C + O + U + N + T + D + O + W + N T + O ________ ______ __ ____ ___ __ . _ ___ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __| / /\ | | || \| \ /\ \ / |\ || / \| | | | || | \ v v / | __| \__ /__\ | | ||__/| |/__\ v | \||| __|-| | |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| \ \| v | \|__/ \| | || \_|| | | __________________________/..............\........|...|.......|....| with Larry Morton Friday 31 October 1997 [Fade up on the interior of the IIWF's broadcast truck, in which is seated Larry Morton, in front of a bank of monitor screens, each showing various clips of IIWF footage past and present. Larry, seated on a swivel chair, spins round from the screens to face the camera. He starts momentarily as he notices a carved out pumpkin jack-o-lantern staring gleefully through its illuminated eyes perched on a nearby mixing desk. He turns his attention back to the camera once more, smiling:] LM: Excuse me, I thought I saw Becky LaRue for a moment there. Welcome one and all to another "Countdown to Saturday Night"! I'm Larry Morton, coming to you from the IIWF's video truck, which is parked in the lot of Disneyland, in Anaheim, California. [Cut briefly to an external shot of the video truck, complete with satellite dish on its roof relaying the feed back to Portland, Oregon, in the rapidly emptying car park in the twilight of the California evening. Cut back inside.] LM: I've been campaigning with my producer to get inside the park for today's broadcast, but unfortunately, my requests were denied. Oh, to be Tim Dross or "Soundbite" Steve Roberts... or Chuck Norris. I'm sorry, I don't know what's come over me this evening. It must be the fact that it's Hallowe'en -- always gives me the creeps. The number of times I've had kids in clown suits turn up outside my home in the suburbs of Portland -- kids with those big trousers, and those huge great shoes... and painted faces... [Larry shudders, his eyes glazed over momentarily. He appears to receive a prompt from off-camera, and he stirs from his shock-induced reverie:] LM: I'm sorry, folks. We are now only eight days -- count 'em, folks, just _eight_ days -- away from one of the most eagerly anticipated pay-per-view events in IIWF history. It's the fourth incarnation of Ring Wars, and it will emanate live next Saturday night from the LA Memorial Coliseum in Los Angeles, here in the sunshine state of California. Latest word from Ticketmaster says that the event is now sold out -- all one hundred tickets have now been sold, so if you still want to be a part of this huge event, hurry to get in touch with your local cable operator. The first five thousand to order will receive a special Steve "the Fury" Kowalski poster, on receipt of their cable bill. [Cut to a graphic of the poster, depicting a battered and bloody Steve Kowalski apparently unconscious in the ring after being betrayed by Brody Thunder, adorned with the legend: "Trust No-One!"] Just $29.95 buys you three hours of the most incredible wrestling action on the planet, and a free Steve Kowalski poster while stocks last! Alternatively, if you want just the Kowalski poster, call the IIWF hotline on 1-900-325-IIWF for ordering details -- the hotline costs $12.95 per minute, minimum call length five minutes, and the poster is yours for a bargain $34.95 plus shipping and handling. [Cut back to Larry in the video truck. The pumpkin jack-o-lantern has inexplicably moved closer to the announcer, and its facial expression has taken on a somewhat malevolent hue. Larry looks nervously over his shoulder before continuing:] Twelve incredible matches will be coming your way on that pay-per-view extravaganza -- don't forget to tune in tomorrow night to hear the latest updates on the card, as Tim Dross and "Soundbite" Steve Roberts will run it down from top to bottom during the broadcast of IIWF Saturday Night. But before we get to tomorrow night's show, let's take a quick look at all the action that went down this past Wednesday, from the "War Room." ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| REWIND: IIWF Wednesday War Room - 27 October 1997 |_||_| \_/\_/ |_|.................................................... [Highlights of the matches appear on the screen, accompanied by the following captions:] 1. Marty Warnett's attacker def. Casey C. 2. Harle-Spell def. Barnacle Brothers 3. Serge Annis def. Scott "the Whine" Bloom 4. Duncan Macbeth def. El Super Gecko 5. Richard "Moxy" Blue def. "One Man Army" Dakota Bundy 6. St. Croix/Christiansen no contest Luke Steele/Alex Rio 7. Damage Incorporated def. The Equalizers 8. The Prophets of Rage def. High Plains Drifters [Cut back to Larry in the video truck.] LM: One of the wildest Wednesday nights on record this week, as the tension really begins to build as we head to Ring Wars IV. We saw Marty Warnett's still as yet unnamed attacker in action -- and very impressive he was too. My sources indicate that we may well see this young man -- along with that huge, huge bodyguard, a real mountain of a man -- tomorrow night. A big surprise saw the reappearance of the "Outlaw" Josey Wales, who came down to the ring during the match involving his former charges, the High Plains Drifters, who have certainly cleaned up their act since drying out at the Betty Ford Clinic -- and cost them the match, smashing a bottle of Kessler's whiskey of Pale Rider! Apparently, Wales doesn't approve of their new, above-board style -- and nor does he appear to have taken kindly to being dropped by the Drifters. The Prophets of Rage, the beneficiaries of Wales' displeasure, must have watched on as their opponents in that Bragging Rights match at Ring Wars IV, their bitter rivals, Damage Inc., squashed the Equalizers -- who, incidentally, are