[Fade up on a distant shot, taken from a helicopter, of the US Air Force Academy, nestling in the bosom of the impressive Rampart Range of the Colorado Rocky Mountains. The camera moves closer towards the complex, and the natural bowl which houses the huge outdoor Falcon Stadium swings into view, beams of light streaming up out of the jam-packed arena, and up into the darkening night sky. The camera now turns its gaze upwards, and a large plane can be seen rumbling overhead. Its belly opens, and a sky-diver tumbles out into the cold air. The plane continues out of sight, while the sky-diver, now a mere dot in the pinks and purples of the Colorado sunset, hurtles towards the earth. Moments pass, and the form of the skydiver is now becoming visible, his shape becoming more definite -- suddenly he pulls his rip-cord, and a huge parachute unfurls rapidly. From the camera's vantage point, it can be seen that the 'chute is emblazoned with the logo of the IIWF. The sky-diver puts himself into a corkscrew twist, and triggers his smoke trails, which chart his spiral ever downward, dissipating into the evening air in his wake. The shot now cuts to one taken from a camera mounted on the concrete rim of the Falcon Stadium. It pans up from the hovering helicopter, its lights blinking against its silhouetted form, to the sky-diver, who now approaches the gaping hole that is the open roof of the arena. Skilfully guiding himself, the sky-diver glides gently down within the walls of the huge open-air arena, cameras flashing all around him from every side of the domed stadium, as he continues his graceful descent. With pin-point accuracy, the sky-diver finally lands -- smack in the middle of the ring! His huge 'chute billows out above him as he rolls to a stop on the canvas, and the fabric canopy balloons as it too comes to a rest, draping over the entire ring and over the ring posts. Huge pop as an aerial shot, relayed to the crowd on a Jumbotron video wall, shows the IIWF's logo draped over the ring. A huge volley of fireworks shoots up into the evening sky as the opening graphics explode onto the screen:] ________ ______ __ ____ ___ __ . _ ___ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __| / /\ | | || \| \ /\ \ / |\ || / \| | | | || | \ v v / | __| \__ /__\ | | ||__/| |/__\ v | \||| __|-| | |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| \ \| v | \|__/ \| | || \_|| | | __________________________/...hour one...\........|...|.......|....| LIVE! Falcon Stadium, US Air Force Academy, Colorado Springs 25 October 1997 [Mix through to interior shots of the Falcon Stadium. Ring crews have now unfastened the sky-diver's canopy, and are busy rolling it up as the intrepid sky-diver waves to the capacity crowd from the ring. Spotlights from the rigging erected above the squared circle send myriad colours out over the cheering fans. The shot cuts to a camera seemingly emerging from the curtain at the head of the aisle, the huge dome opening up in front of him, the video walls on the rigging above the ring relaying the shots to the crowd. The camera barrels down the aisle, swinging this way and that, catching first one group of fans, then another -- finally coming to rest at the ring. Cut to a wide-angle shot of the arena, as the voice of Tim Dross is heard:] TD: Welcome everybody to the Falcon Stadium here in Colorado Springs! Welcome everybody to the penultimate stop on the Road to Ring Wars IV! Welcome everybody... to IIWF Saturday Night! [Cut to more fast shots of the clamouring fans: many young men and women are in Air Force uniform, but there are also the usual IIWF degenerates, now dressed more warmly in the cool evening air. Eventually cut to the broadcast table at ringside, at which stand Tim Dross, sporting a bomber jacket over his traditional IIWF blazer, and "Soundbite" Steve Roberts, who not only sports a bomber jacket -- but also a World War I pilot's cap, complete with goggles, on his head.] TD: Howdy, folks! We are coming at you _live_ and loud from the majestic open-air Falcon Stadium on the campus of the US Air Force Academy, Colorado Springs. I'm Tim Dross, and beside me, as always, is my -- somewhat unusually attired -- esteemed colleague and tag team partner, "Soundbite" Steve Roberts. SR: Unusually attired, Dross? Just gettin' into the spirit, baby dolls. Besides, it's so damned cold out here tonight, the Soundite needs something to keep his ears warm. TD: Indeed, despite the unseasonally warm weather, we are a long way above sea level here in the Rocky Mountains, to say the least, and it's a mite chilly here in the Stadium this evening. SR: Of course, you've got plenty of insulation built-in, buddy. TD: Please, Steve Roberts. Folks, we are now just two weeks away from Ring Wars IV, which will be coming your way live on pay-per-view from the warmer climes of Los Angeles, California. The tension is certainly building up -- seven matches have been announced, and a further five are yet to come. I understand that we will hear more about that huge event later on tonight, and we will also be hearing more from Otto Verhoeven and Lord Byron in a special edition of "Showstopper" Simon Lebec's "The Final Cut." In just a few moments, we will also hear from the IIWF World Heavyweight Champion, the "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder... and later tonight, the IIWF World Tag Team Champions, the Cold Quins, will be joining us. SR: Aw, who needs words, Dross? What the "L'il Soundbiters" want to see is heads gettin' cracked, bones gettin' broken, and blood flowing freely. Ain't that right, morons? [Roberts turns to the inebriated gang of a dozen or so pathetic middle aged men behind him, who raise their beers and shout in muffled tones through the scarves which cover their mouths, "Shoot, Soundbite! Shoot!"] TD: Good grief. Well, if it's action you're looking for, we have it by the bucketload here on tonight's show. In our main event, we'll see the "Outlaw" J.W. Hardin do battle with Duncan Macbeth, and Macbeth's opponent at Ring Wars, the Intercontinental Champion, "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley, will defend his title against Serge Annis in a match that was postponed two weeks ago. SR: I don't think Kick-Me's prospects have improved since then, Dross. Just last week, the damned ceiling fell in on him. I guess here in an open-air arena, at least he doesn't have to worry about that. TD: We'll also see World Tag Team Championship action, as the unusual partnership of Harlequin Tragedy and Icehawk of Cold Spell go up against Licensed for Devastation, who were victorious in last Saturday Night's "Chain Gang Warfare" match. Plus we have the two semi-finals in the on-going tournament to determine the number one contender to Derek Mota's Cruiserweight Championship -- and Mota himself will also be in action tonight, squaring off against the Party Maniac, Marty Warnett, in a "There Must Be A Winner" match. SR: Mota's gonna wipe the mat with Warnett, Dross -- assuming that Stetson doesn't get his hands on him first. TD: It's going to be a huge night of action, folks -- and let's kick it off right now with the IIWF World Heavyweight Champion! Here comes the "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder! [The haunting theme of "High Plains Drifter" fills the arena air. A spotlight focuses on the entranceway at the top of the aisle. The curtains burst open and out steps Brody Thunder. He's dressed in black jeans, boots and hat. His trademark black t-shirt is replaced by a white t-shirt with a big red bullseye on the front. On the back it simply reads: "CHAMPION". Over his left shoulder lies the IIWF World Title belt. He has a sombre expression on his face. Clenched in his teeth is his everpresent cigar, flaring up with each breath drawn by the cowboy. In his right hand is a white towel. He enters the ring and grabs the mic from Sparkplug Lee, who then retreats quickly to the safe confines of the arena floor, ignored by Thunder. The champion walks to the center of the ring and stands there. His gaze wanders the crowd as his face remains stoic. He raises the mic to his mouth and pauses as the fans begin to boo. He lowers the mic and gives a somber but disgustful look around the arena. He raises the mic again... and again the fans begin to boo even louder. Thunder lowers the mic once more, sets his jaw and shakes his head. He looks at the mat and then lifts his head, raising the mic once more...] BT: Hey listen... I didn't come out here ta scream an' holler. Ya don't like me? I don't really care. I'm out here because... there's been a tragic loss... in the IIWF. A loss that affects you, me, _everyone_. A loss so tragic that the entire wrestlin' business won't never be the same. Y'see... at some point durin' the last week... death came ta the IIWF. [Thunder lowers both his head and the mic as the crowd buzzes. He takes a few steps then lifts the mic again.] A death that's changed the future o' this organization. A death that coulda been avoided... but wasn't. A death that should've left behind a legacy o'talent an' tradition. Instead it leaves a legacy o'cowardice an' fear. An' as the IIWF World Champion... good or bad... it falls on my shoulders to tell y'all the tragic news. Y'see... ...the heart o' the IIWF... is dead. An' yer lookin' at the assassin. [Big heel pop as Thunder smiles that devilish grin.] I stood out here last week an' challenged everyone o' the IIWF's best ta lace 'em up an' step through these ropes with me. An' d'ya know how many o' these so-called "superstars" stepped forward? [Thunder stops and holds up his right index finger.] Yeah, that's right... not _one_. Not one flamin' man had the guts ta come out here an' hook'em up with the Wolf. They had ta bribe Rick Williams... _another_ fed's champion... ta come in here an' face me. Why? The answer's very obvious. No heart. [Thunder begins walking around the ring, ignoring the fans' catcalls.] When I came ta this organization a year ago, I came in not thinkin' I could _compete_ with the best, but knowin' I _was_ the best. But I had ta play the game. I waited my turn an' like a good lil soldier, I kept my mouth shut. I learned the game. I learned from some o' the best at that time. I used Hardin fer his connections an' knowledge o' my opponents. That knowledge was jus' the beginnin' o' the puzzle. I played second fiddle behind that punk Shakespeare, all the time learnin' more 'bout how the politics were played. Then came The Syndicate. I used them fer their pull in gettin' inta the title picture. That's when I decided it was time ta strike. I got my shot at the world strap. An' what happened? After havin' James pinned, I came away with a flamin' draw. Then came that sham world title tournement. Remember that one? Five guys ta beat me. _Your_ guys, Requiem. Screwed again. That's when I knew what I had ta do. Kowalski, Watkins? Phase One. The Syndicate? Phase Two. The triple-cross? Phase Three. I used them all against each other an' walked away with what you see hangin' on my shoulder. The IIWF World title. Phase Four. Checkmate. An' with that referee's third slap o' the mat... I stuck a _knife_... inta the IIWF an' killed its heart. [Heel pop! Thunder begins walking around the ring again, paying no attention as objects sail passed him thrown by the angry crowd.] Then the mournin' began. I mean... it _must_ be mournin'... 'cuz now... all I _hear_... is the sound o' _cryin'_. I hear Requiem out here whinin' bout bein' set up. Oh... oh, you were set up alright, amigo. Make no mistake about it. But it weren't by that pantywaist Spreadbury. Nah... the person that set _you_ up... [Thunder's smile widens into the camera as he hitches a thumb to his chest.] ...was me. [Thunder continues walking.] Seems yer memory's ailin' son... so let's have a quick history lesson. It took five guys ta get _you_ that strap an' five guys took it away. A bit ironic, ain't it? But this time you weren't pullin' the strings... _I_ was. "Boo hoo... folks don't like me." I'd give ya some cheese an' crackers fer that whine... but all I got ya was this cryin' towel instead. Jeezus runt, ya sound like a kid. Well, I got some advice fer ya, junior. Quit yer cryin'. Sign on the line. Get in the ring. You ain't got nuthin' I can't cure, kid. I ain't goin' nowhere. Runts like you are a dime a dozen. Ya oughta take a page from Verhoeven's book. I don't much care fer the guy but at least he took defeat like a man. No kickin' an' screamin'. Jus' lace 'em up an' see who's the better man. But that's somethin' ya already know, ain't it, big man? An' alla these other so-called superstars pulled the biggest disappearin' act since Houdini when it came time ta climb inta this ring with me. Kowalski. Watkins. Psycho. Deathbringer. Warnett. Shakespeare. Byron. Never heard from any o' them. Wonder why? Mota. Annis. Starks. Quigley. Sampson. Lebec. Creed. Nowhere ta be seen. How 'bout them young bucks? Paris. Steele. Macbeth. St. Croix. Allah. Blind Guardian. Not one gut between'em. The IIWF's become nuthin' more'n a playground fer gutless wonders. No guts. No glory. No courage. [Thunder pauses then looks directly into the camera.] No heart. [Thunder chuckles,amused by his last statement.] Not one o'the names I mentioned -- yer so-called heroes an' icons -- would face me one-on-one. Not one man. An' before I leave I'd be wrong not ta mention my ol' pal... J... W... Hardin. The Almighty Outlaw. [The crowd roars with the mention of the legendary cowboy's name. Thunder drops the mic, shakes his head in disgust and rubs his jaw. He then stares straight into the camera as the smile disappears, replaced by a grim stoicism.] Now I heard ya get on the boobtube an' say ya don't want this strap. Ya don't want the IIWF World