! Sampson shudders and goes still. Tony Starks, his face betraying no trace of compassion or mercy whatsoever, goes for the cover.]  SR: This is it! It's all over for Ike Sampson. Count to three, and then     sling his fat rookie ass out of the IIWF and into a wheelchair.  TD: Alfonso can barely stand properly himself, he's registering this pin     awfully slow.  [Alfonso shakes his head slowly, vainly trying to clear the cobwebs, and then begins to slap his hand to the floor, each count seeming to come in slow motion: 1 -- 2 --- thr - Sampson kicks out! A huge pop erupts from the prisoners out in the courtyard!]  TD: Unbelievable! Ike Sampson kicked out right on the three count! After     taking more punishment than Rodney King, Sampson is still in the     bout! There's hope for this young lion yet!  SR: Great! Now we get to see some further brain mashing, fun for the     whole family!  [Starks wipes away some of the blood flowing into his eyes and staggers up to his feet. Sampson reaches out... and his hand closes on the fallen nightstick. Starks immediately makes a lunge to grab the stick away, but Sampson drives the weapon up between his foe's legs! Starks groans and staggers away, clutching himself in agony. Sampson remains lying breathless on the floor for a moment, and then groggily pulls himself to his feet. His face is all battered and bloody, but a hardened gleam sparks in Ike Sampson's eyes. He lumbers over to Tony Starks, and hauling the stick back, proceeds to bludgeon his foe across the head with it! Sampson begins to yell like a madman, striking Starks with the stick repeatedly, beating him down to the concrete and opening up the savage wound on his forehead even further! With a final yell of triumph, Sampson tosses the nightstick aside, and then hauls Starks up, pressing him to chest level. Sampson backs up a little, and then charges towards the far wall, smashing Stark's back into the concrete! Still retaining his hold, Sampson turns around and charges the opposite wall, once again smashing Starks into the concrete with pulverising impact! Starks shudders and goes still. Sampson carries the limp carcass over to the toilet, and shoves Stark's head into its cavernous depths!]  SR: [laughing] Swirly attack! Swirly attack! Starks must be flashing     back to his first day of high school right now. It's the royal flush     treatment all over again! Ha!  [Sampson slams the heavy toilet lid across the back of Stark's neck, and then gleefully flushes the chain. There is a whooshing sound as water spins around the bowl, and the prisoners out in the courtyard are cheering and laughing uproariously! Still forcing Stark's head down the bowl, Sampson presses the flush again and again, and dimly from the depths can be made out the sound of Starks gurgling away.]  TD: This is just disgusting! Has Ike Sampson lost his mind too? Tony     Starks could very well drown with his head stuck down there! On the     other hand, maybe he deserves everything he's getting!  SR: Well, I gotta hand it to the kid; Ike Sampson is certainly coming     into his own. I never gave him much of a chance to make it without     Mad Dog Watkins to watch his back, but Ike can sure mix it up when     he wants to.  [Finally, mercifully to Tony Starks, Ike Sampson pulls his head out of the bowl, which is now sopping wet, and the submission fighter chokes in big lungfuls of air. Sampson gives him no time to recover, however, and bulldogs Starks head right across the porcelain sink, almost knocking it from the wall! Stark's head snaps back, and he topples down to the concrete. Sampson turns his attentions towards the sink, wraps his arms around the porcelain basin, and grunting under the effort, wrenches it from the wall! Water immediately spurts from the broken pipes, mixing with the blood all over the concrete floor to make it dangerously slippery. As Starks gets up onto his knees, Sampson hauls the basin up over his head, and brings it crashing down on the noggin of his foe. Starks slumps back down clutching his skull, and tries to crawl away from Sampson on his hands and knees. Big Ike lifts the basin up again, this time bringing it crashing down across Tony Stark's back, where it breaks asunder! Starks sprawls out across the concrete floor, apparently unconscious.]  TD: This is absolute chaos! Absolute mayhem, ladies and gentlemen!     There's blood all over these two combatants, all over the floor.     Water is spraying everywhere, and this cell is rapidly getting     demolished!  SR: Ain't it the greatest? TD: Have you lost your mind? We've yet to see one pure wrestling move     executed in this bout!  SR: What are you talking about, Timbo? This is a dazzling display of     technical acumen. Creative expression reaching a new level! That     shot with the basin: it demonstrated the rising tide of     dissatisfaction with bourgeois interior decorating in the bathroom -- pure artistry at work! Starks cracking Sampson across the head with the nightstick: symbolism of the fragmented, disenfranchised nature of black youth today! Oh yeah Daddy-O! Wu - Tang! Wu - Tang! Come on, join in with me, Dross baby.  TD: Good grief. [Sampson turns and begins to clamber up onto the top bunk bed, Starks still stretched out motionless below him. Sampson crouches on the top bunk below the ceiling, but stretches out his arms and...]  TD: Oh my goodness! Ike Sampson has dived off the top bunk in a flying     splash!  SR: He's gonna squash Starks flat... No! Starks rolled out the way! TD: Unbelievable! [Sampson crashes down hard into the concrete, missing Tony Starks by mere inches. The prisoners out in the courtyard gasp with disappointment, and Sampson is showing no signs of life whatsoever. Starks is not in much better condition himself, lying next to his foe, clutching his head and breathing heavilly, blood and water spattered all over his body.]  TD: What an unbelievable match we are witnessing here, folks! Both men     appear to have beaten each other to an inch away from death. Which     man can rise first? Which man has that last ounce of endurance to     get up off the concrete and win the match?  [Tony Starks, grimacing with pain under the effort, picks himself up off the ground. Ike Sampson does likewise, and Starks lunges in at him with a hard right cross. Sampson takes the blow, and delivers a left hook in return. Starks staggers a little, but lashes out with a boot to the midsection, doubling Sampson over. Starks drives a hard knee smash into the forehead of his foe, and Sampson staggers, slips on the wet floor, and crashes down onto his back. Starks goes over and grabs the steel railing of the bunk bed, gives a mighty heave, and the whole thing sways, topples... comes crashing down onto the fallen body of Ike Sampson! One of the mattresses comes loose, and underneath it can be seen the glint of metal on a pair of handcuffs. The prison warden, who had been hiding under the bunk bed all this time, gives a yelp and darts cowering into the corner.]  TD: What the... that's two sets of handcuffs hidden under the mattress!     How the heck did they get in there?  SR: It looks like one of the prisoners must have stashed them away for     just this very occasion.  [Tony Starks drags Ike Sampson out from beneath the bed, hauls him over his shoulder, and carries him over to the toilet. Perching himself precariously on the toilet seat, Starks brings Sampson down into an inverse position... then piledrives him brutally right into the basin! Huge heel pop from out in the courtyard! The toilet bursts asunder under the impact, and water sprays across the cell from a second set of busted pipes! Ike Sampson drops unconscious to the concrete floor.]  SR: Oh man! What a shot! TD: This is incredible! How much punishment can these two men dish out     to each other and still remain alive?  [Tony Starks, barely able to remain standing any longer, grabs the two sets of handcuffs, and then drags Ike Sampson over to the steel bars. He latches one hand of Sampson's high up on the bars, and then cuffs the second, fixing Sampson in place in a kind of crucifixtion position facing outside the cell! Starks retrieves the nightstick once again, hauls back, and whales Sampson across the back with it! Sampson, trapped in place, can do nothing to defend himself. Starks hauls back again, and blasts Sampson a second time with the stick! An ugly red welt is visible on the rookie's back.]  TD: This is just out and out brutality, plain and simple! Starks could     go for the victory right now, but he's just intent on beating Ike     Sampson into a pulp! This is a disgrace!  SR: Aw, shaddup and enjoy the action, Dross. [Starks winds the stick back for a third time, unleashing a mighty blow across the back of Ike Sampson, who shudders and lets out a cry of pain. Out in the courtyard, the prisoners are heel popping raucously and throwing trash at nobody in particular. Starks climbs up onto the bars on Sampson's back, and using the nightstick for extra punishment, locks on his kathe jime choke submission hold.]  SR: He's got the kathe jime on Ike Sampson, and with the nighstick     locked against his throat too! This match is history, baby dolls!  [Starks wrenches away with the nightstick/chokehold, causing Sampson to cough, splutter and go limp. Earl Alfonso, realising the severity of the situation, calls for the submission. Ding! Ding! Ding! Starks, however, is refusing to release the hold.]  RA: Ladies and gentlemen, here is your winner, as a result of a     submission: Tony Starks!  [Big heel pop out in the courtyard, and a fight erupts as the disgruntled prisoners vent their dissapointment. Luckily, however, it is soon subdued by a squad of prison security.]  SR: What a great victory for Tony Starks! This man is utterly, utterly     cold, ruthless and brutal! That kind of attitude could take him     right back to the top of the IIWF!  TD: You can't take anything away from Ike Sampson though, Steve Roberts.     He put up a determined fight, but he was just outclassed by Tony     Starks in the street-fighting stakes on this night... Oh my goodness     look at this! Tony Starks still has that Kathe Jime hold fastened     on! He's refusing to let go, and Ike Sampson's life may be in     danger!  [Tony Starks does indeed still have his submission hold locked on, and Ike Sampson is starting to go blue in the face. A whole squadron of security guards are clamouring outside the cell, but they can't get in to the aid of Ike Sampson. A second prison warden rushes up to the scene and scrabbles to unlock the cell door. Finally, the door swings open, and the security team rushes in. The try to pry Tony Starks loose from Ike Sampson, but still he refuses to give up the hold!]  TD: What on earth is Tony Starks trying to prove? Does he want to choke     Ike Sampson to death? He must release this hold immediately!  SR: He's just a cold-blooded natural born killer, Tim Dross. Ike Sampson     should have known better than to climb into a cell with him.  [Starks digs the nightstick hard into the throat of Ike Sampson, and the security guards are trying to wrench him away, but still he won't let go. Finally, growing bored with the whole situation, Starks releases the hold and drops down to the floor. The security guards attempt to restrain him, but he just shoves them aside and walks away, a deadly gleam in his eye. Hurriedly, the warden frees Ike Sampson from the handcuffs, and the security guards carry his unconscious body away. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: A valiant fight from Ike Sampson, Steve Roberts -- but I believe both men may need medical attention after that incredible match. I believe next up we have the big... hang on. [All of a sudden the lights go dim and "The Frayed Ends of Sanity" by Metallica starts to play.  The cons who make up the crowd murmer, wondering who it could be.  Then they see the wheelchair.  Steve Manning wheels down the aisle, absolutely infuriating the prisoners in attendance with his "Leavenworth Federal Penitentiary -- Do Not Feed The Animals!" t-shirt and a large "soap on a rope" around his neck.  The dangerous audience hurl threats and curses at Manning, who simply laughs at them as he wheels down the aisle.  Surprisingly enough, in the "serial killer section", Steve Manning stops and greets a couple of men, who presumably are old friends of his. Manning tears himself away from his acquaintances and, with the help of a half dozen officials, gets himself and his wheelchair into the ring.  He grabs a microphone as "The Frayed Ends of Sanity" fades down.  