gone from the IIWF, having been given the ultimatum of making a good showing in this match or being released from their contracts; guess we know what the suits thought of their performance. Tomorrow night, however, we are scheduled to hear from Damage Incorporated... and something tells me that the Prophets will not be far behind. Meanwhile, the man who has left the Prophets behind in order to pursue a singles career, Shadoe Rage, was involved in a tag match of his own, partnering Luke Steele -- but declaring that he had not left the Prophets to compete in second rate teams, leaving Steele out there on his own! Cocky cruiserweight Alex Rio came down to the ring to form an equally unlikely alliance as Rage would have done with Steele, and the match against the only mildly more cohesive team of Dexter St. Croix and Kevin Christiansen began. However, the match descended into chaos -- and a no contest resulted. Other notable events on Wednesday included the debut of the niftily-named Harle-Spell, the team of Harlequin Chaos and Edmund Fitzgerald of Cold Spell, who will challenge their regular partners for the IIWF World Tag Team Championships at Ring Wars IV, and a crazy match involving Richard "Moxy" Blue and "One Man Army" Dakota Bundy, who will tag up with former Genesis members Scott Rogers and Highwayman next Saturday Night at Ring Wars IV. It was clear that every competitor has his eyes firmly fixed on the prize -- the pay-per-view show next Saturday night. And with that in mind, let's take a look at all the action coming your way in just twenty-four hours, live from Disneyland, with another edition of IIWF Saturday Night. ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| PREVIEW: IIWF Saturday Night - 1 November 1997 |_||_| \_/\_/ |_|.................................................... LM: We're scheduled to hear from Damage Inc. and also IIWF Hall of Famer, the "Outlaw" J.W. Hardin, on tomorrow night's show -- which will also feature eight incredible matches. Let's run them down, and hear from the superstars involved: ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Down Boys & ? vs. The Machines & "Real Deal" Luke Steele ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: Kicking off the action tomorrow night will be an intriguing match featuring two teams who will be on the _same_ side in the Free For All eight man tag match next Saturday Night... but tomorrow night, the Down Boys and the Machines will be facing off in the ring in six-man action, Luke Steele coming down with his friends the Machines, and the Down Boys tagging with a mystery partner. No clues on who that partner might be, but let's hear from the combatants in this one: [Camera shot opens at a local Burger King.  Adam Peterson of the Down Boys is having an argument with the pimple-faced counterperson.  Dan Oliver looks on in anger, as he too is displeased with the employee.] EMP: I'm sorry, sir, but we just can't do that. DO: Don't you realize who this is?  You're talkin' 'bout the Superstud, baby! EMP: I understand that, but I just can't... AP: Look.  You say I can have my Whopper done MY way, right? EMP: Yes, but that's not the way we meant. AP: [completely ignoring the pimple-faced kid] Well, I want my Whopper, hold the price, baby!  Just hand it over! EMP: That's not the way... DO: We'll sue, baby! EMP: EILEEN! [With that yell, the manager of this particular Burger King walks out.  Unlike most burger joint managers you've seen, this one is in her late 20's, and reletively attractive.] MGR: What seems to be the problem here? EMP: These guys want a free Whopper... or they'll sue. MGR: [looking at Dan] You'll... sue? DO: That's right, baby! AP: [looking at the manager] You know, there is a... possibility... I could overlook this... blatant example of false advertising.  We're both young adults... I am the Superstud... I could show you why I have that nickname.  [Winks at manager] Whattya say, baby? MGR: [with a grimace] Get him his burger.  Better yet, I'll get it for him. [Adam and Dan high five as the manager goes into the grill area to get a "freshly made burger."  She and three other employees "prepare" the burger, wrap it, drop it into a bag, and toss it toward the DB's.] MGR: Now get out!  [smiling] And _enjoy_ your burger. [The Burger King staff collectively snicker as Dan and Adam walk out of the restaurant, then groan as they see Adam takes his first bite as they enter their car and drive off.] AP: [taking another bite]  Mmmmmm... secret sauce.  I didn't think they used that in Burger King.  Huh. DO: [driving]  You know something, Adam?  We've been all over the world, been to all fifty-teen states, and you always expect some sort of change, but it's the little differences that get me. [Surf guitar music begins to play in the background.] AP: [putting on an afro wig] Example. DO: For instance, you walk into a McDonalds and order a Big King, right?  But they don't call it a Big King. AP: So what do they call it? DO: A Big MAC. AP: Weird.  Never heard of it. DO: And Mountain Dew.  Montain Dew's Mountain Dew, but down South, they call it Mello Yello. AP: Huh.  People are freaks, man.  You want a bite of this? DO: Thanks, no. AP: We're taking on the Machines this week, right? DO: Yep, and Luke Steele. AP: Good.  They fireballed me, and I can't wait to tear into them. DO: I wouldn't go as far as to say that.  They are our partners at Ring Wars. AP: Huh? DO: Us and the Machines against Licensed for Devastation and the Natural Predators. AP: Okay, let me get this straight.  