Title. Ya say ya want my hide. Well, "buddy"... I don't seem ta recall _you_ beatin' down ol' Spreadbury's door ta get a shot at me. You know the game, hoss. Better'n most. Ya coulda come out there an' had yer shot at my "hide"... but no. Ya hid in the back with the rest o'the cowards. As bad as ya "want" me... ya wouldn't come out an' face me. Why? I think we both know the answer ta that one, amigo. Now I know yer in the back there listenin'. Ain't nuthin' stoppin' ya from comin' down here right now an' then we'll see who's the real deal. But I don't suppose I should hold my breath waitin' on ya, huh? [Thunder lowers the mic as if waiting for the Outlaw to come out, but the aisle remains empty. Thunder turns his back and walks to the far side of the ring and smiles as he raises the mic again.] Nah... didn't think so, "pal." It jus' goes ta show exactly what I've said all along. J.W. Hardin is a myth. J.W. Hardin is a coward. An' worst o'all... J.W. Hardin is... [Thunder is suddenly cut off by another familiar voice.] JWH: [over the PA] ...the man who's gonna send yer ass to hell! [Thunder turns back around to face the aisle and sees the large imposing figure of the man they call the Outlaw standing at the top of the aisle. The camera tightens in on Thunder's face, which expresses a look of shock. The shock quickly turns to anger as Hardin makes his way down the aisle, carrying a wireless mic. Thunder drops his mic and tosses the belt aside, readying himself for whatever comes next, but Hardin stops halfway down the aisle.] JWH: My daddy used to tell a story 'bout a wolf that strayed from its pack. It did a little killin' on its own... mostly small pathetic critters... and started feelin' pretty good 'bout itself. I reckon it thought it was a big dog. But that lone wolf made the mistake o' wandering onto daddy's land one night. It didn't have any members of a pack to warn it... ...it didn't have any other wolves to help it... ...'an it only took one bullet 'tween the eyes to send its sorry hide to hell. [Big pop from the cadets.] I'm yer damn bullet, Thunder. [The pop grows as the crowd anticipates a Hardin-Thunder showdown bonus match. Thunder motions for The Outlaw to come to the ring, but Hardin just grins and pulls his cowboy hat lower. His dark eyes seem focused only on the ring.] You wasn't such a bad student, Thunder. You learned how to set up opponents, gauge their weaknesses and take advantage of them. Naw, you learned a lot o' lessons pretty good. But I reckon I wasn't much of a teacher... ...'cause I sure as hell didn't teach you ever'thing I know. But what's that? [Hardin cups his right hand over his ear as if he hears something in the upper deck of the arena.] Sounds 'spiciously like a school bell. I reckon you got one more lesson comin' to ya... champ. It's time to go to class. [Hardin takes a few more steps toward the ring and the pop again rises as the crowd anticipates the battle. Thunder takes a few steps back in the ring and prepares for a fight.] But not tonight. [The pop dies and the fans begin to boo. Thunder holds his arms out as an invitation for Hardin to enter the ring.] Tonight... there's another kid aimin' fer a shot at Hardin. There's another kid waitin' fer a lesson. There's another kid... needs his ass kicked. Yer talkin' big 'bout the _heart_ of the IIWF bein' dead. Well, I don't much give a damn if it is. See, I ain't got a long-term IIWF contract. I'm dealin' on a match-by-match basis and I reckon I got a lot to gain by kickin' yer yellow ass clear to El Paso. An' that's just what I aim to do. [The pop rises again.] You got an open contract fer Ring Wars? I reckon I ain't doin' anything better that night. The devil knows it ain't fer the fans 'cause they hate me just as much as you... prob'ly more. An' it ain't fer the money, 'cause I got all I need. Naw, this match is gonna be just 'cause I want it. One stipulation though... the belt ain't on the line. [A murmur of confusion penetrates the crowd. Even Thunder looks baffled by the request and he looks down at the IIWF World Heavyweight Championship belt.] I ain't just blowin' smoke 'bout not wantin' yer strap. Hell, you an' I both know that _I'm_ the only reason yer holdin' it. Uh-uh. With titles come commitment... an' I ain't one fer commitment. Naw, I ain't innersted in the belt. Like I said 'fore, all I wanna do is send yer sorry hide on a one-way stagecoach ride to hell. Spreadbury gets his pocket lined with pesos. You get to keep yer shiny lil' trophy. An' I got free rein to kick yer ass. [A huge pop roars, then begins to die down as Hardin turns and heads back up the aisle. However, he stops near the top of the aisle and turns to face the ring once again.] Yer the student, Thunder... ...I'm the teacher. Yer the Lone Wolf... [Hardin turns once again. Before walking through the curtains, he utters one final comment.] ...I'm the bullet. [Big pop! "Outlaw Blues" by Pat Benatar kicks in over the PA, prompting Thunder to grin a sardonic smile, bending to pick up his World title belt and slinging it back over his shoulder before making his way out of the ring, heading back to the locker room after Hardin. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: Well, Steve Roberts, harsh words from both Brody Thunder and J.W. Hardin -- and we could see these two men square off at Ring Wars IV! I hope we'll have more on that development before the end of the show tonight! SR: I'm tellin' ya, Dross -- the suits would be even bigger morons than we already know them to be if they don't sign this match. Thunder vs. Hardin... match of the year, for sure. TD: It certainly could be... but we'll have to wait for the official word. Right now, let's get down to the ring for tonight's opening encounter: it's the first of our two Cruiserweight tourney semi-finals, as Ronnie Paris goes up against Dexter St. Croix. ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| CRUISERWEIGHT CONTENDERS TOURNAMENT SEMI-FINAL: |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| Ronnie Paris vs. Dexter St. Croix ....................................................................... WRITER: AN [Sparkplug Lee ambles into the ring.  Unfortunately, before he reaches the middle of the squared circle, he slips and nearly falls onto his behind. Luckily, he prevents himself from falling, and draws himself back up to his full height:] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, this opening contest on IIWF Saturday Night is the first of two semi-final matches in the Cruiserweight Contender Tournament! SR: Well, it's obvious that Sparky's been taking a math class.  The _first_ of _two_ semi-final matches.  I was hoping for five or six of these damn skinny guys flying around the ring trying to do some maneuver, but we're only going to get _two_ semi-final matches. ["Simply the Best" by Tina Turner echoes over the PA system of the Air Force Academy, as Ronnie Paris struts to the ring.  The diminutive Paris is draped in a pair of white trunks with "The Beast" embroidered upon the waistband, and the Japanese flag on either leg.  As Paris approaches the ring, a volley of fireworks blasts around the entranceway.  At this, many of the Academy members in attendance jump up, some grabbing their guns, expecting a raid of a Middle Eastern country.] SL: The first contestant... hailing from El Paso, Texas, and weighing in at 210 pounds... Ronnie Paris! SR: I'm very afraid of Air Force Academy men and women with guns... we have _zero_ idea what they do to these people.  And you know what they say about the Air Force officers... TD: No, actually, I don't. SR: They're only tough... when they're behind. TD: Good grief. ["Exodus" by Bob Marley and the Wailers takes over.  The man from Jamaica, Dexter St. Croix, approaches the ring in a green vest and a crimson pair of pants.  The Academy crew, still looking for terrorists, manage to pop decently for St. Croix.  He is accompanied by Matty and BoBo, members of his Posse.  Dexter is strutting to the ring, and slapping hands with some fans along the way.] SL: And his opponent!  He is from Kingston, Jamaica... and he weighs in at 220 pounds... Dexter St. Croix! [Sparkplug scoots out of the ring as St. Croix climbs into the squared circle.] TD: Dexter St. Croix is a high impact wrestler, Steve.  He really knows how to go toe to toe with his opponent, and we should find that out tonight. SR: Dross, this is a _Cruiserweight_ Tournament.  He will be going aerial, as will Ronnie-boy. TD: Perhaps he will, however, his forte is of a power nature.  SR: Sure it is, Dross. Sure it is. [Dexter St. Croix enters the ring and laughs at Ronnie Paris across the ring, in a Jamaican accented chuckle.  The music ends and the two men stare at each other, preparing for their match.  Here we go... Ding!  Ding!] [St. Croix and Paris start things off with a typical collar-and-elbow tieup. Dexter quickly pulls out of the tieup, and nails Paris with a European uppercut.  Paris is stunned, and St. Croix takes advantage of this with a running lariat, knocking Paris straight down!  The Jamaican brings Paris to his feet... and plants him with a devastating Michinoku driver!  He goes down for the pin! 1 - 2 - Paris kicks out!] TD: We almost had a quick victory for the newcomer St. Croix! SR: That would have been great, Dross. I'm already sick of seeing these two in the ring. [St. Croix quickly gets to his feet and scales the ropes... he reaches the top, and perches himself, to a big pop... St. Croix sails through the air, missing a headbutt!  Paris was playing possum, and he's quickly on the offensive with a headlock takedown.  As Paris grinds St. Croix into the mat, the camera quickly catches a glimpse of a corner of the stands... the men and women, dead silent.  They are all wearing "There's No Justice Like Jobber Justice" t-shirts.  Back to the ring, St. Croix has brought himself up, and Paris is contuining his firm hold of the headlock... but St. Croix drops down into a jawbreaker!  Paris is holding his chin, and is on his knees... St. Croix gets up... and runs into the ropes... and into Paris...] TD: Neck snap!  St. Croix with a vicious flipping neck snap, and Paris is seriously hurt... SR: St. Croix may have an upset here... we're seeing a lot of potential from the young Jamaican. TD: Indeed, but don't count Ronnie Paris out just yet! [St. Croix once again picks up Paris, and puts him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.  He follows it up with a perfectly executed shoulderbreaker!  St. Croix seems to really be feeling the momentum, and is running on the cheers of the fans... Dexter with a scoop, and a slam!  St. Croix is going to the top once again, not hesitating for an instant.  St. Croix flies, and nails a swan dive!  The Jamaican goes for the cover once again!  1 - 2...] TD: Paris got his shoulder up!  Close call for the Texan right there. [St. Croix, amidst serious problems putting away Paris early, goes to a legdrop, however Paris moves, and St. Croix lands hard!  Paris is once again quickly on the offensive, with a fisherman's buster, into a cover!  1 - 2 - St. Croix gets his shoulder up!  Both men get up, but Paris is first to the punch with a jab to the nose... and a DDT!  It could be all over... but Paris doesn't go for the pin... he drops an elbow, and he goes for the pin... 1 - 2 - Paris gets up, as BoBo and Matty get on the apron.  Paris goes after them, to the outside and begins chasing them around the ring!] TD: Look at this!  The Posse is about to be smashed up by the Paris!  SR: Wait... look, Point-Dexter is getting to his feet... and he's going to the top! [At that cue, St. Croix lunges at Paris with a corkscrew plancha, taking him straight into the guardrail, and a large crowd ovation.  St. Croix took out himself, as well at Paris with that maneuver.  An Air Force Officer attempts to reach over the railing and touch St. Croix, but, to no avail, he is thwarted by his surrounding officers, who begin to drag him to the back of the stands.] SR: Well.  Allow me to restate the motto of the Air Force... "We're only tough... when we're behind." TD: Yes, we heard it already, Steve.  And it's _not_ the motto of the Air Force. SR: Would I lie to you, Dross? TD: Frequently. [St. Croix manages to get up, however Paris seems to be unconscious.  St. Croix dropkicks Paris in the face while he sits on the ground.  As Paris is clutching his face in sheer pain, St. Croix lifts him up and throws him back into the ring... and follows suit.  St. Croix waists no time in putting Paris in a reverse waistlock... and nails a belly-to-back suplex!  St. Croix drags Paris to the corner, and puts his leg across the bottom rope... and drops down on it!  Again!  A third time, before the ref removes Paris's leg!  St. Croix is back on top of Paris with a rifling uppercut, followed by a legdrop takedown, into a armbar!  Paris quickly gets up to avoid injury, and backs St. Croix into a corner... St. Croix with a forearm to the face, and a backhanded punch, which seems to awaken Paris, who twirls St. Croix into the corner and begins fists of fury on St. Croix's countenance!  Paris whips St. Croix into the opposite corner... he attempts to follow with an avalanche, but...] TD: BoBo is holding Paris's feet!  St. Croix guy runs in with a clothesline! SR: St. Croix is stomping Paris down in the corner!  I could get to like this guy. [BoBo and Matty snicker and walk away as St. Croix regains control of the match.  St. Croix runs to the opposite corner, and runs in once again with a bronco buster!  The Jamaican and Paris are both up, and St. Croix whips Ronnie in, and he goes for a backdrop... but Paris catches St. Croix... _powerbomb_!  