________ ______ __ ____ ___ __ . _ ___ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __| / /\ | | || \| \ /\ \ / |\ || / \| | | | || | \ 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 TWO + 18 October 1997 + HOUR TWO | `----------------------------------------------------------------------' [Fade back to a shot from the towers and walkways high above the courtyard of the Penitentiary. Spread out below are the bleachers containing the hollering jumpsuited inmates, surrounding the ringside area, the regulation IIWF ring shining out like a beacon in the centre of the yard, illuminated by the lighting rig above. The lights suddenly drop, and a great cheer goes up as a volley of fireworks rockets into the darkening sky, exploding with deafening booms. The shots cut to close-ups of the inmates, panning past their scarred, sun-starved faces which yell paens of praise for their favourite IIWF superstars. Eventually cut back to the broadcast table at ringside, at which are seated Tim Dross and "Soundbite" Steve Roberts.] TD: Welcome back to the second hour of tonight's broadcast, live from the Leavenworth Federal Penitentiary, as the IIWF does HARD TIME! We've already seen some incredible action -- Licensed for Devastation triumphing over three other teams in the Chain Gang Warfare match, Tony Starks and Ike Sampson simply battering one another in their Behind Bars match, Richard "Moxy" Blue being carted off to spend a night in a cell, and Requiem being attacked by the Blind Guardian after his narrow loss to Otto Verhoeven in a Solitary Confinement match -- and there's more to come, Steve Roberts! SR: You got that right, Dross -- the Mess Hall Brawl, the Shower Room Showdown... I can hardly wait! TD: We've seen some absolutely incredible things so far in the show, but     expect them to get just a bit crazier as we head to the mess hall! SR: That place is gonna be a mess once Mota and Lebec get through with     the trifecta of suck... it'll be covered in Genesis guts. TD: What about the Cavalier, Kevin Christiansen? SR: He's here? Somebody finally caught him with those underage hookers     and locked him away? TD: I'm appalled you'd say something like that, Steve Roberts. It just     simply isn't true! SR: Okay, one of them _was_ nineteen. TD: [Sigh] Let's just get this match underway already... Sparky, you have the honours. ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| MESS HALL BRAWL: |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| Highwayman, Serge Annis & Scott Rogers vs. Derek Mota, Kevin "the Cavalier" Christiansen & Simon Lebec ....................................................................... WRITER: JdW [Sparkplug Lee is standing in the middle of a regulation ring in a most un-regulation setting. The compound's 1500 prisoners are just starting in on their meal, all lined up and chained at a series of long tables. The food actually doesn't look that bad... not that you can tell what it is under the oceans of gravy. Lee clears his throat once, and proceeds in his best tough guy voice.] SL: Ladies and... uh, make that just gentlemen. The following contest,     scheduled for one fall, is a Mess Hall Brawl! There will be no countouts and no disqualifications! [HUGE pop!] Introducing first, at a combined weight of 875 pounds, they are the Highwayman, Scott Rogers, and Serge Annis... collectively, Genesis! ["Some Days it's Dark" kicks into high gear, and the inmates go nuts as they see Serge Annis walk out first. Annis seems right in his element in a twisted sort of way, as he's high-fiving a few prisoners and getting long swell with them. Highwayman and Rogers, however, get soundly booed. There are no Genesis fans in here... so I guess it _isn't_ a crime. Annis continues to shmooze with the dining men, while his partners continue to walk to the ring, none of them talking to another and none looking to have much continuity.] SL: And their opponents, at a combined weight of 748 pounds, the team of     Kevin "The Cavalier" Christiansen, the "Showstopper" Simon Lebec, and captained by the Cruiserweight Champion of the World, Derek Mota! [Again the crowd goes nuts, really getting into Biohazard's "Tales From the Hardside", which we can assume is only a temporary music change for the Toronto native. The Cavlier walks out first, drawing a very respectable pop for a respectable man. Then it's Lebec, who's getting a mixed reaction. None of the men really like him, but they'd prefer him over Genesis. Finally, Derek Mota walks out in prison issue uniform, bearing the number "Prisoner 601" on the back... and the guys love him for it. Even the guards join in the chants of "Mota! Mota!" as Derek just soaks up the adulation.] TD: Derek Mota really knows how to play to this crowd, Steve Roberts. SR: You know, if you flipped that number 601 backwards and upside down     Mota would be Prisoner number... TD: [Interrupting] Don't even go there, Steve. Don't even go there. [By now, all six have shown up at their respective corners, and while the Mota-led team are showing some signs of co-operation with an pre match strategy chat, the Genesis threesome just stand sullenly. By acclaimation, Serge steps in to wrestle first, and the Cavalier decides to leadoff for his team.] TD: You can almost smell the anticipation for this one! SR: I can smell something all the way from here! Okra, maybe? [The two circle cautiously for a moment at mid-ring, waiting for an opening. Serge hears the start of a boring chant, and noone wants to hear that in a prison so he moves in, only to have his charge dodged and be placed in an armbar. Christiansen applies the pressure for a moment, leading Serge to look for a counter. Never a finesse wrestler, Serge fires an elbow backwards, almost taking Kevin's head off. The grip is loosened, and Serge writhes away, running off the opposite ropes for a head of steam. The Cavalier sees it coming, so he sets up to receive the Canadian monster with... TD: Broadsword! Annis is down and out courtesy of that devastating spinebuster! SR: [in a passable Dross impression] One, two, three, he got him! No, he     didn't. TD: Very funny. Serge Annis kicks out to avoid a very early loss for his     team. [Not deterred, Christiansen goes back to work, dropping a big elbow on Annis and covering again, this time not getting the near fall. With the big man down, KC decides to take advantage and heads over to his corner for a tag. Lebec reaches out for it, and takes it just as Annis is getting up. The two teammates then charge at Serge for a double clothesline, which he has yet to notice. Highwayman yells out a warning, but Serge turns to ask what he said instead of preparing for the oncoming wrestlers. He pays for it with a double clothesline followed by a double kneedrop.] SR: This freaks just can't work as a team any more... the only thing that brought them success was each other's interference, and now they can't even count on that! TD: Now, Steve Roberts, to be fair all three Genesis members are very     talented atheletes, but no three men, I don't care who you are, can     win a match like this without working together to some degree. [The Cavalier leaves the ring, even though he technically doesn't have to in a no DQ match, and Lebec goes right to work, driving a headbutt into Serge's groin that makes even the roughest serial killer wince in pain. Lebec smiles at his handiwork, which is drawing some pretty decent heel heat considering these guys have probably used that move a few times themselves. Lebec picks up the injured and understandably shocked Annis, and hurls him by his hair over the top rope to the cold floor. Simon stays right in the driver's seat, backing up for momentum and then leaping into a plancha... soaring through the air... and being caught. Annis catches the actor, repositions him a bit do that his back is facing out, and runs him right into the side of the mat to a sickening thud. Meanwhile, in the ring things heat up, as Mota getstired of waiting to get into the match and charges towards the Genesis corner. Highwayman is out to great him with a big boot right to the face, so Scott Rogers tries to make it three for three, attacking the Cavalier in the opposite corner... and hitting turnbuckle as he ducks out of the way!] TD: You just knew this was going to break down sooner or later.... SR: I broke down once. Lousy weekend, but my doctor said it happens to     everybody. TD: Yes, well, this match has the potential to get really crazy on the     outside, where Serge Annis has Simon Lebec at his mercy. [As expected, Serge moves to take advantage of the no dq, no count-out rules, dragging Lebec out towards the dining prisoners, most of whom are by now half-done. Annis passes a bald man with a very graphic tattoo on his scalp and points towards his plate, asking "May I?". The man nods his head, and Annis picks up the plate of whatever it is, smashing it to bits over Lebec's head. Huge pop! Annis follows up by grabbing the aforementioned prisoners water and splashing it right in Lebec's face, cleaning up a bit of the dripping food! Back in the ring, Mota's getting pummeled around his head by Adam Smith, until suddenly he fires off an elbow to the gut to buy himself some time. In a quick motion, he then reaches back to the rear of Smith's trunks and produces a policeman's badge, yelling out "COP!" as loud as he can. The prisoners start to get very restless, and then get up one by one, about to run-in on "Officer Highwayman". Only the sight of the guards taking extra good aim deters them from doing anything. Over in the other corner, the Cavalier has dropped Rogers with a big right hand, and has gone to work with a grapevine on his left leg to take the wheels out, presumably.] SR: This is nuts, Dross. Just the way I like 'em. TD: Pardon me for asking, but you like nuts? SR: Good work, Timbo. Wasn't sure if you'd pick up on that one or not. [Back to the outside yet again, where Annis is finally proceeding towards the ring, dragging a shamed Lebec with him. Simon, however, still has a few tricks up his sleeve, as he swipes a salt packet from a table as he's hauled past. No one notices, so it's an easy enough task for him to open it and hurl the contents towards Annis' face. The grains find their mark in the Epitome's eyes, and he starts to stumble around blindly right outside the ring. Lebec rolls back in to see one of his partners, the Cavalier holding Scott Rogers in a headlock, so he moves in, whipping out a small object from some hiden pocket as he does. He swipes with the object at Rogers, who drops out of the way and lets Christiansen take a glancing blow to the arm.] SR: That was a knife! The Cavalier just got knifed by his own partner...     and we have the red stuff! Break out the wine, Timbo, we have blood! TD: Kevin Christiansen is bleeding around the right bicep... this is just wrong, Steve. How can you condone something like this? SR: I already told you, we have blood. That's all the condoning you need. [On the other side of the ring, Mota had started taking it to the Highwayman, finally dropping him over the top rope with a backdrop, when suddenly a cylindrical object came flying towards him. A pie plate, to be exact, which Mota sees and is able to catch. Interestingly enough, the plate also has a lemon meringue pie on it, so Mota just smiles when he sees the contents. Scott Rogers, having just missed the knife swipestruts obliviously towards the centre of the ring, the obvious comedy spot on the way.] TD: Pie in the face! Scott Rogers just took a pie to the face, and he's     steamed about it! SR: Looks like Scott has whipped egg on his face now! TD: That was a stretch. Even for you. [Pause] Wait, what have we here?     