C + O + U + N + T + D + O + W + N T + O ________ ______ __ ____ ___ __ . _ ___ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __| / /\ | | || \| \ /\ \ / |\ || / \| | | | || | \ v v / | __| \__ /__\ | | ||__/| |/__\ v | \||| __|-| | |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| \ \| v | \|__/ \| | || \_|| | | __________________________/..............\........|...|.......|....| with Larry Morton Friday 24 October 1997 [Fade up on the interior of the IIWF's broadcast truck, in which is seated Larry Morton, in front of a bank of monitor screens, each showing various clips of IIWF footage past and present. Larry, seated on a swivel chair, spins round from the screens to face the camera.] LM: Good evening, and welcome to "Countdown to Saturday Night"! I'm Larry Morton, and over the next sixty minutes, I'll be bringing you up to speed with all the latest developments here in the IIWF. Don't forget, folks, that we are now just fifteen days -- count them, folks, just fifteen days -- away from Ring Wars IV, an event that is already gearing up to be one of the most spectacular pay-per-views in IIWF history. It all happens on November 8, live from the jam-packed Los Angeles Memorial Coliseum -- just the last remaining few hundred tickets are left now -- it all happens live in front of a live audience of a hundred thousand and a television audience of millions worldwide. And the Road to Ring Wars IV is on the final stretch, folks. Tomorrow night, we'll come to you live from the Falcon Stadium at the US Air Force Academy here in Colorado Springs, and next Saturday Night -- in what is sure to be a very special event indeed -- we will be at the world's most famous theme park, Disneyland, in Fresno, California! The IIWF superstars are really turning up the heat as they jostle not only for the upper hand, for the momentum, as they go into this great event -- but also for those last remaining spots on the card. It is my understanding, folks, that more matches for this tremendous card will be announced _live_ tomorrow night by the IIWF President, which is just one more reason to tune in for the hottest two hours of wrestling on television anywhere in the world. But we've got plenty to talk about here tonight, folks. In tonight's show, we'll look back at the results of Wednesday's house show -- and what a bizarre evening _that_ was -- as well as looking ahead to tomorrow night's event. Not only that, but we'll have a bombshell announcement from the red-gloved wrecking machine, Creed, and the People's Champion himself, one of the true veterans of the IIWF, the Subway Psycho, breaks his silence. So let's jump right into the action with a look at this past Wednesday's card! ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| REWIND: IIWF Wednesday War Room - 22 October 1997 |_||_| \_/\_/ |_|.................................................... [The results of the matches scroll onto the screen, accompanied by brief highlights.] 1. Shadoe Rage def. Casey C. 2. Natural Predators def. Barnacle Brothers 3. Subway Psycho def. Scott "the Whine" Bloom (CO) 4. Otto Verhoeven def. "Nifty" Ned Norton 5. Down Boys no contest The Machines 6. Dakota Bundy def. Timothy N. Turner 7. Marty Warnett def. Highwayman 8. Requiem def. Kevin Christiansen [Cut back to the video truck as the highlights continue to roll on the monitors behind Larry.] LM: Aside from the somewhat odd surroundings of Wednesday's show, in Roswell, New Mexico -- and the less said about what those odd black-suited men did to me the better -- we saw some truly impressive action. The commanding performances of both the Subway Psycho and Otto Verhoeven, the wild brawls between the newest tag teams to hit the IIWF, the shocking victory for Dakota Bundy over Timothy N. Turner, and the bizarre Blind Guardian's role in Requiem's hard-fought victory over Kevin Christiansen... it was certainly an action-packed evening. Let's hear from the Natural Predators, who are having their problems with Licensed For Devastation. It appears that this dynamic partnership of young Native Americans has undergone something of a transformation this week: [The cameras show the very poor flickering light of a fire in the background as WOLF kneels on the ground, chanting in a Native American language. BEAR and KUYLER GREYSON stand at either side of him. Camera does a close up on Bear and Kuyler ] KG: You're welcome to make any decision you choose, Michael. I know you feel strongly about this, but I'm not sure... W: I am. KG: Bear, what do you make of this? B: [shrugs] He's calling upon powerful medicine. There has to be some purifier to this league, a symbol is very important to the fans. KG: Well, I know that, but why this symbol? B: It's established. It means something much more to the fans than one man. It means a rebirth. KG: I get that part. But Wolf is becoming a name for himself. He's finally making a name for himself and people respect him for that. I understand what he's doing. I just don't see why he has to. [off camera, from below, WOLF speaks] W: Some things are bigger than personal glory, boss. You taught us that. And the fans deserve someone they can look to in a time of need. A time when no one seems to what they truly are. KG: And the Down Boys? W: I regret what happened in that match. I truly do. But you cage an animal and it will fight like mad to be released. Words may not mean much, but the Down Boys deserve respect. KG: You need us here for what again? B: You don't get it, do you, Kuy? This is a moment of decision. A moment we are both a part of. You can't just back away from that. KG: No. I suppose not. W: It is done. [WOLF rises, bare to the waist. Now painted across his chest is the symbol of the PHOENIX.] KG: So you're the Phoenix now, Wolf? W: That's right. But a new Phoenix. Grey Phoenix, so I may still hold the power of the Wolf within me. B: Didn't the last guy have it given to him by the old Phoenix? W: Who gives it isn't important. There's a destiny to fulfill, and the spirit of the Phoenix needs a vessel to fill. With the Natural Predators, I think it can do just that. KG: Not sure I totally agree with this, Wo...er, Grey Phoenix. But you're picking your own destiny, like you've always had the right to do. And I'm not sure I would want to be in LFD's shoes when the Grey Phoenix and Bear catch up to them. B: Neyho neyehe-hiyo. GP: We shall triumph. [Fade.] LM: So now we have Bear, and... the Grey Phoenix. They are the Natural Predators, folks. The Machines also seem to be having more than their fair share of problems at the moment, having been forced into recruiting the "Real Deal" Luke Steele to stem the tide of the dissent between original partners Paul Wong and Simon O'Neal. Let's hear from them now: [The scene is the workout area of the Machines.  On the wall is the markerboard with the names LFD, DAMAGE, INC., COLD QUINS, TNT, MACBETH and SCOTT ROGERS written in green ink.  Paul Wong is running on a treadmill. Sitting in an easychair off to the side is Luke Steele.  And Simon O'Neal is viewing the camera with a smirk.] SO: The first rule is... don't let the fighting fool you.  Paul and I are the best damn tag team in the business.  Yeah, we argue all the time and yeah, we drive each other crazy.  But at least we know where the other man's coming from. But while we are the best team, we haven't been acting like it.  We've been losing to teams that... how should I put this?  [puts his finger against the side of his head]  Oh yeah -- we keep losing to teams that can't hold our jockstraps.  So why are we losing?  Two reasons.  First, we had lost our focus.  I say HAD -- we're regaining it.  The second reason is because of the underhanded tactics of our opponents.  [Smiles].  I'll give you guys credit -- I've bent a rule or two myself, but I've never seen a league with so much rampant cheating.  Looks like we're going to have step up our own "extracurricular" activities. And when I say we, I mean Luke as well.  Luke has been getting shoved aside by lesser men, and he's as sick of it as we are. So the point of my monologue is very simple... No more playing nice. [Simon O'Neal walks out of the camera shot.  Paul has finished the treadmill, and approaches the camera.  Luke motions him to speak first.] PW: I'm sure Simon hit most of the major points, but let me add a couple of things.  First of all, Luke Steele has proven himself that he can be trusted, and is watching our back.  So we're going to watch his back, and make sure he's not outnumbered like he was against Genesis or Turner.  Secondly... [shakes his head]  Down Boys.  Sorry about that fireball.  That was meant to be for LFD, and things got out of control last Saturday. We don't have a personal agenda against you.  It's just... I'm getting sick of the cheating.  LFD uses fireballs and tasers, the Syndicate attack the President, everyone's got some backup in their corner that interferes for them...  I hate to use these dirty tactics, but we can't let ourselves be at a disadvantage.  And maybe if we play dirtier than anyone else, no one will try any of this garbage against Simon, Luke, or myself.  I guess my point is, to quote from the movie Toy Story... Play Nice. [Luke laughs out loud, while Simon and Paul (who didn't hear each other's comments) look on with a puzzled expression.  The camera focuses on Luke, who gets out of the chair and begins to speak.] LS: I can honestly say that these men are the only ones in the IIWF with whom I'd trust watching my back.  Everybody else is in this business for themselves.  Don't let the Quigleys, the Warnetts, the Cold Quins, any of them tell you differently.  They'll moan and complain, and come out saying how they are here for the fans.  Well, that's bull. To be successful, you have to be out for yourselves, at least somewhat.  I may like the cheers of the crowd on my side, hell, I draw off it, but I'm not going to stay where I was for the first half year of my IIWF career, just to make the damn fans happy.  Ever since I cut loose from the team that Steve Roberts so colourfully referred to as "White Flight", Luke Steele has steamrolled the competition.  The same can be said for these men beside me.  The Machines are acclaimed world wide for their talents.  AEWA Unified Champions repeatedly.  Yet they come here to the IIWF, and because of politics, because of these out of control teams, and because of the total atmosphere... and what happens? Luke Steele and the Machines figured it out the hard way that our skills alone are not enough to succeed here.  Look at some of these champions lately.  Requiem, who couldn't win one match without Genesis.  Brody Thunder, the man had to have two seperate groups help him, and then turned on both.  The Syndicate?  For heaven's sakes, they attack President Spreadbury and no legal action is taken?  I'm coming out and I'm going to go after all of these pretenders, like Scott Rogers, like TNT, and like Duncan Macbeth.  Everyone else wants to play dirty? Fine.  The gloves are off, the Machines and the Real Deal have come together to watch each others' backs, and you, baby dolls, can go to hell. [Fade out.] LM: On top of all the wild action we've already talked about, one of the blockbuster developments on Wednesday night was Otto Verhoeven calling out the retired Lord Byron -- and I understand that we will see some kind of confrontation between these two superstars _live_ tomorrow night from the Falcon Stadium, mediated by "the Showstopper" Simon Lebec, who will conduct a special edition of "The Final Cut." Lebec, of course, has posted bail after being arrested in last week's Mess Hall Brawl -- but that's another story. Right now, let's take a look at the action coming your way this Saturday Night! ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| PREVIEW: IIWF Saturday Night - 25 October 1997 |_||_| \_/\_/ |_|.................................................... LM: Eight incredible matches are scheduled for tomorrow night's open air event, in the chilly mountain air of the Rocky Mountains. If you're planning on coming to this event in person -- only a few tickets left, folks -- then wrap up warm. But while the weather may be cold, the action in the ring is going to be hotter than ever -- plus we will see special interviews, not only with Otto Verhoeven and Lord Byron, as I mentioned a few moments ago, but also with IIWF World Heavyweight Champion, Brody Thunder, with new IIWF World Tag Team Champions, the Cold Quins, and the mysterious Blind Guardian. It's going to be a packed two hours, folks -- make sure you don't miss a single moment of the action. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ 1. IIWF CRUISERWEIGHT CONTENDERS TOURNAMENT SEMI-FINAL: Ronnie Paris vs. Dexter St. Croix ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: The tournament to crown a number one contender for a match against the Cruiserweight Champion at Ring Wars IV began several weeks ago in the aftermath of Midsummer Madness, and now eight men have been whittled down to four. After the two semi-finals tomorrow night, just two men will remain -- two men, who will face each other on 1 November in Disneyland for that title shot at Ring Wars IV. The first of tomorrow's two semi-finals pits Ronnie Paris, a favourite in so far as rival Billy Shakespeare has vowed to ensure that Paris reaches the finals of the tournament, against the newly aggressive Dexter St. Croix. What a contrast we've seen in the formerly laid back St. Croix in the past week or so. We sent a camera crew to his hometown of Kingston, Jamaica to ask him about his motivation for this new attitude: [The camera opens on a teeming marketplace in Kingston, Jamaica. We see Dexter St. Croix, dressed in a Florida Marlins t-shirt, khaki shorts, and flip-flop sandals and nursing a styrofoam cup, walking through the marketplace with his Posse. Suddenly, he is swarmed by a group of children. He stops, smiling, and begins signing autographs for the kids. After a short while, BoBo begins shooing the kids away so Dexter can address the camera...] DSC: Don' shoo 'em away, BoBo. Dese kids, mon, dey remind me of m'self as a wee child. [BoBo gestures toward the camera] BoBo: Yeah, mon, but ya got a little work t' do. DSC: Right, right. Gotta keep me face in de limelight, ya know? [Dexter pauses, as if trying to find the words for what he is about to say.] DSC: From what I'm hearin', some people, dey like de new Dexter St. Croix, some people, dey don'. But de fact is, de new Dexter St. Croix is 'ere t' stay. Dakota Bundy, 'im found out dat de new Dexter St. Croix, him take no prisoners, mon. Not'ing personal, "One Man Army", de luck o' de draw put ya in de wrong place at de wrong time. But yer little post-match activity, mon, ya gonna pay for dat, in due time. But right now, ol' Dex, him gotta new man standin' in de way of him destiny... [Dexter takes a pull from his drink...] DSC: Ronnie Paris. "Simply de best". Me an' you, mon, we got a lot in common. Respect for de business. Respect for de 'istory of de sport. And, maybe, respect for each udder, mon. But one t'ing is clear... standin' in me way, Mister Paris, it ain't a good place t' be right now. 'Cause de ol' Dexter, de Dexter dat lost to Simon Lebec, de Dexter dat let Derek Mota turn 'im away, dat Dexter, 'im dead an' gone, mon. Dis Dexter, 'im not gonna let anyt'ing stand in 'im way. Not Lebec, not de Dirty Dog, and certainly not you, Mister Paris. Dis Saturday night, de new Dexter St. Croix, 'im gonna continue 'im winnin' ways. Peace out. [Dexter drains the rest of his drink, turns to see the crowd of kids still gathered, and heads towards them, smiling, as the scene fades to black. Cut back to the video truck.] LM: Ronnie Paris refused to comment about tomorrow night's match. When pressed, he muttered something about making sure Billy Shakespeare wouldn't have a chance to interfere -- but the rivalry between these two superstars has never been hotter, and we will surely see things escalate further tomorrow night as the stakes rise. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ 2. IIWF WORLD TAG TEAM CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH: Cold Quins [c] vs. Licensed for Devastation ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: It was a shock to see Harlequin Tragedy not only wrestling alongside former rival Icehawk of Cold Spell two weeks ago, and even more of a shock to see them function very well as a team unit. But it was entirely unexpected that they should win the hastily-vacated IIWF World Tag Team Championships -- vacated when the Syndicate walked out on the IIWF, dropping the IIWF President on his head in the process -- beating the two top tag teams in the sport today, the Prophets of Rage and Damage Inc., to the punch. The titles will be defended at Ring Wars IV against opponents yet to be named -- but tomorrow night, the so-called Cold Quins will go up against the team that was victorious in that wild four-team Chain Gang Warfare match last Saturday Night, the match that seems to have kicked the newer teams in the IIWF into overdrive these past seven days. Licensed For Devastation get their first shot at IIWF gold tomorrow night -- and they can't wait: [The camera opens to the U.S. Air Force Academy in Colorado Springs, Colorado.  At the site of the next IIWF Saturday Night card, Reggie Starr and Jonathan Chaos are seated in the stands of the Football Field.  "Beat Marines" is written across the rafters in immense letters.  The camera pans in... and in... and in, to Chaos and Starr, with evil grins on their faces.  Starr has stitches above his left eye, from the Chain Gang Match. Both men look intense.] JC: Did ya'll like it?  Did ya see the L-F-D make da' Down Boys, da' Predators, and da' Machines our bitches?  Even Luke Steele, da' man dat is so mysterious... even he got punked LFD style. RS: What's up with tag teams in the IIWF trying to find themselves? You folks are about as close knit as the Gifford family!  The Prophets of Rage are now the Dogs of Rage... the Machines are Luke "I Suck the Real Deal" Steele and the [BLEEP] with the burn marks on his face... and the new IIWF Tag Champs, the Cold 'Quins... one of the Cold Spell and one of the Harlequins.  JC: Oh, ya mean 'dose punks 'dat we're gonna beat up 'dis Saturday. Yeah, they is the tag team champs.  But it's too bad that we's gonna be the champs.  They had their week in da' sun... but it's time fo' da' LFD to shine. RS: Yes it is, Jon, though you said that last week... maybe it's good luck.  Anyway, we felt left out, because we're such a concise, tight knit, _good_ tag team, and all of these IIWF pansy's are so distant.  So we took one of the so-called Air Force agents and... well, here he is, the newest member of the LFD... Park Butter! [Some goofy looking kid starts climbing up the rafters.  He has acne problems, big-rimmed glasses, and an Air Force uniform.  As he reaches Starr and Chaos, he trips, and falls face first.] PB: [moan]... RS: Jon, I hate you! JC: [BLEEP] you biotch! [Reggie shoves Jonathan.] RS: There.  Now you can be my partner, Park. [Park gets up.] PB: Really?  Cool!  I get to win the World Tag Team Titles of the IIWF on Saturday!  [sniff] That's really cool!  Hey... can we be friends too? I gotta get a spinal tap later today to see if I've ever taken drugs... and then I have to pay off someone to make sure I haven't... then we can go back to my room and play video games! [Reggie and Jonathan look at each other.] JC: Yeah, ya'll look this stupid too. [Reggie grabs Park by the head and shoves him.  Park stumbles down the rafters and onto the field.] RS: Cold Quins, don't worry... maybe you don't have the unity that we do... but you have some belts that we don't have. JC: Dat's not gonna be for too long though, boys.  'Cause come Sunday... we ain't bringin' Park Butter along.  Da' Air Force ain't gonna save ya'll. RS: Because Licensed for Devastation are on a mission... a mission to win the World Tag Team Titles.  In the home of the folks that defend the star spangled banner, in the home of the guys that don't ask and don't tell... wait, that'd be Steve Roberts' house... anyway, the two of you had a nice one week title reign. JC: Now ya'll can give us our titles.  The joke's ova'. RS: Yeah, the joke's over, give the titles to real men.  Us. [The camera pans to Park Butter, on the ground.] PB: [moan] [Fade to black.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ 3. THERE MUST BE A WINNER: Derek Mota vs. Marty Warnett ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: There's plenty of history between these two superstars. The current Cruiserweight Champion and former Intercontinental Champion have faced one another twice in recent months, on both occasions battling to undecisive draws, or double countouts -- tomorrow night, however, thanks to the demands of Derek Mota, we will have a clear winner when Mota locks up with Warnett. It's pinfall or submission only in this one, folks, and while Mota clearly relishes the chance to finally settle the score with the Party Maniac, he would rather be defending his Cruiserweight title: [The interview opens up in a stuffy office.  Smoke is hanging near the ceiling, seemingly never going away.  The office is extremely dark, possessing windowd, but there definitely seems to be some sort of oppressive feeling going about.  The sound of a typewriter is going in the background.  As the camera pans across the office, it finally reaches Derek Mota, who is looking around in amazement.] DM: What the hell is this?  Man, this place hasn't changed a bit since the seventies!  I mean, brown walls?  And a typewriter?  Is this the only place in the world that Bill Gates hasn't taken over?  Man ... I told ya two weeks ago that Billy Shakespeare didn't deserve a title match against me.  And I believe that now more than ever.  So here to confirm my beliefs is ... lawyer to the pro wrestling stars ... "Iceberg" Tony Hall. [A young black man steps into the shot, wearing Versachi and carrying a briefcase at his side.  Hall opens up the briefcase and pulls out a piece of paper from it.] TH: Mr. Shakespeare ... you seem to believe that acquiring an IIWF title shot is an easy thing.  But contrary to your beliefs, a title shot must be EARNED, and cannot simply be taken. According to article 23 of chapter 12 of the IIWF manual, a wrestler must be a top five ranked contender in order to make a challenge for a title. Billy Shakespeare is NOT a top five contender for the IIWF Cruiserweight Title. DM: Wait a sec, buddy!  Didn't I just read that Shakespeare WAS listed in the top five? TM: Interesting, Mr. Mota, but obviously the people who compiled the rankings did not read the following.  Article 28 of chapter 12 specifies that if a wrestler should willingly forfeit a match, he shall lose all seniority within the rankings and shall have to prove himself to the standings committee before regaining this position.  DM: Hey man, you ain't just makin' all this [BLEEP] up? TM: Did you ever read the IIWF rulebook, Mr. Mota?  I've made a career out of this!  Who else do you think helped Mr. Petrow find the rules that HE found? DM: Heh heh.  I like it.  So Shakespeare, it don't look like you're gettin' that title shot you've been beggin' me for.  I told ya before, you're gonna have ta prove to me that you've earned it, and now it's official!  