________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __| |\ /| /\ |\ | | /\ \ / | || | \ v v / | __| | v |/ \| \| __| /__\ \/ |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| | |\ /| |/ |/ \/ | | \/ | |\_// /\ |\ /| | _ | / __ / __ | v | | | / \ . |\ | / \ / \ | | | | \__ | | \| | __ \__ 20 October 1997 | | | | \ | | | \__| \ .....................|..v_____/.|.|..|____|____/ ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [The camera opens with a close-up shot of the IIWF world title belt. Single droplets of water drip onto the belt.] BT: It's a shame. It's a damn flamin' shame. [The camera pans out to a wide shot. The droplets of water are revealed to be beads of sweat trickling off the nose of a sweat-soaked Brody Thunder. Thunder has his head hung low and is looking at the title belt, shaking his head in disapproval.] The IIWF... the flamin "fed o' the year"... can't even come up with one decent opponent. Nah...they gotta go beg off the NLWP. So who do _they_ send over? Their top dog... ..."To Excess" Rick Williams. NLWP Champion. Well kid...ya done yer lil fed proud. I stood out here last week an' said I'd face anybody from anywhere. Then sat back an' waited. A "mystery opponent" was scheduled. My challenge was answered. Ya should be proud, amigo, cuz yer in a select few. In fact... yer the only member o' the club to date. Y'see... I challenged _everyone_ ta come get this strap. An' only one person ponied up the guts ta accept that challenge. [Thunder lifts his head and stares into the camera.] That's you, Williams. [He slings the strap over his left shoulder.] Now I ain't gonna start no fan club fer ya, but I will say this much, kid. I like yer moxy. Ya showed up an' ya gave me a good scrap. But in this business there's only two kinda outcomes. Winning an' losin'. It's jus' that simple. As fer not cuttin' it in the NLWP... stick around, ace. I'll make yer life _real_ interestin'. [Thunder removes the belt from his shoulder and looks down at it again,shaking his head.] Hmph... the IIWF importin' talent ta get this strap offa me. Pretty sad when ol' Spreadbury'd rather see a rival fed take the gold instead o' one o' his own. Like I said... ...it's a shame. [Thunder looks back into the camera and smiles that evil grin.] What's next, Mr President? The CWC champion? The top LWC guy? Mebbe the INWI's main man is free next Saturday night? It don't matter, hoss. They're all gonna fall. I ain't spent my blood an' sweat fer the past year ta have this strap taken by some 'hired gun' lookin' ta make a name fer himself at my expense. Jus' ain't gonna happen. So you call whatever fed or superstar-wannabe ya want. I'll be there. I'll be ready. An' when it's over there's one more thing I'm gonna be, pal... [Thunder slings the belt back over his shoulder and slaps it hard.] ...an' that's champion. [The camera tightens in once again on the title belt. Fade to black.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Outlaw" J W Hardin ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [The IIWF interview area. The front of a large cowboy hat raises to show two eyes which burn into the camera. They are the eyes of "Outlaw" J.W. Hardin. He speaks very calmly.] JWH: How many men gotta go down 'fore I prove my point? Duncan Macbeth, ya came out blabberin' last week in yer broken English... or Irish... or whatever the hell ya call it. Ya made the mistake of using my name... _my_ name... in the same sentence as some hombre name of Christiansen. Well, I don't even know who the hell he is, but I didn't like yer tone. So I'll make this plain and simple, sheep hugger. [Hardin raises his hand and holds up one finger... nope, his index finger.] One. Ya got yer shot at Quigley in a few weeks. Congratulations. I ain't never had any use fer that loser. [He holds up another finger.] Two. Ya got yer whinin' little friends. Congratulations. I ain't never had much use fer _friends_. Ain't that right, Thunder? [Hardin holds up a third finger.] Three. Ya got a purty lil' skirt to wear. Congratulations, but I sure as hell ain't never had any use -- or respect -- fer a man in a skirt. [He holds up a fourth finger in a gesture IIWF fans haven't seen since Hardin was a member of The Horsemen during the early days of the fed.] Four. Ya got yer health... fer now. Congratulations. But most importantly, Macbeth... [Hardin holds up all five fingers on his right hand, then slowly curls those fingers into a fist.] ...ya got my attention. I reckon I'll just congratulate you on that in person Saturday night. And Thunder, make sure ya watch. Yer time is comin', yellow-belly. That Requiem hombre wants yer belt? Fine... I ain't never had any use fer belts. It's yer hide I want, Thunder. [Hardin squints at the camera, his dark eyes almost hiding in the shadows of his hat.] How many