The Penn fills with booes, except from the few cons Manning seems to know.] SM: Shut up, ya buncha felons!  I know you don't get to voice your opinions much while your're locked up here in the brig, but try to control yourselves, for once. [They boo louder.] SM: Oh... I know what it is.  It's my wheelchair, isn't it?!  I know the sight of ANY chair makes you all a little nervous, but relax.  This one isn't plugged in. [Somehow, they manage to boo even louder.  Steve Manning has to begin to yell to be heard.] TD: [over headset]  Hoooo boy.... SM: Y'know, I've been wandering around this run-down House of Homosexuality... [HEEL POP!]... and I've gotta say, I don't see what you people are always bitchin' about.  I mean, there's pleny of food.  Plenty of nice warm cells.  Plenty of showers.  Plenty of ass.  What more could you guys want?!  A few innocent people to slay, maybe.  But, ya can't have it all, boys! [By this point, the actual building seems to be shaking from the response to this little speech.] SR: [over headset]  Man, this nut is making the jailhouse rock! SM: But enough about you, I can come back anytime and degrade you petty thugs.  You ain't goin' anywhere!  [laughs]  What I want to talk about is _me_.  More specifically, myself and the Intercontinental Champion of the IIWF... "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley.  [Surprisingly, a good mixed reaction from the crowd.]  SM: Y'see, last weekend, the incompetent fools in the IIWF head office decided to cut Saturday Night a tad short, and thus, there was no Quigley match.  Was this a form of rebellion against Chris' constant barrage of insults towards the Federation?  Was this a way of them saying, "You can't be a fighting champion like you wanna be, if we don't _let_ you!"?  Or was this just a good ol' fashioned mistake?  [Manning shrugs.] SM: I don't care!  The past is past!  What you do in the past, you pay for in the future.  Hey, you all can relate to that, can't ya?  [Heel pop!]  And believe me, the IIWF will pay.  But more specifically, Serge Annis.  The "Epitome of Evil", at least he _was_ until I showed up, ran scared last week.  So this week, Chris, being the champion of champions that he is, challenged him again!  Now, I dunno if Annis accepted this little challenge or not, but the fact is, instead of granting their champions wish, they've got him fighting in a damn jail shower room!  He and Ronnie Paris taking on Billy Shakespeare and Duncan "Eet's nought a skert eet's ah keelt!" Macbeth! Now, I know Ronnie Paris.  He's a real stand-up guy... as opposed to all of you "bend-over guys". [Big heel pop!] Like myself and Chris, he trained hard, said his prayers, ate his vitamins, and got to this big ol' dance using no trashy gimmicks, no stupid masks or make-up, just pure wrestling expertise!  Do you really think Quigley or Paris want to be wrestling in a [BLEEP]in' shower room?  Especially against Billy Shakespeare, the Federation's biggest fruit loop, and a gigantic Scottish cretin in drag?  What's in it for Quigley?!  Huh?  He gets a chance to beat the pants off Macbeth... no wait... he doesn't _wear_ pants.  Socks, maybe? But you won't hear our champion complaining!  You won't hear a single whine. Despite what half of you soap-droppers may think, he is _not_ a whiner! I've never heard the guy bitch about anything before in my life!  [Slightly disbelieving pop.] SM: Hey!  Would I lie?!  Wait.  Don't answer that! [A fan yells, "Get off!"] SM: Get off?  Here?  I haven't been in jail _that_ long, pal.  Call me in ten to twenty years. TD: [over headset]  I believe he's actually gone far beyond even the "Soundbite" standards of good taste. SR: [over headset]  He'd just better hope very few of these guys are up for parole any time soon. [Fans begin to boo loudly once more as Manning continues.] SM: And there's something else I wanna talk about.  I'm sick and tired of these big, musclebound IIWF brutes threatening and making fun of me.  I'm an innocent man!  I might be the only one in here who can say that!  [Booing gets LOUDER.]  I'm in a freakin' wheelchair, and I show such courage and determination to get out of bed in the morning, come to the arena, and cheer for my hero, the great, the legendary, the _amazing_ "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley, and what do I get for it?  Slander.  Insults.  Some nut knocking me over.  As far as I'm concerned, each and every IIWF "superstar", besides Chris Quigley, belongs in this jailhouse.  Hey guys!  Doesn't that sound great?  "Hey Mr. Verhoeven, I dropped my soap.  Pick it up, please?"  "Ja! AACH!" [Despite the handcuffs, the inmates begin to throw cups and other objects into the ring, as they continue to boo.] SR: [over headset]  Yeah, Otto is gonna _love_ that one.  This kid just really doesn't want to live, does he? TD: [over headset]  I'm not sure what he has running through that mind of his. SM: [laughing]  Okay.  Okay!  I can take a hint.  You guys want some privacy?  Fine!  I'll be out in the back filling in that escape tunnel you boys in Cell #127 were digging.  Oh and by the way, those are some real killer outfits.  Orange is definitely in this year! ["The Frayed Ends of Sanity" starts up again as Manning, with help from officials, gets his chair back out of the ring, and wheels back up the aisle-ramp, as the felons on each side battle their restraints to get at him.  Even his "friends" from before scream threats as Manning sits at the top of the ramp, gives them all a "one-finger salute" and wheels behind the curtain as the music dies down.] TD: Well... that was.... dangerous. SR: No joke, Dross.  And the ironic thing is, nine chances out of ten, Steve Manning is going to end up in here one of these days.  He'd better pray for solitary confinement. TD: Strange you should mention that, Steve Roberts, but up next we will see Requiem and Otto "the Butcher" Verhoeven battle it out in the special Solitary Confinement match! I don't think anyone will disagree that this next match is going to be brutal. Two ex-World Heavyweight Champions thrown in a seven by twelve pitch-black room, the winner being the one who can escape the cell and lock the other inside. SR: Am I looking forward to this one!  Pretty-boy Rectum is going to get his comeuppance tonight, Dross!  