The referee drops to the canvas: 1 - 2 - _kickout_!] TD: That was incredibly close... and here comes Billy Shakespeare! [Billy Shakespeare approaches the ring, as the fight continues.  Paris cross-corner whips St. Croix and follows it in with a handspring elbow!  Big pop!  Derek Mota makes his way to the ring as well...] SR: Aw, shoot, here comes that damned Blitzsphere. TD: That's Billy Shakespeare, Steve Roberts -- whom we heard say openly that he wants Paris to win this match earlier in the week. And we also heard that Mota wants St. Croix to win. Plus we know that Shakespeare and Mota aren't the best of friends. SR: It looks like one plus one is about to equal four, Dross. [Paris hits a kick to the gut, and a gutwrench suplex on St. Croix!  Ronnie hits a measured elbow drop, and brings him into an STF!  On the outside, Mota and Shakespeare are pacing around the ring... Paris releases the STF, due to St. Croix being in the ropes... and sees Mota.  An argument ensues, whilst BoBo and Matty attempt to encourage St. Croix to get to his feet.  Shakespeare is staying out of it, and Paris and Mota have engaged in an all out verbal battle.  Paris seems to be mumbling "I take umbrage with you," or a variant of that.  St. Croix has managed to get up, and nails Paris in the back with a knee... Dexter bends Paris backwards, and nails a reverse DDT!  St. Croix goes for the pin: 1 - 2 - Paris gets his shoulder up!  St. Croix hits the mat in pure frustration, and picks up Paris for the Coup de Gras, when Shakespeare gets on the apron, about to attempt to cost St. Croix victory... but Derek Mota rips Shakespeare down and nails him in the back with the belt!] TD: Folks, we're having a war, just two weeks before Ring Wars IV!  Shakespeare and Mota are exchanging blows on the outside, and on the inside, Paris is about to be powerbombed! [Ronnie Paris is in a powerbomb position, but he reverses it with a backdrop!  St. Croix gets up and charges at Paris, but Paris moves to the left, and locks on a crossface!  The Paris-Plex!  1 - 2 - 3! Ding!  Ding! Ding! Ronnie Paris has won the match, but the fight continues on the outside, as Shakespeare and Mota are fighting into the stands!  They are in the corner with the folks wearing "There's No Justice Like Jobber Justice" t-shirts, who are still quiet... back in the ring, Paris has been attacked by St. Croix and his Posse, BoBo and Matty!] SR: Paris is being attacked by BoBo and Matty!  Mota and Shakespeare are fighting amidst thousands of Air Force agents!  It's pure, unadulterated chaos! My kinda action, Dross. TD: This is unreal!  November 8th, Ring Wars, these four men _will_ be there! [The Jobber Justice Squad goes into the stands, and the section of JJS fans suddenly go insane!  They are going bonkers, and they are holding back the jobbers, trying to get their autographs, while Mota and Shakespeare are fighting to the back of the rafters!  BoBo and Matty are holding Paris up in the ring, while St. Croix pummels him!  BoBo and Matty turn and double clothesline him!  The JJS finally break free, but so to do Mota and Shakespeare, who fight to the locker room!  Matty has retrieved a chair, and St. Croix DDT's Paris directly onto the chair!  The JJS realize that they can't do anything about Mota and Shakespeare... so they come to the ring and pull St. Croix and his Posse away from Ronnie Paris.] TD: Folks, Ronnie Paris won this match, but Dexter St. Croix took out his frustrations on Paris after the loss, and I doubt that Paris will be getting up for some time! SR: Listen to this crowd!  They're all cheering "Ronnie sucks!" TD: While we may not all agree with his recent attitude, there's no denying that Ronnie Paris is a great athlete... and he's getting up! [Ronnie Paris gets up, and declines the help from the JJS... quite adamantly. He walks to the back, during the "Ronnie sucks!  Ronnie sucks!" chants, which seem to make him only more determined to head back to the locker room under his own power.] SR: Things are really heating up, Dross. The Lil' Soundbiters have been writing me letters, asking who I thought would be wrestling at Ring Wars... who I think will win.  And do you know what I told them? TD: No, Steve Roberts, I don't know what you told them. SR: I told them all to "bite me!" TD: Of course. Folks, only on pay per view, Ring Wars IV, 8 November!  Ronnie Paris, Dexter St. Croix, Derek Mota, Billy Shakespeare... and _plenty_ of others. Up next, we're going to... hang on -- it seems like we have had some trouble backstage. Let's go to Larry Morton on the scene. Larry? [Camera cuts to a locker room which is filled with graffiti.  In spraypaint several messges can be seen such as "Superstar Attack!!!", "Superstar Champion", "Die Warnett Die", "Herion: Warnett's Best Friend", "Wales: England Wannabe" and other messages filling the room.  All the furniture has been smashed to pieces. On the floor, a silver bat can be seen laid out along with a leather jacket.  Larry Morton is seen standing in the middle of this shambles of a room.  In his hand he is holding a envelope.] LM: Yes, I'm here, Tim. And as you can see, somebody has vandalised the locker room of Marty Warnett.  Luckily, Warnett was not attacked this time -- considering he is just healed from his last attack.  Everything points to this being the work of "Superstar" Stud Stetson, or whoever has been attacking Warnett recently. TD: What's the enevelope in your hand? LM: Not sure.  I found it on the floor by the leather jacket.  [Morton opens it up.]  Oh my.  I can't believe this. TD: What is it? LM: It's an obituary, Tim.  An obituary which is reporting the death of one Mark Tesilack.  According to the paper this is the same fan that was attacked by Stetson last year during the incident in Rome where Stetson hit Warnett with his Corvette.  I guess he never fully recovered.  This is tragic. TD: It's disgusting.  What a sick individual. I never thought that even Stud Stetson would sink this low.  LM: He apparantly has. SR: The guy keeps up with current affairs, and he's branded a sick man? So some moronic fan died. There's thousands more out here. TD: That's enough, Steve Roberts. Thanks for the report, Larry. [Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: Well, it appears that Stud Stetson is here in the arena tonight -- Marty Warnett will have to be looking over his shoulder, that's for sure. SR: Warnett's gonna get creamed, Dross -- and I can't wait! TD: We'll see about that, Steve Roberts. Right now, however, it's time for the first of tonight's two championship matches, as newly-crowned IIWF World Tag Team Champions, the Cold Quins, defend their belts against Licensed for Devastation, who earned the shot in last week's "Chain Gang Warfare" match. Let's get up to the ring. ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| IIWF WORLD TAG TEAM CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH: |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| Cold Quins [c] vs. Licensed for Devastation ....................................................................... WRITER: SC [Sparkplug Lee gets back into the ring, and salutes the cameras before turning the mic on. The crowd pops as the ring introduction gets underway.] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is for the IIWF World Tag Team championship! [The crowd pops once more as "Down" by 311 starts up over the speakers. RA: Making their way to the ring... hailing from Baltimore, Maryland, weighing in at 530 pounds... here are the challengers: Reggie Starr, Jonathon Chaos -- Licensed for Destruction! [The crowd pops when they see the two LFD members walk out from behind the curtain wearing American Air Force uniforms, complete with badges, shoulder badges and even medals!] TD: Where in the world did they get those? SR: Well, I saw them in the wrong locker room earlier... I guess now we know why! [Starr and Chaos salute the crowd, as the camera zooms back, to a shot of the arena. Suddenly, the crowd starts to boo as they continue saluting, and walking to the ring.] SR: What climbed up their butts? They were just cheering these guys! TD: I'm not quite sure... oh my! [A close-up to LFD's salute reveals that both members are using the ever so popular one finger salute to greet the crowd. Starr and Chaos get into the ring to a resounding negative reaction from the crowd, which only gets worse as Chaos rips off the uniform to reveal his regular black tights -- but with the words "ARMY-4-LIFE" written across the crotch section. Chaos grins and points to his crotch as the crowd boos even more.] TD: And this crowd does not appreciate Chaos' gesticulation to his midsection. SR: Hell Dross, speak English! Chaos pointing to his crotch is pissing off these Army guys! TD: That's Air Force, Steve. SR: Whatever. Look at Starr! I love it! [Steve is reffering to Reggie Starr who strips out of his army uniform to reveal his black pants with the words "GO NAVY!" written across the buttox. LFD begin to stomp away on the U.S. Army uniforms, much to the crowd's displeasure.] TD: Good grief! They'll do anything to tick off a crowd, won't they? SS: Them boys have been eating their biscuits, Dross! TD: They could at least bother to get it right though. We are at an Air Force base, and they are reffering to the navy and army! SR: But they get their point across don't they, Dross? TD: What, that they're a couple of jerks? They certainly do get that across! RA: And their opponents... weighing in at 440 pounds, accompanied by Harlequins Chaos, Comedy and Melody! Here are Icehawk and Tragedy, they are the IIWF World Tag Team Champions, the Cold Quins! ["Number 1 Crush" by Garbage replaces "Down", and the team of the Cold Quins emerge from the curtain to the crowd's approval. Icehawk and Tragedy walk out wearing the IIWF World Tag Team championship titles around their waists and whoop it up for the crowd. Chaos is with them, still on his crutches. Melody and Comedy look dashing as always and follow behind the tag champs. The Cold Quins get into the ring, and look out to the crowd, and get quite an impressive face pop. The music stops, as Tragedy and Chaos leave the ring, making the two starting men Icehawk against Reggie Starr. The ref signals for the bell: Ding! Ding! Ding!] TD: And here we go, Starr with a dropkick right away! [Starr starts off with a dropkick to Ice Hawk, but Icehawkside steps it. Icehawk follows up with an elbow drop to the center of Starr's back. The crowd applaude Icehawk as he begins to stomp on Starr's rear, all over the "GO NAVY" logo imprinted on it. Starr squirms around, fighting to get back to his feet, and finds his way courtesy of the ropes. Icehawk lets go of Starr in a clean break before charging the Baltimore native -- but Starr dodges and begins to pummel on Hawk with rights and lefts. Reggie whips Hawk to the ropes, only to have the attempt reversed and ending up himself being sent to the ropes. Starr fires back though with a flying body press attempt to Icehawk, but Hawk catches Starr and dumps him on the mat to a huge pop from the crowd.] TD: What a fast paced match this has been in the opening moments! SR: Uh-oh, it looks like we got a little trouble out there in the aisle! [The Natural Predators, Bear and Wolf, make their way out, and stop at the start of the isle. Wolf features an image of a Grey Phoenix painted on his chest. They appear to be content on staying there whilst watching the match. In the ring, Icehawk covers Starr, but only snags a one count. Icehawk tags out to Tragedy, the Harlequin hitting the ring and charging Starr. Starr, however, manages to hit a hot-shot type move on the tag team champion, and crawls over to make a tag to Chaos. Chaos comes in and begins to level Tragedy with fists. Tragedy is rocked back to the ropes by Chaos, and Chaos responds with a big boot to Tragedy's face. Tragedy falls down to the mat, clutching his face. Chaos pounces on Tragedy and applies a side-headlock to wear him down. Tragedy fights it though and makes it to his feet, only to be bulldogged by the challenger.] TD: And Licensed for Destruction seem to be sticking to a game plan here on Tragedy. SR: How much of a game plan do you need? Kick him in the tender bits, pull the tights, one two three! I don't see why no one ever uses that strategy any more. TD: Well, not everyone can be as sucessful with that strategy as you were, Steve. SR: Damned straight, Dross. You're sitting right next to a fifteen times World Champion. TD: You were never World Champion, Steve Roberts. SR: Aw, there you go again, Dross, burstin' my bubble. [Chaos dazes Tragedy with a few carefuly placed punches to Tragedy's face, thus making him a little woozy. Uncharacteristically, Chaos begins to climb the turnbuckles.] TD: What do we have here? [Chaos climbs up to the very top rope and carefully lunges off the top rope and collides with Tragedy, bringing him down in a top rope bulldog! A huge heel pop follows.] TD: Unbelievable! That was the very first time I believe we have ever seen Jonathon Chaos climb those ropes and hit a move! [Chaos picks up Tragedy and attempts a piledriver, but Tragedy blocks it and responds with a head butt right to Jonathon's "ARMY-4-LIFE" logo on his midsection. The crowd pops as both men fall down. Chaos seems to be in shock and crawls over and tags in Starr who immediately pounces off the ropes and drops a flying elbowdrop on Tragedy. Starr proceeds to lift up Tragedy for a vertical suplex, but walks over to his corner and dumps Tragedy down in a Dominator style move, right onto the floor. Big heel pop and Starr salutes the crowd once more, then salutes Icehawk. Hawk gets angered by this disrespect and charges into the ring, only to be pushed back by the ref. Meanwhile, on the outside, Starr follows Tragedy out and folds up a steel chair. Starr connects