men gotta go down 'fore I prove my point? [He turns to walk off the set, uttering one final comment.] As many as it damn well takes! [Fade] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Blind Guardian ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [The IIWF interview area. The Blind Guardian is standing in front of the camera, wearing a white piece of cloth around his eyes. His naked chest shows the large skull tattoo, which, probably because of the contraction of some of the Blind Guardian's stomach muscles, seems to be smiling. The tall man has moved his head to the left and is slowly moving the fingers of his right hand through his beard as he now begins to speak] BG: Two combatants, locked into a small room, fighting against each other in order to survive. Two combatants, hating each other, trying everything to knock the other one down. Two combatants, each thinking that he's the toughest man in the _mighty_ IIWF - and all of a sudden both of them get paralyzed by the appearance of an old man. Requiem and Otto Verhoeven. I had expected you to be more, well, let's just say _competent_ to defend against a single intruder. Otto, I knew that you would have won the match on your own, and to be quite honest you _have_ won it on your own. But that doesn't mean anything against a wimp like Rectum. You see, that fool will complain about how I attacked him from behind, about how I attacked him after he was already down on the floor. But, little boy, tell me just _how_ I could be able to attack you when you're _not_ down on the floor, when you're not turning your back towards me. Rectum, you're truly the laugh of the wrestling world, just like the whole IIWF is and just like all those _mighty_ wrestlers of this _mighty_ league are, and if the two of us wanted to fight each other in a clean, fair, _even_ matchup, hey, then you would have to chop my head off first. However, I doubt that you've got the guts to face me whatsoever. So, you morbid fans out there, you may call me the one who cut off the angel's wings. And as far as the rest of you preliminary wrestlers is concerned: Why didn't you manage to defeat that brat on your own two feet? You see, it's just that simple. I sentenced him - I punished him - I destroyed another myth. I am the Blind Guardian. [Fade] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Timothy N. Turner ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [The scene opens in a very opulant sitting room in what is obviously a very expensive mansion. Timothy N. Turner lounges on a couch wearing a beautiful silk robe. He is surrounded by five gorgeous women, wearing equally exquisite morning wear. One of the women is casually stroking Timothy's hair.] TT: How was your night, Richard? Did you meet any interesting new people? I know I did. I had no idea exactly where I would land when I used my escape clause. As it turns out, it was in the backyard of the Von Edward estate. May I introduce the Von Edward sisters? [One by one he introduces the ravishing young ladies and they nod or wave in acknowledgement of the camera.] TT: Victoria...Brittany...Constance...Candice...and this lovely lady is Ruthanne. They were kind enough to offer me safe haven from the toils of the outside world for a few days. How did you spend last night, Dakota? It may not have been in prison but I guarantee it wasn't in the same kind of company that I found myself in. Do you know why, Bundy? It has something to do with class. I always land on my feet. In Roswell...on Wednesday...you will be beaten. Why? Because you aren't good enough...in any way...to beat me. RV: Can't you stay longer, darling? TT: Only until Wednesday. I have an idea! Why don't you ladies come to Ring Wars IV as my guests? [The dazzling women murmur their assent as the scene fades...] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "The Mouth" Matt Malone ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Matt Malone stands outside the Leavenworth Federal Penetentiary at dusk. With a cigar in hand, his shirt undone, he looks like a man who has partied the night away. He glances at his watch, and grins... ] MM: I guess they'll be letting little boy Blue out soon, eh? Guess his hard night will all be over. Guess it will have been a pain in the arse for Blue. Or a pleasure. I don't know how he is inclined. Probably reclined. Anyhow, I'm babbling. So listen up IIWF, I've got a few things to say. First of all, Timothy N. Turner, I salute you. Not only are you one of the finest technical talents in the sport today, you must almost be the most ingenious. A rocket-pack! I love it. [Malone chuckles to himself thoughtfully, then bites his hands. Blood seeps out. He wipes it on his shirt] MM: TNT, you're a class act. You've got my respect. But what's the deal with Luke Steele? What was he doing