None of the Bangles are going to be able to interfere, it's just man against boy, nowhere to run and hide this time, Rectum. TD: I think I'll have to agree with you, Steve.  Requiem is a technical wrestler -- a big one, but a technical wrestler all the same.  I have to favour the brawling skills of Verhoeven in a match like this.  There's no room in the cell for Requiem to perform many of his moves -- the ceiling is only seven feet high and both of these guys are only a few inches shy of that!  This isn't going to be pretty, that's for sure. SR: Listen up, Rectum!  You're gonna be taken apart, not with surgical precision, not under anesthetic, just cold on the block, like only a "Butcher" can do it!  So long, boy, I won't say it's been good, 'cause it hasn't! [The inmates all cheer out loud!  Clearly they don't like Requiem either!] TD: This match is a little out of the ordinary, so I've taken the liberty of asking the referee assigned to this matc... er, encounter, Joey Patrick, to give us his impression of the cell tonight's combatants will be locked into.  Joey, are you with us? [The videotron bursts into life, showing Joey Patrick, a long standing IIWF referee, who stands by a plain, thick metal door leading into a small, dark cell.] JP: Yes, Mr. Dross. SR: "Mr." Dross? TD: Thanks for joining us tonight, Joey.  Tell me, what are your impressions on the cell Otto and Requiem will do battle in tonight? JP: Well, Mr Dross, it's pretty dark in there, and the smell is awful! It's no bigger than a closet or a small bathroom, it's damp and the walls are stained, I would rather not say what with. [Joey leans into the room, but withdraws again quickly, wrinkling his nose.  The inmates cheer, and Joey smiles sheepishly.] TD: Thank you, Joey.  Okay, I believe our combatants are ready, so let's get back to Sparkplug for the introductions. SR: "Mr." Dross? ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| SOLITARY CONFINEMENT MATCH: |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| Requiem vs. Otto "the Butcher" Verhoeven ....................................................................... WRITER: MB [Moreso than anyone else, Lee looks completely out of his depth.  He looks around the bland, whitewashed walls, seemingly missing an audience.  With little passion in his voice, he begins:] SL: Ladie.. er, Gentlem.. SR: [over the headset] Hey Lee! SL: [with a finger to his earpiece] Yessir? TD: [over the headset] "Sir"? SR: [over the headset] There's no ladies in this place.  If there was, we'd have a riot on our hands, and there's nothing remotely close to being gentle in his place, so just get on with the announcements, okay? SL: Yessir.  Introducing first, hailing from Essen, Germany and weighing 340lbs... The "Teutonic Terror", Otto "The Butcher" Verhoven! [Outside in the courtyard, the inmates cheer as one, seeing a kindred soul in this big German.  Otto walks into Camera-shot, looking extremely focused -- and angry, a bandage covering part of his head from his match last week.  Otto looks into the cell, looks at Joey and Lee, then without hesitation, steps into the room and is swallowed by the darkness.  Pop!] SL: ...and his opponent!  Hailing from Parts Unknown and weighing in at 306 pounds, "The Angel of Destruction", Requiem! [Requiem, looking dangerously calm, his pure white eyes betraying absolutely no emotion, walks into camera shot as Sparkplug Lee walks out.  Requiem looks into the cell, steels himself and... is doubled over by a sharp kick to the ribs!  Pop!  Otto steps out from the side of the cell where he was hiding, grabs Requiem by the arm and whips him into the cell, straight at the far wall and into the darkness!  Pop!  Joey Patrick closes the door and turns the handle one full revolution, then steps back.] TD: To be able to follow the action, we've installed a couple of infra-red cameras in the cell.  Can we cut to them, please? [The scene takes on a red hue, and clears in a moment, showing Requiem hurtling to the far cell wall.  He puts the brakes on by landing a foot awkwardly on the wall and spinning around, to see the door close and the massive form of Otto charge at him, pick him clean up off the floor and drive him into the wall!  Pop!] SR: The beginning of the end!  Hope you've said your prayers, Rectum, 'cause you're about to meet your maker! [Requiem slumps to the cold, concrete floor, Otto standing above him, kicks away at his chest as the door slams shut behind him, and the locking mechanism clangs into place.] TD: There have been strong rumours this week that Requiem is actually a claustrophobic, Steve. SR: Oh, Joy!  There is a God, and he's a Soundbiter!  [Looking to the heavens]  Thanks, big guy! [Otto continues to kick away at Requiem, each successive kick slipping further away from it's target until he's barely catching an arm. Requiem manages to catch his foot and with a heave, he pushes Otto backwards, slips into a corner and stands slowly.  The two large men stand silent, every breath echoes around the cell, Requiem’s head turning from side to side, trying to detect the direction of the sound, then he heaves a huge right hook out, missing Verhoeven by scant inches, but the effort is enough for Otto to move in, scrabble for a grip, then with a hand clamped firmly on the back of his neck, he starts to pound Requiem with heavy right-hands.  Blows rain down on Requiem’s head, ribs, chest and stomach.  One tremendous right follows another and another, head shots, uppercuts, and jabs!  As Requiem blindly claws at his face and arm to break his grip, a rabid finger catches Otto hard in the eye, forcing him to wheel around clutching his face!] TD: We knew it wasn’t going to be pretty in there, very little finesse, just an all-out scrap, and that is exactly Verhoeven’s game, but Requiem has made little impact in this so far. SR: Like I said, “Mr.” Dross, this is gonna be a one-way street. Boy Rectum is about to discover the meaning of the word “Vengeance”. TD: Well, I don’t think he’s listening to you, Steve.  It looks like he’s turning this match around. [Requiem winces slightly as he straightens up, holding on to his ribs, then feeling forward and finding Otto’s back, he fires a couple of nasty kidney punches, then hooking the head, charges at the door crashing Otto into the unrelenting steel with a sickening thud!  