Two of the guards, fully armed guards I might add, are headed to     ringside. SR: Those guys look nervous to be around so many degenerates. TD: Do you mean the prisoners or the wrestlers? [Lebec doesn't seem to concerned about cutting his partner, until he hears the two guards call out his name. Assuming it's just a couple of fans, he turns around to face the two, oblivious to the Rogers low blow on Mota as payback behind him, or the Cavalier baseball slide right into the face of Annis, who's just now getting his sight back. Instead, he just calls out "What?". The first guard responds:] GUARD: "Simon Lebec, you have just assaulted a man with intent to cause        injury, and you have a concealed weapon. You have the right to remain silent... [The rest is drowned out by the huge pop from the amused prisoners, almost as loud as Lebec's protests that they "can't do this to him!" Two assault rifles say they can, though, so once tested he submits himself to be carted off, drawing jeers all around. No one else in the match has even noticed yet, as the Cavalier is busy being bandaged with a bandana from a helpful biker, and the rest of Genesis are converging on Mota in a corner. The Cruiserweight champ fires a few punches back, and for a moment has the upper hand, but his prospects aren't looking good.] TD: Simon Lebec has just been arrested, and his team doesn't even realise it yet! SR: Haven't we done this one before, Dross? TD: I think so, but that's irrelevant. Mota is just getting pounded now     in the corner despite an initial flurry, and his only remaining partner is still receiving some amateur medical attention and can't help. [The three Genesis members have really been hurting the champ with boots to the chest, head et al, until Scott Rogers calls them off, deciding he should do it himself. Highwayman is willing, deciding to go out after an almost recouperated Cavalier, but Annis doesn't want to take orders from anyone and states so clearly. Rogers tries to move in anyway, but is held back by Serge, and the two start to stare intensely at each other. Mota's just getting up, and deciding not to look a gift horse in the mouth he smashes the two's heads together, dizzing both. He then heads off the opposite ropes for momentum, while the two are too shocked to prepare, and launches himself with an insane double cross-body block that takes all three out to the floor.] TD: Is there a legal man anymore? SR: Does anyone care? No one expected this to follow all the rules,     Dross. These guys could do just about anything, and the only thing     that'd surprise me is if they wrestled a normal six man tag. [Returning to the other theatre of action, the Highwayman approaches the Cavalier, ready to pounce, only to be dropped by a big right hand from the biker who helped him! The guy then motions to his tablemates, all of whom seem to get the idea right away and pick up their table. The guards watch with a wary eye, but decide against acting as the table is dropped right on top of Smith!] SR: Talk about your tough crowds, Dross! [Mota took the shot from the cross-body the best, so he's able to scoot up to the top ropes, waiting for some opportunity to strike. He looks as if he's aiming for Annis and Rogers, but the Cavalier runs over to fill that gap and Mota has to change his flight plan. He sees Adam Smith, just starting to move after he's pushed the table away, so he leaps in that general direction, flipping in mid-air...] TD: Summersault senton splash! I don't believe it, right on the outside! SR: No one's trying to win this thing, Dross. They're just trying to hurt people, and I'm really diggin' it! [The Cavalier, his sense of fair play still a bit strong for this type of match, fires only a few weak kicks at the two downed Genesites before starting to drag hem back to their original corner. He drops the two off, then heads back to his own, making Mota and Highwayman legal, or at least as legal as you can be during a match held in a prison mess hall. Mota, like a cockroach, hops right back up again, and grabs Highwayman by the arm and whips him towards the ringpost, only to have Smith in an even more show of resiliency reverse and send Mota barreling towards the steel. Derek nimbly stops himself just in time, but Adam's been following him in and is able to grab hold of him, gaining leverage.] SR: Don't tell me he's gonna... TD: There's that inverted neckbreaker, right on the concrete floor! Ouch! SR: Mota may be a tough, crazy little Canadian bastard, but even he can't take that. Even he has to go down now. TD: The weight advantage, and since Simon Lebec's arrest the numbers     advantage have meant a lot to Genesis, and it looks like they have     things sewn up now. [Mota's limp form is rolled back into the ring by Smith, who has to register a pin or submission in the ring to get the win. The Genesite rolls in to finish the job, but stops dead when he sees Rogers and Annis jawing at each other, still ticked about their earlier disagreement. Smith runs over to the corner to play peacemaker, shouting out the whole time "Don't let it happen, guys! Don't do this!" His two partners stop their argument to look at Smith, think for a moment, and...] SR: The Undead Frozen Caveman Wrestler just got popped! And now his     teammates are slugging it out with each other! TD: Could this be the end of Genesis? SR: Damn, no one's dropped a bomb this big since Paul Tibbetts! [The Highwayman stumbles back, but does not fall. He turns around, and the camera follows his gaze to notice Mota, human cockroach as he is, is not only on his feet -- but on the top rope. Smith tries to do something, but is in a state of shock and can't offer any effective resistance as Mota flips, twists, and turns in the air towards him.] SR: Shooting Star Press Dropkick! Shooting Star Press F'n Dropkick! TD: I don't think I've ever seen that move before... one, two, three! It's all over! [Indeed it is, and as soon as the three count's registered Mota heads for the hills, taking Christiansen with him towards the exit as he doesn't want to be involved in the brawl going on between Genesis. He is taking time to laugh at the brawling ex-stablemates as he goes, and he does briefly acknowledge the legions of prisoners chanting "MOTA! MOTA!", but overall he beats a quick exit. The same cannot be said for Serge Annis and Scott Rogers, who are wailing away at each other punch for punch, or the Highwayman who's still in LaLa Land in the ring.] SR: Genesis is no more, folks! Annis nails Rogers with a right... Rogers     a left... it's the Bodybuilder vs the Overrated Pyromaniac, live from Leavenworth, IIWF's Hard Time. Lovin' it! TD: This is indeed a big day in IIWF history if Genesis is, as it seems,     at the end of the road. [Little, if any advantage can be seen in the Annis-Rogers brawl, as both just continue to fire shot after shot without flinching. This causes, as one might expect, a flood of men to run out, but instead of the JJS it's Kansas State Troopers who run in two groups towards the ring, guns at the ready. One group of about six picks up the still out of it Highwayman and starts carrying him back to safety, while a larger group of eight troopers aided by five prison guards standing, well, guard, descend on the Annis-Rogers fight. No one can really see what's going on in there, but surely and steadily the mass of people move slowly towards the exit.] TD: I don't know if the IIWF will ever be the same after this night... so many ground-breaking matches, and now Genesis have apparently split up. SR: Apparently? Are you watching the same monitor I am, Dross? They _did_ split up. TD: You're right, I suppose. Well... good grief! A food fight just     started in the mess hall, right after our guys got out! SR: That's none of our concern, we have to go somewhere else for a match     now. Besides, with Genesis breaking up and Mota hitting a Shooting Star Press F'n Dropkick, nothing can ruin the moment. [The sounds of shots may or may not be heard in the background, it's tough to tell. Cut back to the broadcast table.] TD: Well, incredible scenes there in the mess hall, Steve Roberts, and... hang on! ["Roots" by Sepultura suddenly erupts over the PA system, and a majority of the inmates break into a savage pop.] TD: Oh, my... That can only mean one thing, and that's The Syndicate coming to the ring! Listen to this crowd! SR: No! That's the Outlaw! TD: What? SR: It's the Outlaw in a Casey James mask! TD: Steve, what are you...? SR: Look at the musculature... the body movements... TD: Steve... Never mind. [James and Claw, resembling prison inmates themselves, walk down the aisle. Casey's beard is still on the shaggy side, and both men sport a mean sneer on their faces. Casey grabs a microphone from the timekeepers table, then both men, carrying their tag title belts, enter the ring.] TD: Are the rumors true? Are James and Claw going to vacate the titles? SR: I hope not, Dross. Damn, these guys could very well be the best tag champions the IIWF has seen... No gay guy... Who would have thought? [James prepares to speak, and the music shuts off.] CJ: Alright, we've got some things to say, and there's going to be some people here that aren't going to be very happy about it. You know something? I really don't give a rat's ass what some suit thinks about what I've got on my mind, so as far as I'm concerned, they can all sit up in their pretty little offices with their leather couches and sweat while I'm down here in the trenches with the dregs of humanity. [The crowd pops despite the insult.] TD: Why doesn't it surprise me that a crowd of criminals are Casey James fans? SR: _Alleged_ criminals, Dross... They've been shafted by the system... [James appears to hear what Roberts says.] CJ: Shafted by the system... Yeah... We all know what that's like, huh? [Pop] Ain't none of you deserved what you've gotten, isn't that right? You're all innocent, right? [Pop] Yeah, well, I feel for you, because for months now, Claw and I have been shafted by the system of the IIWF left, right and center! If it isn't the prejudice against veteran wrestlers, it's the strongarm tactics. We gave a pound of flesh to this company, and what have we gotten in return? Ten tons of sh[BLEEP]. [Pop!] You want to know something? We heard that we didn't even win these belts on our own... We've been hearing whispers in the lockerooms that we were _handed_ these belts in an exchange. [Heel pop] In exchange for what? [The inmates yell out in unison, "What?"] CJ: I'll tell you what... For keeping our mouths shut. See, there might be something here or there that we don't like or something, which wouldn't be a problem most of the time, except that the suits know that we tell it like it is. We say what's on our minds. So in order to keep us quiet, we're given these shiny belts. Did it work? ["NO!"] CJ: Hell, no... Do you know what we're going to do about it? ["WHAT!?"] CJ: We're dropping the belts... _Right_ _now!_ On one condition, of course... We want a tag team tournament, and we want to prove to the IIWF that we deserve those belts by kicking the ass of every tough guy and gay guy in the goddman fed! [Huge pop!] So if we don't get a skinny-ass suit out here right now, I'm going to have to borrow a sharpened toothbrush from someone and serve some justice, Syndicate style! [The inmates break into a frenetic pop, which eventually turns into a "Skinny-Ass-Suit!" chant.] TD: I don't believe it! Neither James nor Claw are on the booking committee, so where do they get off trying to demand a match? SR: Can it, Dross -- this could get interesting. TD: Well, I think we'd better get an official out here right now, or else we may have a riot on our hands... Oh, wait... Here comes one... Who is that... It's... Oh, my! It's President of the IIWF, Dan Spreadbury! [Indeed, Dan Spreadbury walks down the aisle to the ring, and receives a round of boos for his troubles. He grabs another microphone, and steps into the ring...] DS: Casey... Claw... I've heard what you've said, and I just want to say right now that I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about. You weren't given the belts as some sort of payola. You earned those belts by being the best tag team in the IIWF as of right now. CJ: [cutting in] Hey! Don't feed me another line, little man... For the past four months, all I've been hearing is line after line, deal after deal, and we're sick of it. Listen... We've stated what we want. Are you going to give us a tournament or not? DS: Frankly, gentlemen, I should remind you that you don't make the decisions around here. There's no need for this. I don't know what you've heard, or what conclusions you've come to, but you have nothing you need to prove. You don't need a tournament. Furthermore, I have no intention to sanction a tournament at this time. CJ: More bullsh[BLEEP]! DS: I'll thank you two to watch your language. I am prepared to make a concession for you. We have a big Triple Threat tag match tonight with the Prophets of Rage, Damage Inc. and The Cold Quins... What say I put you guys in for a Four Corners match, and you can prove how good you are there? [The crowd pops...] CJ: Yeah, sure thing... Single fall, right? In other words, we could lose the titles and not even get into the ring... Forget it... What do I look like, a moron? When you look at the two of us standing here, do you see a couple of rubes that you can pull one over on? Huh? Forget it... No way. We're not getting screwed again. DS: Now you just wait a second. Nobody's been screwing anybody. CJ: We want a tournament... Or we walk. [Heel