there? Visiting some of his convict friends no doubt, and got a bit sidelined. Steele, if you want a piece of Bundy, just forget it. Sign the contract though, 'cause Bundy will have every single piece of you. You see, the last week we were away in intensive training ... finding ways to put people into intensive care. It was a week of revelations for Bundy. Me & him ... we've come up with three ways to cripple... and I do mean cripple ... every IIWF star. From Steele to Creed, from Quigley to Requiem, from Byron to Blue, we've found the way. [Malone, insanely, seems to prise open his self-inflicted wound even further.] MM: IIWF, we haven't just throw away the rule-book, we've burnt it and re-written. From now on, Bundy fights the Bundy way. From now on, Bundy fights for blood. He fights for broken bones. He fights to humiliate everyone, to make them seem as pathetic as they really are. [Malone pulls out a bottle of vodka and pours it on the wound...] MM: And as for me... well, I'm still making sound business judgement. And that means Genesis, right now. Rogers, you wanted Bundy in Genesis. Now you've got him. [Malone douses himself with whatever is left of the vodka bottle and walks off. Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Shadoe Rage ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Shadoe Rage smirks into the camera, his eyes hostile wild and filled with savagery. His hair is pulled back off his face, fanned out over his shoulders in a mane. He holds up his black-gloved hands, showing four fingers.] SR: Four years we been doing this, Derek. Four long years. Beating everybody that we could whenever and however we chose. Yeah, that was our legacy. But the sands of time, they just don't stop. How many times can you dance the same dance? How many times can you go around on the merry-go-round before it's just time to say let's get the hell off. The suits, the promotions people, the spin doctors, they all want to make it seem like this is something out of the blue. You and me, we know the truth. We been fussing and cussing in the ring for years. That was us, loose, wild, freestyle. When we were unknowns and when we were outlaws, those were the glory days, bruh. They were the glory days, but how long can you live them out? Number one ranking in two polls. Wow, everybody caught the fever. World title reigns in every federation. But what they forgot was I was doing this long before there ever was a Prophets and I am still an elite competitor on my own. But they wouldn't let me spread my wings. They locked us into a tight mould and the more famous we got the more the noose tightened around my neck. Yeah, they wanted to control the Rage. They wanted to squeeze it like cold until it turned into a polished diamond. Little D, you know me. And you know the truth. This ain't nothin' about us. This ain't nuthin' new. But I gotta show the world what I am without you. I gotta separate our names in the eyes of the people. I've been waitin' a long time to get that shot at bustin' the biggest guns in the business, but they kept duckin' and dodgin'. The Prophets got tag team responsibilities. Well, I gotta get away from that. I gotta walk away. I gotta let people this ain't no ruse. They'll see us together in other places. They'll see us strive and keep being the number one tag-team everywhere but here. But here, here where they know the gap between us and the nearest tag-team is too great. Here, there is no joy for me in being a Prophet. My destiny lies in other pastures. The angel of Death is watching over the two of you. You better uphold the legend I created. Or just like that [snaps his fingers] ... I'll destroy it all. [Fade out] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Derek Rage & Dirt Dog Unique Allah ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Derek and Unique high-five each other in the lockerroom. Despite losing the World Tag Team titles to the Cold Quins, neither seems particularly disturbed. In fact, they seem quite content.] DR: Unique, you shook up the world, baby. You shook up the world. DD: I done been waitin' a long time to be part of the legend. They done forgot all about the skills of this man. I ain't some sideshow joke. I ain't some carnival clown. My name is the Dirt Dog, the Iron Man of the EWMC, the laughing stock of the IFWF and the nastiest little doggie in the IIWF. And now I'm one half of the greatest tag-team that ever done walked the face of the planet. And let me tell y'all something. If you think the Prophets have slipped a notch replacing me for Shadoe, y'all muhfuhs better think again. 