Thanks Tony, cheque's in the mail ... TM: Thank you Mr. Mota. [Derek Mota shakes hands with Tony Hall and leaves the office.] DM: [cough cough] Damn, I never thought I'd make it outta that craphole! They ever open up the windows in there? Anyways, I got me a few words to the schedule makers here.  Dammit, I've challenged Tim Turner, he's accepted my challenge, why the hell ain't we in the ring?  I wanna defend this damn title, not just parade it around on my shoulder!  Put me up against anybody, dammit!  Well, except for Shakespeare, heh heh.  I have somethin' special in store for that mutha.  So this week I got me Warnett again.  Marty, you don't learn, do ya?  Two straight double countouts, you should be happy there!  But I guess the same "schedule makers" have somethin' against ya.  They wanna see you get a beatin'.  Well I'll give it to ya. I requested to the suits that there had ta be a winner.  Matter of fact, I ain't leavin' till there's a winner!  We're gettin' this thing over with tomorrow night, Marty.  I ain't got nothin' against you, Warnett, except for the fact that you're a damn loser.  But that's all.  Anyways, I'll see you in the ring on Saturday.  Unless you forfeit in the ring like Shakes did. Heh heh. [Fade. Cut back to the video truck.] LM: I think it is highly unlikely that Marty Warnett would forfeit anything to anybody, and he too is looking forward to the chance to see just who is the better wrestler: the Heatseeker, or the Party Maniac? Of course, the spectre of the mysterious attacker, believed to be the "Superstar" Stud Stetson, continues to hang over Warnett -- and Marty must be glancing continually over his shoulder as he goes to the ring tomorrow night. Let's get his comments: [SCENE: Marty Warnett's locker room after Wednesday night.  On the table rests a TV, the screen showing a Simpsons video.  As Bart scribbles on the blackboard "I shall not reveal angles until the proper time", Marty appears from the shower, clad only in a towel.] MW: Hey, get the hell out of here! [Dross and the cameraman hurriedly go outside.] TD: Errr, Marty, sorry about that.  Some words for Mota? MW: Yeah, it's time.  It's Party time... Mota, Saturday night, I'll be there to pin you.  As for Fop Rogers, personally, I don't care if the Casey wanna-be wants to fight gimmick man, just keep out of my bouts! [Cut back to the video truck. Larry is fingering his earpiece, seemingly listening to the producer. He then turns back to the camera.] LM: Folks, it seems we have a phone call from the mysterious attacker of Marty Warnett! Excuse me, are you there? [momentary silence] LM: Hello?! [yells offstage] Did we get disconnected? CALLER: No, I'm here. LM:  Good.  So what is the reason for your call? CALLER: Well, ever since that stretcher was rolled out during the battle royal, people have been constantly trying to figure out who I am.  I decided it's time to break my silence. LM: Well, besides the stretcher, the attack you laid on Warnett in the dressing room -- plus his footage of you retreating to the car -- all points to you being the "Superstar" Stud Stetson.  Then, of course, this week's singing telegram. CA: First off, that footage of me going to the car was bogus.  That is Warnett just trying to make himself look like a hero.  Everyone knows he went to the hospital immediately after my attack.  Plus Lace isn't a blonde -- anyone with half a brain will remember she had raven black hair.  Moron. LM: So you are Stud Stetson? CA: I am the Superstar champion. LM: The Superstar champion is Stud Stetson, of course. CA: Whatever.  All that matters is Warnett wants a piece of me and he will get what he wants.  Warnett -- you and me will met once and for all this Sauturday to settle this feud.  Finally, I can see your ass stretchered out of here. LM: I think another big question that all the IIWF fans want to know is where have you been for the last year? [The only response Morton gets is a dial tone.] LM: Hello? Hello, are you still there? Folks, it sounds as if Marty Warnett may have a whole lot to contend with tomorrow night -- remember, this is a no disqualification, no countout match... it's sure to be wild, and it's only on the Road to Ring Wars IV! ------------------------------------------------------------------------ 4. "Spotlight" Billy Shakespeare vs. Scott "the Fop" Rogers ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: Our cameras found Billy Shakespeare in contemplative mood this week as he relaxed in the awe-inspiring surroundings of the Colorado countryside: [Billy Shakesepare walks among the towering sandstone formations which are the Garden of the Gods just outside Colorado Springs.  He leans against one of the monoliths, then addresses the camera.] BS: What we must ask ourselves is why is Billy Shakespeare, thespian     extrodinaire, playing mountain man?  To prove a point, of course.     Always expect the unexpected from Billy Shakespeare... you never know where he'll be next... or in what guise... or in what arena.     Derek Mota, I've heard your threats of lawyers.  That I'll never get     a shot at you before Ring Wars.  But yet here we are about to... [There is a mumbling heard from off camera.  Shakespeare listens for a moment, then dramatically smacks himself in the forehead.]     Oh, yes, I'm to face Scott Rogers this weekend.  What a fool I have     been.  What a Comedy of Errors this is... mistaken identities and all. There is no way I'll ever fight Mota before Ring Wars.     Silly me.  [Billy chuckles to himself softly as the picture fades out.] LM: It will surely not be such a laid-back Billy Shakespeare that we will see tomorrow night when he steps into the ring against ex-Genesis stalwart, Scott "the Fop" Rogers. Steve Summer once again drew the short straw of travelling to meet with this highly objectionable young man. Let's go to his report. [SCENE: Scott "The Fop" Rogers's swimming pool. Steve Summer and an IIWF camera crew are watching Rogers as he swims over to them then gets out of the pool. He grabs his towel, dires himself down then ties it around his waist. He speaks in a composed manner.] SS: Scott, first off, thanks for agreeing to this interview. Second, I was wondering how you'll cope now that Genesis has apparently collapsed - now you've got no-one else watching your back. SR: Life goes on, Summer. Genesis is dead and buried, but Scott Rogers sure as hell _isn't_. Annis got to thinkin' just 'cause he got on with Requiem better than the rest of us, once he left it was _his_ place to lead us. SS: But you've always maintained in the past that Requiem _wasn't_ your leader. SR: Yeah, _I_ say he wasn't, but Smith, Icehawk, Fitzgerald, Annis, Requiem, Dross, Roberts... the list goes on... they all thought he was. And I ain't in the mood for arguin' today, Summer. Once he went, Annis thought he'd take over. Well I don't take orders from _no-one_ Summer, least of all Annis. I'm just hopin' once Creed catches up with him, he brings him back down to Earth. I mean, as if Serge Annis is fit to tell The Fop what to do! Dreamland, buddy, dreamland. SS: Fair enough. But enough of Annis. What about Adam Smith, the Highwayman as a lot of our fans prefer to call him? SR: What about him, Summer? The guy's got a soft centre. He don't got what it takes, Summer, so I ain't botherin' about him either. Face it, Summer, Genesis's been holdin' back me career fir far too long. It's time for The Fop to take his place at the head of the title shots queue. SS: Well I apologise for bringing it up, Scott, but you _did_ get a shot at the belt Serge Annis is getting his _own_ shot at this weekend, Chris Quigley's Intercontinental Title. SR: Yeah, you're right, Summer. Like I said, I ain't arguin' _today_. And yeah I blew it. _But_, Summer, I'm still one of the newer guys in the game. Gimme a couple more months, and I'll be wearin' some gold around me waist. I'll lay me looks on it! SS: Well, knowing you, I'm certainly not going to take _that_ comment likely if that's the case! And I suppose your match with 'Spotlight' Billy Shakespeare on Saturday Night will be the starting point. Correct? SR: No, Summer. The startin' point came the moment I stepped foot in the IIWF. SS: But what I mean is recently you've been on a slump in form. In fact since Requiem left Genesis. SR: Yeah Summer... [Rogers is lost for words.] SS: Okay, Billy's certainly considered one of the major IIWF superstars anyhow, and a win over him would certainly re-assure any of your doubters you are a serious contender. Right? SR: That's about it, Summer, yeah. SS: But of course, that will be easier said than done since he's out for revenge after your _two_ attacks on him in recent months.... [Rogers smiles.] SR: You _gotta_ get the first shot in, Summer, or you ain't gonna survive. SS: True, but Billy wasn't in any way causing you a threat. If I remember correctly, on both occasions you were the perpetrator. SR: The what?! Yeah, maybe I was Summer. And now's his chance to get even. But he won't. SS: You sound very sure... SR: Yeah, Summer, I'm sure. See, I got the upper hand both those times you just said. So I've got the upper hand goin' into this one. Shakespeare's problem is he ain't me. [Summer looks at the camera.] SR: You may not like it, Summer, but you gotta believe it. [Rogers smiles, in an almost unwanted way, as Summer looks at him blankly. Summer smiles too.] SR: Okay, Summer, tell me about me. SS: What do you mean? SR: Just tell me anythin' about me. SS: Well.... you're.... big. Erm, powerful... [Rogers performs what he calls the 'Pecs Dance.'] SS: Yeah, you're in great shape physically. SR: Thanks Summer. SS: You take a compliment off _me_ as meaningful? SR: No, you just told me what I wanted you to say! I'll make it easy for ya. Annis may be the Epitome of Evil, Summer, but _I_'m the epitome of what every man wants to be like! SS: I'm not... SR: And Shakespeare? If he even knows what the inside of a gym _looks_ like I'd be surprised. And could _he_ lift you up with his pinky? I doubt it! SS: I'd be very surprised if _you_ could either Scott. But Billy is a different _type_ of wrestler to you. SR: Like I said! And the number of cracked mirrors I've had to do me hair in after _he_'s been near 'em... don't think even Einstein could count that many! SS: Scott, I don't think insulting Billy's going to get you anywhere. If you're not taking him seriously, I think he may just surprise you. SR: What's this Summer? You my personal adviser now? SS: Not at all. It just seems to me like you're not taking this very seriously. [Rogers' face suddenly turns to thunder.] SR: Listen Summer. You wanted an interview, you got one. Now it's over. And Saturday night you'll see I'm more prepared for this match than any other I ever wrestled. Prepare to eat your words, Summer. Shakespeare's goin' _down_. And it ain't gonna be pretty. [Rogers dives into the pool. He tosses his soaking towel at Summer.] SS: I guess this is over! [Fade out.] LM: Scott Rogers is determined to prove a point tomorrow night, folks. It's sure to be an exciting encounter. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ 5. IIWF CRUISERWEIGHT CONTENDERS TOURNAMENT SEMI-FINAL: "Showstopper" Simon Lebec vs. Dirt Dog Unique Allah ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: And speaking of excitement, the "Showstopper" Simon Lebec has seen his fair share over the past seven days. Arrested last Saturday Night for stabbing his own team-mate, Kevin "the Cavalier" Christiansen, during that wild Mess Hall Brawl in Leavenworth Federal Penitentiary, Lebec spent the weekend behind bars until he was able to contact his attorney and post bail early Monday. Lebec's court hearing comes up this coming Wednesday, but he is provisionally allowed to compete tomorrow night, with the caveat that should he win, and should he then be convicted next week, his defeated opponent will advance by default, despite the loss. It could be a busy night for Lebec's opponent, the Dirt Dog Unique Allah. The unpredictable Dirt Dog became a fully-fledged member of the Prophets of Rage last week -- and he could be doing double-duty tomorrow night, if Shadoe Rage persists in walking a separate path from his brother Derek. Tomorrow night will also be busy for Lebec -- he'll be trying to keep the peace between Otto Verhoeven and Lord Byron, although if I know Simon Lebec, keeping the peace will be the furthest thing from his mind. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ 6. Prophets of Rage & Tony Starks vs. Damage Inc. & Ike Sampson ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: A six-man tag match tomorrow night will put two of the IIWF's hottest rivalries directly under the spotlight: the battles between Tony Starks and Ike Sampson have been memorable -- their brutal Behind Bars match last Saturday Night will surely go down as one of the true classics in IIWF history -- and there has been no feud of more gravitas in the IIWF's tag team scene than that between the Prophets of Rage and Damage Inc., who are not fighting about titles -- they are fighting over who is the best. Let's hear from the new, improved Prophets of Rage now: [Fade in: The Prophets of Rage lounge at their dining table, Derek the undisputed centre of the scene now that Shadoe is gone.  He leans back in his high-backed chair, cocked at a jaunty angle, one leg crossed  over his thigh.  Absently, he caresses the back of Pizzazz's neck and plays with her ear, much to her delight.  She somewhat shivers and smiles, all lusty teeth. Dirt Dog is to the right of them in a porkpie hat and open-necked shirt under a sports jacket.  His shining gold fangs gleam.  He nurses a big mug of wine, his eyes happy and wandering.  Shakeemah's right there with him, not having any part of all the fanciness.   She nudges Unqie, gesturing towards the camera.] DDUA: Aw hell, that's the joint ain't it?  [He takes another long drink from the mug.]  This stuff just hits you like a muhfuh.  It kinda hits you like the smell of tacos comin' off Eddy Ramos, don't it? DR: Let's not even talk about the jet propulsion system he uses to get himself off the ground. [DDUA breaks into a fit of giggles.  Then his eyes get lizardlike and cold.] DDUA: That's right, the human whoopee cushion.  Y'all were the ones who got pinned and lost that match, weren't you now, muhfuhs.  Think that's not what we planned?  Look, we both done climbed the ladder to success in the IIWF and we know exactly how it works.  We all get our little chance in the spotlight and then we move on.  Well, we been shinin' since we ever came into the IIWF and now we've had our time as champs.  We don't need that ish no more.  Now we just gotta add to the legend.  And boys, this Saturday night [fit of giggles] this Saturday night is gonna be something crazy. It's gonna be somethin' insane.  Cause just when you think you have all the answers, the Prophets of Rage prove you right.   Now here's the question. Two or to be?  Y'all don't know what I mean by that do ya?  Hell no.  And that's the point.  You understand where the Prophets were comin' from when Shadoe Rage was in the house, but you never done faced the drunked bastard at the height of his innebriation.  You've never matched up with the free lunch from the church, booze-swilling, nasty muhfuh!  See, see how I flip the script.  I'm even doing all the talking. DR: And a splendid job you're doing, too.  Man, keep talking.  I'll be over here chillin' in the cut. [Derek resumes his intimate discussion with Pizzazz and DDUA takes over the camera again.] DDUA: Listen, y'all think you're a bunch of tough brothas, I know that. Y'all think you some bad muhfuhs.  But let me tell you this.  From a bad action comes a bad reaction.   And you been tryin' to do bad actions to us. So I guess that means we gon' be on you like a rash, muhfuhs.  Y'all can't even keep up with the superlogical muhfuhs like us and Tony Starks.  I mean, you comin' at us with Ike Sampson?  Ike "Every brotha ain't really a brotha, I be choked down and got my ass whooped so much its as big as my head and twice the size of my talent" Sampson.  Ahahhahahahahhahaha!  HEEEEEE! Missy, hit 'em with a 'hee' cuz we's comin' to beat yo ass, muhfuhs! DR: [breaking away from Pizzazz] I said YEAAAHHHHHHH!! [Fade out. Cut back to the video truck.] LM: Fellow Age of Rage member, Tony Starks, has become almost obsessive about his rivalry with Ike Sampson, bringing out the most animalistic, most brutal, most ice-cold aspects of this dangerous wrestler's personality to the fore. He is rapidly becoming one of the most feared men in the IIWF -- let's hear from him now: [SCENE: A dark room, the shot moves over to a televison screen. The comments of Jackson Witt are on the TV from "Monday Musings":] JW: [on the TV] "...Do you think that broken nose is going to stop the Big Dog? That little chokehold..." [Suddenly, the footage is rewound and plays again.] JW: [on the TV] "...Do you think that broken nose is going to stop the Big Dog? That little chokehold..." [Once again, the footage is rewound again and plays] JW: "...That little chokehold..." [With those words, the TV is cut off and the shot moves over to Tony Starks seated in a chair, still staring at the TV. He speaks in a dead tone:] TS: Ike... Ike, thought you could talk for yourself. Thought, you were     such a real man that you didnt need some sucker to come speak for     you. Every day I lose more respect that I got for you...     ...how is that nose [Starks sniffs hard], huh? You are probably     looking like a busted ass baseball with all the stiches they     had to put in you. Do I think a broke nose is gonna stop you?     No, and I don't care either. If you want to keep on getting hurt     then keep on getting in my face. [Starks turns to face the camera, looking into it with a thousand yard stare. He cracks a sneer.]     Little chokehold, huh? Well, that little chokehold put you out. It     put Watkins out, it will put out whoever I think should go down.     You come down to that match this weekend, don't hide behind those     two chumps you are on a team with either. You come get in my face     and see who walks away... you walk away only if I let you. [The shot closes in on Starks' eyes]     Only if I let you. [Fade.] LM: Strong words from Tony Starks -- but the family ties Sampson shares with this area will surely be in his favour this week. Let's hear from the Big Dog, Ike Sampson, now: [SCENE:  Ike Sampson is standing with Jackson Witt in the AIr Force Academy's Fieldhouse, next to the Football Hall of Fame display.  They are looking at a #98 jersey, with "SAMPSON" on the back.  The plaque below the jersey reads "JACK SAMPSON, DEFENSIVE END   #98".  Ike is wearing a blue Air Force hat, and a bandage on his nose, courtesy of his match one week ago.] IKE: Ever wonder how my brother got the name "Thunderbolt"?!  Watch a film or two of him rushing the passer...      But that's enough about him.  We're here to talk about me... and Tony Starks. You know, I've never had a match that resembled in any way that brawl last Saturday in the pen.  A lot of blood, a lot of violence, a lot of pain.  And you know what?!?  I LIKED IT.  A whole lot.  So I want to thank you, Tony Starks.  Thank you for introducing me to _your_ world.  I think I just might stay awhile...      And now that I know the rules... you better look out, boy.  Ring Wars IV, you and me, submission match.  Ain't no referee gonna stop this one, and hand it to you on a silver platter.  I ain't never quit at nothing in my whole life.  And I don't plan to at Ring Wars.            You see, it's all about respect.  My _self_ respect is on the line -- and I ain't quitting.  I'm man enough to put respect on the line -- you man enough to take it?!      But first, before the big'n, we get a little sneak preview, right here -- in this same stadium.  Spent a lot of time here growing up -- watching Jackie play football.  Last week, we hooked it up on some familiar turf of yours -- the big house.  This week -- it's my turn.      You talk a lot about praying to God, getting right with him, that sort of thing.  You better start getting _your_ affairs in order. My soul's prepared -- how's yours?! WITT: Eyes on the prize, baby... [The camera focuses on the Thunderbolts on Jack Sampson's helmet in the trophy case as we fade.] LM: Six men, two rivalries -- and it's all going to explode tomorrow night, live from the Falcon Stadium! ------------------------------------------------------------------------ 7. IIWF INTERCONTINENTAL CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH: "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley [c] vs. Serge Annis ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: Postponed in an administrative blunder two weeks ago, the IC title match between Chris Quigley and Serge Annis will finally happen live tomorrow night from the US Air Force Academy. Both men are determined to prove a point in the ring, but perhaps Serge Annis more than his well-respected opponent. My colleague Tim Dross presents a special look at the path trod by Serge Annis to this, his very first title shot here in the IIWF: [The camera fades into a shot of The Epitome of Evil, Serge Annis being hammered by The Deathbringer. Tim Dross's voice is heard as the foggy image soon fades to black. Slightly intense music can be heard with a gothic feel to it, softly in the background of it all.] TD: Serge Annis made his IIWF debut back in December of 1996. [A new shot shows Serge attempting to spit fire at Brody Thunder with the help of his Zippo lighter, and alcohol, from January's pay per view. The shot is foggy too, and soon fades away to blackness.] TD: Annis entered the IIWF with a big reputation as one of the wrestling world's top notch brawlers, and one of the most psychotic men in the business. [A new shot of Annis being pinned at Ring Wars III in the four way match between Requiem, Highwayman, Deathbringer and himself. This shot is foggy and fades away.] TD: However, The Epitome of Evil never lived up to his reputation, and for many months in IIWF, he simply fell in the rankings, and sunk into obscurity, and medicracy. [A shot shows Serge leaving the ring, looking very mad. Fades to blackness.] TD: It came to the point where Serge was just about ready to walk out of the IIWF, with literaly no success during his stay to his credit. [The shot now explodes with flames and in full colour to Coronation Clash, where Serge Annis procedes to chokeslam "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder on the concrete of the floor, and thus announcing his joining into Genesis. The music speeds up, becoming more intense.] TD: However, something changed Serge Annis' focus in IIWF. He became    friends with the Deathbringer, and set out to end Genesis, until he revealed to all that he was a part of Genesis all along, and set out to betray his newfound friend, Deathbringer. [A shot of Annis putting the boots to someone with Highwayman, Requiem, and Scott Rogers is shown, followed by a shot of Serge Annis spray painting a huge happy face on the mask of The Deathbringer.] TD: From there, Serge Annis' career took off, away from obscurity and into the spotlight of the IIWF. [A shot of Annis holding his arms in victory over Otto "The Butcher" Verohoeven, and then pinning Dan Kauffman in the ten man match.] TD: Behind the shadow of Requiem, Serge Annis quickly grew to become    Genesis' true success story as he literally went from leaving the IIWF one month, to