pop.] DS: You both have contracts. You can't walk. CJ: Then we walk. DS: This is ridiculous. CJ: Forget it... Take these paper belts and... Huh? [By this time, Tiger Claw has reached the boiling point, and swiftly walks over to President Spreadbury and kicks him in the gut, drawing a _huge_ pop from the crowd.] TD: Oh my! What the hell does Claw think he's doing?! SR: Aw yeah! Suit bashing! [Casey is momentarily stunned by the suddeness of the action, but is quick to join the action. President Spreadbury is hoisted up so his chin and jaw are held on Casey's shoulder, and his legs are held in the air by Tiger Claw. Amazingly, Casey still holds onto the mic.] CJ: Hey, Danny boy... Got anything to say before your trip? [President Spreadbury, still stunned by the attack, speaks...] DS: No... Don't... Suspension... CJ: Damn straight! TOP O' THE WORLD, MA! [Both Claw and Casey drop down.] TD: Syndi-cutter! Syndi-cutter on the President! Right here in Leavenworth Federal Penitentiary, President Dan Spreadbury has been put in the Syndi-cutter! SR: Nothin' but the best, baby dolls... That is one serious Prez-bump! [President Spreadbury is out on the mat, while Claw and Casey hop up to their feet and play the crowd of convicts, who by now are going absolutely nuts. Claw and James stroll over to the prone President and drape the belts over his chest, then step through the ring ropes onto the floor, and walk up the aisle. Raising their arms and working the crowd up even more, they make their exit. An EMT crew rushes down the aisle, stretcher in tow, and security crowd around the ringside area, trying to keep the bloodthirsty fans in the bleachers from bursting into the ring.] TD: This is bad, Steve Roberts. The Syndicate have just exercised the get-out clause in their contracts, that's for certain. They have just performed their last deed in the IIWF. Unbelievable. SR: Tally one for the inmates, baby dolls. The President is leaving the building... flat on his back! [The IIWF President is rolled onto the stretcher and wheeled from the ring, security guards surrounding the EMT crew, the whooping and hollering crowd hurling debris at the entourage as it leaves the courtyard.] TD: Well, Steve Roberts, what a shocking turn of events -- the World Tag Team Champions have apparently vacated the titles... and I certainly do not believe that we will be seeing the Syndicate back in the IIWF any time soon after that display. SR: Are you kidding, Dross? The last guy to knock Dictator Danny on the noggin was Brody Thunder -- and look where he is now! TD: Be that as it may, I suspect that we may have an announcement of some kind concerning the status of the tag team championships before the end of the evening. We'll also try and udpate you on the condition of the IIWF President before we go off the air tonight. [Cut back to the announce table.] TD: Well, we have had... we have had quite a wild night here at the ol' ballyard, Steve Roberts.  Genesis is now no more... we've seen the Blind Guardian pull a hugely unexpected attack on Requiem... SR: ...and Moxy Blue is about to learn what Jobber Justice is really all about, Dross!  I'm havin' me a good time, baby! TD: Really? SR: Sure, what the hell.  I mean, I'd rather be with my girl Chelsea at the Stanford homecoming game... sweet, sweet Chelsea... but, watching Culture Club throw food at each other isn't a bad substitute.  Hey, Dross... why the hell am I workin' this week?  Didn't we take care of all that in the last contract negotiation? TD: There's no "I" in team, Steve Roberts. SR: I'll tell you two more words there's no "i" in Dross. TD: Let's get to... the shower room. ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| SHOWER ROOM SHOWDOWN: |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley & Ronnie Paris vs. "Spotlight" Billy Shakespeare & Duncan Macbeth ....................................................................... WRITER: JJ [Sparkplug Lee has made his way down to the shower area.  Gaffer's tape has marked off an area on the slicked down linoleum floor which is approximately the size of a wrestling ring.  Rusted pipes are evident on the unforgiving concrete walls... and shower heads stand tantalizingly above the floor area.] SL: Ladies and... well, okay... Gentlemen and... uh... Good Evening Felons! [Pop from the felons, who, as everyone, enjoy hearing their own names.] SL: The following contest is a very special Shower Room Showdown!! Introducing first... at a total combined weight of 500 pounds... the team of "Spotlight" Billy Shakespeare and Duncan Macbeth! [Pop from the courtyard seated prisoners..watching on the huge video screen which has been set up near the outside ring.  "Little Willy" blares out from enormous outside speakers as Shakespeare is now seen inside the shower room.  The prisoners begin an enormous "Spot-light! Spot-light! Spot-light!" chant as Shakespeare bemusedly looks about the combat area.] TD: Billy Shakespeare is ready to go... but his partner... his partner... [A "clang -- clang -- clang -- clang" is heard in the hallway leading to the shower room area, two guards quickly become visible, leading in what appears to be a bedraggled convict, stringy hair covering his face as the shocking orange jumpsuit contrasts with the dingy shower room.  As the guards bend to the floor to remove the shackles which bind him at the ankle and then up to take off the handcuffs...the prisoner slowly raises his head -- and draws back the hair from his face to reveal....] TD: It's Macbeth!  It is Duncan Macbeth! SR: The crazy Scotsman wasn't kidding, Dross... he's really been living at the big house for the last couple of days.  See, that's the kind of dedication you need to make it in the IIWF... you gotta live it... breath it... eat it... sleep it and tuck it in at night -- or you just won't hang, baby dolls. [Big Pop from the prisoners, several of them standing and singing out what appears to be a Scottish football song.  Macbeth is expressionless as he stands in the taped off ring area -- Shakespeare now moving away... seeming to take an inventory of the piping...] SL: And their opponents... at a combined weight of 448 pounds... the team of Ronnie Paris and the IIWF Intercontinental Champion... "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley! ["For Those About to Rock" begins to a big mixed pop from the prisoners, many of them chanting "Quig-ley! Quig-ley!" but an equal number with the subtle rejoinder "Paris Sucks!  Paris Sucks!"  Quigley and Paris enter together... each with an obvious expression of disgust and dismay evident on his face.  Quigley shakes his head slowly, removing his Intercontinental belt and handing it quickly to the official, asking that he take it from the room. Paris spits with contempt on the floor... pointing at it and then at Shakespeare, making a "that's what I think of you" gesture.  Macbeth remains transfixed in the "ring" staring a hole through the Intercontinental Champion who seems thoroughly disinterested in the attention from his rival.] TD: A Shower Room Showdown, Steve Roberts.  And even the coldest of water couldn't reduce the heat in each of these two rivalries.  Ronnie Paris and Billy Shakespeare... Chris Quigley and Duncan Macbeth... I have to say, I am looking with a little bit of interest -- as must be IIWF fans -- at this one and the ramifications it might have regarding Ring Wars IV. SR: I'd just like to see Quigley's head ramificationed into that concrete wall, Dross.  I think Molly McButter's about to introduce Chrissie Quigley to the term "toss my salad". TD: I don't even want to ask. SR: You ain't kiddin', Dross. [Dave D'Amato points the structures throughout the shower room, all of which are in play, out to the four participants, requesting that two of them stand outside the taped area on the floor. Macbeth remains motionless in the "ring", so Shakespeare steps outside the tape... as does Quigley who laughs at the direction of Macbeth, whose gaze remains affixed on the IC Champion.  Ding! Ding! Ding!] TD: We're set to go... it's the Shower Room Showdown and it's gonna happen right now! [Paris moves toward Macbeth, circling around the wild eyed Scotsman... Paris finally able to draw his attention away from Quigley will a well placed knife edge to the chest. Macbeth turns... and the two men lock up.  Paris applies a standing side headlock and Macbeth counters with a go behind into a hammerlock.  Macbeth tries to elevate the smaller man -- but Paris counters with a vine of the leg and a reverse armdrag that sends Macbeth over... Paris coninues -- snapping off a thrust kick and then attempting another -- blocked -- By Macbeth who then holds Paris' leg... allowing the cruiserweight to swing an enzuigiri and...] TD: Miss!  Paris misses the enzuigiri -- and falls hard on the floor!  SR: MacButter's going for a quick submission, Dross! [Macbeth grabs a quick half crab... but is then leveled with a Quigley clothesline!  Big Pop as Macbeth falls hard to the floor and Quigley begins to stomp him out... Chris Quigley, not clad in his normal gear but wearing cut off shorts and work boots, begins to stomp Macbeth into the floor! Quigley pulls Macbeth to his feet -- rocking him back with a European uppercut and then grapevining a leg... Paris vining the opposite leg... and the two men drive Macbeth to the floor with a double Russian leg sweep!  Big, Big Pop!] TD: Good double team by a very technically sound pair... and here comes Shakespeare! [Shakespeare dives atop Paris and begins laying into him with rapid right hands... Paris smashed into the floor as the Spotlight thrusts him into the unforgiving floor! Quigley pulls Macbeth back to his feet... pushing him back, back toward the... NO!... Macbeth reverses, whipping Quigley into the concrete wall! Quigley's back crunching against the concrete! Paris goes low on Shakespeare... allowing him to get back to his feet -- the two men lock up, Paris grabbing a side headlock and taking Shakespeare over... but Billy counters with a head scissors and the two men pop back to their feet.  Paris again with a side headlock takeover... and the Spotlight once again with the head scissors counter that brings a Pop from the more technically astute felons.] SR: You know who loves the mat wrestling, Dross?  Serial bombers.  You get a Kacziniski type guy... a real loner... no real friends, the only joy he gets is when someone opens a letter and winds up with a bloody stump in return -- you get a guy like that and he will talk your arm off about the Greco-Roman knuckle lock. [Macbeth takes shots at Quigley's midsection while the Quickstrike remains prone against the concrete wall.  Macbeth leaps to the wall... pushing off against the concrete, grabbing a facelock and _driving_ Chris Quigley into the hard floor with a bulldog!  Paris again has a sstanding side headlock... and again looks for a takeover but Shakespeare slides out -- into a go-behind and a waistlock -- standing switch -- Paris now has the waist, cinching it in tightly and then bringing Shakespeare all the way over the top with a German suplex and a bridge... 1 -- 2 -- NO!] TD: Is Shakespeare legal? SR: Ain't nothing even barely legal about Hard Time, Dross -- we'll be selling videocassettes in the lobby of the IIWF Coliseum by the end of the week. [Macbeth pulls Quigley upward... a trickle of blood now evident on the forehead of the Intercontinental Champion... drawing a gasp from the prisoners in the courtyard... Macbeth whipping Quigley hard _again_ into the concrete... Quigley's back crackling against the concrete, Quigley motionless as Macbeth charges... Paris pulls Shakespeare up... Paris with a stiff kick to the midsection and then the young Texan places a leg on back of the bowed neck of Billy.  Shakespeare stands, off flipping goes Paris -- but Ronnie lands on his feet, Paris leaping up to the shoulders of Shakespeare now... grabbing tightly and twisting the "Spotlight's" head...] TD: Oh My! [Quigley raises a big boot which catches Macbeth flush on the jaw... Macbeth staggering back as Quigley flies at him with a forearm that drops the Scotsman hard to the floor! Shakespeare stops the Paris attempt at a hurrincanrana... holding Paris up momentarily and then powerbombing Ronnie hard to the floor! Quigley and Shakespeare each cover their respective opponents... D'Amato diving between them and counting... 1 -- 2 -- NO!  Each man kicks out! Shakespeare and Quigley pick up Paris and Macbeth, dumping each man off to his respective side -- and then to a big pop, the two long time rivals themselves square off!] TD: Tremendous action, Steve Roberts -- and it's about to get even hotter... everyone knows there's no love lost between Billy Shakespeare and Chris Quigley. SR: No love gained either from where I'm sitting, Dross.  