'Cause now we got innovation on our side. Y'all know the Dirt Dog. Y'all know you can never know what to expect. So that's the joint right there. The new Prophets of Rage got the green light to show they stuff and how long do you think it is before we grab another title from the IIWF? Huh? How long do you think it's gonna be? I tell ya, it ain't gonna be long. DR: And there's gonna be no better way to cement this union than by going in there and taking out those two punks that I just can't stand, Damage Inc. Damage, you aren't repeating as the best tag-team in the world. And you aren't gonna just waltz back into wrestling after your sabbatical and think you're going right back to the top of the mountain. Ramos, Porteaux, Je baby, there's an insurmountable obstacle in your way. And I can safely say to you that this obstacle is high enough, wide enough, deep enough to ever let you climb to the top of the mountain. DD: And that's the truth! I say YEAHHHHH!! [Fade] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Derek Mota ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Cut to the IIWF dressing rooms Saturday night, shortly following the action. Derek Mota is stripping off his prison uniform, his regular wrestling gear underneath. He just snickers and looks into the camera.] DM: Heh heh... all I gotta say to you, Genesis, is ... It's about time. I always told ya that if you evened out the numbers that I'd come out on top. Now I even outdid myself ... it was three against two... and I still beat ya. Two of you ain't even the man I am... and you know what other proof I've got? [Mota points to the IIWF Cruiserweight Title affixed around his waist.] I've got some gold wrapped around me, and I ain't lettin' go. And that's a message to the cruisers as well ... if I beat two of them, what chance in hell does one of ya have? And I see this week's schedule now ... Marty Warnett ... we've fought twice before ... two double countouts... This week, I ain't leavin' the ring 'till there's a winner. I ain't leavin' until I win ... [Fade] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Scott Rogers ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [SCENE: Scott "The Fop" Rogers stands before an IIWF backdrop, his face solemn, his eyes squinted. He speaks with anger in his voice like never heard from his lips before.] SR: Annis, tonight you went too far. I've been hearin' you mouthin' off about _my_ ego problem the last couple o' weeks and thought maybe it was just for the cameras and the fans -- to keep up the pretense we were a sinkin' ship without a captain -- a man you couldn't bear to see go. And I was happy to go along with it. But tonight's the final straw, buddy. Genesis is _over_, pal. And it don't bother me one bit. Smith's proven his worth -- _zero_. Hey Smith, I think I just heard Icehawk callin' for ya in the shower. [Rogers laughs then suddenly stops, unnervingly.] SR: And you, Annis, well, I ain't even gonna bother wastin' any more of me breath on _you_. But _any_ man who thinks The Fop's not fit to step in the same ring as him on the _same_ side _must_ be shown that he's _more_ than fit when he's on the other side. But you need a pat on the back, Annis, you've done tonight what no other man has done before. You've wiped the smile off my face... and when the smile goes, so does the "nice streak!" Yeah, you need pattin' on the back for makin' the worst mistake of your life. [Rogers walks off set. Fade out.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Serge Annis ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [The scene fades into a prison cell in the Leavenworth Federal Penitentiary, in Leavenworth, Kansas. The camera zooms into the cell, past the bars. There we see someone sitting on a bench. His face is hidden from the camera, by way of the dark shadows about the room. But we see his chiseled chest, with several scars and cuts on it, and black pants with an all too familiar design of a bloodstain on it. Two hands now reach down and rest on the man's knees. His hands are covered with blood. The man is obviously the Epitome of Evil, Serge Annis. He speaks in a quiet tone of voice.] SA: The IIWF sees fit that I remain in here... for a day or two. To settle down as they say... for my own good. They don't want me to harm anyone else, or myself. But what would drive a mad man to want to do such things? Is it Chris Quigley and Steve Manning Jr? I don't think so... those two freaks can go right on back to that rat hole of Canada, Newfoundland and stay there, after I beat him next Saturday for his title... What about The Highwayman? I don't think so. That lame goody two shoes, ain't even worth considering as a problem... But what about Scott 'The Fop' Rogers? Is it him? No... The Fop's chosen his own path... it just pleases me to know that the blood on my hands, came from his nose. It fills me with a warm sense of.. comfort. But who is it that is getting the master of mind games, all riled up like this? I'LL TELL YOU WHO!!! IT'S THAT GODDAMN [bleep]'ING