Licensed for Devastation jumped us in our Saturday Night debut, so we fight against them at Ring Wars, so that's good. DO: Okay. AP: The Machines fireballed me, and we're wrestling them on Saturday, but we're teaming with them at Ring Wars... so that's not so good. DO: Yeah, well... AP: The Natural Predators are supposed to be our friends, so facing them at Ring Wars would not be good, but they busted you open a few weeks ago, so facing them might be good, right? DO: I guess.  Hell, I don't know. AP: Danny? DO: Yes, Adam? AP: People are freaks, man. DO: Tell me about it. [Fade. The shot spins: the scene is the workout area for the Machines.  Paul Wong walks into the camera shot, pulls up a folding chair, and sits down.  He's wearing jeans and a red T-shirt, and is carrying an envelope.  He opens the envelope, and pulls out some paper.] PW: I received this letter earlier this week.  Let me read you some of the more significant points. "Dear Mr. Wong, My family and I have been wrestling fans for years, and you have been one of our favorite wrestlers to watch.  You always appeared to be the one man that took a moral stance, without taking the cheap shots and shortcuts that your partner and every other wrestler seemed to take. While other wrestlers used chairs, and double-teams, and sneak attacks, you were the one wrestler I could point to and tell me kids to emulate. 'Paul Wong doesn't cheat'  I'd say, 'and neither should you.' But lately, you have been using the same underhanded tactics that every other wrestler is using.  I've seen you join up with Simon and Luke Steele to outnumber your opponents, sneak attack LFD when they were fighting the Cold Quins, and condone your partner's use of a fireball against the Down Boys.  You are starting to turn out to be just as corrupt and unethical as every other wrestler in the business.  Please turn back, before it's too late. Sincerely..." [Paul folds up the letter, and puts in back in the envelope.  He sighs before continuing.] First of all, thanks for your letter.  I like to hear from the fans, even when they disagree with me. Second of all, you are right.  I've been more tolerant of cheating, and did help jump LFD when it was three-on-two.  I'm not going to lie about that, and I'm not going to say it felt good, because it didn't. But... please understand.  We didn't start this.  Up until now, I've always believed that when your opponents cheated and broke the rules, it's because they were desperate.  They couldn't win fairly, so they had to cheat.  And when that happened, I knew we could win. But now... everyone cheats, even the so-called "fan favorites".  And it's not just to try to win a match.  LFD threw a fireball in my face -- after the match was already over.  All of the teams around here have men ready to back them up when they get into trouble.  And it seems that Luke, Simon and myself have been victims time and again. [He now stares into the camera with a serious look in his eyes.] Well, if that's the way it has to be played, fine.  If we have to cheat, my partner is the best damn teacher on the subject.  Luke Steele has proven time and again that if you stick by him, he'll stick by you.  I didn't want this, and I'm sorry it came to this point, but... [he shrugs, and leaves the sentence unfinished] Down Boys... we're facing you and your partner this week, then teaming with you next Saturday at Ring Wars 4.  No fireballs this time.  We don't have any personal grudge against you, so we'll play fairly.  But we're the best tag team in the IIWF, no matter who your third man is, and we'll prove it Saturday.  Thanks for listening. [He gets up out of his chair, and walks out of the camera shot.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Cold Quins, Harlequin Chaos & Edmund Fitzgerald vs. Licensed for Devastation & Natural Predators ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: One of the most bizarre matches in prospect at Ring Wars IV is the World Tag Team Championship match pitting the members of two teams against each other in a most unusual fashion. Harlequin Tragedy and Icehawk of Cold Spell, the current champions, christened the Cold Quins, will go up against the designated number one contenders -- who are none other than their respective usual partners! So it will be the Cold Quins against Harlequin Chaos and Edmund Fitzgerald -- christened by Tim Dross as Harle-Spell -- at Ring Wars IV. Tomorrow night, however, all four men will be on the same side as they go up against a team consisting of Licensed for Devastation and the Natural Predators -- who will also be on opposing sides in a Free For All match next Saturday Night. Quite how these two units will function together is an intriguing prospect for tomorrow night's event -- and it seems that some of the participants relish their union more than others. [Cut to BEAR and GREY PHOENIX training in a gym. BEAR is wearing the new "NATURAL SELECTION" T-Shirt from the IIWF Merchandising department over olympic style black tights, and GREY PHOENIX is wearing black karate pants with a Wolf's head on one side and a Phoenix in flight on the other. On his chest is painted the symbol of the Grey Phoenix. BEAR is lifting weights, and GREY PHOENIX is working his balance off the ropes with a spotter, CHRIS.] CH: You're coming off too low, Michael. If you want to do anything but an Asai Moonsault, you're going to have to time your jumps better. [BEAR looks over, watching] B: Hey Phoenix? GP: [to Chris] Let's take a break. What is it, Bear? B: Why are we bothering with Licensed for Devastation? GP: [Shrugs] It's hard to say. Makes rather an unholy alliance, this. Sometimes it works best not to even ask why. B:  What do you mean? GP: Well, the "Outlaw" J.W. Hardin is fond of his stories... maybe I should explain what I mean to the fans out there. When I broke into wrestling, there were rivalries, of course. A person doesn't come into the ring thinking that the match