The only good thing that can come out of a Shakespeare/Quigley cat fight is the guards will be so bored my friends in the Mexican Mafia will be able to pull that escape we've been talking about all week.  Viva La Raza! [Quigley and Shakespeare lock up, Quigley establishes a wristlock and Shakespeare reverses into an armwringer.  Quigley is clearly in a moment of pain... but is stronger than Billy and reverses... establishing a momentary wring and, as Shakespeare tries to escape -- he is hiptossed by Quigley to the floor! Shakespeare staggers up... is kicked in the midsection by Quigley, whipped around and then _nailed_ with an inverted neckbreaker for a 1 -- 2 -- NO!  Shakespeare manages to get a shoulder up... Quigley applies a reverse chinlock, using a knee in the back of Shakespeare's neck... pressing in between the shoulder blades in a modified camel clutch to get some additional leverage.] TD: Quigley going to the mat... to the floor... wherever it is we are, Steve Roberts. SR: Yeah, that's his tendency, Dross -- but he's in a different type of match here... it's a brawl, he's in Macbeth's world here and if he stays locked in some kind of submission hold -- MacButter's gonna take his head off. [As if able to hear Roberts, Quigley instantly leaps from Shakespeare, running over and taking a shot at Macbeth before diving back at Shakespeare, grabbing his neck in one motion and sharply snapping it backward!  Big Big Pop!] TD: Inverted rolling neck snap!  What a maneuver! [Quigley goes back to Shakespeare, quickly lifting him into a tilt-a-whirl... but Shakespeare counters with a head scissors that sends Quigley flying!  Pop!  Quigley moves back to his feet... and is then dropped again by a well placed and well named Shakespeare dropkick that catches Quigley flush on the jaw.  Macbeth now leaps into the "ring" stomping away at Quigley with sharp boots.  Duncan Macbeth on fire... knocking Ronnie Paris backward and down with a huge right hand as the Texan attempts to aid his partner. Macbeth grabs Quigley, powerslamming him hard to the floor and then slowly picks him up again...] SR: Where the hell's Blitzsphere, Dross?  TD: Shakespeare... Shakespeare... OH MY! [Macbeth picks Quigley up, executing a sharp backbreaker and keeping Quigley prone on his knee as Billy Shakespeare, moving with a spider's agility from the wall to the showerhead to the rusty pipes which precariously hang on the very top of the concrete wall... LEAPS... off driving down with a guillotine legdrop that _rips_ Quigley's head to the floor... the crimson stain now evident... many of the prisoners now clearly sickened at the sight of Quigley's head split clean open from the impact as Billy Shakespeare covers... 1 -- 2 -- ] TD: Save by Ronnie Paris!  Save by Ronnie Paris!  Oh My! Look at the pipe! SR: Dammit Dross... if there's something you just don't ever say in a prison shower it is "look at the pipe!" [Shakespeare's dive has caused a section of the rusted piping to break free, and it now hangs precariously over top the floor... swinging with a seeming cockiness, a "come on IIWF... show me what you got".... water is now streaming from the broken area... water flowing as freely as is the blood from Chris Quigley's forehead. Paris leaps from Shakespeare and to... to the overhaging pipe!  Paris trying to pull down the enormous rusted piping from the ceiling of the Leavenworth Federal Penitentiary shower... Paris hanging on... hanging on...] TD: Ronnie Paris is swinging from that pipe!  Ronnie Paris is swinging from that pipe! SR: Aw... see, that's how jealousy can ruin a family -- because that's normally how Maggie earns her living.  Hey, Ronnie... I won't tell Gloria Steinem if you won't! [Shakespeare sees the dangling Paris and leaps to his legs... Shakespeare hanging from Paris and now crawling up... Billy Shakespeare crawling up Ronnie Paris... the intricate piping showing cracks now at the base... water beginning to stain the ceiling as a weakness in the antiquated roofing structure of one of the oldest Federal Penitentiaries in the United States is evident. Macbeth picks up Quigley again... grabbing a side facelock and lifting Quigley up into the air -- blocked -- Macbeth tries again... blocked. And it's Quigley who grabs Macbeth, lifting him up and over with a suplex that drives the Scotsman hard into the floor. Shakespeare now grabs his own section of the dangling piping... the two men brawling as they continue to climb... climbing up... climbing up... each man seemingly headed for the roof... or seemingly about to fall to a potential career threatening shower floor. Quigley pulls Macbeth up, whipping him hard into the concrete wall... and now it's the Scotsman whose kidneys feel the full force of the concrete.  Quigley moves quickly... driving Macbeth back with a leaping splash which in retun causes the splash heard as Macbeth falls to the ever growing pool of water on the shower room floor. Shakespeare and Paris continue the wild fight, now standing on the very top of the piping... Shakespeare throws a wild right... connecting to Paris' jaw... Ronnie flies backward... landing in the very corner of the wall and teetering... teetering... teetering... Quigley dives... almost literally, considering the amount of water which is on the floor... atop Macbeth... grabbing a leg... turning Macbeth... with a step over toe hold...] TD: It's wrong!  It's just wrong!  Ronnie Paris is about to fall to the shower room floor... Chris Quigley is looking to apply that Quickstriker -- and I'm not sure if Duncan Macbeth can breathe, Steve Roberts! Duncan Macbeth's head is underneath that water... this is real, real bad! SR: Nah, Dross... what you mean is that this is the bestest Christmas ever!  God Bless us All, Every One! [Paris grabs at the very base of the piping, steadying himself as Shakespeare moves in... Quigley steps over... and cinches in the "Quickstriker"!  Quigley has the "Quickstriker on Macbeth! Paris lifts up his legs as Shakespeare charges... moving up to his neck... Quigley is desperately trying to maintain a foothold in the waterlogged shower room... Macbeth's face is buried in six inches of water as the piping is now bursting in a number of different spots... the gushing evident... Macbeth's flailings seeming to grow more and more faint... The cracks in the roof spreading wider... a hunk of plaster falls to the floor -- narrowly missing Chris Quigley's head... Paris twists Shakespeare over... Billy falling... falling... falling...] TD: Shakespeare grabs the pipe!  Shakespeare grabs the pipe! SR: Macbeth's breaking the hold!  Macbeth's breaking the hold! [Duncan Macbeth shows a sign of life as Quigley begins to slide... Shakespeare hangs on with one hand... dangling over the side... Ronnie Paris -- almost instinctively, almost despite himself -- reaches out with a hand to grab at Shakespeare!] TD: Good God!  It's Steve Manning! [Simultaneously, Macbeth lifts his face from the water, screaming out at the Quickstrike... Another piece of plaster terrifyingly falls from the ceiling... Steve Manning barrels in on his wheelchair, the water causing him to lose control... And Ronnie Paris and Billy Shakespeare finally break the piping -- and fall toward the floor] TD: OH MY! [Paris and Shakespeare crash down upon Macbeth and Quigley... Steve Manning, Jr. crashes his wheelchair into the pile... all five men and the chair in a heap; the water now filling with a ferocity as enormous hunks of the shower room ceiling being to tumble down to the floor. Dave D'Amato dives toward the pile... pointing to an arm which is rising from the wreckage... and is slowly draping itself over the chest of another man! TD: It's... It's... It's... It's Macbeth!  It's Duncan Macbeth! SR: He's covered Quigley!  Macbeth's covered Quigley! [D'Amato stays on his feet... smacking the concrete wall in its place... 1 -- 2 -- 3!  Three!  Ding! Ding! Ding!] SL: Your winners... as a result of a pinfall... "Spotlight" Billy Shakespeare and Duncan Macbeth! ["Scotland the Brave" plays to a tumultuous roar from the prisoners. Macbeth and Shakespeare stagger to their feet... their arms raised in triumph as a swarm of Leavenworth guards hit the shower room, pulling the wrestlers free, each wrestler diving from the room along with Steve Manning who is carried out... as the roof... the roof... the roof is...] TD: The ceiling's coming down!  The ceiling is coming down!  Oh No... Quigley's still in the room!  Chris Quigley's still in the room! SR: It's my t-shirt coming to life, Dross!  My t-shirt told the future! I have the power supreme!  I have the power supreme!  I am the Almighty All-powerful Steve "Soundbite" Roberts! [Chris Quigley leaps from the room just in the nick of time... the Leavenworth Shower Facility literally completely falling in upon itself as the prisoners roar... the chants "I-I-W-F... I-I-W-F... I-I-W-F... I-I-W-F" filling the enormous Leavenworth courtyard and seeming to spill out across the entire heartland of America!] TD: Duncan Macbeth, Steve Roberts... the story here is Duncan Macbeth, not only surviving the "Quickstriker" but getting the pinfall victory over the Intercontinental Champion and sending a very clear message about his intentions at Ring Wars IV -- coming three short weeks from today! SR: And the same old thing between Shakespeare and Paris, Dross.  Here are two guys who are dead on even... dead on even in this feud -- and you just have to know that there's gonna be a day when they decide this thing once and for all! [Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: Well, let's just pause to regain our breath, Steve Roberts, after a truly incredible match. ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| WORLD TAG TEAM CHAMPIONSHIP TRIPLE THREAT MATCH: |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| Prophets of Rage vs. Damage Inc. vs. Cold Quins ....................................................................... WRITER: SK [Sparkplug Lee climbs into the ring, and chuckles at a bald, extremely tattooed inmate who is holding up a crudely-made sign which reads SECTOR 7 LOVES SPARKY.  Lee waves good-naturedly to the prisoner, who waves back eagerly, then turns to his companions seated around him and whispers excitedly into their ears, like a six-year old who had just met Santa Claus.  Lee looks a bit puzzled at the attention, but carries on with his introductions.] SL: Gentlemen, the following contest is a Tag Team Triple Threat match! The rules of this match are as follows -- three men, one from each team, will be legal in the ring at all times, and any man can tag out to any other man outside the ring, be he friend or foe!  And, gentlemen, the winner of this contest will be named the number one contender to the IIWF tag team championsh... [Sparky is cut off in mid-sentence and the inmates begin to buzz with excitement as Poutine Janois, chairman of the IIWF's Special Concerns committee, rushes down the makeshift aisle to the ring and climbs in, whispering to Lee and taking the ring mic from him.] SR: Aw, hell.  First Macbeth, now Janois.  [shouting]  Repeat after me, P.J. -- "Red leather, yellow leather, red leather, yellow leather..." TD: Steve, shush!  This could be important. SR: "SHUSH"?  Careful, Dross... _nobody_ "shushes" the Soundbite, got it? TD: That's not what Becky tells me. SR: Oh, shush yourself, Dross. PJ: Um, 'ello... I 'ave an important announcement to make.  I 'av jus' left de side of President Spreadbury, who despite 'is injuries, still retains full executive control of de IIWF's affairs.  It is de President's ruling dat, as a result of de IIWF Tag Team titles bein' officially stripped from de Syndicate due to dere sudden departure from de IIWF, de winners of de following contest will become de NEW IIWF Tag Team Champions! [Huge pop from the inmates, as the excitement brought on by Janois' announcement adds to the tension already surrounding this matchup. Janois hands the mic back to Lee and makes his way back up the aisle to polite applause from the prisoners.] TD: There you have it, folks!  After tonight's ugly incident involving the Syndicate's decision to leave the IIWF and their Tag Team titles behind, and their subsequent and brutal assault on the President himself, the next IIWF Tag Team Champions will be crowned _tonight_, in the very match you are about to see right here on IIWF Saturday Night! SR: This is what make the Double Eye, Double You, F'n F the top o' the heap, king o' the hill, and unquestionable masters of all they survey, Dross!  