Heel Pop!] TD: Ouch!  That'll leave a mark! SR: On the door maybe. [Otto slumps to his knees, a glazed look in his eyes as Requiem spins around, grabs the Essen native by the hair and drives a vicious knee into his face, then begins to punch the top of his head repeatedly! Two, three, four punches later and the top of the German’s head begins to glisten.  Otto looks to be suffering from concussion, as he lolls from side to side, only held in position by Requiem hanging on to his hair!] SR: Are you sure Requiem is claustrophobic? TD: He does seem a little calm for a claustrophobic locked in a sensory deprivation cell... [Feeling the bandage wrapped around Otto’s head, Requiem rips it off and begins to choke him with it!  Heel Pop!  Otto, doubled up with Requiem’s weight laying across the back of his head and a bandage cutting off his air supply, realises he must do something quickly.  Struggling weakly at the bandage with one hand, his other hand slips down to his boot and with a flash of movement, he raises his fist hard into Requiem’s groin! Pop!  A look of sheer agony crosses Requiem’s usually icy exterior! Steadying himself and confirming Requiem’s position in the night black of the cell, Otto’s right hand shoots out again, clipping the Herald of Damnation just under the chin, lifting him off his feet and onto his back, cracking his head heavily on the concrete floor!  Pop!] TD: He’s got a set of knuckle-dusters in there with him! SR: Your point being... what, exactly? [Otto gets slowly up on a shaky pair of legs, his hand straying to the slick patch on the top of his head, of which rivulets are beginning to run down the front of his face.  His fingers come away wet and glistening under the IR lights.  His tongue flicks out to his wet hand to confirm his thoughts with one of the few senses left in the dark, dank cell.  The taste of blood seems to send Otto into a frenzy, as he begins to stomp away at Requiem’s knees and legs with a passion driven by vengeance.  The 6’10” Requiem holds onto his groin with a grimace of pain and seems unable to let them go while Otto mercilessly stomps away at his knees.  Eventually, the pain in his legs overwhelms the pains from... other parts of his anatomy, and he starts to roll away from the madman.  Otto follows in and pulls the big man up and into position for the next move.  Requiem sees the danger he is in and struggles wildly to escape, but he combination of the battering his knees took earlier and Otto showing a strength born from pure hatred, pulls the big man up bodily, forcing him into position and...  HUGE POP!] TD: My God No!  That’s horrible! SR: “From this day forth and until the end of time, there will be silence from the Boy Rectum!” [With Requiem’s head tucked tightly between his legs and his feet brushing the ceiling, Otto drops the Angel of Destruction on the top of his head with a stunning piledriver -- so vicious that 1,500 of America’s most hardened criminals and murderers all wince with the impact! Requiem’s head bounces off the concrete floor with the velocity of the impact and the 650+ pounds of muscle behind it!] SR: You can almost see him now, riding his night-black wheelchair to ringside, plucking away one handed at his black aluminum banjo, muttering, “I youshed to be shumfing wonsh”. [Otto, still a little shaky himself, stands triumphant over his defeated and hated foe as Requiem lays unmoving on the floor, a pool of his own blood slowly spreading about his head.] TD: This match is won.  All he has to do is open the door. [Otto’s breath is ragged, he gulps huge mouthfuls of air into his 6’8” frame, then bends down and pulls the semi-conscious ex-champ up by his blood soaked hair.  With a struggle, he pulls the almost dead-weight up and lifts him up into a military press, smashing his back into the ceiling once, twice, three-times before stepping back and dropping him horribly to the floor!  Pop!] TD: Ouch!  I don’t think I like the way this match is progressing.  Otto has this match won, Requiem couldn’t stop him from opening the door if he tried. [Otto feels his way back on the floor for the fallen Requiem, eventually finding him and pulling him up yet again.  Requiem manages to find the strength to struggle and fight against the Teutonic Terror as he tries to pull him to his feet.  Wet glistening hands make for slipping grips and the two of them struggle for purchase on one another, Otto getting the better of the still-weak Requiem and hooking his head for a DDT! Requiem struggles and decides to return the favour from earlier, slipping an arm between his opponent’s legs and raising it violently! Heel Pop!  Otto releases his opponent and slipping on a wet patch of blood, crashes nastily to the floor, clipping his head on the near wall and cracking his elbow badly.  Requiem falls back to the floor voluntarily and begins to search his clothes, looking for something, something he hid... then he finds it, and a grin crosses his lips.] TD: How is he still moving?  Where is he finding the energy? SR: More importantly, what has he got there? [Requiem, slides back up to his feet, using the support of the wall and waits quietly.  Waits patiently, listening for Otto to get back to his feet, tempting him forward with evil words, then, with lightning quickness, he covers his face with an arm and flings the recently found object to the floor!] TD: What the...  What’s he done? SR: The damn videotron’s cut out!  What the hell did he throw? [The video wall splutters and a vague image is seen in the center of the screen, slowly coming into focus as the inmates issue the biggest heel pop heard in a long while!] TD: I can’t hear...  Can you repeat...  Oh My!  He threw a flash bulb! He threw a flash bulb! [The screen clears to reveal a 340lb German rolling around the floor holding his eyes and shouting in pain and a 6’10” Angel of Destruction stood triumphantly above him!  Requiem, realising the opportunity, feels his way around the walls, looking for the door and the way out of this nightmare of a match.  After searching two walls and tripping on a large German that happened to be on the floor, he slaps the floor in frustration, his icy calm escaping him.  