dominating the next. A win over The Butcher, and the pinfall over Dan Kauffman, launched Serge Annis to a new level here in the IIWF. [A shot of Serge Annis attacking Steve Manning Jr. and then stealing his wheel chair is shown. It is followed by a shot of Serge clubbing Chris Quigley with it, and then Creed.] TD: After several sucessful months in the IIWF, Serge still felt he was not recognized as a threat by its superstars. That changed when he attacked Creed and Chris Quigley with Steve Manning's wheel chair several weeks ago on IIWF Saturday Night! [A shot of Annis grinning over the bloody body of Creed is shown, followed by a slow-motion shot of Serge hitting Quigley with the wheel chair.] TD: And now, the IIWF has decided to give Serge Annis his very first title shot in the IIWF... for Chris Quigley's intercontinental championship! Will the Epitome of Evil continue to be able to climb the rankings and actually become the IIWF's new Intercontintal champion, or will the hard months of work and determination to establish himself end up being cut short, with a loss to the IC champ? [A shot of Serge now, looking emotionless up at Requiem, who sits atop Highwayman and Scott Rogers' shoulders, flashing the IIWF World title around.] TD: Or will Serge Annis be able to show that he was more than Genesis' lackey, that he too can pull off a championship run? We will see tommorow night, if Serge Annis' work and determination has been worth it. [Fade to black. Cut back to the video truck.] LM: Work and determination are two qualities which Serge Annis seems to possess in abundance these days -- he is completely focused on this match, as we shall see: [The camera fades into an IIWF logo. Serge Annis stands before it. Annis is wearing his ring costume consisting of black pants and wrist bands. Annis is not showing any real emotion, other than focus.] SA: For almost a year now, Serge Annis has been in the IIWF. A whole year. And I have never once received a title shot, of any kind. I don't mind that now... because the IIWF has finally awknowledged me as a contender. Tommorow night, I step into the ring with the master of motion himself, Chris Quigley... for the Intercontinental Championship. This is what I have been waiting for for nearly ten months... the chance to prove myself to the IIWF.     Quigley, you're probably the best technician going today in the IIWF. But you see... that doesn't intimidate me. It's hard for a scrawny puke like you to intimidate a six eight, two hundred ninety pound man Chris. See Chris, it should have been me that will you will face at Ring Wars IV. But I came up short in the battle royal. Then you give Creed his shot... well Chris, I don't appreciate that. Creed did crap in the battle royal where I dominated. Creed left the IIWF to sulk to his momma about being outsmarted and betrayed. Creed didn't deserve the shot. _I_ _DID_! I am the one that was pinning Dan Kauffman. I was the one defeating The Butcher. I was the one that drove a former IIWF World champion out... Quigley, I earned my shot. Creed didn't. So I took it away from him.     And now Chris, it's time for me to take away that pretty belt you have around your waist. I want the gold, Chris. And frankly... you can't stop me. Steve Manning Jr. can't stop me... Genesis can't stop me now... no one's going to stop me, Quigley, from snapping that neck of yours, and adding it to my collection.     Quigley, on Saturday you won't see a grinning pyromaniac that the IIWF has come to know. No, you are going to see 110 degrees of intensity, Chris. You are going to look into my eyes... and cower! For when you see into my soul, Chris Quigley, the darkness that exists inside of me... will blacken you... and corrode your mind too... and in that split second between reality and the mind... I will take that IIWF Intercontinental championship... and strap it around my waist... because I will beat you, Chris.     You can let Steve Manning play his parlour tricks... but be warned,    cripple... you won't get into the head of the master of mind games... and if you do, Steve Manning Jr, I assure you... you will fear what runs through my mind. You will cower... and cry. Steve Manning Jr., I had no problems with knocking you over the first time... and I assure you, I have no problems with knocking you out this time.    Quigley... we'll meet tommorow night. I will show no compassion, and show no mercy. The only thing I will show you... is defeat. See you Saturday, Quigley... good luck to you... because you are gonna need it. [Fade to black. Cut back to the video truck.] LM: Serge Annis could have the advantage going into this match, folks -- because Chris Quigley, despite what he might say, is preoccupied. He knows that, should he survive against Annis, in two weeks he will be facing an undeniably formidable challenge in the form of Duncan Macbeth -- a man who just six days ago, pinned him cleanly. For a competitive spirit like Quigley, that fact must gnaw away at him -- he seems almost desperate to make amends, to prove himself in his own eyes... albeit with plenty of encouragement from Steve Manning, Jr. Let's go to their comments: [SCENE: The locker room of "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley.  Quigley, wearing a leather jacket over a black "Product of The Living Hell" t-shirt, along with a pair of faded blue jeans and silver wire-rimmed shades, sits on the wooden bench.  The Intercontinental Title belt is set on a table next to the bench. Alongside Quigley, Steve Manning, Jr. is in his wheelchair, an excited look on his face.] SM: Finally!  Finally, Chris, we... er... I mean _you_ get the chance for revenge on Serge Annis!  The IIWF has finally listened to you!  They've _finally_ given you what you want! CQ: Yeah.  _Finally_.  But, I'll talk about Annis in a minute.  I've waited this long to face him, I can wait a few more minutes before I mention him. What I want to talk about right now is Duncan Macbeth. SM: [rolls his eyes] Oh, why waste your time?  Macbeth is nothing more than an infernal knave!  And I should know, I'm one of the very same! CQ: [almost cracks a smile]  No, I need to address the situation.  Duncan Macbeth pinned me last Saturday.  True, it was hardly a wrestling match. True, there were three other bodies lying on top of me while he made the cover. But, he pinned me nonetheless.  However, like I said before, Macbeth.  Ring Wars IV is not going to be a break-all-rules free for all brawl.  It's going to be a wrestling match.  Wrestling is something that I excel at, and you just barely scrape by.  There is _no_ way I'm going down to you again. We're on my turf this time, and your kind aren't welcome there. SM: [gets a devilish grin]  Wait!  Wait!  Macbeth!  Listen up and listen good!  You face "Quickstrike" at Ring Wars IV!  But there's a catch... we want it to be a no disqualification encounter!  There'll be no rules, no holds barred, and it'll just be a good old fashioned scrum! CQ: [stares over at Manning]  What the hell are you talking about, man?  I'm not fighting a No DQ match.  Ring Wars is going to be a real wrestling match.  It's gonna be on the mat, where Macbeth can't touch me.  I'm not making the same mistake twice.  Forget it. SM: [stares back innocently at Quigley]  But Chris, are you saying you're turning down a challenge?  You're _afraid_ to wrestle in a no holds barred match?! CQ: [angrily]  HEY!  [pause]  I'm not afraid of anything. SM: You've got to do The Living Hell proud, Chris.  Picture my poor old father home, watching you get outbrawled by a skirt!  You've got to redeem yourself, champ!  You've gotta prove that the "Quickstrike" legend still exists! [Quigley looks at Manning, his face stone-serious.  Then he stares up into space, thinking this over, maybe wondering what the hell Manning is trying to pull.] CQ: [sighs]  All right. SM: All right? CQ: Yes!  All right.  Macbeth, I'm making this match No Disqualification as of right now.  I'm gonna repay you for what happened last week, and I'm gonna do it _your style_! [Manning claps his hands and laughs like a hyena.] CQ: This'll still be a wrestling match, Macbeth.  But if you want to bring in a chair, you can bring in a chair.  If you want to bring in a bell, you can bring in the damn bell.  But keep in mind, there is _nobody_ in the IIWF tougher, smarter, or better than I am, and those three advantages will spell "The End" for you and this whole charade you're trying to pull. SM: Atta way, champ!  Now, now, _now_ can you talk about Annis?! CQ: [nods]  Annis, tomorrow night we finish what we never quite begun.  I told you two weeks ago that you wouldn't ruin my match against Creed and get away with it.  _Nobody_ gets in my face and gets away with it!  You call yourself the "Epitome of Evil"... SM: [interupting] A false assumption, I might add... CQ: ...and you go around flaunting yourself like your this big superstar, like everyone is supposed to cower outta your way.  Take a good look at me. There's no cowardice, there's no fear, there's only a man who wants to take you apart piece by piece, and is entirely capable of it.  They say when there's nothing but survival, there's no such thing as sin.  Professional wrestling, especially in the IIWF, is entirely about survival, but I don't care Annis, you sinned, and you sinned big time when you knocked a helpless man like Steve Manning out of his wheelchair.  You just better hope when I hook on that Quickstriker and you cry "uncle", that I let go.  Because, Annis, I'm not making any guarantees besides this one.  You will _rue_ the day you crossed my path. [Quigley looks into the camera, his eyes telling a tale of hatred, then he gets up from his bench, and silently walks out of the locker room.  Manning, who intently watched him leave, now breaks into a huge ear to ear smile.] SM: Serge Annis!  You may rue the day you crossed Chris Quigley, but when you're a lonely old man, and you look back at your semi-successful wrestling career, and then look down and think about the car wreck, and the explosion, and the gunfire, and how your arms and legs were ripped from their sockets... you'll begin to weep, and you'll silently mutter to yourself, "Damn... I thought that cripple was harmless..."  Because I'm about as harmless as a lion with a thorn in his paw!  Just as vicious, but really, really pissed off!  I've got a ringside seat, Annis, and I'll be watching you.  Oh yes, I'll be watching! [Manning tosses his head back in a maniacal laughing fit, but just as suddenly, he brings his head back down with a snap, stares directly into the camera, serious as a heart attack.] SM: [screams]  DON'T ANNOY THE PSYCHO! [Manning begins to laugh again to himself, as he squeakily wheels himself out of the camera's view and presumably out of the locker room.  