This is big -- well, not as big as the time I stumbled drunker than the Man of Steel down Patpong Road in Bangkok when all the brothels had that "Buy Two -- Get One Free" special running, but pretty big. TD: I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about, Steve. SR: With six you get eggroll, Dross. TD: Shush, Steve.  Let's go back to the ring for the introductions. SR: I'm warning you, fat boy... SL: Ahem... Once again, gentlemen, this contest is for the IIWF Tag Team Championship!  Introducing first, at a total combined weight of 440 pounds, here are Icehawk of Cold Spell and Tragedy of the Harlequins... THE COLD 'QUINS! [The crowd of prisoners in the bleachers surrounding the ring go crazy as "#1 Crush" by Garbage blares out over the prison yard's P.A. sysem, and the unlikely team of Icehawk and Tragedy appear in the aisle and begin making their way to ringside, accompanied by Harlequin Chaos, who is dressed in his street clothes and is hobbling down the aisle on crutches.  Icehawk, the always affable Finn, smiles from ear to ear and slaps hands with the inmates as he slowly makes his way to ringside, while his partner Harlequin Tragedy seems hesitant to follow suit, perhaps not used to being so strongly supported and bit puzzled by the strong show of support from this Leavenworth audience.  Tragedy tentatively slaps a couple of hands, slowly beginning to relish the cheers of the prisoners, and soon he is glad-handing as enthusiastically as Icehawk by the time the two finally reach the ring and climb in, while Chaos remains outside, largely ignoring the pleas for autographs from the prisoners at ringside.] TD: Here are Icehawk and Tragedy, former sworn enemies, now suddenly thrust together as tag team partners.  Each are former IIWF tag champions, but with other partners.  While experience has to count for something, you have to wonder just how effective this relatively new team can be against two proven groups, with the titles on the line. SR: Let's break this down, Dross.  Gay guy from Cold Spell joins up with gay guy from the Harlequins.  Result:  the IIWF's first all-gay tag team.  They're doomed. TD: Well, they certainly seem to have the support of our captive audience, Steve. SR: I know it, Dross, and you have no idea just how much that frightens me.  Are you sure this is Leavenworth?  I get the feeling the only "hard time" done here involves crochet hooks and cross-stitching. SL: The next team hails from New Orleans, Louisiana, and weighs in at a combined 638 pounds.  Accompanied by their manager, Jeandra, here are Alex "The Ace" Porteaux and "Mad Dog" Eddy Ramos... DAMAGE INCORPORATED! ["Reunited" by the Wu-Tang Clan echoes across the prison yard as the voluptuous Jeandra appears in the aisle, wearing a bright-red sequined cocktail dress that looks as if it was painted on her, drawing appreciative wolf whistles from the prisoners, which quickly turn to boos as Porteaux and Ramos emerge in the aisle behind Jeandra and begin making their way to ringside.  Ramos is wearing his usual smouldering, on-the-edge-of-a-sociopathic-rampage look, but the cocky, colourful Porteaux also seems to be intensely focused as the two men stride purposefully down the aisle, not wasting any time as they climb into the ring and immediately go to their corners, conferring with each other and ignoring the heel heat raining down on them from the inmates.] TD: Damage Incorporated seem to be deadly serious about this match, Steve.  This team was voted Best Tag Team of 1996, and you have to think that capturing the IIWF Tag Team titles would go a long way towards them repeating for 1997. SR: Hey, as long as they pound the snot out of the Cold 'Quins, they'll get my vote, Dross. SL: And finally, the final team in tonight's contest, weighing in at a combined 573 pounds and accompanied by Pizzazz and Medusa Rage, here are Derek and Shadoe Rage... THE PROPHETS OF RAGE! [The foreboding strains of "The Death March" boom out from the P.A. and the heel pop from the inmates intensifies as Pizzazz and Medusa Rage appear in the aisle, followed by the huge, imposing form of Derek Rage, who seems to be deep in thought as he emerges and begins slowly walking down to the ring.  A considerable amount of time passes before his partner, dressed in an elaborate, hooded robe and wearing black wraparound sunglasses, appears in the aisle and begins to follow Derek Rage down to ringside, looking somewhat unsteady as he weaves back and forth down the aisle to the ring.] TD: Here are Derek and Shadoe Rage, a team that just one week ago looked like it was going to self-destruct before they even made it to Leavenworth.  The Prophets have been held back in recent weeks by some vicious infighting between these two brothers, but apparently they have patched things up for this match, which may see them crowned as the new Tag Team Champions. SR: Ah, brotherly love... let's kiss and make up, then go out and start kicking 90 pound gay guys all over the ring.  I'm gettin' a little misty here... that's family ties, Dross -- the ties that bind! TD: I was bound by ties once.  Best weekend of my life. SR: You're scarin' me now, Dross.  You're starting to sound more like me than _me_.   [The two men reach the ring and are helped through the ropes by Pizzazz and Medusa, but before referee Earl Alfonso can move in to check them over, Derek Rage makes a beeline for Sparkplug Lee and roughly yanks the ring mic out of his hand, drawing loud boos from the Sector 7 contingent seated at ringside, as his hooded partner circles the ring, breaking into a confident strut.] TD: What's this all about?  Apparently, Derek Rage would like to say a few words before we start things off. SR: Maybe, Dross, but by the way Shadoe was staggering down the aisle, maybe they've been taking advantage of the hospitality room's booze selection, and now they think it's Karaoke Night! [shouting] Hey, Derek! "You've Lost That Lovin' Feeling"! Duh... Da-Duh... Da-Duh... Da-Duh-Dah... TD: Steve... SR: DON'T say it, Dross... [Up in the ring, Derek Rage raises the microphone and begins to speak.] DR: All right, listen up!  Due to ...conflicts beyond our control, my brother Shadoe will _not_ be able to wrestle this evening! TD: What?  If Shadoe Rage isn't wrestling tonight, then... who is that? SR: You can bet it ain't Ike Sampson.  None of the other black guys will play with him... hell, his momma had to tie a pork chop around his neck to get the dog to play with him. DR: Too bad, bruh, we could have conquered the world one more time tonight.  But that ain't gonna stop me now.  You maladjusted morons here tonight don't know how lucky you are, 'cause you're all going to witness the next glorious chapter of the Age of Rage unfold right now!  Allow me to present the other half of the _NEW_ Prophets of Rage! [The hooded man whips off the robe and pulls off his sunglasses, revealing...] SR: Aw, for cryin' out loud... TD: It's... it's Dirt Dog Unique Allah!  This is unbelievable!  The Dirt Dog is the new Prophet! [The Dirt Dog bounces around the ring, bellowing, "That's right!  That's right!  Merry Fuh'n Christmas, muhfuhs!" and high-fives Derek Rage as the heel heat from the inmates intensifies and the members of Damage Inc., Tragedy, and Icehawk stare in amazement.  The Dog does not appear to be his usual slovenly self, in fact he appears to be as close to stone cold sober as we've seen him in recent months.  Rage and Allah confer briefly in their corner, and then Derek Rage steps through the ropes as Allah, Alex Porteaux, and Icehawk remain in the ring as Alfonso calls for the bell to start he match -- Ding!  Ding!  Ding!] TD: The match is underway, and we have three men starting off.  There are any number of possible combinations that we may see tonight, Steve Roberts, with a strong possibility that two partners may be in the ring together against one opponent. SR: And the gay guys better be making quick tags tonight, Dross, 'cause with all those big boys in there, they're gonna break more than just their fingernails. [All three men immediately move to the centre of the ring and begin tying each other up, starting this match off at a breakneck pace.  Allah and Porteaux trade blows and both are leg swept to the mat by icehawk, who quickly drops an elbow on Porteaux, but as he rises to his feet is felled himself by a lariat from Allah!  Allah scoops up Icehawk, sends him for the ride, and links arms with Porteaux for a double clothesline, but the flying Finn does a breathtaking somersault over their joined arms, hits the ropes again and launches himself at his two opponents with a flying bodypress!  The inmates pop loudly, but their cheers turn to groans as Porteaux and Allah catch Icehawk in midair, look at each other, and proceed to toss the Finn over their heads and out of the ring with a double fallaway slam!  Big heel pop!] SR: [shouting] Hey, watch it, morons!  You nearly knocked my biscuits off the table here! TD: And now we've seen the first double-team involving members of opposing teams, with Icehawk the victim in this case, landing outside the ring quite close to our broadcast position.  You have to wonder just how short-lived these alliances will prove in a match like this. [As Tragedy drops to the floor to aid his partner, referee Earl Alfonso begins the ten-count on Icehawk, as Porteaux and Allah look on, but then Allah suddunly dashes into the ropes, and lays out Porteaux with a flying axehandle!  The Dog leaps upon the downed Damage Inc. member and begins smashing his head into the canvas, screaming, "Shakeeemahhhh! Who's yo' muhfuh, baby?", attracting the attention of Alfonso, who abandons his count of Icehawk to break up this particular infraction of the IIWF Rulebook.  Alfonso cautions Allah, who jumps to his feet and spreads his arms wide in the time-honoured "Who, me?" pose, but his protests are short-lived, as he is suddenly lifted off his feet into a Northern Lights suplex by Icehawk, who has rolled back into the ring! Big pop from the prisoners!] TD: Icehawk slipped back in the ring unnoticed, and laid out the former Cruiserweight champ with that beautiful move!  What a move from the Fin! SR: Backstabbing little punk.  I heard that this match was originally supposed to be in the shower room, but that the Prophets and Damage Inc. threatened to forfeit if they had to go into the showers with Icehawk and Tragedy.  A guy's gotta take a stand somewhere, Dross. TD: That statement is absolutely untrue, Steve Roberts.   [Icehawk spins on the Dirt Dog as they rise from the suplex, and the Finn lays out Allah again with a superkick to the jaw, sending the Dog crashing to the mat again.  Icehawk scoops up Allah and sends him into the ropes, but as he hits, Allah stretches out his hand and tags in...] TD: Here comes Eddy Ramos!  All of Damage Incorporated is now in the ring! [Icehawk did not see the tag, and as he backdrops Allah to the mat, he straightens up and is sent flying into a corner by a powerhouse right from Eddy Ramos, who moves into the corner with his partner Porteaux, and both men mercilessly begin putting the boots to the Finn!  The prisoners boo loudly, and the tattooed prisoner from Sector 7 hides his eyes behind his homemede sign.  Alfonso's count soon breaks this up, and Porteaux climbs the top turnbuckle as Ramos gorilla presses the stunned Icehawk high over his head, and slams him to the mat as Porteaux follows up with a top rope legdrop!  Heel pop!] TD: This is bad news for Icehawk, who is now being double-teamed, legally I might add, by one of the most devastating duos in the IIWF. SR: These guys can double up with impunity in the strictest of matches, Dross.  How do you think they're gonna do if they're _allowed_ to double-team?  Looks like Icegeek's gonna find out!  Ha! [Porteaux immediately goes for the cover - 1 - 2 - kickout!  Frustrated, Porteaux calls for Ramos to help out as the two Damage Inc. members double Irish whip Icehawk to the ropes, but the rebound does not come as Icehawk grabs the top rope with both hands, goes over, then snaps himself back into the ring and tags out to the nearest man, who happens to be Derek Rage!] TD: Derek Rage has been tagged in by Icehawk!  The Fin managed to escape the double-team, and now the Prophet is in the ring against the combined force of Damage Inc.! [Rage storms into the ring and begins roughhousing with both Porteaux and Ramos trading blows with the two men, and incredibly, the fury of Rage's attack begins to overwhelm Damage Inc.!  Rage staggers Ramos back with a throat shot, then scoops up Porteaux and hoists him into the air for a tilt-a-whirl piledriver!  