it over Tragedy's head and Tragedy drops to the floor, apparently unconscious. Starr looks to repeat the manoeuvre, but Chaos moves in and scoops up Tragedy's body and rolls it into the ring. Starr follows and hooks a chinlock submission hold on Tragedy.] TD: Smart thinking by Chaos. This match is for the tag titles. Starr won't win his team the titles if he gets Tragedy counted out. SR: It looks like LFD have come prepared to take the titles home tonight, and we could very well see that! [The crowd pops again as three figures pop out of the crowd, and storm into the ringside area. The three figures being The Machines and Luke Steele. They look angry and dart for LFD's corner, with Chaos in it.] SR: Oh great! Now we got Steele and The Machines out here! Plus the Natural Predators, _and_ the teams in the ring! I swear, there's too many gay guys out here, Dross! TD: Please, Steve Roberts. SR: Ah, the beauty of live television, Dross. Don't like it? Go suck a biscuit! [Wong and Steele tackle Chaos to the ground, as he tried to fend off the attack. Steele and Wong hammer away on Chaos, as Icehawk just watches on from the opposite corner, with Harlequins Melody, Chaos and Comedy. The Machines beat down LFD's Chaos with kicks and punches. Chaos' nose soon becomes busted open with crimson blood. In the ring, Tragedy begins to stir, feeding off the energy of the crowd, who by now have become explosive with the action going on on the floor. The Natural Predators leave their spot at the head of the aisle, and tear down to the ring.] TD: And the Natural Predators are heading straight for the Machines! SR: Looks like we are gonna have ourselves a good pier six brawl! Whoo-hoo! [Tragedy fights to his feet as Wolf and Bear tear over to LFD's corner and pounce on Wong and O'Neal. Wolf begins to hammer on Simon as Bear brawls with Wong. Luke Steele however, pounces right back on Chaos, leveling his bloddy face with fisticuffs.] TD: We have action going on outside the ring, and inside too! What a match! And it will only get better when the excitement hits your homes at Ring Wars IV! [Inside the ring, it is aparent that Tragedy has fought off Starr's chinlock, and whips Reggie to the ropes. However, Reggies simply takes flight and leaps up into the air, over the top rope -- and right onto Luke Steele, sending both crashing into the retaining barrier. Huge pop! In the ring, Tragedy makes the ever-so needed tag to Icehawk, who jumps right into the ring, and bounces off the ring ropes, lunging over the other set of ropes much like Starr did with a plancha on the battered bodies of Luke Steele, Reggie Starr and Jonathon Chaos!] TD: What a magnificent move! SR: We got bodies flying everywhere, Dross! This is great! If there's one thing good about those gay guys, they sure can move! [The crowd are on their feet as the action around ringside is intruded upon by about a dozen IIWF officials, trying to restore order. The officials push and drag Simon O'Neal and Wolf as they claw away at each other, back up the aisle, and the same for Paul Wong and Bear. More officials pour out and finally manage to separate the two teams and bring them backstage. Meanwhile, on the outside of the ring, Icehawk starts to stir and slowly gets up to his feet. Icehawk rolls into the ring as Luke Steele is the second to stir. Steele gets up and sees Reggie Starr clutching his head, having struck it on the retaining barrier after that high-risk move. Steele scoops up Starr and rolls him into the ring. Five officials pour out of the back, surrounding Luke and telling him to get backstage.] SR: Looks like they forgot Lukey on the floor there. Wish I could forget him just like that. TD: And they are taking away Luke Steele... wait a minute! Look in the ring! [As Reggie slowly begins to sit up, Icehawk comes out of nowhere and hits a shooting star press from the turnbuckle. Chaos is still on the floor, soaked with blood. Icehawk covers: 1 - 2 - 3! Ding! Ding! Ding!] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, your winners, and _still_ IIWF World Tag Team Champions... Harlequin Tragedy... Icehawk... the COLD QUINS! TD: The Cold Quins win it! ["Number 1 Crush" immediately hits the speakers again, as Harlequin Chaos, Comedy and Melody step into the ring to congratulate Tragedy and Icehawk on a sucessful title defence. Icehawk stands and raises his IIWF Tag Title belt high above his head, soaking in the cheers from the crowd.] TD: What a great match, folks! SR: It was only five minutes, Dross! TD: I thought you hated tag team matches, Steve Roberts. SR: I do -- but how the hell am I supposed to sleep through a match if it's only five minutes long? TD: Well, the matchup seemed to change focus as soon as The Machines made their way to the ring area. What do you think sparked that attack on Licensed for Devastation, Steve? SR: The Machines have a list of teams they wanna knock off. I think we saw who's the first on that list! TD: And a rather upset Reggie Starr is now helping out his partner, who is slowly beggining to get back to his feet. [On the outside, as the Cold Quins celebrate, Reggie Starr helps his bloody partner up as officials offer their assistance, only to be brushed off by Starr. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: Well, Steve Roberts, the tag team warfare here in the IIWF continues to heat up. SR: I'm sorry, Dross, I think you're mistaking me for somebody who cares. TD: Perhaps so. Okay, folks, right now, it's time for a special in-ring interview with the Blind Guardian. If you'll excuse me, Steve Roberts. SR: Consider yourself excused, Dross. [Tim Dross leaves the broadcast table and enters the ring, grabbing the house mic from Sparkplug Lee as he goes. The fans settle from the excitement of the last match and turn their attention to the veteran announcer:] TD: Well, folks, it is now my pleasure to introduce to you a man who made his first appearance in the IIWF only a few weeks ago, but who already seems to have made quite an impact on the championship title situation. At least, that's what former World Heavyweight Champion Requiem thinks -- and I´m sure that all of us would be happy to get comments regarding this situation from that man himself. Ladies and gentleman, here is... the Blind Guardian! [A voice is heard via the P.A., saying: "In the name of the Lord you will be taken from this court, and hung, drawn and quartered. What are your last words, accused?". The last sentence is repeated over and over again, as the tall figure of the Blind Guardian, as always dressed in his white cloak and with a white piece of cloth around his eyes, makes his way down the aisle to a mixed pop. Ignoring the fans, he climbs the ringsteps and joins Tim Dross in the middle of the ring as the voice that can be still be heard across the whole arena fades out.] TD: First of all, welcome here to the Falcon Stadium tonight, Blind Guardian, and although it may seem to be a little bit late, welcome here in the IIWF. As I stated before, your name's a rather new entry to the roster of this organisation, but nonetheless you're already fooling around with the big names, especially with one Requiem, who sees you as a kind of mercenary being paid by our president himself, Mr. Spreadbury, and ordered to prevent Requiem becoming a two-time IIWF champion. What are your comments regarding this situation? [The Blind Guardian looks out into the crowd for a few seconds, before answering the question.] BG: Well, Dross, the pleasure of having me here tonight is all yours. And before answering that question -- you were talking about big names and a _champion_ -- sorry, but I'm not quite sure what you're talking about. [Dross obviously wants to say something, but the Blind Guardian just continues to speak.] BG: You know, what I'm wondering about is how a competent moderator like     you gets into a situation in which he has to work for a league like     this. And what I'm wondering about, too, is as to what extent you     yourself believe in the fact that there is or that there ever was     something like a _champion_ here in the IIWF [heel pop]. As far as     I see it, there has been only one competent, great, impressing     champion in the history of this league. And that man goes by the     name of VACANT [another heel pop]!     Now I don't want to repeat myself, I don't want to tell everyone     again why I'm here, as I did that just yesterday. No, I'm mainly     here for two reasons. Rectum [mixed pop] and -- you, the people,     the spectators of this league [the Blind Guardian points out to     the crowd]. Okay, least important things first. And that's again     you, the people [heel pop]. TD: [interrupting] Now wait a second, are you saying that these great     fans are the least important thing about wrestling or about the     IIWF? I think that I can't... BG: [interrupting] Fans are certainly _NOT_ the least important factor     in a wrestling league. But after all, we're talking about the IIWF     here, right? [yet another heel pop, each being bigger than the one     before] And as I look out into the crowd, as I look into the eyes     of these fools who pay a lot of money to get in here -- well, I     just wonder how one can pay a single dollar to buy a ticket to be     here. Unless he knew that I would make an appearance, of course.     [laughs a little bit] As I told you, I was a judge for a couple of     years, and I've seen the scum of this community. And it's the very     same scum I see when looking at you, people. I wonder how many of     you will sleep in a nearby park or something like that tonight. And     to be quite honest, I don't even want to know it. [big heel pop] TD: Now, please, Blind Guardian, if you don't stop insulting these loyal     fans, then I'll be forced to end this interview immediately! BG: [looking at Dross for a few seconds, just as if to find out whether     he would really end the interview] Okay. No more about the _fans_ of the _mighty_ IIWF. But you'll certainly allow me a few more words about my second topic... Rectum... [mixed pop] TD: Requiem... Blind Guardian, you'll certainly remind my question on     as to what extent you're involved in any conspirations against the     former champion? BG: The former... ah, I give it up. You know, I answered that question     just yesterday. I'm not at all involved in _any_ plans of _anyone_     against _any_ former [pauses] _champion_. Period. TD: So then there must be other reasons for your actions against Requiem? BG: First: yes, there are reasons for my behaviour against Requiem, and     if you were half as competent as I thought a few minutes ago, then     you certainly would have listened to my comments from yesterday, where I told you the reasons for this behaviour.     Second: what _actions_ are you talking about? Sure, I attacked that     brat after his match against Otto Verhoeven... TD: [interrupting] Oh, wait, the match wasn't over when you entered the     scene! BG: It was over, Verhoeven already had won the match as I entered the     scene, as you called it. So I didn't cost him the match. On Wednesday, what did I do other than stand in that ring? Did I touch the little boy? Was it me who almost cost him the match? No! So, if I listen to his words, especially those he told us all yesterday... then I have to say that [pauses; he then imitates Requiem's voice] I'M NOT IMPRESSED! [laughs a little bit] Yes, you see I informed myself about that guy. Whatever -- Rectum, if you really think that I'm here because Mr. Spreadbury wanted me to be here, and if you really think that I'm appearing during your matches because Mr. Spreadbury wanted me to appear during your matches... well, then I've to say that you're more than wrong...     But if you think that I'm appearing during your matches to prevent you from regaining the belt... well, then you're quite right. TD: So you're saying that you're indeed trying to prevent Requiem from     becoming the champion of this league once again? BG: Right you are. You know, I watched his Genesis show for quite some     time, and I was astonished that no one ever dared to confront him     face to face. Those weak attempts by the so-called "old generation"     of this league certainly can't be called a confrontation. So I     watched on and on, and somewhen it just made me sick to see a guy     like that, a boy, and nothing but a boy, permanently interfering in matches of others, permanently sticking his nose into others'     business -- and it reminded me of those days when I worked as a judge and I just had to come here to the IIWF and show him what justice is all about.     So here I am. And, Rectum, you _can_ ignore me. You _can_ concentrate on Brody Thunder. You _can_ hide from a match against me. You _can_ call me irrelevant.     But then I'll just make myself relevant! Mark my words, young brat,     from this day forth I'll watch you. And whenever you have the     opportunity to win the gold, be sure that I'll be there and that I'll ruin that chance of yours. From this day forth, you'll never be able to wrestle a match again without knowing that I could be in the stands, behind that curtain or underneath the ring. From this day forth, I will be your judge. And I already know what the sentence will be... [The Blind Guardian removes the piece of cloth around his eyes and the camera zooms in to his eerie white eyes]     I am the Blind Guardian... [The eerie voice of the Blind Guardian echoes out across the PA again as the old man moves from the centre of the ring, Tim Dross ducking out of the squared circle and returning to the broadcast position beside Steve Roberts. The Guardian makes his way up the aisle, and disappears from view behind the curtain. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] SR: So where the hell was Requiem, Dross? Where the hell was that over-sized, over-gimmicked, under-talented freak? TD: I believe Requiem feels that the Blind Guardian isn't worth his time or his attention, Steve Roberts -- the former World Champion has focused himself completely on regaining that belt from one Brody Thunder, and I don't think anything is going to dissuade him from that course of action. SR: I can think of one or two things. Perhaps I'll give Gabrielle a call and offer her a bite at the Soundbite. TD: You'll do no such thing, Steve Roberts. However, I do get the feeling that the Blind Guardian is also determined that he won't be ignored much longer -- I believe it's only a matter of time before the Guardian finally gets his attention. SR: Aw, who cares, Dross? TD: You know, Steve Roberts, with Ring Wars IV rapidly approaching, I     think it's very important for Derek Mota to be on top of his game...     especially considering he doesn't know yet who he'll be defending the Cruiserweight title against! SR: Mota's always on top of his game. Just like Marv Albert, he works     hard to stay on top and take a bite out of the competition. TD: Would you stop it? SR: Marv stopped it once. Best weekend of his life. TD: Forgetting that disgusting little back and forth, we'll see if Mota's on top of his game against Marty Warnett. SR: [tinged with sarcasm] And we're showing it... on free TV? Dear lord,     now nobody will buy Ring Wars! ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| THERE MUST BE A WINNER: |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| Derek Mota vs. Marty Warnett ....................................................................... WRITER: JdW [Sparkplug's in the midst of chatting to a balding race car driver with a goofy grin, who sticks out like a sore thumb in a group of tens of thousands of Air Force cadets. The balding man says something about "intellectual property" and "lawsuit", whereas Sparky fires back with an audible "I don't care _when_ your guys thought the name up!"... suddenly, Lee notices he's on and sheepishly enters the ring to make his introductions.] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall with no time limit, and there must be a winner! [HUGE POP!] Introducing first, hailing from Toronto, Ontario, Canada, he is your IIWF Cruiserweight champion.... the "Heatseeker", Derek Mota! [Mota strides confidently into the aisle, shivering a bit as a gust of wind hits him. He's bringing the Cruiserweight title with him, draped over his shoulder, and is greeted by some enthusiastic chants of "Bad-ass!". An older man, obviously a very high ranking officer with lots of medals on his uniform, gives a dirty look to the chanting section of cadets, who stop dead... until he joins in, yelling  "Double- Eye- Double- You- F'n- F!" Big pop for the brass!] SL: And his opponent, hailing from... [Lee is cut off early as "Just Like Paradise" kicks in and the crowd inevitably explode. Marty Warnett appears at the head of the aisle, wearing a faded Miami Dolphins sweatshirt with the sleeves rolled up, jeans and a pair of cowboy boots.  He pauses to slap the hands of a few fans, laughing at a "Stetson 3:16" sign in the crowd.  Marty slowly saunters up the aisle, stopping halfway where he pulls a cordless microphone from his pocket.]         SR: [over headset] Please, Dross, _please_ don't make me listen to Farty     talk! TD: [over headset] Be quiet, Steve, you're staying right here and     listening to this young man. MW: Well, hello there.  Thanks for the attempted introduction,     Sparky-dude, but I'm afraid I'll have to decline your fine offer to     wrestle Mister Mota here. [A sizeable portion of the crowd start throwing crunched up Becky LaRue plastic jugs, a large chorus of boos being directed at the young Welshman.] MW: Yeah, I can understand you being upset that you're not going to see     me nail Dessie-babes ass to the wall tonight, but, well, I've got     things on my mind...  Stetson, I know you're watching.  And     watching, and waiting for an opportunity to run out here and cause     me a loss. [The crowd slowly starts to quiet.] SR: [over headset] Why doesn't he just admit he's afraid and get it over     with? MW: Stetson, the whole damn world knows you're trying to play some mind     game.  Teasing an appearance here, and appearance there, trying to     knock me out of my game.  Sorry, pal, it ain't gonna work.     The stud that doesn't press, if you want me, you can have me.  Ring     Wars IV, the suits in this great fed need a killer bout to boost     those all important ratings, is that a good enough occasion for you?     In short, and I know short is the operative word for you, I'm     calling you out.  Ring Wars IV, be there. [The crowd pop big-time, looking down the aisle to see if Stetson answers the call.  He doesn't.] MW: Derek Mota.  I heard a rumour you're fed up with meeting people     heavier than you.  Don't make me laugh.  You've been exploiting me,     Genesis, anybody you can find to not defend that gold in the ring...     as a former title holder here, quite frankly, old bean, I find it     offensive.     Anyways, to cut to the chase, I literally bumped into your real     number one contender backstage, and we dropped our contracts!  When     we picked those lil pieces of paper up, imagine my surprise when I     found I'm not facing you tonight, after all!     I guess I'd better prepare for my bout whilst you fight your number     one contender... [Marty walks backstage as a mysterious cloaked figure enters.  In the ring, Derek Mota argues fiercely with the match official, apparently more than a little annoyed by this turn of events.  Meanwhile, Marty hands over the microphone, and the figure speaks:] CF: [Speaking in a gravelly, but familiar voice]  You should read your     contract more closely, Derek Mota.  Page three, Paragraph B. "If     the signed for opponent is unable to fulfil this contract, a     suitable replacement will be found."     Marty Warnett can't wrestle you tonight as he is scheduled to     wrestle another match this evening.  He'll be facing Scott Rogers. SR: [over the headset] Hey, wasn't Rogers supposed to wrestle someone     else?  Who was it?  Steele?   St. Croix?  Man of Steel? CF: There is a story I know about a Merchant.  A Merchant of Venice.  He     signed a contract too that he didn't read.  Its price was a pound of     flesh... SR: "Merchant of Venice"?  Wasn't that... oh no... CF: ...tonight I plan on taking more than that.  Tonight I want your     belt    [The cloaked figure throws off his cloak, revealing...] TD: ...Billy Shakespeare! [The opening chords of "little Willie" are cranked out over the PA. Mota's complaints are redoubled as Shakespeare rushes to the ring.] SR: That isn't fair! That can't be fair! TD: Fair or not, it may just happen... the official's talking to Sparky     about whatever he's decided. [Referee Earl Alphonso finishes his chat with Sparky, who nods his head in comprehension and takes his personal mic in hand, ready to wax eloquent.] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to correct myself. The following     contest, scheduled for one fall, is a CRUISERWEIGHT TITLE MATCH!!! [The ensuing massive pop and commotion raised by Mota drown out Sparky from here on in, so he just shrugs and heads to a neutral corner as Mota begins to protest to anyone who'll listen. He screams at Alphonso that it can't be fair, but the pleas fall on deaf ears. He then scrambles out of the ring to consult with the officer who'd been chanting for him before, pleading for him to "court martial" Shakespeare. Still getting no support, Mota heads for the hills, getting soundly booed for his tactical retreat.] TD: Unbelievable... we've had two seperate matches apparently cancelled     so far. Whatever happened to a man's signature being as good as his word? SR: I can't figure all these political decisions out... but here comes     someone who can! It's "Iceberg" Tony Hall! [Loud boos as the fans sense more legal wrangling out here... Hall looks a smidge uncomfortable in this kind of setting, but still he walks towards the ring with a few pieces of paper and the ugliest suit in Creation. Moths would balk at eating the thing. Hall steps somewhat less than nimbly into the ring, and presents the papers to first Alphonso, then Sparky. The two briefly glance at the papers, then nod to each other as Sparkplug gets set for yet _another_ pronouncement.] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, it has been pointed out that Derek Mota has a     Temporary Restraining Order with regards to defending the Cruiserweight Title against a surprise challenger. [The cadets boo, as for some reason the military mind has never gotten on well with the legal one.] SR: Now that's brains... Derek Mota, the wrestler with brawn, balls, and     brains! TD: If he is indeed the Cruiserweight champion in two weeks, he'll defend against the Cruiserweight Tournament winner, live from the LA Coliseum, only on Pay Per View! Make the phone call now, don't get lost in the rush! SR: Shameless. Speaking of which, here comes Pepe LePeu to settle things... [Actually, it's Poutine Janois, but I think we all caught the joke. The head of the IIWF Special Concerns Committee walks purposefully to the ring, wearing a sporty IIWF nylon jacket to protect from the cold, and also sporting the new "Poutine Janois: No Tagline Neccesary" ball cap.] SR: Poutine has his own ball cap? Do we even have a Marketing office or     is it just your nephew doing it? TD: Well, I think he does a fine... I mean, they do a fine job. Look out     for the next great IIWF hygiene product, Dross Floss! SR: Comes in special bland and mind-numbingly bland flavoured varieties. [Janois is by now in the ring, and he heads to confer with Alphonso and Sparky, making for a laughable looking huddle. Finally the three break, as Shakespeare and Hall look on from the ring, and Mota is still nowhere to be seen.] TD: Can you believe the nerves of steel Billy Shakespeare has... he's     just been waiting patiently in the corner through all of this! SR: Corn star. I still can't get over that... SL: It has been decided by the IIWF Special Concerns Committee, in concert with the IIWF Legal Divison, that Derek Mota's TRO is perfectly legal and that legally, this match should not take place. However... we don't care! [Pop!] Derek Mota has ten seconds to return to the ring, or he will forfeit his Cruiserweight Title! [The crowd goes absolutely ape, and many of the more vociferous cadets join Alphonso's countdown as the cameras all focus on the entrance. One... two... still no sign of Mota. Three... four... five... the curtains twitch!... six... seven... Mota shows up, and is sprinting for the ring! The race is on to beat the clock, and at nine Mota scrambles into the ring only to be jumped immediately by Shakes, who goes to work with punches before Mota can right himself. The bell rings.] SR: I never was one to believe in conspiracy theories, but it's obvious     the IIWF is out to get Derek Mota. TD: What are you talking about, Steve? SR: It's all a big fix to screw Mota. TD: That's nonsense, we all know there's absolutely nothing predetermined about wrestling. Boxing, yes, college football, maybe, but never professional wrestling. [Shakes goes right to work, whipping the champion to the ropes with breakneck velocity. Mota comes careening back only to be grabbed about the waist and nailed with a belly to belly suplex! Shakes covers in an attempt to become the new champion and... Mota kicks out with athourity! Billy is not to be denied, however, as he grasps the Canadian about his knee and lifts upward. The fans easily see the strain on Shakespeare's face in holding Mota up, but hold him he does until he drops him across his extended leg in a kneebreaker. Mota hobbles back only to be clotheslined right over the top rope to the outside. Big pop!] TD: Derek Mota was not prepared for this match, and it's showing. He     needs to turn the tide quickly or his title reign might end and it'll be Billy Shakespeare defending the Cruiserweight Title at Ring Wars IV. SR: You better hope Shakespeare doesn't win, because if that idiot gets     the Cruiserweight title again I'll be mighty frustrated. And you know I can make your life hell when that happens. [Shakes immediately moves to keep the pace up, running off the opposite ropes to try for a suicide dive. Meanwhile, Mota is shaking the cobwebs out, and he turns just in time to see Billy coming at him in the air. Also in time, apparently, to scramble out of the way and let Shakes smash into the security railing. Understandably, he seems to be hurt after the impact, but Mota has no qualms about taking advantage, driving his fist into Shakes' face. He then rolls Ashland's favourite son back into the ring, and leaps up to the apron, using it as a springboard to the top rope. Shakes still isn't getting up, so Mota flattens him with a splash, and covers: 1 - 2 - shoulder up! Frustrated, Mota tries to soften him up further with a corkscrew elbowdrop. Tries being the operative word, as he misses the mark when the quarry rolls out of the way.] SR: That little bastard is all go and quite a bit of show... even in a     match he was forced into unwillingly, he's giving a great performance. [Shakespeare, as an actor, sometimes has to fall back on the old chestnuts, so when Mota gets back to his feet to confront him, he blocks a punch and fires back one of his own. You know the routine, this happens twice more until Mota is stunned enough for Shakes to wind his arm up, get a leg up and... absoultely nail a Rocker Dropper! Shakes then heads towards the top rope, and is showing