Fade.] LM: There's something distinctly unpleasant about Steve Manning -- and this match could turn unpleasant tomorrow night, too. Annis and Quigley have waited a long time to lock up in this match... it's going to be hard-hitting, it's going to be explosive -- and it's going to be _live_, tomorrow night! Check your local listings! ------------------------------------------------------------------------ 8. "Outlaw" J.W. Hardin vs. Duncan Macbeth ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: The "Outlaw" J.W. Hardin is in a unique position in the IIWF -- his name has attained legendary status, no doubt about it, and he is apparently able to dictate the terms of his agreement with the management of the IIWF. This is undoubtedly a dangerous precedent to set for an athlete here -- not least for his opponents. Hardin will not wrestle in the IIWF unless it is guaranteed that he does _not_ have to sign a contract... a bizarre demand, to be sure, but one that gives Hardin immense power. He asked for this match -- and he got it. This reporter believes that Hardin has the front office of this league wrapped well and truly around his little finger. But that doesn't change the fact that tomorrow night's match between Hardin and one of the real rising stars of the IIWF, Duncan Macbeth, is a classic in the making. Macbeth has been on the up and up since winning that battle royal several weeks ago to guarantee himself a shot at Intercontinental gold on pay-per-view, while Hardin wants to reassert himself after what he saw as an incident which damaged his reputation: being laid out by Brody Thunder. And so the stage is set for tomorrow night's main event. It's Hardin against Macbeth. A win for the Scotsman would catapult him into the stratosphere -- a win for the Outlaw would damage Macbeth's momentum going into that big title match with Chris Quigley. And don't forget that both Quigley and Brody Thunder -- who seems intent on goading Hardin into facing him one-on-one -- are likely to be on hand for this match. That's quite a recipe, folks -- and you can add to it a liberal dose of attitude, courtesy of Duncan Macbeth: [SCENE: A winding mountain pass high in the Rampart Range of the Rocky Mountains of Colorado.  A lookout spot on the side of the highway affords a spectacular view of the snow-capped, monolithic columns of gray and green as they loom into the distance.  The treacherous stretch of road is deserted, with no sound present except for the wailing of the mountain wind as it whips at the small bunches of twisting trees and scrub that cling to the harsh surface of the mountainside.  The tranquillity of this scene is soon shattered by the bark and roar of a motorcycle engine, and far below the lookout, a familiar silver and blue BMW r1200 cruiser can be seen careening around the tight turns of the pass at high speed, at times looking as though it will launch itself right off the road and into empty air.  The bike and its rider appear and disappear as they follow the snaking stretch of road up the craggy side of the mountain, and finally, the rider guns the bike up the final few yards of the road and screeches to a halt at the lookout.  The rider dismounts, takes a moment to survey his surroundings, then advances towards the camera.  He is dressed in black motorcycle boots, jeans, and a black motorcycle jacket, the normal biker gear, but the look is augmented by a length of red tartan cloth which the rider has wrapped around his trunk and slung over his shoulder to protect him from the intense cold at the high altitude of the pass.  A pair of gauntleted hands reach up to remove a shiny black helmet emblazoned with the image of a crimson Lion Rampant, and instantly we see the searing green eyes of Duncan Macbeth.  The feisty Scot's breath comes out in wisps of white steam in the bitter chill as he speaks.] DM: So, Duncan Macbeth has raised th' ire o' th' mighty J.W. Hardin himself!  I did nae ken tha' those Texas lads were sae delicate about their names bein' taken in vain, wha'.  I reckon ye think I'm goin' t' couch down in fear now that ye've chosen t' tangle wi' me, or tha' maybe I'll pull a Quigley an' start whinin' an' complainin' about how th' IIWF's "plottin' against me", t' ruin me title shot at Ring Wars. Well, I'm no' goin' t' do either, Hardin. Let me explain why, "cowpoke", in a language even YE should be able t' understand. [Macbeth holds up a black-gloved index finger, much the same way Hardin did last Monday.] One.  Ye fought yuir way through 24 men t' become th' very first IIWF Champ.  Congratulations.  But tha's auld news. [Macbeth holds up a second finger, coincidentally forming a gesture that's quite well known to Brits of all persuasions.] Two.  Ye were one o' th' first inductees in t' th' IIWF Hall O' Fame.  Congratulations, but tha's auld news as well. [Macbeth holds up a third finger.] Three.  Ye're 6' 10", 350 pounds o' rough, tough hombre, one o' th' biggest, meanest men in th' IIWF. Congratulations.  At least yuir mum fed ye well, if she didn't manage t' teach ye some manners. [The Scot chuckles at this, then turns more serious as he holds up a fourth finger.] Four.  In yuir first match since returnin' t' th' IIWF, ye beat th' Phoenix in t' retirement. Congratulations.  Ye beat up a poor, sad, useless excuse fer a midcarder who's own image was sae lame, he had t' borrow someone else's, and e'en tha' did no' manage t' elevate him two steps above jobber.  Big deal. If ye'd hae no' put 'im out o' th' IIWF, someone like Jumpin' Jack would hae done it eventually.  But hey, I suppose it beat gettin' shown up by Thunder at yuir own game on national telly, did it no'? [Macbeth extends his thumb,  then curls his fingers into a leather-clad fist, holding it close to his face as his jade eyes burn into the camera.] An' five. I could no' give a DAMN about all o' th' above. Y'see, Hardin, ye're no' goin' t' have yuir way wi' ME th' way ye did wi' tha' tossin' Nightwing.  There's a lot more t' me than meets th' eye.  I can wrestle wi' th' best, an' I can rough it up wi' th' best. Any way ye want t' take this match, in th' ring, on th' floor, in th' parkin' lot, I'm goin' t' be with ye all th' way. Dinnae get me wrong, Hardin.  I've nothin' but respect fer ye.  Ye're a truly hard bastard, one o' th' most dangerous men e'er t' pull on a pair o' wrestlin' boots.  When I step in t' that ring wi' ye tomorrow night, I'll be steppin' in th' ring wi' a legend. But I've run in t' a few legends in me time, wha'.  An' I ne'er met one tha' didn't bleed. Ye've got a point t' prove t' Brody Thunder, Hardin?  Ye should hae picked somebody else t' make yuir point with, 'cause tomorrow night, auld man, th' only point ye're goin' t' prove is tha' ye're just as mortal as everybody else.  I'm lookin' forward t' congratulatin' YE on tha' point.  Personally. Tomorrow night, 'twill be claw fer claw, Hardin, an' th' devil take th' shortest nails! [Macbeth turns, walks back over to the BMW and climbs aboard, pulling the helmet back over his head.  He kicks the bike into life, but then cuts the engine abruptly, and turns his attention back to the camera as he raises the helmet's visor, his cutting gaze the only part of his face visible.] Oh, an' Quigley... sorry I forgot about ye, sweetheart.  But tha' a pretty easy thing t' do. It must be eatin' at ye a bit tha' ye'll be defendin' _my_ title against Annis tomorrow, but I'm in th' Main Event an' ye're not.  But tha's just simple economics, so don't feel bad.  Y'see, th' IIWF pays good money fer two hours o' air time on Saturday, an' if they let YE headline, they'll be losin' about 30 minutes after all our viewers switch o'er t' "Married Wi' Children", or th' Home Shopping Network, or _anythin'_ more entertainin' than a Chrissie Quigley match. But I ken ye'll be watchin' _me_ tomorrow night, an' hopin' tha' Hardin'll do t' me wha' 'e did t' th' Phoenix.  Tha' way, ye'll be able t' sleep better at night, knowin' Duncan Macbeth won't be around t' give ye bad dreams anymore, an' ye can go back t' fightin' th' prelims on Wednesday. Dream on, tosser. I survived eighteen men t' get me shot at th' Intercontinental Title, somethin' I've strived fer since th' day I signed me contract. I survived a knock-down, drag-out bar fight wi' seven Hell's Angels just last week. I survived two full days in Leavenworth, th' mother o' all hell-holes. I survived th' Shower Room Showdown. An' I'll survive Hardin, even if I don't beat 'im. Sae just get used t' th' fact tha' ye're goin' t' be seein' me at Ring Wars, sweetie, 'cause I'm th' hellhound on yuir trail, an' NOTHIN'S goin' t' stop me from takin' tha' title, d'ye hear me?  NOTHIN'. [Macbeth slams the visor shut, guns the motorcycle's engine once more, and with a spray of gravel and an ear-splitting rumble, accelerates off the shoulder of the mountain highway, climbing high up the side of the mountain and disappearing into a shroud of mist as the scene fades.] LM: The "Outlaw" J.W. Hardin seems unimpressed by the attention he has received since his return -- not least by being called out by Macbeth. Our cameras caught up with this seminal superstar as he relaxed earlier this week: [Fade in on a western bar somewhere in the U.S.  Flashes of neon from beer advertisements barely penetrate the veil of smoke hanging in the room, giving the effect of a Los Angeles sunset.  A trail of smoke emanates from a cigar held by a hulking figure sitting alone at a table in a dark corner. As the camera zooms in, "Outlaw" J.W. Hardin blindly pours a shot from a half-empty bottle of Kessler's as he thumbs through a pile of envelopes and papers on the table.  He pulls out one envelope, scans the address, and cracks a smile.] JWH: "To J.W. Hardin... Hell."      Written in crayon, must be a Warnett fan.  At least she got      the address right. [Hardin pulls a letter from the envelope and reviews it.]      "Yer an evil man."      A firm grasp of the obvious... definitely a Warnett fan. [He drops the letter and picks up another one.]      Hell, I can't even read this chicken scratch.  Must be one o'      Macbeth's relatives.  Tomorrow night, sheep hugger.  Tomorrow night. [He picks up another envelope and removes the letter.]      "It's a matter of time before you pay."      A dreamer.  Gotta be a Quigley fan.  Well, if his fans were willin'      to wait... what was it, twelve years, for the cripple-lovin' loser to _finally_ win a belt, they're a patient lot.  Stupid as rocks, but patient.      So they're sayin' Hardin's gone over the edge, huh?  Some hombres      would call puttin' an opponent outta wrestlin' fer the fun of it...      melodramatic.  Some would say it was... unnecessary.  I call it...      life.  The strong survive and the weak fall by the wayside... and      just talkin' 'bout it ain't gonna change a thing.  I reckon that's      the difference 'tween me and ever'one in the IIWF.  _I_ go out and      accomplish what I want.  _They_ just talk about it. [He makes a chattering motion with his hand, then smiles.]      Ain't that right, Thunder? ["Losers Ain't Allowed in Texas" begins to play on the jukebox.  Hardin downs the Kessler's in one gulp, swipes the pile of papers off the table, and pours another shot.]      Verhoeven, your mouth has been the biggest lately... but I got used      to whinin' Krauts durin' my time in Europe.  Seems like a man who's      always been hidin' behind a skirt named Heidi or some pansy-boy like Lord Fauntleroy would take a long look in the mirror before... aw, what the hell did Dross always call it... casting aspersions.  See, Otto, there's a big difference 'tween the two of us.  You like to hide behind others -- an opportunist -- but I've always been at the front of any wolfpack.      Remember how you got the belt, Otto?  Tell the world, go 'head.  Tell 'em all that you wouldn't have ever laid hands on the title belt if J.W. Hardin hadn't finished off Deathbringer fer ya.  I gave ya yer shot, Verhoeven, but what did you do with it?  Ya lost to Kauffman. Kauffman!  Damn, son, here's a buck -- go buy a tampon and write yer fan letters to Marv Albert.      But stop wastin' my time. [Hardin gulps the shot of Kessler's and pours another.]      Requiem... you want Thunder's _title_?  Fine.  I ain't gonna stand in the way of that.  But I want _Thunder_.  With championship belts come commitment... and I ain't about to go through all that crap again.  I got all the money I need and I ain't innersted in pleasin' the damn fans.  And Satan knows I ain't got to have a belt to feed my ego. [He lifts his Kessler's and the neon lights seem to come to life as they dance through the glass.]      