he has is going to be any less a war because he is friends with the man he faces that night. I used to ride to the matches with a guy named Zabit. Big Russian guy, his name translated into murder. Used to be a saying that if you wanted to beat Zabit, you had to be his friend. He always held back against his friends. I figured I'd try this out. He and I rode to matches, talked, he was a good guy. I was set to meet him one night and spent the next three days in the hospital. B: This is supposed to be a reason to fight beside the LFD? GP: I'm getting to that. I faced Kuyler as a masked wrestler early in my career, and getting late in his. And I remember, it was when he was a rulebreaker. He and Colin beat the hell out of me and my tag partner... and I knew I absolutely hated him for what he was. Arrogant, dark... And now, he's our manager. And I know what he's really like. Not so bad. B: So we go easy on the LFD? GP: Nah. Thing is, Bear... when you step into that ring... an ally one day could be an opponent the next. One of the reasons Kuyler drives us so hard. We make a good team. And there's no reason to break something successful up over a lack of communication. B: Like the Syndicate. GP: Exactly. Or the Prophets of Rage. They're brothers and the fighting between them is fierce. Look at the tag team champions. Cold Spell and the Harlequins have swapped souls and called it a day. That's just what it is. A team is one soul for one goal. A good team anyway. B: And Licensed for Devastation is nothing like that. GP: No. I'll bet you anything that within a year, they're at each other's throats. Look at all the teams in the IIWF. Some of the best teams in wrestling history... and more often then not they hate each other. A line so thin that at any point it could break. B: And then there are the Down Boys. GP: Seems as if the spirits want them to have their chance to earn revenge. B: I don't get it. The Down boys are good folks. A little wacky, yeah, but good. And in a couple of weeks, we face them and a couple who aren't so good. Or should I call them a trio? Machines, Steele, I'm not sure what to make of them. LFD, you're lucky. This time you have us on your side. There's a debt that has to be settled between us. And you aren't free of it yet. There will be a reckoning, and the spirits have given us this lesson to be learned on Saturday Night. To fight beside your direst enemy in a common goal. GP: There will be a reckoning, Chaos, Starr... and in the end, we will stand triumphant. B: Neyho neyehe hiyo. GP: We shall triumph. [KUYLER walks in, staring at the two of them] KG: Okay, enough of that. Back to your training. I want you two ready for this matchup. I don't even know why the hell I signed it. Maybe just to.... [Camera fades as he talks, and the NATURAL PREDATORS return to their training. Cut to a basement. Reggie Starr, of Licensed for Devastation, can be heard.] VO [RS]: The time has come, Luke Steele.  Paul Wong.  Simon O'Neal.  It wasn't a rivalry.  All it was was a friendly little game.  _Who_ gave you the _authority_ to come to the ring?  _Who_ died and said that I _cared_ who Luke Steele is?  Wednesday... the three of you were lucky enough to survive.  Come Saturday... rest assured... we _will_ be at your match.  We _will_ have weapons.  We _will_ make your life hell. You don't understand what you've stepped into, boys. [Jonathan Chaos's voice suddenly draws out.] VO [JC]: The three of ya'll made me look like Santa afta' a bad laundry day.  I ain't gonna stand for it.  Ya hear it, Steele?  Ya listening Machines?  Good.  I hope I caught yo' ears.  You boys betta' unda'stand sumtin'.  When you hurt me... ya hurt Reggie.  When ya hurt Reggie, ya hurt me... and when ya hurt us both... ya'll's gonna get hurt.  Growin' up on da' streets of Baltimore made me realize 'dat I don't need to be anything _but_ focused.  But now... ya'll've made me angry. VO [RS]: Real Deal.  Machines.  Welcome to the Machine.  The LFD machine. You've put one foot in a pile of [BLEEP]... and invited us to throw the other foot in.  You thought that we were angry before... [Evil laughter.] VO [JC]: Ya'll ain't seen nuthin' yet.  'Cause ain't nobody safe anymo'. VO [RS]: The IIWF is LFD territory now.  And you're trespassing.  Get the [BLEEP] off. [Silence. The shot spins again, depicting Cold Spell's training center in Northern Michigan. Larry Morton is seated on a bar stool, talking to Icehawk and Fitz, who are sitting on the edge of their practice ring.] LM: I think is this the first time I have ever interviewed you two. This is a nice place you have here. IH: Thanks, Larry. And thanks for filling in because Steve was busy. LM: No problem. This has to be a strange time for you two. On Saturday, the Cold Quins and Harle-Spell will wrestle on the same team, and then at Ring Wars, they will wrestle each other. How do you train together for a match against each other. EF: For one thing, you have it wrong. On Saturday, the Harlequins and Cold Spell will wrestle together. That's going to be strange, but it seems like we can work together right now. At Ring Wars, it will be the Cold Quins against Potato Famine. And, while I hear that Chaos and Tragedy are unhappy about the whole thing, we are looking forward to it. LM: Why? EF: Because we are refusing to take it seriously. Yes, the World Tag Teams titles are on the line, but no matter what happens, one of us will be a champion, and the other will be right there with him. If our disagreements over Genesis couldn't stop us, this won't. IH: [nodding] For me, this is a win-win situation. If Trag and I win, I'm one-half of the World Tag Team champions. If I lose, my partner and best friend becomes only the second man in IIWF history to win the tag titles with different partners. LM: Really? Who was the first? IH: [startled look] Me, Larry. With Fitz and Tragedy. LM: Oh, right. [Fade on a distracted-looking Larry... as the camera pans away, we see him staring at a picture of Icehawk, Fitz and Chuck Norris in the very ring he is sitting next to.