some great agility even considering his aerial talents. He measures the champ up as Derek gets back to his feet, his back to the challenger. Shakespeare jumps off into the air for a top rope Thesz press... flying through the air on a vertical basis... Mota turns around slowly... Mota sees it coming... Mota catches him. Catches him and in one fluid motion drives forward with a spinebuster.] TD: What an incredible manouver from the Cruiserweight champion. That     just may be enough to retain his belt. SR: Come on... that's one, that's two and... WHAT? Slow count, ref, slow     count! [Mota seems to think so too, as he forgets Shakes for a moment and starts to argue with Earl Alphosno. The Fonz has had quite enough debating for one day, though, so he just ignores Mota's exonerations. Derek turns back only to catch a spin kick flush to the jaw, knocking him over! Billy then heads for momentum off the opposing set of ropes, waiting for Mota to get back up. Derek does so surprisingly fast, displaying his resilience yet again, so when Billy arrives in front of him he just pushes him upward. This is what Shakes wanted, as is evidenced when he wraps his legs around Mota's neck, falling back for a picture perfect rana. He doesn't stay on to cover, though, instead going after Mota's left leg and wrapping it up, struggling to get enough leverage to do what he wants with it. Eventually, he's moved into a pretty decent grapevine, which has the champion wincing in pain.] SR: He's too close to the ropes for that to work. [That statement becomes prophetic as Mota starts to inch his way towards the ropes, getting closer and closer as Shakes tries to pour on more pressure. The rope gets within millimetres of his hand until...] SR: He got it! What'd I tell ya, Dross? Do I know this business or what? TD: Yes, I'm sure in your many years of wrestling you learned about all     the tricks of the trade, the various wristlocks and armbars. SR: Please, Dross, you wouldn't know an armbar from a sushi bar. [The two gladiators get to their feet again, some forty-odd thousand Colorado natives, persumably with nowhere warmer to go, screaming at the top of their oxygen deprived lungs. Mota obliges their cheers by kicking their hero in the gut, doubling him over. He then moves in to underhook both arms, probably setting up a Skullpump. The chant even starts despite Steve Kowalski having been inactive for some time, but it never gets carried out as Shakes uses his energy reserve to pull out a backdrop. Weary but not beaten, the challenger starts his way to the corner, pointing upward to indicate he's going to the top rope. Mota is just getting up as Shakes gets up to the second set of turnbuckles.] TD: Derek Mota isn't sure what's going on... he doesn't see Shakespeare     up on the top rope. Here comes Shakespeare with a dropkick and... it     hits! SR: Come on, you plucky little Canadian bastard, don't let it end here!     Don't let him take your title! Anyone but him! [Shakespeare declines to cover, but momentum is definately on his side as he whips Mota towards the corner. Derek is on instinct able to reverse, however, and Shakes heads careening to the corner... and into Earl Alphonso.] SR: Referee down! Referee down! [Shakes comes right back out of the corner, not sure he's knocked the ref out, and grabs Mota in a bodyslam position. Derek's not in a position to block much of anything, so he gets hammered with a slam, and is immediately covered for, uh, zero. Shakes stays in position, not sure why no count is being made, as an all too familiar figure sprints out of the crowd and leaps over the retaining barrier.] TD: It's Ronnie Paris! Here comes Ronnie Paris! SR: And he's got a chair! Allah be praised, he has a chair! TD: Allah be praised? [Shakes gets up, realizing the official is indisposed, and turns around to see a few pounds of steel flying at him. Not able to react in time, the challenger goes down like a ton of bricks, and Paris just takes off up the aisle, the boos of the thousands of future airmen and women in his ears, as he sees Alphonso starting to stir. Mota's also starting to stir, so he just drapes and arm over the limp Shakespeare as Alphonso crawls over to make a very slow count: 1 -- 2...] SR: He did it! TD: What a travesty of justice, Billy Shakespeare was just robbed. [Cut over to Sparkplug, who's just finished popping the balding race car driver in the face, as he makes it official.] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, the winner of this bout, and _still_ IIWF     Cruiserweight Champion, Derek Mota! [A very woozy Mota is helped to his feet by a slightly less woozy Earl Alphonso. Once handed his title, he's able to start struggling back up the aisle, clutching at his head now and again but overall happy with how he'd won. If only he knew how he'd won. Shakespeare by this time is just, and I do mean just, starting to move.] TD: Billy Shakespeare was about three seconds away from becoming a two     time Cruiserweight Champion, and that arrogant little Texan punk took it all away. SR: Don't be so bitter about it, Dross, I'm starting to like this guy a     bit. At least he'll make for a more interesting runner up to Mota. [In ring, Shakespeare gets to his feet, blood trickling lightly down his forehead, and immediately he asks Alphonso where Paris went. The ref, of course, has no idea he was ever there, so he just shrugs his shoulders. The high ranking officer yells out "That way, through section 7!", so Billy offers a quick nod before taking off in pursuit.] TD: Billy Shakespeare is headed right through that crowd, and I can't say I blame him. SR: But you will blame people if they fail to order Ring Wars IV on     8 November, right? TD: Not at all, Steve. I wouldn't resort to those kind of shameless plugs. SR: [exasperated] Can we just get to the next match, Dross? TD: Sure we can. Up next, we're scheduled to see Scott "the Fop" Rogers in action -- and he was originally slated to face Billy Shakespeare, but I would imagine that he will now be facing Marty Warnett. SR: There's something a little crazy about tonight, Dross. I kinda like it. TD: Indeed, one never can tell what's going to happen in the IIWF. Let's get back up to the ring! ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| Marty Warnett vs. Scott "The Fop" Rogers |_||_| \_/\_/ |_|.................................................... WRITER: GR [The camera pans down and across the crowd, in which can be seen many men and women in military uniform. There are some signs in the crowd, and a few fans can be seen wearing "There's No Justice Like Jobber Justice" t-shirts. The camera comes to rest on the nattily-clad Sparkplug Lee, center ring, mic in hand.] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, your next event is set for one fall with a     30-minute time limit. Your first competitor... [The opening strains of Monaco's "What Do You Want From Me?" fill the arena and the crowd pops, but not heavily as it is obvious that this music is somewhat unrecognizable.] SR: Who is this? I don't recognize that music! TD: The scheduled match is Scott Rogers and Marty Warnett, Steve Roberts. [Scott Rogers emerges from the curtain, his look one of total focus. He makes his way to the ring as Lee continues the introduction...] SL: Standing 6'7", weighing in at 297lbs, from Hurricane, Utah, he is     "The Fop", he is Scott Rogers! [Heavy crowd pop as Rogers makes his way into the ring and immediately begins to chastize the referee! He is obviously not very happy with the change in his opponent!] SR: Rogers' panties are definitely in a bunch here, Dross! TD: Well, can you blame him? The man scouted and trained for Billy     Shakespeare, and now he's got to face Marty Warnett! I'd be a little miffed, too! SR: Dross, you're still "miffed" about the cancellation of "Laverne     and Shirley". [Rogers tests the ropes and allows the referee to check his boots, but he's still obviously angered. Lee continues:] SL: And his opponent... [David Lee Roth's "Just Like Paradise" replaces the din of Monaco as Marty Warnett, all smiles and handshakes, emerges from the curtain. He makes his way to the ring...] SL: From Cardiff, Wales, UK, he stands 5'11" and weighs 245lbs, he is Marty Warnett! [Warnett enters the ring where Rogers is being restrained by the referee. Warnett sheds his ring jacket and Lee leaves the ring. The referee calls for the bell: Ding! Ding! Ding!] TD: This should be an exciting matchup of contrasting styles! SR: Whatever. [Collar-and-elbow tieup, but Rogers hits Warnett with a knee to the gut, doubling him over. Lightening quick, Rogers slams an elbow into the back of Warnett's head, taking him to one knee. Rogers grabs Warnett by the hair and pulls him up, whipping him into the ropes. Warnett ducks a clothesline and rebounds with a flying cross-body block! Wanrett makes a cover: 1 - 2 - Solid kickout by Rogers!] TD: Whoa! Warnett with the quick near-fall! SR: Wishful thinking on Marty's part! [Another tieup, Warnett backs Rogers into the corner and as the ref calls for the break, Warnett puts his hands up and breaks cleanly. Rogers takes the opportunity to shove Warnett, who shoves Rogers back! Rogers charges Warnett but Warnett drops tp the canvas and takes Rogers down with a quick drop-toehold into a headlock!] TD: That Warnett is quick! His quickness may be too much for the former     Mr. Utah! SR: I don't think so, Dross. Rogers is just a little too emotional     right now. He'll calm down. [Both men stand, Rogers forces Warnett off and into the ropes. Warnett ducks another clothesline, and rebounds into an attempted Lou Thesz Press...] TD: Spinebuster by Rogers! What a devastating manuever! SR: High-impact on that move, Warnett's in a world of hurt! [Rogers is up, he goes to work on Warnett with his boots, stomping Marty into the canvas. The referee pulls Rogers back and immediately gets an earful from Scott. Rogers picks Warnett up by the hair and sets him up...] TD: Vertical suplex! Amazing elevation! SR: Warnett must've been eight feet in the air! TD: Here's a cover by Rogers! [The referee makes the count: 1 -- 2 -- ] TD: And Warnett gets the shoulder up! We almost had a winner there! SR: Almost. What have I said about "almost"? TD: Yeah, yeah, I remember. [Rogers picks up Warnett and whips him hard into the corner. The ring shakes with the impact of Warnett's back hitting the turnbuckle! Rogers charges, but Warnett gets a knee up and into the face of Rogers as he charges in! Rogers turns and walks out of the corner, holding his jaw as Warnett clkimbs to the second rope! Rogers turns around and is met with a flying double-axhandle! Rogers drops to the canvas and is covered by Warnett! 1 -- 2 -- kickout!] TD: Rogers gets the shoulder up! What an exciting matchup this has     turned out to be! SR: Aw, yeah. This is about as exciting as your high school... who's that? [The crowd strains to see... the Highwayman stalking to ringside! He idles up to ringside and stands, arms folded, watching the match!] TD: What's the Highwayman doing out here? SR: Best seat in the house, Dross! [Warnett pulls Rogers to his feet, Irish whips him into the ropes, and propels himself into the opposite ropes! As Rogers rebounds, Warnett leaps and connects with a flying forearm to Rogers' head, sending him sailing backward and over the top rope! Warnett attempts to follow him outside, but is stopped by the referee!] SR: Let him go! What's up with that?! TD: The referee's just trying to maintain order here, Roberts! SR: Since when? [Warnett backs up, distracting the referee. The Highwayman sees his chance and makes his way over to Rogers, who has struggled to one knee! The Highwayman picks up Rogers and whips him into the guardrail, back-first! Rogers grimaces as the Highwayman grabs him by the hair and runs him, head-first, into the ringpost! The crowd pops heavy for the out-of-the-ring action as the Highwayman rolls Rogers back into the ring!] TD: Now, there's no call for that! This was a good, evenly matched bout     until the Highwayman got involved! SR: Don't get all high and mighty on me, Dross. All that counts is the     win or the loss. Who goes to the pay window, if you weeel. TD: That'll be enough of that. SR: Sorry, Dross. [Warnett picks up the bleeding Scott Rogers and whips him into the ropes, catching Rogers with a dropkick as he rebounds! Warnett is up and playing to the crowd, illiciting a huge pop! Suddenly, the crowd strains again to see...] TD: Who is that?! SR: What a monster! And look, he's carrying Stud Stetson's tin belt! TD: Does this mean that the "Superstar" Stud Stetson is back? SR: I don't know what else it could mean! Isn't it obvious?! [A VERY large man, 7'2" and 380lbs of pure muscle, wearing dark sunglasses, a t-shirt emblazoned with a star, and a slick head of hair, makes his way to ringside. The Highwayman watches him come down and stand at ringside, arms folded!] TD: Is there anyone else in the back who'd like to come down to     ringside for this match? SR: Don't say that, Dross! Next thing you know, Shakespeare will be     down here, spouting off! [In the ring, Warnett picks up Rogers and grabs him from behind!] TD: Belly-to-back suplex! What a maneuver! SR: Warnett showing a little strength there in getting the big man up and over! [Warnett propels himself into the ropes, but is tripped by the big man standing outside! Warnett hits the mat hard!] TD: You can't tell me the referee didn't see that! What a crock! SR: I think the referee was checking Rogers for a pulse! TD: Uh-oh, I think Warnett's had enough! [Warnett heads outside and confronts the big man, who puts his hands up and backs away! The Highwayman makes his way over, but Warnett gets in his face too, wagging a finger!] SR: Who does Warnett think he is? He better get back in that ring where     he has a small chance of keeping all of his internal organs in     working order! TD: I think Warnett's telling them to stay out of his business! [Warnett makes his way back up to the apron, but is met with a fury of fists from Rogers! Rogers picks Marty up into a vertical suplex fromt eh outside...] TD: The Highwayman tripped Rogers! He's holding Rogers' leg! [The referee makes the cover: 1 - 2 - 3! Ding! Ding! Ding!] TD: Warnett did it! He pinned Scott Rogers with the help of the Highwayman! SR: What a fluke! What a freak of nature! Aw, who am I kidding -- Rogers can go rot down south in Atlanta for all I care. SL: Here is your winner, as the result of a pinfall, he is Marty Warnett! TD: Wait a minute, here comes the Highwayman! Hasn't he done enough     already? [The Highwayman enters the ring and goes to work on Rogers with fists and feet! Rogers makes his way up and fights back, both men standing toe-to-toe! Rogers grabs the Highwayman by the head and throws him over the top rope! The Highwayman hits hard but is up immediately to meet Rogers, who has rolled out of the ring to continue the brawl! A host of referees make their way to ringside, but there's no seperating these two men as they brawl their way up the aisle! Meanwhile, Warnett continues celebrating, soking in the crowd's adulation! Suddenly, "Rain Will Fall" blares over the PA system to a huge heel pop from the crowd who is anticipating the return of the Superstar.] TD: That's Stud Stetson's music!  