Nah, there's only one thing I want right now.      Thunder's blood. [Hardin holds his shot of Kessler's in front of the camera in a toast...]      To the champ! [...then turns it over and allows the whiskey to pour to the floor.  The music on the jukebox changes to "Dark Clouds Over Waco" as Hardin blows a puff of smoke at the camera.  The shot slowly fades to black.] LM: So there you have it, folks. Eight incredible matches, some hot interviews -- all packed into the two hottest hours of wrestling you'll find anywhere. Forget Monday nights -- IIWF Saturday Night is where it's at. ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| Trash Talk |_||_| \_/\_/ |_|.................................................... LM: Richard "Moxy" Blue ended up staying in Leavenworth a little longer than the rest of the IIWF's entourage last week, as he was unfortunate enough to come out on the losing end of the "Loser Spends the Night" match which opened last Saturday Night's history-making show. However, the young cruiserweight appears to have survived more or less intact, and is already up to more of his usual hyjinx: [A hardly visible scene, very dark, and dust can almost be seen settling. A brief ray of light illuminates the scene minimally, and it appears to be a metal cased ventilation shaft its location is unknown. A large brown and overindulged rat waddles up the the camera and sniffs it with curiosity.] RMB: HEY! GET AWAY FROM THAT! [A large amount of thumping and clanging can be heard off camera, the rat squeals and waddles off. A scrawny hand waves in front of the camera, so close that it's out of focus.] RMB: Helllllllllllooooooooo my legions of Moxycuters! [Instead of coming on camera, RMB uses his hand in puppet like fashion, as it makes it "speak" his words.] Did you know that the IIWF Coliseum ventilation shafts are REALLY big? And you can see into all the dressing rooms from them? I'm here to give you the raw deal, what everyone seems to want nowadays, the real story. This is Moxy Edition, Episode One! Your inside scoop on the Truth. The truth shall set me free, and that's scary, Cats 'n Kittens. So come along with me and my Moxycam -- courtesy of IIWF Towers -- as I do show you everything the superstars of IIWF DIDN'T WANT you to know! Oh yeah, RIGHTEOUS! [RMB grabs the minute hand camera, now obviously no bigger than a Walkman, and still hasn't been seen on camera yet, just his "talking" hand. Now the view is almost first person as RMB crawls down the shaft, humming the theme from "Mission: Impossible". A grating comes into view...] RMB: Ooooohhhh, what's this? Could it be our first... gasp... exposé? I do believe so! [RMB takes the Moxycam -- courtesy of IIWF Towers -- and points it down the grate, but nearly nothing can be seen, save a bit of movement. The lighting is very poor.] RMB: [whispering] Wow, look, it's Tonnage's room! He's still moping about losing to me! Whatta sap. Quarter ton o' pathetic. That's what he is. What's this? Ewwwww... gross, Tonnage. Stop that! Just so you all know... TONNAGE PICKS HIS NOSE. That's right... can you see that? Is he gonna... is he gonna? YES! Lunchtime! Well, I'm gonna lose my lunch if I stay here! Yuck. [RMB continues down the shaft, mumbling as he scrapes his elbow against the side. Another grating appears, and once again, the Moxycam -- courtesy of IIWF Towers -- attempts to gain a shot, this one to no avail as well.] RMB: Look, the dressing room of Timothy N. Turner! Bastard. I should spit on him. Yes, I'm STILL miffed about Hard Time. Like anyone seriously believes he had the funds for that rocketpack himself. Nice try Spread 'ems. I've been in many leagues where the prez wanted me screwed up the rear, but never literally! If that's the way you wanna play, Moxy is gonna add some new suits to this deck. Did that confuse you? Good. ACH! Man! TURNER! BE ASHAMED! YOU CAN GO BLIND DOING THAT! * THUNK. * [RMB, in his haste to avoid watching Turner any longer, tried to sit up abruptly and knocked his head against the roof of the shaft. The screen goes woozy with special effects processors, and the screen fades to black in a semi dream sequence...] VOICE: Hey, it's our one night visitor! VOICE 2: Welcome friend. RMB: Uh... Hi. VOICE: We were watching you. We all wanted you to win. RMB: Wahoo! Of course you did. Cause I'm Moxy Blue! VOICE 2: And we think you'd have the nicest behind in wrestling. RMB: Don't you mean "do have", not "would have?" [Pause} RMB: Uh oh... I remember this part of Shawshank Redemption! LEMME OUT! VOICE: So you like to wrestle eh? Heheheheeehhh. RMB: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!! [Fade back in to a shot of sheer trauma on RMB's face.] RMB: I'm getting claustrophobic in here! Lemme out! [The Moxycam -- courtesy of IIWF Towers -- is dropped, and all that can seen is RMB, dressed in an orange T-shirt and sweat pants, rushing down the shaft. He passes over the next grate with such force that he falls into that dressing room!] RMB: [Off Camera] Not this room, dear God not here. Oh look! It's my best buddies! Hi Gecko! Bluto! Bloom! How's life? Uh... hehe... nice... uh... seeing you... again... sorry but I gotta... RRRRRUN!! [Moxycam's battery runs out. Fade.] LM: We've talked before tonight about the mysterious, aged Blind Guardian, the man who has taken a strong dislike to former World Champion Requiem in the past couple of weeks. We'll hear more from this enigmatic and unique athlete tomorrow night, but let's get brief comments from him tonight: [SCENE: The IIWF interview area. In front of the camera stands the Blind Guardian. He's wearing a long white cloak and a white piece of cloth around his eyes. His voice sounds like that of an old man as he begins to speak] BG: Oh, did someone cross your plans, my young friend? Did they hurt your feelings? Are you crying now? Rectum, stop whining, you make this league look like a joke to the rest of the wrestling world. But then again you did it before when wearing the championship belt of the _mighty_ IIWF. However, don't worry about that fact as all those guys who held the belt before you made this league look like a joke, too.     But now there's something you said that made me laugh for quite some     time, at least for three seconds. It's something that people told     about me several years ago, not once, not twice, but countless times. There've always been those who couldn't accept what had to be     accepted. You know, there comes the time within the career of     everyone, when he has to accept that he has lost, that he has lost     his position within the community, that he has lost his power and     influence, or in your despicable case, that he has lost the chance to regain the championship title. At those times, rumors like to spread. Rumors like "The president doesn't want me to get a shot at the belt" or "The Blind Guardian was ordered to stop me".         Do you really think that I, the Blind Guardian, the judge of them     all, sell myself to the president of this [pauses] _mighty_ league,     just to make sure that you don't get another chance of wearing the     gold around your waist? Do you really think that I would waste my     knowledge, energy and capabilites just in order to fulfill the wishes of one Mr. Spreadbury? How wrong can one be?     Just to make this clear: No one orders me anything. Not you, not the president of this league, not the president of the United States of America. I just obey my own commands, and I decide for myself what I do and what I don't. When I was young, my father, may his soul rest in peace, told me that I would have to find my own way, if I wanted to become something special, something important. I found that way, I became a judge and I got the opportunity to righten the wrongs in our community. And so I did. Now I am retired. But I can't just sit back and enjoy the fruits of my work. No, I've got to move on, and continue what I started once.     I, Rectum, am here for one reason and one reason only: To judge all     the scum that finds it's way to this league. Why this league? Because it's the league where the most scum can be found, just look into the mirror and you'll see how right I am. You, the Outlaw J.W.Hardin, the "Butcher" Otto Verhoeven, Tiger Claw, Serge Annis... scum, wherever you look. There's a lot of work to do here in this league, and it's hard to say where to start.     And why am I choosing you? Why do I want to judge _you_, Rectum?     Well, let's just say that you're the ugliest guy whom I could find     here. Maybe it's not quite the truth, but it comes very close to the     real thing. And I couldn't think of a better way to show this league     what I'm made of than by destroying the myth of a man who used to     spread fear among those other valiant wrestlers of the _mighty_ IIWF.     So here I am, Rectum, a man who could very well be your grandfather -- and I pray to god that I am not -- but a man who will make sure that you never ever get your hands at the gold again.     Sure, you could just ignore me. Sure, you could try to find some other guys to beat me up. But I am just that, Rectum, an old man. And you are afraid of me? Hmm... sure you are. [The Blind Guardian removes the piece of cloth that covers his eerie white eyes. It seems as if he now stares at a point far behind the camera as he continues to speak] BG: I will be your judge, Rectum, I will punish you, I will sentence you -- to DEATH.     I am the Blind Guardian. [Fade] LM: He may well be the Blind Guardian, but Requiem is unimpressed. The "Angel of Destruction" sees himself as being on a one-way path to a rematch with the man who took the IIWF World Heavyweight Championship from him, the "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder -- and incidentally, folks, I hear that he may be about to get his wish -- and nothing appears to be able to dislodge Requiem from his paranoid conspiracy theories -- although it doesn't take much imagination to think of a few figures who'd take great delight in slapping him out of it: [SCENE: A black screen, devoid of light and silent as the grave. After a long moment a pinpoint of light appears at the centre of the screen. As the spot of light grows brighter, and becomes a redder shade we can see that it is a small flame, not a dot of light. Soon the darkness is blazing away, transformed from the stillness of the dark into the random chaotic frenzy of flame. After but a moment, the screen is filled with fire, smoke wafting gently across the screen. After a moment, a voice is heard...] VO: Ah! Don't you just love the smell of hellfire and brimstone in the morning? [After a moment more, Requiem enters the scene from the left, effortlessly walking amidst the smoke, only a slight sheen of sweat revealing the high temperature within the flames] RQ: Well, it's not quite hell --- but it's home! Hahaha! Brody Thunder, what do you think of the renovations to my cathedral? I'd love for you to come and visit --- why not pop in? We can do lunch... Well, why not? There isn't much point in us being enemies anymore, is there? It's pretty clear that the IIWF just don't dare let me get within reach of you. First Otto, then this "Blind Guardian" character... Or, as I'd prefer he be known, the "Blindsider", as that's all he appears to do. Pop up, blindside someone, and scarper pronto. Yeah, Guardian, it was a cute trick you pulled in Leavenworth. It was even cuter, the way you popped up in my match against Kevin whatsisname, and distracted me long enough for Kevin to get the pin. Only it didn't quite happen, did it? "Oh, I hate the IIWF, I really do. It sickens me. You're all frauds, especially Boy Rectum..." Well, for a guy who hates the IIWF you seem happy