S.O.B CREED! I called you out Creed, and you failed to show up! You failed me! You aren't worth half that pay check Spreaders pays you, because trust me when I say this, _YOU_ Creed are indeed the overated hack! Not I! But it looks like you are too goddam afraid to find out! YOU TALK TOUGH ROOKIE BOY! BUt frankly... you can't back your words. Well Creed, when you see this, ask yourself this... was it so wise to piss off a mad man like Serge Annis? Should I have messed in the Epitome of Evil's matters? SHOULD I HAVE PISSED OFF THE APOSTLE OF APOCALYPSE... like you did? The answer is a simple "No" -- you shouldn't have. But you did. Rookie Boy, some say you are gone from IIWF. I call your bluff... and when you show up... and when I get out of here, heh heh... step up to someone that doesn't give a damn who you've beat in the past, because I've beaten the Hell out of just about every name in this god foresaken fed! I won't list the men who have fell prey to the chokeslam. Creed... Genesis is dead. So it's just you and me... heh heh... and ain't nobody gonna stop me. Heh heh.... [Fade to black] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "The Highwayman" Adam Smith ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Adam Smith stands in front of the vandalised IIWF/Genesis backdrop, a trickle of blood escaping from the corner of his mouth, which he wipes away with the back of his hand. He looks briefly at the Genesis backdrop, a wry smile crosses his lips but his eyes betray a different emotion:] AS: I've been the pillar of support to you pair of morons for months now, and this is how you repay me! I've pulled your collective butt out of the fire so many times my hands have permanent scorch marks! [Adam's temper begins to boil over. He spins round and rips a large chunk out of the 'Genesis' backdrop before continuing his tirade!] AS: I was instrumental in helping other people win belts, Requiem, Cold Spell -- man, I covered their behinds so often, I thought my name was Andrex, and what has it got me? Pinned by that little snot Mota _after_ I hit the Daylight Robbery! A half-hearted shot at the IC belt that Icehawk F'd up for me! A supporting role to Serge Annis! [Adam's fury is almost beyond control, his body shakes with the venom in his voice, his words barely coherent behind the screams..] AS: Well, I've had enough of this facade! I may not be really 300 years old but I promise you pair of freaks, I'm gonna put you through four generations worth of hurt! [With a scream of pure, unadulterated fury, Adam unleashes a scything right hook, catching the camera on the side, sending the image into static...] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [IIWF Monday Musings area. "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley walks in, his head bowed, with a hand covering his newly stitched forehead. The bloodstains and battle scars are still evident over his body, as Quigley hasn't even showered yet. Although, maybe he's seen enough showers for one day. He looks up at the camera, the looks of dissapointment and disgust not evident, rather, a look of intense rage seems to be glaring from his face.] CQ: Congratulations, Duncan Macbeth. You've won the first round. If there was any reason for me to doubt your abilities before... there's even more of a reason now. Maybe this [BLEEP]-match meant something to you, but to me, it was nothing. It was nothing but a sick brawl, orchestrated by some pale-faced suit who wanted to impress a bunch of scumbags who shouldn't be allowed any form of entertainment in the first place! [Quigley rubs his hands over his face.] CQ: But at Ring Wars, it's a much different story. It'll have a different plot. This time it'll be a wrestling match, Macbeth. Not some wild brawl with queer overtones. And the ending will be much different. You felt the Quickstriker already, and not only did you feel the shooting pain going through your legs and spine, you felt absolute terror that you could not breathe, and you felt disbelief that I didn't give a damn whether you drowned right there in my hold! [Quigley looks down at his feet.] CQ: Yeah, you cracked my head open. Because of you, I've got dozens of stitches in my forehead. But, I think that's all you got. You can only brawl with the jailbirds, you can't wrestle with the legends, and at Ring Wars IV, that's exactly what your job is. You may have hoped to gain some sort of respect from me after this match, Macbeth. And well, you have. You're a damn good brawler when we're locked in a slippery, concrete shower room. But how are you in _my house_? An IIWF _wrestling_ ring. I guess we're both going to find out. [Quigley glares into the camera, then walks away. Then, Steve Manning wheels past the scene, and you can hear his muttering about, "...missing all the [BLEEP]in' fun..." and "...just a little too late..." as he dissappears in the direction Quigley went. Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Ike Sampson ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Jackson Witt stands on the IIWF Soundstage hastily erected after Hard Time. He looks around nervously, not exactly comfortable in his surroundings, before addressing the camera.] JW: Well, this is the part of the show where Ike was gonna come out here and tell all of you crackers out there how much he enjoyed whipping an ex-con like Starks in his own backyard. Sad thing is, President Dan came in a minute ago, and wanted Ike to head over to the hospital for a little check-up. Seems like he was a little concerned about our boy's health after that little brawl earlier tonight. I don't get it... you lock two brothers in a tiny-ass cell and have them beat the living hell outta each other--and for what?!? Ratings?!? Nothing the crackers like better than seeing two brothers kill each other. And then --- after you get your little ratings --- then you act all concerned about their health. C'mon, Danny Boy --- you don't give a damn about the brothers. Just the ratings... So, while he's at Danny Boy's hospital, Ike asked me to come out here for him. Let's get one thing straight: it ain't over. Starks, you think that broken nose is gonna stop the Big Dog?!? Think again. You think that little chokehold of yours is gonna slow him down?!? Think again. What you started tonight--The Big Dog's gonna finish. I guarantee you that. You happy, Danny Boy?!? Is this what you wanted?!? Somebody's gonna get hurt... real bad. Should be good for the ratings... [Fade] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Tony Starks ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [The makeshift IIWF Interview Area that has been set-up in the prison. Starks stands, his face a bloody mask of intensity. He puts his white towel around his neck and the shot closes in on his shoulders and face. He speaks in a tone of cold calm...] TS: Ike, I told you young buck...I tried to tell you. I don't feel bad about what I did to you...why should I? There is no pity in my heart... there is not much of anything except cold. I will give you some credit though -- you gave it your all, it just wasn't enough. You should get used to that... [A commotion ensues off camera. Some prison guards and IIWF officials have entered the scene, yelling that Starks had no right to do what he did to the guards, the warden and the ref.] TS: You listen to me, Alfonso, you paid for sticking your nose in the match, it was pin or submission only, why in the hell would ya try to stop me from blending the concrete with Ike's head? Same thing with those guards and that warden, you guys won't [Bleep]. You want to get in my face? Bring it on and I will send your organs to every location in existence. Katha jime, the most dangerous hold in the world. The list of the "superstars" that I have dropped will continue to grow, this ain't 'bout no belts. This is about life and the lesson of life that I was dealt: pain and suffering. [The shot closes in on Starks' face] What do you think I will do to you? Huh? This is only the beginning, Ike, only the beginning and the whole IIWF is going to feel my pain. [The shot tightens on Starks eyes and then fades...] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The Down Boys ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Awesome T stands silently in front of the camera. Dan Oliver, arms folded, stands beside him, the cut he received in his match not stitched up yet, and dried blood covering his face. This is the most serious we have ever seen Dan Oliver, and cries can be heard in the background as medical personel work on the burned Adam Peterson.] AT: [laughs to himself] I don't know what we were thinking. I honestly don't know what we were thinking. Actually, scratch that. The IIWF booking committee dangled an opportunity for a IIWF Tag Title shot in front of our noses, so of course, we bit. "What do we have to do?" we ask. "Just go to jail. It's a gimmick thing." So we sign the contract, not thinking for a moment that the cards would have been stacked so much against us. After seeing what the stipulations of the match were, we knew we were in for "hard time", if you'll excuse the pun. Take a team whose area of expertise is high flying manoeuvres, and CHAIN them at the ankles so they can't do any moves. Splendid. [T pauses for effect] No DQ... no problem... we've faced that situation before... so a little brawling might be involved. Look out for a foreign object or two. But not fire. Fire wasn't part of the plan... fire isn't what you throw to win a match... fire is what you throw when you want to injure -- end a career. The Down Boys had no beef with you, Machines. All we wanted