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Spotlight" Billy Shakespeare vs. Ike Sampson ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: Both of these superstars have been troubled in recent weeks. Ike Sampson is on a head-on collision course with bitter rival Tony Starks, whom he will meet at Ring Wars IV in a Submission Match, and their feud has just escalated to a whole new level after that classic Behind Bars match two weeks ago in Leavenworth, Starks apparently opening up a whole new hardcore world to young Ike Sampson -- an education he may live to regret. Starks is sure to be watching on in this one. [SCENE:  A dark city street in some non-descript dark city.  A lone figure walks down this street, slowly, methodically.  As he passes under the first dim streetlight, we get just enough light to recognize the figure: Ike Sampson.  He continues down the street, finally stopping underneath the next dim streetlight.] IS: Eight days away.  Eight days from the big one.  Ring Wars IV.  And Tony Starks.  You brought me into your world in the Cell at Leavenworth.  And I liked it.  Livin' on the edge... Fearless.  Reckless.  Consciousless.     So here I am, now, Starks... out in the street.  Out in YOUR street.  Know what?!  I kinda like it.  Out here, getting inside your head... finding out what makes you tick.  Stay out here long enough... and I _become_ you.  And then -- I'll know you as well as you know yourself.  Get down deep inside -- touch that twisted, dark soul of yours... [Ike begins to walk again, his face once again shrouded in the darkness.]     But first, Little Billy Shakespeare.  I've seen your cute little     matches -- all the flying around, trapeze artist stuff.  Real nice.     Real _cute_.      But I'll tell ya right now -- cute ain't gonna cut it against the Big Dog.  No sir.  I realize that you're some kind of legend here in the Double I Double U F.  So... don't matter to me.  You're a great star of the _past_.  I'm a great star of the _now_.      Legends?!  They make for good stories.  Men like me?!  We make for _winners_.     I respect you, Little Willie... I do.  You and everything you've accomplished.  But I respect _me_ more.  Move over, old-timer. There's a new legend being born....     And that's the truth... [Fade.] LM: Shakespeare, meanwhile, has been under fire from fellow cruiserweights Ronnie Paris and Derek Mota for many weeks now -- and either one of those two men could make an appearance here. Billy is, as ever, philosophical about his fortunes: [Billy Shakespeare stands outside Hollywood's Chinese Thetare.  He places his feet in the concrete casts, discovering that John Wayne had small feet, and Clint Eastwood has big hands.  He turns to address the camera.] BS: Ronnie Paris, I told you I'd get involved in your bout on Saturday,     and I did.  I told Derek Mota that I'd get a title match before Ring     Wars, and I did.  But there is still one one promise I made that I     have yet to fulfil...and Billy Shakespeare is a man of his word.  You still have to get to that title match at Ring Wars.  All you need to do is beat Timothy Turner.  I don't think you can do that without me. Don't you worry, I'll be there again.  If I might paraphrase Antony and Cleopatra:  I have not kept the square, but that to come shall shall be done by _my_ rule.     I'm still directing this play.  Billy Shakespeare: Born to...direct. [He hooks thumb to the camera. It follows  his gesture to a corner of the courtyard where Simon Lebec can be seen trying to pour fresh concrete to immortalize his own prints.  The guards see him and rush in just as Simon begins to unbuckle his pants.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ IIWF CRUISERWEIGHT CONTENDERS TOURNAMENT FINAL: Ronnie Paris vs. Timothy N. Turner ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: The contrast between these two competitors is striking: on the one hand, we have Ronnie Paris, who has worked hard for every accolade, every achievement in his career, but who has seen his admirable work ethic rubbished by the fans of the IIWF, who prefer the glitzier, the more glamorous athletes; men like, for example, Timothy N. Turner, who has taken every shortcut he can possibly think of -- and some which simply defy belief -- to jump to the head of the cruiserweight crew... and has gained the support of the fans in doing so. There were crazy, crazy scenes in the Falcon Stadium last Saturday Night as both the Dirt Dog Unique Allah and Simon Lebec were unable to compete in their tourney semi-final, and after a chaotic few minutes, it was Tim Turner who swooped down out of the cold night sky using his trademark jetpack to snatch away the ticket to Disneyland, and thus the berth in this match against Ronnie Paris -- and it is no coincidence that Paris eliminated Turner in the very first round of this tournament. But not without the unwanted help of Billy Shakespeare. History may well repeat itself tomorrow night, as Shakespeare, a thorn in the side of Paris for many months now, has vowed to ensure that Paris will reach the Cruiserweight Championship match at Ring Wars IV. With Turner's friend Duncan Macbeth on hand to ensure that this isn't the case, and Cruiserweight Champion Derek Mota also in the arena, this could get crazy too, tomorrow night! [Timothy N. Turner is wandering through Tommorow Land, in perfectly pressed Nash pants, Etro shirt, and a Kelowna Rockets warm-up