He struggles back up and begins his search again, finding the door after almost a minute of anguished searching, his usual dangerous calm being slowly stripped away with the frustration of the search.  With a loud shout he begins to furiously beat at the door, looking for the hatch that will allow him exit.  His hands brush against it twice and twice he loses it again, before his anger becomes too great and he begins to kick at the door, screaming at it like a wild banshee!] SR: Woohoo!  He’s lost it in there!  Call for the men in white coats! He’s gonna swap that leather jacket of his for a white one where the arms tie behind the back! TD: It was only a matter of time before that claustrophobia kicked in! [Requiem kicks hard at the door, the impact releasing the hatch, flooding the cell with a beam of light and sending him backwards back into the centre of the cell, where.... he collides with a very angry German!] TD: Verhoeven is back on his feet!  He’s back and looking for his 4oz of fat, and it’s just walked into his arms! [Otto, although the smaller of the two, seems inches taller suddenly as Requiem spins about and fires out a stunningly quick right hand that catches Otto flush on the jaw.  Verhoeven’s head snaps to the side, then another right snaps him again, but his feet seem rooted to the spot and he shakes the punches off almost nonchalantly!  Pop!  A third right snakes it’s way out, but is blocked by an upraised arm and a counter-punch hits him square in the face!  Pop!  The two men begin to exchange tremendous blows, lightning fast combinations from both men striking home with wild abandon, but there can only be one winner of this wanton brawling...  Otto, catches Requiem with some hard blows to the ribs and a powerful shot to the solar-plexus doubles the white-haired man up....  The 1,500 inmates fall silent, then erupt into a chorus of cheers, chants of “Otto, Otto” fill the courtyard!] TD: No!  Lord, no!  That was sick! SR: Oh yes!  Did you see that?  He lined the man up, looked down, pulled him into position and.....  Oh, man, that was a Butcher classic, baby dolls! [Otto, looks at the doubled-up Requiem, looks down as the beam of light streaming through the open hatch glints off something on the floor. With pure deliberation he pulls Requiem towards him, lining him up, hooks the head and DDTs him down.. onto the remains of the flash bulb! Otto calmly gets back to his feet, spits on the fallen man, reaches through the hatch and opens the door, squinting in the bright light! HUGE POP!] TD: That was evil, he could have killed the man!  We better get some medics down there quickly! [Otto squints back into the cell at the unmoving Requiem and is about to close the door when a figure brushes past him, flashes a bright light into his eyes and charges into the cell!] TD: That’s the Blind Guardian!  What’s he doing here? SR: His kind of match, Dross!  Probably felt left out on the first "blind" match in the IIWF!  Can’t blame him being a mite upset now, can you? [The large figure of the Blind Guardian runs into the cell and begins to beat on the helpless Requiem, kicking and punching him with complete abandon while Joey Patrick tries to pull him back!  The inmates let out a mixed cheer, many of them unsure whether to boo a man beating a helpless man or cheer him because of who he was kicking!  The Blind Guardian rains blow after blow on him before deciding he had done enough damage and walking out of the cell, flashing a light into Otto’s eyes once again as he passes!  That swings the decision for the inmates who begin to boo wildly!  Joey Patrick rushes back out to see the Teutonic Terror recover from the second flash, his eyes becoming more accustomed to the light again.  He looks at the beaten form of Requiem in the cell and the retreating figure of his attacker.  With a shrug of his shoulders, he grabs the handle of the door and closes it!  Joey Patrick waves his hands in the air, signifying the match over!] SL: Your winner in this encounter... The “Teutonic Terror” Otto Verhoeven! SR: Oh man, I enjoyed that!  Pass those biscuits, Dross, I need to calm down. TD: I’m really concerned for the health of Requiem right now. SR: Yeah, his mental health has always concerned me too.  Just clean up his remains and let’s get on with the card! TD: Well, I am sure Requiem will receive the medical attention he requires -- and I'm equally sure that he'll have words for the Blind Guardian. [Cut back to the announcing position -- which has now been elevated into the air on a piece of hydraulic apparatus. Dross looks down at the gound some twenty feet below with some trepidation.] TD: Our broadcast table has been raised on this elevated platform so we can see all the action in the upcoming Chain Gang Warfare match! SR: I may not be the biggest tag team fan in the IIWF but I'm looking forward to this one! Eight guys, attached by chains... no disqualification... this is going to be a brutal fight-fest if I ever saw one! Now I admit that none of these guys is J.W. Hardin, but maybe if we're lucky we'll see LFD rip open new oral apertures for the Down Boys! TD: I'm still not sure what you have aginst the Down Boys, Steve Roberts. SR: You wouldn't -- because you're three of a kind. Do I have to spell it out for you, Dross? L... O... S... E... R... S. Plain and simple. TD: I can't agree with that assessment. It is true that they seem to be caught in an eighties timewarp, but... SR: Exactly Dross! Live in the now! This is the era of Hardin and the Soundbite! Forget the era of big bald guys in yellow and rock stars with big hair! Live in the now! TD: I'm not sure I caught all of that -- but let's finish describing the rules of this match. SR: Eight guys attached with chains at the ankles. They will fight in a circle of hardened cons here in the courtyard. If someone is pinned or thrown into the convicts, the whole team is eliminated. Did I miss anything, Dross? TD: That about covers it. This should be a flat-out knock-down affair. All four teams have gone the extra mile for this one. They've been working out and planning thier strategies. This should be a great match! ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| CHAIN GANG WARFARE MATCH: |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| The Machines vs. Licensed for Devastation vs. The Down Boys vs. Natural Predators ....................................................................... WRITER: RP [Sparkplug Lee is escorted into the circle of desperate men by two uniformed prison guards. He clearly looks upset at the hooting and hollering from most of the crowd. It particular, some of the comments seem to be quite... complimentary... but not in the way that poor little Sparkplug feels comfortable with.] SL: Uh... this next match is... a Chain Gang Warfare match. [The crowd pops wildly and Sparkplug starts to feel a little better.] SL: The first team... hailing from Kinzua, Pennsylvania and Norfolk, Virginia respectively... and weighing in at a combined 632 pounds... here are Bear... Wolf... the Natural Predators! [It seems that this Native American team is quite popular in the joint as they get a big pop from the convicts. These cons know a little something about honour. The Predators walk into the circle quite confidently, nodding in acknowledgement to the fans cheers.] TD: There is a new addition to the clothing of the Natural Predators, Steve Roberts. SR: Do you hear that? It's kind of an echo of sucking. TD: Both athletes are wearing patches with the sign of the Phoenix, in honour of the injured wrestler. SR: That's the same reason I'm wearing my genuine J.W. Hardin boxer shorts! SL: Now introducing team number two! Hailing from Miami, Florida and Malibu, California respectively, and weighing in at a combined 457 pounds... "Superstud" Adam Peterson... "Dazzling" Dan Oliver... the Down Boys! ["Down Boys" by Warrant plays as the two grapplers head out to the combat area. Thier shaggy hair is bound up in winter caps and Adam has a slight beard. A number of cons who have been inside so long that they think that the Down Boys are very "hip" and "trendy" lead the crowd in a good pop.] SR: Oooh. This is their tough guy look. No luck... they're both still the gay guy. TD: The guards are shackling them by the ankles... Peterson is attached to Bear, and Wolf and Oliver are being joined by the chain. SR: Bear makes Peterson look like a mini! TD: A know that the Down Boys have been working very hard on a gameplan that will help them overcome the lack of mobility in this match. SR: I think the only gameplan that they are going to be able to stick to is "lay down and bleed". SL: Now introducing team number three. Hailing from Denver, Colorado and Cleveland, Ohio respectively, and weighing in at a combined 551 pounds... TD: [over the announcements] That weight doesn't sound right. SL: ...Paul Wong... [Lee pauses] SR: What's the matter, Sparky? We all know it's going to be O'Neal. He won't let the gay guy get all the credit. SL: [after making sure that he has the right card]... "The Real Deal" Luke Steele... the Machines! [Pink Floyd's "Welcome To The Machine" plays as Wong and Steele head down, wearing street clothes rather than wrestling attire. The convicts seem unsure how to react to this pairing seeing as Steele has no better rep than O'Neal.] TD: Luke Steele and Simon O'Neal are both from Cleveland so the announcements were a little misleading. SR: It's official, Dross! The Machines are officially crap! I admit that Steele has been coming around but Simon O'Neal was the only thing worth watching with this team! TD: It will be interesting to see whether they are at a disadvantage against these other teams who have fought together much more. SR: It will be interesting to see LFD punk on all six of these losers! None of these six guys deserves a chance at the tag titles... no matter who holds them! [The guards finish attaching Wong to Peterson and Steele to Oliver and then step aside for Lee to make the last of the announcements.] SL: And introducing team number four... hailing from Baltimore, Maryland... weighing in at a combined 530 pounds... Reggie Starr... Jonathan Chaos... Licensed for Devastation! ["Down" by 311 takes over the PA as LFD heads out to quite a heel pop. Starr is wearing a black and white striped outfit and Chaos is wearing his usual attire with the addition of a striped hat. Starr and Chaos look a little annoyed that they aren't getting more support.] TD: It seems that LFD thought that they would be cheered in here. SR: Honestly, I thought so to. I thought convicts would cheer for the guys who are willing to bend the rules a little. TD: Apparently not. In the eyes of these fans, LFD are not very popular. [Lee clears out as the guards finish attaching Starr between Wong and Wolf and Chaos between Bear and Steele. The circle is complete and the match is underway!] TD: Steele has gone straight at Dan Oliver with the chain! He's hooked it around the back of his head and is using it to pull his head forward to give his punches extra force! SR: Look at the two weenies go! Peterson is trying to kick Wong in the shins! Ow! Stop it! I'm telling! TD: Bear is pummeling Reggie Starr! He looks like every bit of anger in him is raining down on Starr! SR: Now that's what I like to see! Chaos caught Wolf flat footed with the chain! Mess 'em up, boyo! TD: The... crowd is enjoying this immensely as these four teams try to beat down the others! SR: Chaos has got that chain wrapped around Wolf's throat! He's choking the life out of him! TD: His partner is coming back as well! Reggie Starr has just nailed Bear with a dropkick! Wolf seems to be down for the count but...oh! What a move! [Wolf, while seeming to be losing consciousness, loops the chain around the legs of Chaos and sweeps his feet, sending him down with a crash.] SR: Steele is whipping Oliver towards Wong and Peterson but "Dozy" Dan has turned it into a dropkick... and flattened Paul Wong. TD: The action is hot and heavy, Steve Roberts! Its hard to keep up! SR: Its a good thing you've got the Soundbite to show you everything that's happening, Dross! TD: Luke Steele has just taken Reggie Starr down with a suplex, and his following through with a leg drop! SR: That mean old grizzly Bear isn't thanking Lukie for helping him out, either! TD: He has slapped a bearhug on and is trying to drain the energy out of Steele! SR: Supersmudge and Dozy are working over the knees of Paul Wong... it looks like Smudge is putting a figure four on him! Wolf has pounced on Dozy Dan, though! TD: Wolf has got Oliver all wrapped up in that chain! He's got