to do was win the match and get a title shot, but I guess you weren't satisfied with your talent... you had to punk out. Adam Peterson LUCKILY has only first degree burns on his face... he should be ok. There won't be any scarring, except for the mental ones he is left with whenever he looks at the Machines... and guess what? The booking committee, in a sincere effort to try to make a few bucks out of a narrowly avoided tragedy, books a match between the two teams for Wednesday. Goodie. New Down Boys on Wednesday... just a little different than before. You ruined it for everyone, Machines... you tried to hurt a Down Boy, and that's no laughing matter. [Dan Oliver steps up to speak, and the first thing we notice is he's speaking completely out of character... no "surfer dude" talk, he's dead serious.] DO: Another thing I have a problem with is the Natural Predators. Damn, I thought we were tight. But what happens? [Dan Points to his bloody forehead] DO: Doctor tells me 11 stitches. From Wolf...pride of the Native Americans. Big man. Look, I don't have much to say except I'd hate to be the Machines right now... Adam's not gonna be happy on Wednesday. [Fade] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Natural Predators ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Scene opens in a locker room, BEAR and WOLF by their respective lockers, both filled with Native American artifacts of their beliefs. Wolf stands solemnly before a necklace hanging from the inside of his locker with a wolf head carved from silver dangling on the end. Bear is visibly angry and slams his fist into the locker next to his as Kuyler Greyson walks in} KG: Never much liked those matches anyway. Rely too little on skill. You boys were robbed tonight. You know that. Nothing right about it, and come tomorrow, nothing's gonna change about it. You lost and that's what the record is going to show. LFD gets the title shot. B: They're gonna get theirs for this. [cracks his knuckles] We'll see how much pain we can put them through. W: [quietly] Not now, Bear. We have more important things to worry about. We have a match on Wednesday. KG: That's right, big guy. And you saw what happens when you underestimate ANYONE for even a split second. Tonnage found that out the hard way, and you found that out against the Down Boys. B: Don't worry, boss. I got a grip on things. KG: Good. Licensed for Devestation can only have things in their favor for so long... and you already proved that you can take the worst they got and still beat them. You had him pinned, Bear. For the three if not for the Taser. You'll get that three on him soon. W: Neyho neyehe hiyo. B: We shall triumph. [Both men bow their heads as Kuyler leaves, turning back to their lockers and readying themselves for their next matchup. Fade] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "The Cavalier" Kevin Christiansen ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Scene opens to the first aid center of Leavenworth Federal Penitentiary, where Kevin Christiansen sits on an examination table. Two physicians stand about him looking at where his arm was cut, but the Cavalier seems in good spirits nonetheless.] KC: Such a night I have not had very often. Not only hadst I fought in the strangest of places... [The doctors give Christiansen a look as if saying "it's not so strange", at which he merely shrugs.] KC: ... but also I hath taken part in what many now say is the end of the band of miscreants known as Genesis. Derek Mota, thou art truly a worthy ally, and I am very glad to have had thee on mine side this evening. Simon Lebec, as for you... [Christiansen looks down at his arm, which off-camera is being stitched up.] KC: ... I shall not let even this dampen mine spirits of this night. Thou didst know what we were facing, and prepared thyself accordingly. I just ask that thy aim next time be a bit more refined. [The Cavalier chuckles, then winces as the doctors continue stitching up the cut in his arm.] KC: So, to the members of the IIWF that shall be leaving this place on this eve, I wish thee save travels. For those that shall not, I wish thee a swift wind at thy back... and nothing BUT a swift wind at thy back. [The doctors stand up, having finished their work on the Cavalier's arm and are in the process of putting a bandage over it. Two guards walk in escorting the biker who bandaged Christiansen's arm during the match, and the two shake hands before the shot fades to black.