jacket.] TNT: Here I am, in the Magic Kingdom! The Rocket Man of the IIWF and the next Cruiserweight Champion of the World! It's amazing how I continually make the rest of the IIWf look foolish. Well, amazing to others maybe, I always knew that there aren't more than a handful of braincells divided up amongst the lot of them. Tomorrow, on Saturday night, the Rocket Man, Timothy N. Turner, will move one step closer to the moon! Ronnie Paris! I've taken the liberty of booking you on the Rocket Express back to Texas after the match! I've fought you once before, Paris, and I beat you from pillar to post... from bell to bell... and I'm going to do it again! Ask Luke Steele how tough I am! Ask Kevin Christiansen! Ask Chris Quigley! I've beaten them all! I'm rocketing to the top and there's nothing you can do to stop me! [The shot spins, cutting to another interview: a vaguely familiar gym looking much like any other, distinguishable only in the fact that IIWF star Ronnie Paris lies sweating in the middle of the wrestling mats, running through bridge after bridge, suplexing imaginary opponents and always seeming to find something just a tad less than perfect with his form. To the untrained eye, all the moves look the same, but Paris isn't satisfied. He continues to work out, oblivious to the camera, as his two men in their late twenties walk into the shot. After a refocusing, the man are seen to be David and Daniel Paris, the older brothers of Ronnie. David begins to speak...] Dave: You know, even though Dan and I both wrestle full time in Europe, touring dozens of countries and hopping from time zone to time zone, we never get tired of coming back here to El Paso, and back here to our family. Dan: That's right, family has always been a big thing to the Paris boys. Now, that's why we're here, monopolizing the interview time of the IIWF when we aren't even on the payroll. You see, lots of people seem to think that Ronnie's attitude in the last few months has been, well, different. Shocking. We weren't shocked at all the way he lashed out. [In the background, Ronnie finally gives up in his quest for perfection and collapses to the mat, exhausted, still not aware of the camera.] Dave: You see, about six years ago, there was a team of upcoming brothers from Texas who'd made a big name for themselves overseas. They were trying to make a big name here in the States too, and for whatever reason it didn't fly. I could spend all day telling you _why_ it didn't fly, but the bottom line is that exactll the same thing that's happening to Ronnie happened to us. Exactly the same kind of mistreatment he's been getting from the so called IIWF "fans" and the administrators happened to us, and for the exact same reasons. Because we chose substance over style. Dan: It's why we brought Ronnie to Japan so early... and it's why we hoped he'd never leave. A lot of people may have been wondering how Ronnie Paris could turn his back on the legacy of his name and family... well, he didn't. The only reason our dad and his dad before him got treated with the respect they deserve was... actually, there were two reasons. Dave: Number one, no one from the Pacific Northwest can hold a candle to a Texan wrestling fan, and that's the honest-to-God truth. Two, is that people in this country used to respect talent instead of showboats. [Back to the background, where a tired Ronnie gets to his feet and starts off in the opposite direction towards a change room, taking a huge drag from a water bottle handed to him by another man there to work out, presumably a friend. David nods towards his younger brother, who notices finally and fires a wave back before heading through the door.] Dan: Look at the way athletes used to present themselves, and now you have walking scum like Dennis Rodman treated as a hero. America used to pride itself on being the land where a man was only as good as his last day's work, a land where anyone could make it with some grit, determimation and good old hard work. Now it's all about acting like an ass, painting your face and showing off to the great unwashed. Back in my father's day, a guy like Billy Shakespeare would have got the crap beat out of him in the locker room on his second day. You had to be tough to survive then, and there certainly weren't clowns, wrestling dead men and jet packs. Dave: Ronnie was telling me about how much that bothered him, and I can't blame him. In any other sport, if neither of your potential opponents makes it to the next round, you get a bye. In any self-respecting wrestling organization, you would too. But here, because the "high and mighty" IIWF needs to put on a show, we get a farce with a ladder and jet packs. And the worst part is, this kind of stuff happens every week. Dan: I know... watching some of the tapes Ron has lying around here, you've seen some pure crap. Geez, last week's prison show was enough to make any real wrestling fan puke. [David takes a look past the camera towards the guy manning it, and seems to get some kind of signal.] Dave: I suppose we've monopolized way too much of your precious time... wouldn't want to have to cut a Requiem interview short or something, God forbid. [Fade out as the two brothers exchange exasperated looks, Daniel mouthing something about a tricycle and David replying simply with "Pure crap."] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Subway Psycho & Serge Annis vs. Highwayman & Scott Rogers ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: A more unlikely tag team line-up one would be hard pushed to find, but in their infinite wisdom, the powers that be have elected to team together four men who each hate their team-mate possibly more than their opponents. The war of words between Serge Annis and the Subway Psycho has only recently escalated to that of physical violence -- not to mention the red-gloved wrecking machine, Creed, who completes the triangle, and who will join both Annis and the Psycho in a brutal Barbed Wire Elimination Match next Saturday Night -- but it's hard to imagine that these two men will get along at all well tomorrow night. Likewise former Genesis stablemates Highwayman and Scott Rogers, who will meet in tag team action on opposing sides next week at Ring Wars IV. [SCENE: Scott Rogers is in a locker room after Wednesday War Room. Larry Morton has been "doing the rounds" and is seated next to him -- obviously the camera crew didn't pick up how he got to be there. Rogers is seated on a bench with a towel around his waist, pumping his biceps using dumb-bells. Morton nods and Rogers stops. The interview is conducted in a serious atmosphere. Rogers speaks in a deeper voice than usual for some reason.] LM: As you can see, fans, I'm seated beside Scott _"The Fop"_ Rogers just thirty minutes or so after the War Room went off air [Rogers nods his head in acknowledgement.] LM: Of course, we're now just a few days from Saturday Night, where you're involved in a tag match along with one the men you're meeting seven days later at Ring Wars IV, Highwayman Adam Smith. Your thoughts on this issue...? SR: That's right Larry. On Saturday Night, the first night in November, Adam Smith and myself will meet the team of Serge Annis and Subway Psycho in a match none of us want to take part in. LM: ...as far as you know. SR: Yeah. Well I sure as hell don't. LM: And why's that? SR: Because I don't like, or trust, Smith. LM: But surely he'd say the same about _you_. SR: Precisely. LM: Fair enough. I guess I walked right into that one! But at least it means you get a chance to settle some scores with the Subway Psycho, who we saw attack you this evening, and Serge Annis, a man with whom, only two weeks ago on Hard Time, we saw you involved in a bloody brawl. SR: I wouldn't say _I_'ve got scores to settle with _them_, Larry. In fact if I never saw either of them again, that'd suit me just fine. But I came off best in _both_ those incidents, so I ain't got nothin' to settle... or prove. All I want is to get Smith, and Blue if he's dumb enough to wanna get involved, on the opposite side of the ring to me. LM: Yes, but we'll try and keep off the subject of Ring Wars IV if we can, as Saturday Night is the main concern right now. However, I think it's fair enough to say that you'd be looking forward far more to this match if your partner on Saturday was the man with whom you've forged a most unlikely alliance, and the man you'll be teaming with _against_ Smith and "Moxy" Blue in ten days time, "One Man Army" Dakota Bundy. SR: Yeah. You could say that, Larry. But our alliance is _anything_ but unlikely. Yeah, I had a few problems with Matt, but they're all sorted out. Me and Dakota, we're on the same wavelength. LM: But the man doesn't speak! SR: If you wanna believe that, Larry, go right ahead. But next Saturday Night we'll have everythin' sorted out and Smith won't know what hit him. He thinks he's gonna be sendin' me to hospital. [Rogers grins and that turns into laughter. He composes himself.] SR: Listen, Adam, I ain't jokin'. If you believe that, you got more problems than I thought. You're lookin' at a man, Adam, that scares you. A man you really _don't_ want to step in the ring with. But next week you know you'll have to. And you _know_ you won't like the outcome. LM: Scott, please. This is no way to be talking about your partner of tomorrow night. SR: I ain't! [Rogers grins.] SR: Oh, yeah, right... nah, Larry, you _know_ it sells seats. People wanna see us tag together? Well I gotta reputation for givin' people what they want! LM: Have you? [Rogers lifts up the dumb-bells and starts pumping them. He nods at Morton.] LM: If you say so. Does _this_ mean the interview's over then? SR: Looks like it. LM: Any more to say about Saturday Night? SR: No. I've said all that needs to be said, Larry. [Fade out. The shot spins, cutting to another interview: a dark alleyway on a rainy night.  On the ground a manhole cover displaces and slides away from its moorings.  A dark figure pulls itself to the surface.] SP: Well, aren't I in a jam?  I'm facing Highwayman and whoever, and I have Serge Annis as my partner.  Interesting booking to say the least.  It would appear as if I'm up against a rock and a hard place... "former" Genesis members all around.  Whatever... I'm not afraid... getting all those guys together just makes it easier for me to take them all down.  Annis... this is no tag team partnership!  As far as I'm concerned its three against one, you draw sides as you see them.  One thing is for sure... if you three aren't scared heading into this match, you will be.  You will be.  I WILL DRAW FIRST BLOOD!  I will leave you with memories of pain so horrific it will haunt you the rest of your days.      That is only on Saturday's menu.  At Ring Wars, Annis, Creed and I will take part in the first IIWF barbed wire match.  Do you forget my words from a month ago?  I feed off pain... I gain strength from the taste of my own blood.  This match is tailor made for me.  Annis... you said that nobody cares about me anymore, that I'm a has been.  Let me ask you this... when has anyone ever given a shit about you?  When have you ever accomplished anything to ever even be considered a has been?  Your kind is a dime a dozen.  As for Creed... it's true the few times we've faced the decision has been indecisive... I will promise you this... this time it will be decisive.  I will beat you ANYTIME and ANYWHERE.  