Stud Stetson is finally going to come     out here and face Warnett like a man! [Warnett patiently waits in the ring as the music continues to blare. The fans begin to get restless while waiting for someone to appear from the runway.  Finally a figure steps out from behind the curtain and makes his way to the ring.  To the shock of the fans its not Stud Stetson but still a rather well known IIWF star...] TD: SCOTT "THE WHINE" BLOOM?! SR: [uncontrollably laughing]  Warnett got jumped by the Whine! TD: I don't believe this for one moment. [Whine, dressed up in a leather jacket, struts down the aisle.  He grabs himself a nearby mic and addresses Warnett.] SB: That's right, Warnett.  These last few weeks you've been     experiencing the power of the Whine.  You've been Bloomasized.  You     now know who the real superstar of this sport is.  The Immortal     Bloomster right here, brutha.  [Whine attempts to flex but ends up     hurting himself]  That stretcher, that ass whupping -- it was all     orchestrated by this monster you see before you.  [attempts a     pathetic growl]  When I'm finally finished with you, I will go on to     achieve true greatness here in the IIWF.  I've already proven I have     your number. TD: [over the headset] This is a crock.  This just reeks of a set-up. SR: [over the headset] You just can't face the fact the Bloom is better     than Warnett. TD: [over the headset] This is a direct attempt at further humiliating     Marty Warnett. [Warnett looks on in total disbelief as the Whine goes on and on about how he will now reach greatness.  This whole charade unfortunately means that Warnett completely misses the figure who jumps over ring barrier and scales the top rope, the huge 7'2" man who remains at ringside doing nothing to stop him.] TD: Watch out, Marty! [The "fan" then comes leaping off the top rope and smashes a large belt upside the head of Warnett.  The impact of the blow crumples Marty to the mat.  Bloom, realizing he has done his job, makes his way to the back.  Meanwhile, the individual in the ring continues to smash the large belt onto the skull of Warnett.  The beating causes a large laceration and causes Warnett to bleed profusely.  The attacker then lifts Warnett up only to piledrive him onto the belt.  The large man then enters the ring and holds Warnett into position, while the attacker blasts Warnett in the head with the belt.  Blood now stains  the mat while Warnett lies motionless, seemingly unconscious.] TD: Oh my, this is appalling.  Who are these men?  And where is Stud     Stetson?! SR: This is music to my eyes, Dross!  Warnett's really got his just     desserts right here! [The attacker then scales the top rope and hits Warnett with a beatiful frog splash.  The man realizes he has done enough damage and scoops up the title belt, heading back to the locker room with the enormous individual.] TD: What an atrocious attack. SR: I think we finally know who the "superstar" is now, though. TD: That splash definitely makes me think it was a wrestling star. SR: Well, duh, Dross! TD: Wait a minute -- it looks like Larry Morton has caught up with the     attacker.  Let's go backstage. [Camera cuts to a backstage corridor, where Warnett's attackers rush through the locker room area -- but Larry Morton catches up to them and is able to stop their passage.  The smaller man has long yet scruffy styled dirty blonde hair and a Brad Pitt-like face with baby blue eyes. He is also sporting a nose ring which has a chain which attaches to his earring.  He has a dinstinct grunge look and is wearing a plaid shirt over a T-Shirt which says "Yes, I'm A Superstar."  He also has some rather raunchy-looking torn blue jeans.  As for the giant of a man he has dark shades and slicked back black hair.] LM: What was the meaning of that attack? ATTACKER: What?  You're not even going to ask my name?! LM: So are you the one behind all these recent attacks of Marty Warnett? A: See this right here? [hoists up the belt which is now to be revealed    as the old Superstar title which now looks a little rusty after its    year of neglect.] This is the most prestigious title in the world and    I am now the proud holder of this title.  In order to continue the    tradition of past great Superstar Champions, I have to be able to    follow in their footsteps.  I have to do what they did -- but do it    even better. LM: Are you in cahoots with Stud Stetson? A: Aren't you using words a little too big for you, Morton? [A commotion comes from the locker room area as it is now appearant a bloody Warnett has awaken and is looking for the head of his attacker.]    Well, I have lots to say but I really must get going.  Maybe we can    get to know each other better over a coffee or something sometime    next week.  Your people call my people.  Kay? [Warnett is now seen making a charge at the man but the giant is able to floor Warnett with a big clothesline.  He then lifts Warnett up for a big powerbomb onto the concrete floor, while officials and techinicians simply watch on in awe.  Both the giant and grunger make their way to the exit, and are seen hopping into the back seat of a waiting Corvette, which then screams off into the night.  The camera swings back to Larry Morton, standing beside the medical crews, who are attempting to help Warnett back to his feet.] LM: Well, that looks like that is all we're going to get on this     situation tonight. [looking over at Warnett]  Back to you at     ringside. [Cut back to ringside.] TD: Thanks, Larry. Well, Steve Roberts, a victory for Marty Warnett somewhat overshadowed by the interference of these two attackers -- who, I would assume, must work for Stud Stetson. Folks, we'll try and get more information on that situation. SR: First they vandalise Warnett's locker room, then they vandalise Warnett's head. My kinda people, baby dolls! TD: You're a disgrace, Steve Roberts. Okay, folks, right now it's time for that special edition of "The Final Cut", as Simon Lebec -- who has posted bail in order to be here this week -- will attempt to mediate a discussion between the two former members of the European Alliance, former World Champion Otto Verhoeven, and retired former Intercontinental Champion, Lord Byron. Over to you, Simon Lebec. [The shot cuts to the stage of "The Final Cut."  The stage is decorated in the manner of a filming set, with the words "The Final Cut" shown in hot neon pink overhead.  The familiar majestic music begins to play as "The Showstopper" Simon Lebec walks onto the set via the left curtain.  He gets a moderate heel pop, with substantial boos from the crowd:] SL: Ya know... contrary to popular belief from certain dancing, S & M drag queen wannabees in this sport... there is only ONE "Showstopper", and baby, you're lookin' at him!  It's been a while since I've been out here, but the public, man, THE PUBLIC... well, they just can't get enough of the stuff that dreams are made of!   I get a call from this guy, ya see!  A guy who thinks he's the best technician in the sport today!  A guy by the name of Byron.  Now Byron, his phone number looks familiar, since I've got Lady DeWinter wallowing on my speed dial, just like half of the superstars in the "I"!  So, I pick up and we wheel and deal for a bit!  You've all heard the challenges, and you've all heard the trash talk!  Now... now you're gonna hear more of it!  I got me two guys... two guys that just plain simply don't like each other.  I also got me a big dick, but that's another story.  So, without further adieu, I give you the GREATEST IIWF Heavyweight Champion ever... put your working-class hands together for "The Butcher" Otto Verhoeven! [The eerie theme from "Halloween" starts to play over the PA. Nurse Heidi walks out first, dressed in breathtakingly tight jeans shorts and a black and red "Welcome to the SLAUGHTERHOUSE" t-shirt, and receives quite a few catcalls.  She flashes a quick smile at the crowd, then begins to insult the fans both in German and English.  Verhoeven then enters the arena to a huge chorus of boos.  The "Butcher" wears an expensive, perfectly fitting, gray pinstripe suit.  He stops at the head of the aisle, looks at the stands with an expression of disgust on his face, then marches toward the stage, not acknowledging the crowd at all. On the stage, Verhoeven shakes Lebec's hand, an arrogant smirk on his face.] SL: Well, big guy, are we gonna wait a little longer, or are we just gonna bring him out right now? OV: It is your show, Herr Lebec, do as you like. That is, if our English friend has the courage to encounter me face to face again. ["Intermezzo from Karelia Suite" starts up over the PA system to a mixed crowd reaction, and Byron steps into the aisle, dressed as smartly as ever in an elegant pale grey suit.  He looks around at the crowd for a moment, as if savouring the reaction, before slowly sauntering down towards the duo, his brass topped cane clicking on the concrete as he walks.  He stops and tilts his head with a smirk as he reaches the set, before slowly climbing the steps, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on Verhoeven.] SL: Before I begin, I'd just like to say that I think Hitler had the right idea... an Ayrian nation for all of us!  No money grubbing Jews, limey tea-swiillin' Brits... it would've been real swell!  We dropped the bomb on the Japs!  WE DID OUR PART, OTTO!  HOW DID YA MESS UP? [Verhoeven shakes his head and shrugs as the crowd boos.  Byron simply stares incredulously at Lebec, shaking his head in disbelief.]   I guess I'll start this interview with you, Lord B!  It's been a while since Creed showed you that perhaps you ain't the man you think you are!  Perhaps you ain't the best technician in the world today. And God only knows... you certainly ain't the best lover, since I don't see Lady DeWinter in sight!  Heh! [Byron's face flushes deep red, and for a moment he glares at Lebec as though he would like nothing better than to punch him.  He regains his composure quickly however, sneers, and folds his arms, leaning on his cane and inviting Lebec to finish.]   But, I digress.  I want to talk about this man right here.  The former Heavyweight Champion.  The man who YOU kept in the shadows, like a rat in a three dime whorehouse!  I wanna talk about the man we know and love as "The Butcher." LB: First of all, Mr. Lebec, I don't know exactly what you've been watching, but never once did I ever try to keep Herr Verhoeven in the shade.  When we were working together as the European Alliance, I was always under the impression that we were working as equals, and I always afforded Herr Verhoeven the respect he was due as a champion in this sport. [Byron points across at Verhoeven with his cane, inciting a pop from the crowd]  Let's face it, Herr Verhoeven, the reason we are out here tonight is that you are jealous of what I accomplished in the IIWF -- jealous that while I was at the very peak of my game, you were on a self-imposed slump.  And ever since, Herr Verhoeven, you've been trying to pass the blame for that slump off onto me. OV: [shakes his head] Byron, Byron, Byron. Are you still clinging to that old idea of the European Alliance, the perfect stable? Working as equals?  Perhaps in the beginning, when we crushed Tony Starks, but after that, all I did was protect your sorry hide because you couldn't handle Creed or Watkins on your own.  You are right on one thing, I was on a slump.  But the reason for that was not my competence.  No, I was just caught up in that pointless feud with Creed and Watkins, a feud I had nothing to gain from. And do not even try to deny that you posed as the leader of the Alliance in the public, claiming all for yourself. After all, you were the record-breaking holder of the IC-belt, the best technical wrestler in the whole business, the wealthy British lord... Tell them, Byron. Tell them how you bathed in those accomplishments, flaunting them everywhere you went. [Lebec interrupts, pointing at Byron.] SL: I saw him!  I saw him!  Flaunting his money and power around!  In the back, thinking he could buy anything and anyone! Strutting the gold like it was a head of lettuce in Bunnyville! I mean, what kind of low-life would act that way? [Lebec gets in Byron's face]  Tell it the way it was, B!  