From behind him, though, in a highly uncharacteristic move, Eddy Ramos pulls down Derek Rage and rolls him up for a pin!  Alfonso drops - 1 - 2 - kickout!] SR: Where the hell did _that_ come from?  Who does he think he is, Derek F'n Mota? [Porteaux crawls to a corner as Ramos and Rage begin brawling once again and reaches out for a tag, and in an instant, both Ramos and Rage are bowled over with a spectacular top-rope plancha dive from Harlequin Tragedy!  Big pop!] TD: What an incredible high-risk manoeuvre by the Harlequin!  Little 220-pound Tragedy has felled the two biggest men in this match in one stroke! SR: C'mon you guys, suck it up!  You're embarrassing me!  Are we not men, for God's sake? [All three men spring to their feet, but Tragedy is way ahead of the bigger two, and nails first Ramos and then Rage with two beautifully executed standing drop kicks!  Another big pop from the inmates!  Tragedy then hits the ropes hard and rebounds off, taking to the air and taking down Eddy Ramos with a Lou Thesz press!  Tragedy hooks the leg on impact and goes for a pin... 1 - 2 - kickout by Ramos!] TD: Tragedy is on fire in there, Steve Roberts, and nearly got the three count on big Eddy Ramos just now!  SR: Yeah, but with these guys, Dross, they only need one good shot to get back in the game. [Tragedy's incredible momentum is abrubtly cut short, however, as the third man in this dance, Derek Rage, measures the Harlequin as he covers Ramos and drops a huge leg on Tragedy and Ramos both, stunning both men! Heel pop!  Rage gets up and stands over top of the two men, as if deciding which one to beat up on first.  Allah is shouting for a tag from his corner, so Rage scoops up Tragedy and whips him with incredible velocity into the Prophets' corner!  The ring shakes from the impact as Tragedy hits the buckles hard and slumps to the mat in the corner, but not before the Dirt Dog sticks out a hand and tags the Harlequin out! Eddy Ramos, realising the implications of having both Derek Rage and Allah in the ring with him, starts to scramble towards his corner to tag out to Porteaux, but the speedy Dirt Dog sprints across the ring and bulldogs Ramos to the mat before he can reach the ropes!  In a flash, Rage is on the Damage Inc. member as well, and the two Prophets begin mercilessly kicking at the fallen Ramos, letting up only when Earl Alfonso steps in and warns both men.  Jeandra is pounding on the mat furiously outside the ring, as Pizzazz and Medusa Rage stand by and jeer loudly.  Finally, the two Prophets lift Ramos up and send him into the ropes, setting him up for a double clothesline, but at the last moment, Ramos ducks under the arms of the Prophets, and on the rebound lays out both men with a double clothesline of his own!  All three men crash to the canvas, spent, as the inmates pop wildly!] TD: The pace of this match has been absolutely unbelievable, Steve Roberts!  All six of these men realise what's on the line here tonight, and every one is giving 100 percent!  Look at these three men, they're completely drained! SR: Somebody pin _somebody_, for Pete's sake!  Jesus Marimba, where the hell's the coffee? [The prisoners begin to cheer wildly as the three men on the mat slowly come to, and begin dragging themselves towards the three remaining men on the outside, Jeandra, Medusa and Pizzazz all screaming on the outside for their men to hurry up, Icehawk and Tragedy taking up positions at each end of the ropes and stretching out for a tag while Alex Porteaux encourages his teammate to tag out to him.] SR: C'mon, Ramos, the Prophets are ripe!  Don't let the 'Quins in... I'll just cry if I have to see accessorised shoes, handbags, and title belt straps! [All three men are close to the corners now, but it is Dirt Dog Unique Allah who tags out first, and the crowd goes crazy as Icehawk slaps the hand of the Dirt Dog, climbs the turnbuckle, and launches himself at the closest target, Eddy Ramos.  The prisoners catch their collective breaths as the Finn arcs through the air in a picture-perfect Shooting Star Press!  Simultaneously, Derek Rage reaches the corner, tagging in Harlequin Tragedy, who almost telepathically mounts the turnbuckle and flies off with a Shooting Star press of his own!] TD: This is unbelievable!  I simply don't believe what these two are attempting! SR: No... please, NO... I'll be good, I promise... [The next split-seconds seem to move in slow motion... Alex Porteaux, stretching for the tag, his expression shifting from determination to confusion to realisation to panic as he screams at Eddy Ramos to hurry... Icehawk and Tragedy, high above the canvas, both pinwheeling through the air and descending rapidly... Ramos, on hand and knees, extending his arm out to Porteaux, unaware of the danger about to befall him... Icehawk, slamminG Into Ramos with incredible force, taking the supports out from under the big man and pounding him into the mat, then moving to cover as Tragedy impacts on top of both Icehawk and Ramos... Dirt Dog Unique Allah in the background, lying against the bottom rope as he watches Icehawk and Tragedy slam into Ramos, silently mouthing the words, "You gotta be fuh'n kiddin' me"... Porteaux charging into the ring as Earl Alfonso drops and slaps the canvas... 1 - Tragedy rises from the pile and spots Porteaux, while Derek Rage turns and sees the pin... 2 - the Harlequin springs at Porteaux and cuts him down with a flying clothesline, but is unable to stop Derek Rage from scrambling towards Icehawk, launching himself like a missile in a last-ditch effort to break up the pin...] SR: Noooo... TD: THREE!  THREE!  WE HAVE NEW CHAMPIONS!  ICEHAWK AND TRAGEDY ARE THE NEW CHAMPIONS! SL: Gentlemen... here are your winners... and NEW IIWF Tag Team Champions!  the team of Icehawk and Harlequin Tragedy... THE COLD 'QUINS! SR: Screw the coffee.  It's time to start drinkin', Dross ["#1 Crush" pounds out from the P.A. as Icehawk literally shoots into the air like a missile after the three-count, exulting his victory as the prisoners let loose with a massive pop!  Tragedy picks himself up off the canvas, pumping his fists into the air, and the two wrestlers turn to each outer for a moment and lock eyes, staring at each other in disbelief and wonder, then the two men let out a pair of ear-splitting whoops and embrace each other in the middle of the ring as the crowd continues to cheer them on!] TD: The most unlikely of tag team partners have not only emerged victorious here tonight, Steve Roberts, but they are the NEW Tag Team Champions!  Tragedy... Icehawk... from enemies to partners, and now, to champions!  What an unbelieveable finish! SR: Oh, shush, Dross. [Porteaux slams the mat in frustration as Jeandra climbs into the ring to look after Ramos, who despite his mass is slow to get up from the devastating double-whammy inflicted on him by the Cold 'Quins, while Derek Rage and Allah roll out of the ring to the outside, clearly disappointed with the outcome as Pizzazz and Medusa console them.  As Damage Incorporated clear the ring, Earl Alfonso receives the IIWF Tag Team belts from the timekeeper's table, and presents them to Icehawk and Tragedy, who hold them aloft as they parade around the ring, the prisoners surrounding them on their feet cheering and applauding the new champs.  Chaos struggles to get into the ring to join his former teammate, and the big man manages to do without his crutches long enough to hold up the arms of Tragedy and Icehawk in a victory salute, to another huge pop from the inmates!] TD: Each of these men have worn IIWF tag team gold before, but this must be an especially sweet victory for these two men, as nobody could have predicted this outcome here tonight.  What an ovation these two are receiving from this Leavenworth audience! SR: I don't get it.  How the hell could this happen?  Do we need a ratings boost _that_ badly?  I mean, sure, it worked on "Ellen", but jeezus, this is the IIWF!  This is supposed to be a manly place, for manly men, dammit! [While the Cold 'Quins continue to celebrate, the Prophets, Pizzazz, and Medusa begin to make their way up the aisle and out of the prison yard, but halfway up the aisle the group is stopped in their tracks by the appearance of Shadoe Rage!] TD: The action may not be over yet, people.  Shadoe Rage is now coming down to meet the "new" Prophets, and he does not look happy. SR: Shadoe!  Yes, that's it!  It's all the drunk's fault!  If  Shadoe'd been in there instead of that burnt-out, alcoholic mushmouth, the Prophets would be the champs! TD: What about Damage Incorporated, Steve? SR: THEM TOO!  I mean... oh hell, Dross, what does it matter?  I need to drink now...  [Shadoe Rage is standing defiantly in the middle of the aisle, arms folded, shaking his head and glowering at his brother.  Pizzazz and Medusa begin pleading with Shadoe not to start an incident, and Allah steps forward to try to talk to him, but Shadoe just jabs a menacing finger at the Dirt Dog, eyes flashing fire, and Allah backs off, not wanting any part of this "domestic dispute."  Shadoe then points the finger at brother Derek and says something which the microphones can't pick up at this distance, but clearly has something to do with his being "replaced."  Derek then steps forward, within inches of his brother, and says something back to him in a reserved, conciliatory tone, with the manner of a man looking to make peace.  Derek then extends his hand to Shadoe, gesturing to his brother to accept it, as Allah, Pizzazz, and Medusa look on nervously.] TD: We have a tense situation here, Steve.  SR: Tense?  Ken and Barbie are the IIWF Tag Team champions, and you call _this_ tense?  What do you know from tense, Dross? [Shadoe stares deep into his brother's eyes for long seconds, a mixture of emotions ranging from mistrust to understanding, from anger to shame, playing over the stony features of his face, them looks down to Derek's hand, extended towards him, and seems to consider a number of options for a moment.  Finally, his eyes once again meet Derek's, and Shadoe extends his own right hand shake!  The other Age of Ragers breath a collective sigh of relief as the two brothers move to reconcile... when suddenly, from out of nowhere, Shadoe Rage uncorks a scything left hook that catches Derek flush on the jaw, knocking him unconscious to the ground!] TD: Oh my goodness!  Shadoe Rage has just knocked out his big brother! SR: So much for brotherly love.  Is there nothing pure and sacred left in this cold, cruel world?  It's been a tragic day all around, Dross. Tragic.  Tragedy.  Icehawk.  Champs.  Fuschia suede straps for the hallowed Tag Team Titles.  I... I just want to cry, Dross.  [The other Age of Ragers look on in shock as Shadoe Rage stands over the unconscious form of his brother with a satisfied look on his face, rubbing the knuckles of his left hand, then shoots one more icy stare at the remainder of his former stablemates before turning and striding up the aisle and out of the prison yard.  Pizzazz, Medusa, and Allah tend to Derek Rage, pulling him to his feet and helping him to slowly walk out of the yard as he begins to come around, clutching his jaw as he is supported by Medusa and Allah.  Finally, the new IIWF Tag Team champions, Icehawk and Tragedy, accompanied by Chaos, leave the ring and exit the yard to a standing ovation from the inmates. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: And so, having crowned most unusual new World Tag Team Champions, we come to the evening's main event. Mystery has surrounded this match since it was announced one week ago, Steve Roberts. Just who will Brody Thunder be facing? SR: Well, you know I'd like to tell you, Dross -- but I can't. It's in my contract. TD: Since when did you have the slightest regard for the terms of your contract, Steve Roberts? SR: You're right, Dross. I'm not going to tell you because I'm a mean-spirited son of a gun. TD: At least that's approaching honesty. Folks, we could see just about anybody come out of those heavy iron doors in just a few moments to face the IIWF World Heavyweight Champion... any wrestler in the world could be wearing the sport's richest prize by the end of this evening! SR: Enough of the build-up, Dross -- let's get up to the ring! ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| WORLD CHAMPIONSHIP OPEN CONTRACT MATCH: |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder [c] vs. challenger ....................................................................... WRITER: DS [Sparkplug Lee steps back into the regulation IIWF ring, incongruous of its coarse and undesirable surroundings. Once again, he receives some complimentary cheers from the felons, but he grits his teeth and makes his introductions:] RA: Inmates of the Leavenworth Federal Penitentiary, the following contest is your _main event_ of the evening, and it is an open contract match for the IIWF World Heavyweight Championship! [Big, big pop from the assembled convicts.] RA: Introducing first, hailing from the Town Too Tough To Die, Tombstone, Arizona, and weighing in at 267lbs, here is the IIWF World Heavyweight Champion... the "Lone Wolf"... Brody Thunder! [Huge pop as the theme from "High Plains Drifter" echoes out over the huge loudspeakers erected on the towers at each corner of the courtyard, usually reserved for barking orders to the inmates. The evening has drawn in considerably, and the crowd is cast in darkness as a spotlight illuminates the head of the aisle as the four guards slowly pull open the heavy iron doors... and out steps the IIWF World Heavyweight Champion, the "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder, the trademark stogie hanging from his mouth, and the title belt slung casually over his shoulder.] TD: Here he comes, Steve Roberts -- here comes the man who has said he will defend his World Championship against any challenger in the world today. Thunder wants to prove that the IIWF World Heavyweight Champion is the _real_ world's champion. SR: You got that right, Dross -- and while I admire Thunder for having the cajones to drop the "Outlaw" J.W. Hardin a couple of weeks back, you have to know that there's a million and one guys in this world gunning for the "Lone Wolf"... and everybody knows that wolves hunt more effectively in packs. TD: Somehow I don't think Thunder is worried about the odds, Steve Roberts. He's fought them before, and he'll fight them again. The question is: who will he be facing here tonight? [Thunder continues to slowly make his way down the makeshift aisle towards the ringside area, and points to his trademark black t-shirt, reading "BRING 'EM ON", as he passes the camera and enters the ring, sliding under the bottom rope. He approaches Sparkplug and grabs the microphone, shoving the announcer into one corner of the ring. Thunder's raspy voice echoes across the courtyard:] BT: Alright, Spreadbury... time is money an' my time's too valuable ta be playin' guessin' games. Ya handpicked someone ta get their noggin knotted so let's look at the likely suspects.     Casey James? Naw... he packed it in with his partner Claw. Requiem? Uh-uh... not if he knows what's good fer 'im. Hardin? Anytime, anywhere. An' tonight's as good a time as any. Verhoeven? "The German vermin"? Hell, if he's awake yet, chances are he's in no hurry ta get back in here with me. Kowalski? I thinks he's still on liquid foods.     Mebbe it's that boogeyman Deathbringer. Or that nutjob Petrow. Mebbe it's that primadonna Shakespeare. Or mebbe even that goody-two-shoes, Kauffman. The list o' suspects ain't exactly small. So let's end this charade, Spreadbury... right now. I'm out here, jus' like my contract says, so I want you ta send down yer precious "mystery man" ya got hidden back there in the shadows.     So bring 'im on down an' I promise ya this much... they may _walk_     down that aisle ta get here...     ...but they're _leavin'_ on a gurney, an' that's a fact. [Thunder throws the mic to the ground, takes off the shirt and fires it over the top rope still sputtering at the curtain area. He stands center-ring crooking both index fingers sayin' "c'mon...c'mon". Sparkplug Lee bends down to retrieve the microphone, eyeing Thunder suspiciously. The Champion, however, has his gaze fixed on the heavy iron doors at the head of the aisle.] TD: Confident words from Brody Thunder, Steve Roberts. Are we going to see an IIWF great come out here? Will it be Hardin? Maybe even Dan Kauffman... these fans can hardly wait, and nor can I! [Sparkplug Lee shouts above the cheers of the fans:] RA: And introducing his opponent... [Mark Knopfler's "Local Hero" kicks in over the PA.] RA: ...he hails from Minneapolis, Minnesota, he weighs in at 257lbs... he is the current NLWP World Heavyweight Champion... he is "To Excess" Rick Williams! [As the music booms out over the loudspeakers, the unmistakable figure of "To Excess" Rick Williams steps out from behind the curtain.  Evidently recognized by the NLWP fans in the audience, Williams is greeted with a reasonably loud heel pop. Standing six feet four, two hundred and fifty-seven pounds, his stringy blond hair almost reaching his shoulders, arrogance almost visibly radiates from his body.  Dressed in black trunks, with "To Excess" written in white lettering on each leg, the NLWP World Championship belt is draped loosely over his right shoulder. Incessantly chewing a stick of gum, Williams appears relaxed in his new and unfamiliar surroundings.] TD: Well, Steve Roberts, this guy is a real piece of work. Folks, for those of you unfamiliar with "To Excess" Rick Williams, allow me to fill you in just a little bit. This man is one of the most skilled technicians in the sport today -- but he packs a bad attitude to go with his skills. SR: I kinda like this guy, Dross. I've been watching some tapes of his matches in the NLWP, and although he's only the champion of that Canadian bush league, he can go. TD: The NLWP is not a Canadian bush league, Steve Roberts -- it is a hotbed for wrestling luminaries in the great frozen north. A number of the IIWF's most promising stars have wrestled in the NLWP at one time or another... and now it appears that "To Excess" Rick Williams is ready for his shot in the IIWF. This man is a journeyman of the wrestling world, and can lay claim to nearly a dozen championships from throughout his career, under his first ring name of "El Perfecto", and now under his real name. SR: He's gonna tie Thunder up in knots, Dross. This guy knows more holds than most wrestlers have forgotten. TD: He's certainly a formidable opponent -- and one, I dare say, that has caught the Champion off-guard. I suspect that Thunder was expecting somebody like his nemesis J.W. Hardin to come out here -- somebody with whom he is a little more familiar than he is with Rick Williams. This should be an outstanding match. [Reaching the ringside area, he rolls into the ring under the bottom rope, and stands before Thunder. Grabbing the microphone from Sparkplug Lee, Williams begins to speak, standing just feet away from Brody Thunder, who continues to stare hard at the challenger.] RW: For those of you ignorant enough not to know me... or know _of_ me... please feel free to refer to me as your new hero... your new leader... you get the idea.  You see, "To Excess" has come a long way in a short space of time.  In fact, so _far_, that within the space of thirty minutes yesterday, I had the IIWF's head honcho, Spreadbury, on the phone, begging me to save his show, and his _supposed_ NLWP counterpart Derek Anderson, begging me to save face for his promotion, and put on a show that only "To Excess" can. So... being the type of guy who likes a challenge, I say "Sure.  I'll cancel a couple of dates, and I'll save both your asses".  And you know the thought that filtered through my mind?  "Damn, I'm a nice guy!". [Loud heel pop from the NLWP fans in attendance.] RW: But seriously, folks... you know the _real_ reason I agreed to be the NLWP's knight in shining armour, so to speak? _Thunder_! [A huge pop erupts throughout the arena, at the very mention of Thunder's name.] RW: The man _lives_ to walk in Rick Williams' shadow.  And when I see him masquerading as a _champion_ anywhere on God's green earth, I've just _gotta_ do something about it.  Brody, my friend, we all know you couldn't make the grade over in the NLWP... We all know you dream of one day possessing half the talent "To Excess" possesses in his little finger... We all know I'm your worst nightmare... One plus one equals two... In a little while, Rick Williams is packing  _two_  championship belts. [Williams tosses the microphone to Sparkplug Lee who skitters out of the ring. Official Earl Alfonso takes the IIWF World Heavyweight Championship belt and the NLWP equivalent from their respective holders, and passes them to an attendant at ringside.] TD: Fans, you should note that the NLWP title is _not_ on the line in this match. If Williams wins, he leaves as a double champion -- but if Thunder gets the duke, he only retains the IIWF World title. [As Williams and Thunder continue to stare hard at one another, Alfonso signals for the bell to start the match: Ding! Ding! Ding! The impasse between the two wrestlers seems unbreakable, until Williams takes a step back and spits out his gum, swatting it in the face of Brody Thunder. The champion immediately charges Williams, who sidesteps the big man and brings him down to the canvas with a drop toe hold. Williams immediately winds Thunder's leg up in an anklelock, but soon releases the hold.] TD: Williams is sending a message to Thunder here -- he's going to be relying on that quickness and technical ability in this match. SR: But it ain't gonna do him any good if he gets his head Cattle Bustered through the canvas, Dross. TD: Indeed, but Williams appears to have the speed to stay out of trouble. [Thunder approaches the challenger more cautiously this time, and extends his arms for a collar and elbow tie-up. Williams does likewise, and the two men circle one another in the centre of the ring -- but as soon as Williams comes within range, Thunder lashes out with a hard kick which doubles "To Excess" over. Thunder then performs a quick snap suplex on the stunned Williams, throwing him halfway across the ring. The champion makes no attempt to follow up, however, instead waiting for Williams to stand and turn to face him once more, at which point he greets him with a big, devilish grin.] TD: And now it's Thunder sending a message. Williams may have speed and technical know-how, but the "Lone Wolf" will hit you and hit you and hit you... and he's no slouch in terms of moves like suplex variants, either. SR: One thing you forgot: neither of these two men will think twice about bending the rules in this one, Dross. [Both men appear to be more cautious now as they circle each other once again. Occasionally one lunges towards the other, but neither man seems to want to lock up -- and then they do lock up, Williams performing a standing switch and trapping Thunder in a hammerlock, Thunder switching back -- and flooring Williams with a short-arm clothesline! Thunder drops on the challenger and begins pummelling his head with hard rights and lefts, despite the admonishment of Alfonso, who warns him. Eventually, Williams is able to ward off the shots, and jams a thumb in Thunder's eye to push him away. Getting to his feet, Williams bounces off the ropes and knocks the disorientated champion from the ring with a clothesline, Thunder toppling over the ropes to the outside. Williams raises his arms to the crowd to a big heel pop, before dropping to the mat and rolling to the outside, where Thunder is pulling himself to his feet. Williams rocks the champion with a series of knife-edge chops, backing him up against one of the ringposts -- but as Williams measures Thunder for one final chop, the champion slumps to the floor, and Williams hits the ringpost hard with the back of his hand. Big pop as Williams screams out in pain and looks down at his knuckles.] TD: Oh my! Williams might have broken his hand right there, Steve Roberts! Thunder with the presence of mind to dodge out of the way. The champion now, getting to his feet... [Thunder grabs the preoccupied Williams, and suplexes him -- right onto the steel steps! Williams' back hits the steps hard with a loud clang as Thunder picks himself up and rolls back into the ring, breaking Alfonso's count at eight. He then rolls back to the outside, and moves around the steps to retrieve Williams -- but the challenger has recovered sufficiently to ram the top half of the steel steps into Thunder's midsection, knocking the champion back. Thunder hits his head against the steel crowd barriers as he tumbles backwards, and appears dazed as Williams gets to his feet, still clutching his injured right hand. Now it is the challenger's turn to roll back into the ring to break the official's count, but Williams remains in the ring, trying to regain his strength, keeping an eye on Thunder all the while. The champion rises, egged on by the clamouring fans just inches away from him, and appears to have lost none of his good humour as he tells one felon to "get yer goddamned hands offa me, ya piece a'trash". He climbs slowly back to the ring apron, where Williams greets him by suplexing him into the ring and going for the cover. Alfonso counts: 1 - 2 - kickout! Big pop!] TD: The first near-fall of the match, and the action is finally back in the ring, Steve Roberts. Perhaps Williams will be able to dictate the pace of this encounter now -- he favours a measured approach to wrestling, taking his opponent apart piece by piece. [Williams helps Thunder to his feet, and then executes a textbook brainbuster suplex, dropping the "Lone Wolf" on the back of his head. Williams makes the cover again: 1 - 2 - again Thunder kicks out! Big pop! Thunder rolls to his knees, but is grabbed from behind by a triangle sleeper hold from Williams, who wrenches away at the champion's neck. Thunder flails briefly, but soon appears to be succumbing to the hold, unable to reach the ropes on any side.] TD: The champion could be in trouble here, Steve. Williams has that sleeper locked in pretty much perfectly. SR: Aw, can it, Dross. Ain't no bush league guy alive that can put the "Lone Wolf" down with a damned sleeperhold. [Alfonso checks on Thunder, who snarls that he has no intention of submitting. The champion summons up as much strength as he is able -- and pulls himself back to his knees! Big pop as the crowd begin to chant, "Thun - der! Thun - der! Thun -der!" Thunder continues to fight, now trying to lift the entire 250lbs body weight of Rick Williams, who clutches desperately to the neck of the champion for dear life... and then Thunder is up on his feet! Thunder is up on his feet, carrying Williams on his back! Huge pop from the assembled fans!] TD: Oh my! What strength from Brody Thunder, lifting Rick Williams on his back from the canvas -- and now... oh my! SR: Hotshot on the top turnbuckle! Thunder just dumped Williams face-first on the top turnbuckle! That's got to hurt, Dross! [Williams hits the mat hard after having his head snapped back by the impact against the top turnbuckle as Thunder lurched towards the corner. The champion drags himself to his feet, and immediately stomps hard on Williams' injured right hand. Big, big pop! Williams clutches at his hand and rolls away, but as he extends his fragile fingers to try and push himself to his feet, Thunder stamps on them once again, Williams buckling back to the canvas.] TD: Thunder is merciless in there -- Rick Williams must be in agony from those broken fingers of his. [Williams grabs the bottom rope, and yells at the official to keep Thunder away from him. Alfonso obliges, and steps between the two men as Williams pulls himself back to his feet, the fingers on his right hand apparently too painful to move. Thunder tries to shove past Alfonso, but receives a rake to the face from Williams that goes above the official's head, and Thunder staggers back. Williams grabs Thunder around the waist and hoists him up, hotshotting him over the top rope. The champion springs back off the ropes and lands on his back in the ring, clutching at his throat. Williams pounces, and stomps on Thunder's knees repeatedly, before grabbing both of the champion's legs and wrapping them, lightning-fast, into a scorpion deathlock, flipping the champion over onto his stomach. Thunder slaps the mat in pain, unable to reach the ropes, and Williams' face is contorted with the effort of putting as much leverage into the hold as possible.] TD: Williams has the Quickstriker on Brody Thunder! This match could be over right here, Steve Roberts! SR: No way, Dross. Williams hasn't done anything like enough damage to Thunder's legs in this match -- this is only gonna wear the big man down, but he's not gonna quit. TD: Earl Alfonso now, checking for the submission, and... oh my! [As Alfonso bends over Thunder, asking for the submission, Thunder grabs the official by the collar of his shirt, and uses him as leverage to pull himself closer to the ropes. Alfonso topples to the mat, but quickly turns and admonishes Thunder for laying his hand on an official. "Screw ya" snarls Thunder as he inches closer to the ropes, now only a fingertip away... and Thunder grabs the bottom rope! Thunder grabs the bottom rope -- and Alfonso calls for the break!] TD: Williams now -- pretending not to hear Alfonso call for the break! We could have a disqualification right here... no. Williams releases the hold on the count of four. SR: He's smarter than that, Dross. Williams simply knows how to get the most out of these situations. [Williams stands and nods patronisingly at the official as he receives his warning, then turns to face Thunder, who has dragged himself up to his feet using the ropes. Williams takes a swing at Thunder's right leg with his boot, and knocks the big man down to the canvas once again. Thunder rolls from the ring, and attempts to shake the kink out of his leg. Williams, meanwhile, steps out of the ring onto the apron behind Thunder, and measures him. The front row fans yell, "BEHIND YOU!" at Thunder, who spins just as Williams launches himself -- and grabs the challenger out of midair! However, Thunder's right knee is weakened, and he buckles under the strain, dropping to the floor with Williams on top of him. Big heel pop!] TD: That looked very painful, Steve Roberts -- did you see how Thunder's leg buckled under him? SR: Knees are funny things, Dross. Reminds me of the time I had endoscopic surgery on one of my knees after an Asai moonsault to the outside. TD: You never performed a move to the outside in your whole career, Steve Roberts. SR: I did once, Dross. TD: Let me guess... Best weekend of your life? SR: No way. I ended up needing surgery, baby dolls! TD: Good grief. In any case, Williams is taking full advantage of his opponent's incapacitation -- he just rolled into the ring to break the count, and he's continuing to stomp away on Thunder's weakened right knee. [The front row fans stand and yell obscenities at Williams as he works over the champion in front of them. Guards move quickly to quell the dissent as Williams gives the felons the one-fingered salute. Williams drags Thunder to his feet and rolls him back into the ring, following him in himself as the count reaches eight. Thunder slowly tries to rise to his feet, and Williams approaches from behind -- he hooks his arm over Thunder's throat and... Huge heel pop!] TD: Oh my! Oh my! Williams just hit the "Excessive Force"! Williams just hit that vicious inverted neckbreaker! This match is over! SR: Aw, shoot. Come on, Thunder! [Alfonso drops to the canvas: 1 - 2 - 3! Williams leaps to his feet and punches the air, jubilant in his victory! Huge heel pop!] TD: He got him! He got him! We have a new champion! SR: No, Dross! No! Foot on the ropes! Foot on the ropes! [Indeed, Alfonso grabs Williams' raised hand and yanks it down from above his head, pointing at Thunder's foot, which is lying across the bottom rope. Huge pop as Williams argues with the official, his face reddening with anger as Alfonso insistently orders the match to continue.] TD: Oh my, Steve Roberts. What a close call for Brody Thunder -- the champion running on instinct alone there as he managed to get his foot across that bottom rope. SR: Thunder's a smart cookie, Dross. Can't hold a candle to the real Outlaw, of course -- but he's smarter than some gum-chewing freak from Minneapolis. [The fans now chant, "IIWF! IIWF!" as Thunder begins to stir. Williams, realising his argument with the official is a lost cause, turns his attention back to the IIWF champion, who is up on his knees. Thunder fires out with a couple of punches, catching Williams with a winding shot to the gut, bending him double. Thunder hooks an uppercut under Williams' jaw, knocking the challenger off his feet. The "Lone Wolf" drags himself back to his vertical base, much to the delight of the gathered fans, and rolls his neck to try and shake out the kinks of the Excessive Force neckbreaker. Thunder drags the groggy Williams to his feet, and hooks him with a standing side headlock. Big, big pop as the fans chant, "DDT! DDT! DDT!" -- but just as Thunder is about to execute the Cattle Buster DDT, Williams drops to the canvas and rolls to the outside, signalling for a time out.] TD: Quite some presence of mind from Williams to escape the Cattle Buster there, Steve Roberts. SR: Time out?! There ain't no "time outs" in wrestling, ya freak! [Williams cautiously climbs back to the ring apron as Thunder argues with the official, who warns him about trying to leave the ring -- but Thunder sees him, and moves fast, driving a kick into Williams' midsection and sending "To Excess" flying from the apron and falling hard against the steel crowd barriers, almost dislodging the front row of fans. Williams slumps to the floor outside the ring, and Thunder follows him out, dragging him up to his feet -- and then hoisting him up onto his shoulders!] TD: Oh my! Thunder's going to execute the Thunderbolt! [Thunder has Williams up on his shoulders in a torture rack, and yanks on his neck and legs, trying to put as much pressure on his opponent as possible -- and then brings Williams crashing down with a shoulder-breaker! Big, big pop!] TD: He got him! All Thunder has to do is roll Williams back into the ring, and this match is over! [Thunder hoists the stunned Williams up once more, and rolls him back into the ring. He follows his opponent in and covers him, Earl Alfonso dropping to the mat and making the count: 1 - 2 - Alfonso stops the count! Big heel pop!] TD: The referee stops the count! Thunder is using the ropes for extra leverage! [Indeed, Thunder has both his feet hooked over the middle rope and uses them for extra leverage, keeping Williams pinned down to the mat. Thunder is furious as he argues with Alfonso, raising his fist to the official, who backs away. Meanwhile, Williams stirs behind Thunder, sneaks up behind the cowboy, and...] TD: Small package! Williams has the small package! We have one... we have two! We have... no! Thunder kicks out! SR: Aw, man -- Thunder is big-time angry now, baby dolls. [Thunder springs to his feet, infuriated by Williams' audacity, and stomps away viciously at the challenger before dragging him to his feet and whipping him into the ropes. Williams ducks under a clothesline, bounces off the far side and returns -- leapfrog by Thunder -- Williams comes back one more time, and... BAM!] TD: Oh my! Cattle Buster DDT out of nowhere! Thunder hits the Cattle Buster DDT! This match is over! SR: Stick a fork in him, Dross -- he's done. [Alfonso drops and makes the count as Thunder hooks both of Williams' legs: 1 - 2 - 3! Ding! Ding! Ding! Huge, huge pop as the theme from "High Plains Drifter" echoes out over the PA once more.] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, your winner, as the result of a pinfall... and _still_ IIWF World Heavyweight Champion... the "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder! [Thunder pulls himself to his feet and snatches the IIWF World Heavyweight Championship belt away from Alfonso, thrusting it into the air as the felons surrounding the ring cheer.] TD: Well, Steve Roberts, Brody Thunder once again proves why he is simply one of the most dangerous competitors in the sport today. A valiant effort from "To Excess" Rick Williams -- but in the end, it was Thunder who came out on top. SR: I'll give that paper champion some credit, Dross. He put on a good show for these morons -- he can go. He can go all the way... but not tonight, daddy-o. TD: Indeed, a strong showing from the NLWP World Heavyweight Champion, who showed tonight that he does indeed have what it takes to succeed in this sport. Perhaps one day we will see this young man back here in the IIWF. [Thunder casts a glance down at the recovering Williams on the canvas and nods, as if to say, "nice try, kid" before leaving the ring and heading up the aisle, the IIWF World Title belt slung over his shoulder once more. Cut back to the announcing table at ringside.] TD: Well, folks, we are right out of time here tonight from Leavenworth Federal Penitentiary. What a night it's been -- some truly incredible action, new tag team champions crowned, feuds escalated, and challenges made... and remember, we are now just three weeks away from Ring Wars IV. We'll be announcing the first matches for that spectacular this coming Tuesday on "Inside the IIWF", and next Saturday Night, we'll be coming at you live from the US Air Force Academy in Colorado Springs. Until then, this is Tim Dross, for "Soundbite" Steve Roberts, saying... so long, everybody! [Cut to a wide-angle shot of the prison courtyard as Williams drags himself to his feet in the ring and watches as Thunder disappears through the heavy iron doors into the main building. 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 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+