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Spotlight" Billy Shakespeare ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Bily Shakespeare in the temporary backstage area, his body is powdered with plaster dust from the unexpected shower colapse following the shower brawl.] BS: Ronnie Paris... I tire of you. It is time for the deed to be done, and I am the man to do it. Here is the script: I will enter your bout on Saturday, I will land the Curtain Call pon you, I will disqualify, Dexter St. Croix and you will continue your little quest to win my Cruiserweight title. St. Croix, I apologize, but this time the machine of fate must crush you beneath it's wheels. How do you like that, Derek Mota? I'm still the man calling the shots here. In other news, I have self apointed "fop" Scott Rogers, to whom I owe an embarrassment or two. "Fop" or not, a rose by any other name still smells as sweet...and a talentless tung by any other name is still Scott Rogers. [Billy Shakespeare exits, stage left.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Requiem ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [The IIWF broadcast area, mere moments before Monday Musings is broadcast from IIWF Towers. The darkened area flares into life as Requiem enters, pushing himself past a security guard. Requiem is dressed in completely black streetwear and wears a black baseball cap. His icy eyes blaze with anger!] RQ: Y'know, the moment I lost the belt to Brody Thunder I knew I had been set-up. Who was I admiring? Who was I thinking "Damn, that scheming S.O.B..."? Was it Casey James? Nope. Maybe the "Outlaw" himself, J W Hardin? 'Fraid not. Okay then, _surely_ it must have been Brody Thunder? Uh-uh. Daniel Spreadbury. President Dan himself. The last thought that ran through my mind as those guys in the ring knocked me senseless was "Damn, that Spreadbury is _good_!" Sure, Brody Thunder beat me. With a lot of help. Casey James. Tiger Claw. J W Hardin. Hell, Otto Verhoeven and Kowalski had a tiny part to pay. I never expected the IIWF to help out though. I guess it shouldn't have been that much of a surprise --- I was apparently an unpopular champion, probably bad news for merchandising. Was Poutine whatsname _really_ so incompetent that he expected a jumped up _plank_ across the aisle to prevent interference? I doubt it. But I guess he had his orders. What did Brody Thunder offer the Outlaw to get him back onboard? Well, it wasn't that contract Hardin tore up -- only IIWF management could have offered him that! And what about _my_ handcuffs which were used to secure James to the ringpost? How did Poutine Janois get his hands on keys to _my_ cuffs? Obviously he couldn't. The cuffs were switched. Why wasn't Tiger Claw disciplined in some way for beating up Janois and some security staff? Duh. Can't discline a man for obeying orders. But I only had my suspicions, I wasn't 100% sure. Until this Saturday. This Saturday, the evidence was damning. See, I defeated Otto Verhoeven with the _unwanted_ help of Casey James. Then Brody Thunder defeats _me_ with, well basically the help of five other guys. So, who is the number one contender? Why not Otto Verhoeven? Why not Requiem? Seems like me and Otto are the logical choices, plus Hardin of course, but he's not been back long... So when Thunder issues a challenge, President Dan is in a bit of a quandary. Otto got beat the week before, Hardin's not been back that long, that leaves Requiem... Uh-oh. We _can't_ have that. How can we get Requiem out of the way this week so we can get some other guy Brody can beat the crap out of? Hey, wait a minute, I've got a _killer_ idea...! See, in Japan last week I beat Otto Verhoeven fair and square in the middle of a cage. Let's have a rematch, thinks President Dan, can't have Requiem making one of our superstars look bad in Japan! But hold on, how can we _make sure_ Requiem loses? No worries... Requiem's a wrestler, not a brawler like Otto, so let's put him in an area so small he can't actually _wrestle_, oh and hey, I seem to recall reading in his _confidential_ medical records that he's claustrophobic... Spreadbury leaked that, how else could Dross know? _I_ sure as hell didn't tell him, and not even my sister knows that... Wahoo. Guaranteed win for Verhoeven. Oh, and just in case Requiem _maybe_ puts up a good fight, let's have this "Blind Guardian" standing by... Is this the bit where I swear vengeance on this "Blind Guardian"? Is this the point where I _demand_ a rematch against Otto Verhoeven? Not gonna happen. Otto, we've faced each other three times. The first time, I beat ya in a match marred by interference by James/Hardin. This week, you beat my in a match marred by interference by Braille Boy. But IN JAPAN, Otto, I beat you _fair and square_ in the centre of the ring, with nobody interfering. Fair as I'm concerned, that's an end to it. Blind Guardian? Kiss my ass. You're an irrelevance. It's Brody I want. Brody Thunder? Get your ass into the ring! Spreadbury, you wanna prove your innocence? Book the goddamn match! [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 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+