the chain wrapped around his fist and is working over Oliver's forehead! SR: We've got blood! Dozy Dan is spurting like free withdrawal day at the Transylvanian First National Bank! TD: Reggie Starr has been left alone and it looks like he's sizing up the competition. He's wrapping the chain around his arm and...oh! A chain loaded elbow on Adam Peterson! And another! Paul Wong is free but he looks pretty unsteady on his feet. SR: Bear is still grinding on that bearhug. I don't know what is keeping Luke Steele in this match. TD: It's called fortitude, Steve Roberts! Jonathon Chaos has just crashed into Wolf and Dan Oliver, sending them both to the ground! He's wrapped the chain around his fist...a massive jumping fistdrop on Wolf! Wolf has been cut open! I don't know how much of this these men can take! SR: Look at that, Dross! Paul Wong has dropped Bear to one knee with a double axe handle to the back of the head with the chain! Steele is free but little Lukie doesn't look so hot! TD: Starr is choking out Peterson with the chain as his partner has joined forces with Wolf to take on Chaos. SR: Steele and Wong have left Bear to look for an easier target. Reggie Starr is going to help his partner aginst those two gnats and these pseudo-Machines are taking over where he left off. TD: Not quite! Adam Peterson is fighting back! He hit Paul Wong! He hit Luke Steele! He hit Paul Wong again! Adam Peterson is a house afire! SR: Wong is going to get his, Dross! Look who's coming to help! [Simon O'Neal has just found his way through the crowd and he looks like he's trying to make his way over to where LFD is fighting Wolf and Oliver.] TD: He can't be up to anything good. SR: It looks like he just spotted Wong getting pounded, Dross. He's heading over there to help now! TD: The guards have got to get him out of there! SR: No DQ, remember? Simon's going to show Wong who the real Machine is! Or maybe he's here to nail Steele for trying to take his place! [O'Neal steps over to where Peterson is taking down Wong and Steele... looks at them for a moment... looks into his hand and over at LFD. Then, as if making some sort of decision...] TD: Why does he keep looking at his hand? Fireball! O'Neal has blasted Adam Peterson with a fireball! The Down Boy is on the ground, clutching at his face! Simon O'Neal walks back into the crowd as Paul Wong and Luke Steele pick up Adam Peterson and throw him right after him! The Down Boys have been eliminated due to outside interference by Simon O'Neal! SR: What was he doing? He had a perfect chance to take out Wong and he blew it! What was he thinking? TD: Well, it was fairly clear that the fireball was initially meant for Starr or Chaos but when he saw his partner in trouble he decided to do something about it. SR: At least it was the worst team in the match to get knocked out. TD: I don't know about that, Steve Roberts. The Down Boys were doing very well... oh! There's been another elimination! SR: What happened? I missed it! TD: Can we get a replay on the monitors? [The screen splits in two, the right showing the guards getting everything sorted out with the leg irons and the left showing a slow motion instant replay. Wong and Steele are throwing Peterson into the crowd... they turn around and Steele gets nailed with a flying drop kick by Reggie Starr. The momentum knocks him clear into the first row of convicts. The screen switches back to the guards finalizing the chain arrangement.] TD: We're down to Licensed for Devastation and the Natural Predators. SR: You've got to give the advantage to LFD. Wolf looks like he's been through a car wreck and there is no way that Bear can take out both of these Baltimore bad-boys. TD: They've paired off, Bear and Chaos are trading blows -- and Wolf is fighting valiantly against Reggie Starr. SR: Geez! Did you see that Hurricarana! Wolf's got more fight left in him than I thought! TD: You can never count men as tough as this out of a fight! SR: Chaos got Bear with a greco-roman poke to the eye and now he's jumping Wolf! He's picking him up and throwing him at Chaos! TD: Oh my! Chaos caught Wolf right in the throat with that chain! Wolf is down! I think he may need a doctor! SR: It's all academic now, Dross! TD: Not so fast, Steve Roberts! Bear is going beserk on LFD! He's knocking them around like tenpins! A belly-to-belly suplex on Chaos! Another on Starr! He's single handedly destroying one of the toughest teams in the IIWF! SR: No! You can't get beat by these guys! They would make my prediction wrong... and I'm never wrong! TD: Bear has turned his attention to Jonathon Chaos... he's locked on a Full Nelson! This could be it! Wait. What is Reggie Starr doing? [Starr has staggered over towards the crowd... his eyes are glassy as he looks out on his feet. He reaches into his pants and pulls out...] SR: It's Shock the Taser! TD: Bear has released Chaos... I don't think he sees Starr... it's the Steeltrap! Bear has Chaos with his finisher! There's the count... ONE... TWO... no! SR: Starr is having cooked bear meat tonight! TD: Reggie Starr has zapped Bear with the taser... in full sight of the officials! SR: No DQ, Dross! No DQ! [The official makes the count: 1 - 2 - 3! Ding! Ding! Ding!] TD: Licensed for Devastation has won this match and earned the right to a title shot next week! LFD is going for the gold! SR: Those guards are unhooking their legs and my homeboys are ready to party! TD: I think that the Natural Predators may need medical attention -- what a match, Steve Roberts! The tag teams here in the IIWF are truly on fire right now. [Cut back to the elevated broadcast position.] TD: Well, folks, while we are lowered back to ringside, we're going to take a short break -- but we'll be back in just a few moments with another hour of incredible action: we will see that Shower Room Showdown, the Mess Hall Brawl, the tag team triple threat encounter... and that mystery match featuring the IIWF World Heavyweight Champion, the "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder. Don't go away! [Cut to a wide-angle shot of the courtyard, apparently over the shoulder of one of the armed guards patrolling the walkway high above ground level. 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 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+