enough to stick around and accept Spreadbury's 30 pieces of silver. Why are you in IIWF, if you hate it so? It's all a con job, my friend, and I'm not falling for it. You're President Dan's troubleshooter. I know it. You know it. Spreadbury sure as hell knows it. We can't let Requiem get too close to Brody Thunder, can we? Let's give him a new target. A target that calls him names, attacks him, calls him out in the middle of matches. Requiem'll get mad, declare vengeance, and Thunder's off the hook. Well, I hate to have to keep saying this but --- no deals. I know the score, and it's not going to work, Guardian. I dare say Spreadbury's already got us set up for a match at Ring Wars, but I'm just not interested. Call me a coward, call me a chicken, call me anything you like. Not interested. Not in you, at any rate. I'm interested in one thing, and one thing only. That big gold belt with the words "IIWF World Champion" written on it. Brody Thunder has it. You don't. Pop quiz for ya, Einstein --- who should I be interested in? That's right, the answer is a) The cowboy with the gold, and not you. But don't you worry --- the Angel of Destruction has a _very_ long memory. It _will_ be payback time... for you, Guardian, for Thunder, and for Dictator Danny himself. Nobody who conspires to keep that belt from me should expect any mercy from Requiem. So do all you can to keep that belt from me, fellas, because the moment I get it back --- you're all gonna experience so much pain they're gonna have to invent new words for what you'll be feeling! As for you, Brody Thunder... can't we just be friends? Hell, no! You've got what I want, and as much as all the other IIWF idiots bitched about me _stealing_ the belt ... YOU are guilty of the same crime, but I don't see anyone saying Brody Thunder's not much of a champion, even though he's yet to face _anyone_ from the IIWF in a championship match. Yeah, Brody Thunder, all around nice guy... stole the belt from Requiem and beat the crap out of his buddies... but hey... he's a lovable rogue, right? I hope you beat the living crap out of whoever you're facing tomorrow, Thunder. I hope you just kick the crap out of him, and win easily. Why? Well, because I don't want to take that belt from anyone but you, and I wanna make sure you're at 120% when I take that belt back. Just so everybody knows for sure who the better man is. Keep telling everyone how you beat me easily, Brody. Maybe if you keep telling the lie enough you'll eventually come to believe it. Try to black out that horrible, horrible truth --- that I busted your head and arm wide open, and it was only with the help of J W Hardin, Casey James, Tiger Claw and _Daniel Spreadbury_ that ya beat me. Keep telling yourself "the truth" everynight... As for you, Steve Roberts? I haven't forgotten my little "Fifteen minutes Of fame" challenge for you. Or should that be "Fifteen minutes of pain"? Real cute there, pal. "Oh, I'm _not_ afraid of Reqtum, Dross. Why, I could kick his ass in under a minute..... er, if it wasn't for this pesky back injury of mine! Oh, if only that mean old nasty Doctor would let me wrestle..." You're fooling nobody, Roberts. The only thing wrong with your back is that wide yellow streak you hide under that leather jacket of yours. Hurl abuse and scorn at me as much as you like, we both know I've never backed down from any match. Looks to me like the mighty "Soundbite" can't say the same, can he? It's real simple, Roberts. Here, why not buy a clue? They're called "waivers"... just sign all the waivers the IIWF legal department give ya and then drag your "soundbiting" ass into the ring for fifteen minutes, OK? I promise you, it's an experience you'll never forget. You know, I do appear to be making a lot of promises lately, don't I? It's a damn shame that the IIWF are trying desperately to prevent my keeping them. But don't worry, like the Grim Reaper himself the "Angel Of Destruction" will not be stayed... Sooner or later I'll keep my promises, and when I do the IIWF won't like it much, if at all. That's a promise. And as for Genesis? Gone forever? Hardly. Whilst Requiem breathes, the true Genesis will never be far away... [Fade] LM: One man from whom we have heard nothing since his big return to the IIWF before Midsummer Madness is the People's Champion, the Subway Psycho, who has been truly living up to his moniker in recent weeks, exhibiting a far more brutal, punishing style in the ring. Tonight, he finally breaks his silence -- let's get comments from this IIWF veteran: [Scene: A Darkened subway platform.  A shadowey figure walks with back turned away from the camera.  The figure carries a jacket loosely dangling from one hand.  The man turns to speak...] SP: What I have here in my hand is the remnants of some snivelling punk I disposed of in one of my tunnels.  The bastard tried to mug an old man on one of my platforms.  From the shadows I sprung and dragged the cretin back into my darkness and beat the daylights out of him.  You should have heard him begging for mercy... crying like a child.  In his haste to leave he left this behind, [raises the jacket] no doubt paid for by the money he stole, earned by the hard work of others. The IIWF is without question the grandest, richest, most deeply talented federation in the world.  Many of its participants are not unlike that punk on the platform.  Feeling like a big man, able to do or say anything and get away with it, without paying a price for it.  Well, they're sorely mistaken.  I'm turning my attention now to a man by the name of Serge Annis.  So Serge said how he hates how I left for a while only to come back and expect to be right where I left off.  Appearently my prescence in IIWF bothers Serge.  Good, I couldn't be happier. Serge, are your panties in a bunch?  Too bad, jerk-off.  My blood and sweat built this fed and that's what keeps the fans coming back.  Do you want to talk about how much you can't stand me -- or do you want to step up to me and show me for yourself?  You're the epitome of something all right... the epitome of a real asshole... and if you ever get the nerve, try to prove me wrong. And oh... back to this... [raises the jacket once again]  There are those out there that may have seen my treatment of that lad as harsh and extremely violent.  Well, you're right... but that's the way it is... that's the way I am.  This is why I'm the People's Champion.  If you were that old man on the platform you wouldn't want it any other way... and neither do the fans who pay to see me wrestle.  Violence to the Extreme and Pity for None! [He tears the jacket in two and walks off into the darkness. Fade.] LM: Finally for tonight, folks, I am able to present you with the promised bombshell announcement from the red-gloved wrecking machine, Creed. Hold on to your hats, folks. [SCENE:  In a makeshift interview area underneath the shadow of the cavernous Los Angeles Memorial Coliseum stands the red gloved superstar Creed. Creed appears unusually pensive, leaning up against an enormous flagpole, the warm Southern California breeze slightly rippling his red and black Ring Wars IV t-shirt.] CREED: Seen a lot of guys come and go over the past year.  Retired some of them myself. Always thought it was weakness... you know? Always thought those guys jus' couldn't hang with the big dogs.  Couldn't keep up.  Weren't man enough, ya know what I sayin'? 'Bout seven months ago... I the hottest thing goin'.  Knockin' guys 'round all over the damn place. Warnett?  Pinned him.  Clean. Byron?  Pinned him.  Clean.  Twice. Beat Highway, James, dropped Watkins from the top of the outfield wall up at RW3. Why?  'Cause I good.  Fifteen match unbeaten streak, fought thirteen guys in one night, hell, when I first start, I took on Verhoeven and Kowalski at the same time. Why?  'Cause I damn good.  Pay attention. [Creed rubs his chin slowly, removing his sunglasses as the camera zooms in for a close up.] But... o'er the las' few months.  Somethin' changed. Maybe it the knee them Euros blew out.  Maybe it when the Old Dog swerved me... took my belt... made me look like a punk. Maybe it somethin' else entirely.  Somethin' a little harder to see if you jus' watchin what go on in the ring.  But... the fact is that I ain't been competing at a respectible level in a long time 'round here. Last six months... last six months... I got one pinfall win. One. During that time I got pinned twice, tapped out to Byron... got dropped to the floor by Watkins... got taken out twice by Annis... and... ...and.... I lost to that damn Quigley.  Some of you don' know how that felt... some of you don' know how that felt to lose to that guy _again_... 'cause some of you ain't been 'round here long enough to know how Creed came up in the IIWF.  What Creed came from. What Creed had to do. But the bottom line is, I ain't gettin' it done no more. No excuses.  I ain't the kind of guy to make excuses.  So... it time to go.  Time to give my spot to someone new. Someone... someone who can still compete. So, Creed movin' on. But not today. Not today 'cause I got one more fight left for the IIWF.  There one more guy who gonna find out that I didn't get to where I got cause of "who I know"... there one more guy to find out that Creed where Creed is 'cause Creed outwork... outwrestle... and outsmart... EVERYONE. EVERYWHERE. EVERYTIME. And that guy... that guy is you, Serge Annis. You stupid son of a bitch, tryin' to say, "where Creed been?  Who Creed think he is, takin' two months off and then comin' back like he own the place?" You know better than that, Annis.  You know exactly where Creed been and you damn well better know that even when Creed not in the ring he the most dangerous man in this sport. Maybe 'specially when he not in the ring. You don't believe me?  You ask around, Annis. You go ahead and ask around 'xactly what Creed can do when he feel like it, Annis. And what Creed feel like doin'... What Creed feel like doin'... Is Creed feel like slicing you up come November 8, Serge Annis.  At Ring Wars 4, Creed gonna step in front of 100,000 people right here in So.Cal, right here jus' down the Coast from where Creed come from... right here with the Creed Army roarin' his name into the LA night... Creed is gonna kick your ass, Annis. You want to get out of the mid-card, boy? You want to make yo' mark in the IIWF? You want Creed, Annis? You want Creed, you stupid MOTHER {BLEEP}-ER? You want Creed? [Creed pauses... the malevolence in his eyes burning a hole through the camera.] You want Creed? You _got_ Creed. [Creed raises his red glove in the air... mouthing the words, "Ring Wars 4... Ring Wars 4... Ring Wars 4..." as the shot fades.] LM: Indeed, folks, it's all about Ring Wars IV -- just two weeks away! It's going to be a whirlwind couple of weeks leading up to this huge event -- I'm sure Creed's announcement will not be the last to come over the next fourteen days -- and you can catch up with all the action _live_ tomorrow night, as IIWF Saturday Night emanates from the jam-packed Falcon Stadium, Colorado Springs. Join my colleagues Tim Dross and "Soundbite" Steve Roberts for the hottest two hours of wrestling action anywhere in the world -- and I'll see you once again next Friday night, with another "Countdown". Until then, so long, and thanks for watching. [Larry turns back to the bank of monitors behind him, presses a few buttons on the console in front of him, and the monitors flicker to black. Larry retracts his ballpoint pen and places it in his inside breast pocket as the shot fades.] +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= 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 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+