You kept Otto close for one reason and one reason only... out of fear! [Byron's glare deepens, and he puts his cane onto Lebec's chest, before pushing it forcefully, making Lebec take a step back.] LB: Very interesting points you make, my friend.  But you aren't quite telling the whole truth now, are you?  I'll be the first to admit that I gloried in my success.  So you were more than happy for me to assist you in your failed attempt to crush Tony Starks, but you resented assisting me?  I had a personal vendetta with Creed.  I didn't ask for your help in that matter, Otto, nor did I want it.   Maybe I did flaunt my title, and my success.  And maybe I did enjoy the glory.  But I think, Herr Verhoeven, that my accomplishments warranted a little respect.  After all my friend, you did the same when you took the title from around Deathbringer's waist a while back. But whether I flaunted my success or not isn't really the point here now, is it?  The point, Verhoeven, is that _you_ felt intimidated by it.  That _you_ felt that you were being kept in the shade.  That _you_ began to resent me.  And don't insult my intelligence by saying I deliberately tried to keep you in the shade: how many times did I urge you to try to reclaim your World Title?  How many times did I tell you to leave well enough alone with Starks and Macbeth?   We could have been, no, for a while we _were_ the most dominant force in the business.  We _were_ that "perfect stable," Herr Verhoeven.  A force like that doesn't need leadership, and nor did I try to impose mine.  It needs mutual respect.  I gave you yours, Herr Verhoeven.  I would have been proud if you had reclaimed the World Title, not resentful, like you apparently were with me.  If anything kept you in the shade, Verhoeven, it was your own doubts and misgivings.  And you laid the blame, and your anger for it all on me.   Perhaps I made the wrong choice in an ally.  Perhaps you never were the professional I thought you to be after all.  So it really comes as no surprise that you appear to prefer the company of gutter trash now. [Byron tilts his head towards Lebec, inciting a pop from the crowd.]   After all, they can't possibly threaten your pride and position like a real athlete could, can they? [Verhoeven becomes clearly more agitated as he points a finger at Byron.] OV: This... this is exactly the attitude I was talking about.  The always present sneer on your face, your look of contempt in your eyes. You, little man, feel honest respect for nobody.  Was I ever more for you than "gutter trash", than a willing tool to support your plans? Perhaps there is nothing you can do about it.  Perhaps the arrogance is just something you were born with, something that clings to your person like a leech, something that prevents you from making a long-term ally. Face it, Byron, you could never accept anybody as your equal.  We were a perfect unit at first, right, but then I saw through your little act.  Did you really believe I didn't hear you and that child you keep as your mistress laugh behind my back about the "dumb German"?  Did you think I appreciated the presents you gave Heidi and me, which were nothing more than reminders who of us was Lord, the wealthy aristocrat, and who the son of a German coal miner. And you keep talking about my "slump".  Is it a "slump" when you fight the battles you have to fight, against men like Starks and Macbeth who may not have been top names in the business but who I had a reason to oppose?  I won't run from my enemies like you did, Byron. [Lebec laughs] SL: Run?  He didn't run!  He just got his ass whooped by Creed, thus ending his pathetic career!  How about it, Byron? [Lebec gets in his face again] Bottom line is... you just couldn't get the job done when the marbles were on the line!  No wonder Otto punked your ass like a two dollar whore on welfare Wednesdays!  Heh! [Byron puts puts his hands on his hips and shakes his head, before pushing the butt of his cane into Lebec's chest and knocking him back again.  Lebec glares back angrily.] LB: Keep your distance, Mr. Lebec.  You're starting to grate on my nerves. [Byron sneers, and turns his attention back to Verhoeven] LB: And so we come to the crux of the matter, my "friend."  I'll say it again, Otto -- I always treated you as an equal.  Always.  But if you spent the same amount of time voicing your concerns to my face as you did listening to rumours, rumours designed to tear our Alliance apart in the first place -- we would have this federation in a grip of steel right now.  You're the one who is fighting the class war here, Otto -- I never made any such distinctions.  [Byron takes an unflinching step towards the imposing form of the Butcher, glaring up into his face.]   And I always faced my challenges, Verhoeven.  How dare you say any less.  I defended my title against all comers without complaint.  If you had a problem, Verhoeven, if you had any intention at all of making the Alliance the force it could have been -- the force it should have been -- you would have been man enough to at least confront me face to face.  But you didn't even respect me enough to do that, did you, Herr Verhoeven? [Byron taps his cane into Verhoeven's chest, and as Otto looks down at it, he brings it up, clipping Otto under the chin to a resounding pop from the crowd.]   No, you had to stab me in the back, attack me from behind after the hardest match of my career.  And _that_, Herr Verhoeven, that was the moment I lost all the respect I ever had for you.  And frankly, my "friend," you can think whatever you want of me now, say whatever you want.  Because I couldn't care less whether I set eyes on you again or not. [Byron steps away from Verhoeven, and turns to walk down the steps. Verhoeven, livid with rage, glares at him angrily, before charging and hitting him from behind with a devastating clothesline that sends Byron flying straight off the set!  The crowd erupts into a frenzy!] TD: [over the headset] Oh my! SR: [over the headset] Bad, bad mistake Byron... you're a dead man now, kiddo. [Byron fights back to his feet as Otto begins pummeling him with a series of wild punches and manages to hold his ground, blocking a right hand and firing back with one of his own.  Back on the set, Lebec dusts himself down, tosses the microphone over his shoulder and starts to to walk across towards the brawling pair...] TD: [over the headset] Look out... Lebec's measuring Byron up... BLACKBALL!  Lebec nailed Byron with the BLACKBALL! SR: And Byron staggers forward... straight into a Slaughterslam! This is beautiful, Dross, simply beautiful! [The crowd is practically frantic as Verhoeven stoops over the prone form of Byron and starts slapping him in the face!] OV: Byron!  Don't you ever turn your back on me, you hear me?! Don't you ever turn your back on me like I was some second-class servant of yours! [Heidi and Lebec watch on laughing as Verhoeven pulls Byron back to his feet again, tearing the suit jacket off his back and setting him up for a second Slaughterslam...] TD: [over the headset] And he connects!  Byron is in deep, deep trouble here... SR: [over the headset] Did he really think he'd be able to get away with those comments, Dross?  I tell you, Verhoeven is going to tear him limb from limb! [Officials fly down the aisle to try to pull the Butcher off Byron, and each is met by a blow that sends them flying into the retaining barriers.  Verhoeven turns back to Byron, who is rolling to his knees, and greets him with a kick to the ribs that sends him sprawling back to the floor in font of Lebec and Heidi.  Lebec grabs Byron by the ponytail and starts to haul him back to his feet as Otto advances... and stops suddenly.] TD: Oh no... SR: I love it... I just love it... TD: Verhoeven's got Byron's cane... this isn't good, folks. [Lebec grins and pulls Byron's arms back behind him as Otto taps the cane on his palm, a sick smile on his face... Otto advances, and recieves a boot to the stomach from Byron, doubling him over!  Lebec and Heidi are on Byron in an instant, kicking him back to the floor as Otto snarls and rises up... Lebec pulls Byron up again, hooking the half-concious bluebloods arms back again...] TD: This is just sick.  We need to get security down there fast. SR: Hey Dross, Byron's got no right to be here.  His career's over, remember?  He took the risk in coming tonight, and now he's getting punished for it.  Poetic justice, don'tcha think? TD: No, I most definitely do not. [Verhoeven taunts Byron, flicking him under the chin with the cane.] OV: Now, my lord, you will receive a "royal" beating, a punishment a distinguished member of society like you deserves, a trip to the SLAUGHTERHOUSE! [The Butcher laughs, before he shakes his head and prepares to take a swing at him... he draws the cane back... and it's snatched straight from his hands!  Huge pop from the crowd!] TD: It's DeWinter!  She's got the... oh my! [There's a loud crack as Dewinter smashes the cane across Verhoeven's back.  Verhoeven slowly straightnes up, turning around to face her with a snarl on his face... DeWinter looks around frantically, threatening Verhoeven with the cane again, who simply laughs and advances on her. Lebec pulls Byron's head up by the hair, and he begins to struggle frantically as he sees the plight of his ward... DeWinter backs off... straight into the retaining barriers.] SR: No place to go, baby dolls.  You best put your little toy down. [Verhoeven holds out his hand, beckoning her to give him the cane. DeWinter shakes her head angrily, and threatens him again.. Verhoeven reaches out as she swings, tears the cane from her grasp and hits her with a stinging backhand that sends her sprawling to the floor!  Huge heel pop from the crowd!  Byron kicks like a madman, desperately trying to throw Lebec off as Verhoeven turns and walks back up to him. Byron spits in Verhoeven's face, and Verhoeven responds by kicking him in the guts and then breaking the cane across his back.  Byron falls to the floor, and both Verhoeven and Lebec start to kick away at him, while Heidi walks over to the fallen DeWinter, pulling her up by the hair, twisting one of her arms back her back and...] TD: A CROSS-FACE CHICKENWING! I can't believe what we're seeing here, people, first Verhoeven hitting DeWinter like that and then Nurse Heidi, an accomplished wrestler herself, torturing the ward of Lord Byron like that. This is just sickening. SR: Go on Verhoeven, kick some respect into the English dog.  Hell, Dross, this is fun. DeWinter screams like that girl in "Leather Goddesses" part... TD: STEVE! [Security starts to flood out into the aisle, and somehow manages to pull Verhoeven and Lebec off Byron, dragging them back towards the dressing room area. The German Juggernaut tosses a security member aside like a rag-doll and runs back towards Byron, but four other members of the security manage to stop his advance and slowly pull him back. Heidi is dragged off the Lady DeWinter, who is lying sobbing on the floor.  Slowly, Byron begins to pick himself back up, pulling himself to his feet with the help of the retaining barriers.] SR: That's right, Byron, pick your pathetic loser self up and get outta here.  And don't bother coming back, there ain't nothing here for you anymore.  You've lost the lot. [Out of nowhere, Verhoeven rushes back into the camera's view, clotheslining Byron back to the concrete floor.  Verhoeven jumps on the back of Byron, and begins pummelling him with lefts and rights. Meanwhile, the camera switches over to DeWinter, who is now being accosted by Lebec as he hovers over her.  Lebec grabs the mic:] SL: Come now, love... gimme a kiss and I'll forgive you! [Lebec procedes to jump on top of DeWinter, as she fights off his advances.] SL: COME HERE, TRAMP! [Lebec positions DeWinter between his legs, setting her up for a piledriver.] SL: Between my legs... where you belong! [Lebec smirks at the crowd, and parades himself around in a circle, allowing all the fans to get a good look at the humiliation he is heaping on the Lady DeWinter... and Lebec is nailed from behind by Lord Byron, who manages to break away from Otto Verhoeven for just one moment sufficient to save his ward. DeWinter crumples to the floor in shock, while Lebec turns and floors Byron with a hard right hand, frantically putting the boots to him.] TD: That was truly disgusting, Steve Roberts -- thank heavens for Lord Byron. [Security finally rushes out and drags Verhoeven and Lebec away as Byron slowly staggers across to DeWinter, an EMT crew rushing down the aisle. One of the paramedics puts his hand on Byron's shoulder, only for Byron to shrug it off angrily.  He reaches down and puts his arms around DeWinter, slowly lifting her onto the stretcher.  The paramedics lift her up, and Byron slowly follows them as they walk back towards the dressing room area. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: Folks, that wraps it up for our first hour -- I simply cannot believe what we've seen here. On behalf of the IIWF, I apologise for any offence what we have just seen may have caused. We'll try to get some order restored, and we'll be back in a few moments. Don't go away. [Cut to a wide angle shot of the Falcon Stadium as the crowd begins to settle once more. Fade.] +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= I * I * W * F =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-+ | President: Daniel Spreadbury | Vice-President: Jim Jividen | | univ0322@sable.ox.ac.uk | brokeback@webtv.net | | iiwf@sisko.demon.co.uk | | +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- http://www.sisko.demon.co.uk -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+