That beating doesn't come from just ANYONE... it comes from the Psycho... that's a promise. [The Psycho disappears back into the darkness. The scene fades in from blackness, to more blackness, but with a strange glow in the middle of the screen. The strange glow brightens, and then splits into two and pushes to the sides. After a few moments, the glows can be made out as two candles, flickering away. Two white objects hold up the candles, and can be made out as hands. Someone begins to speak, through the darkness to the camera.] VO: Creed... Subway Psycho. Together, they possess the egos of a thousand men. Men who once triumphed in the past, only to lose their hero status as a new hero, a much more... handsome, and darker hero took their place, in their absence. This isn't a story book. The Facts are simple. Creed. Subway Psycho. And Serge Annis. One of these men has risen to the top of the IIWF in a short time, wining championships. Coming from the streets straight to the ring. The second, sewer scum who crawls around in the deep, dark sewers looking to find pieces of a fragmented life. Been around since day one, and never taken a backseat to anyone, simply because he has nowhere else to turn. But you have a third. A man who has been around for almost a year. A man who still has yet to make his claim in his territory. A man who, with time, has become one of the most lethal monsters in history. This man, has overcome the hear-say, rumours, propaganda... and blatant exploitation that political factions have brought down upon him. He has survived... and now, it is his turn to take his step into greatness. It is his turn to become a hero, so to speak. This is his time. The others, theirs have passed... but not his. His is yet to come. But it shall come at Ring Wars IV, in the Barbed Wire match. [The figure holding the candles steps closer to the camera. Faintly, if you squint hard enough, you can see the outlines of an old "Genesis" t-shirt, with Requiem, Highwayman, Serge Annis, and Scott Rogers on it.] VO: Enter the fourth side. Virtualy unknown... and undetected, the men swept through these grounds viciously taking claim to what they felt was theirs... or more or less, his. Now... none remain on the fourth side. The fourth party would be considered a team, should our story take place two months ago. But, in this story, the men have parted ways... and become bitter rivals. But beneath the skin of it all... just how does this fourth side fit into the scheme of the aforementioned three men? [One of the candles are blown out. The other, is slowly raised to a face. Ice cold blue eyes can be made out vaguely. Short brown ear length hair is next. A scar under the left eye. It is Serge Annis.] SA: Story time's over, and play time begins. At Ring Wars IV, the talk, the hype and the crap will end when I meet The Subway Psycho and Creed in the IIWF's first ever barbed wire match... this must be the rookie's first match like this. And The Psycho? Well, I'm sure the clads or iron wool that float around his sewers, are not quite like barbed wire. But... heh heh... I've wrestled under these conditions before. I've been bruised and scarred by the very wires... and I like it. It gives me the sense of... confidence. Whoever's blood spills first, shall send out the smell of destruction. Be it the red gloved rookie, or the people's champion's blood... then like a giant shark I shall go straight for the kill. If it's the Epitome of Evil's... then it shall serve as a fuel for the destruction of his opponents. Creed. Psycho. You two are long past your due here in IIWF. It's a pleasure that one of the IIWF's most over-rated hacks, myself, will have the extreme pleasure of knocking you both out. But Psycho, I don't have to wait until Ring Wars IV to do it to you. No. I have you in a match this Saturday. Well... in essence I do. But in actuality, I have you for a tag team partner, against two men whom I know very very well... and share a dark, deep secret with. Once the silence breaks... then the pieces shall come together, and by then, it shall be too late. Subway Psycho, you are in trouble... one way, or the other. And Creed. You... your groupies lack the charisma and wit of yourself. Sending in strands of barbed wire doesn't intimidate me. It only psyches me up. Makes me shiver with pleasure... as I think of all the deep, dark and dreadful things I can do to you and the Subway Psycho with it. You say you are leaving the IIWF after this Creed. Because you can not handle it. Your ego will not allow you to share the same locker room with someone who is more successful than you. But Creed, it's time to pass on your torch to someone else... and who better, than someone who knows the fire as well as I do. Creed. You are making excuses. You won't be retiring after Ring Wars IV, simply because you won't survive past Ring Wars IV. Fact. The people no longer care for their people's champion. Fact. The red gloved rookie has no idea of what he has gotten into. Fact. The Epitome shall decimate and dominate at Ring Wars IV... because he knows what he's doing... and he knows how to hurt. Fact. The Epitome of Evil's time is now. Fiction. Creed's legacy. It's nothing more than B-S. And that too, shall come to an end. When the barbed wire surrounds us, and there's no way out... the holy angel of Hell will find a way, to walk out the one with the blood on his hands... in total victory... over his opponents... his sceptics... and his destiny. [Serge blows out the final candle and the shot returns to darkness. Fade out. Cut back to the studio.] Who knows what we're going to see in this one, folks? It's going to be wild! ------------------------------------------------------------------------ FOUR CORNERS MATCH: Otto "the Butcher" Verhoeven vs. Duncan Macbeth vs. Tony Starks vs. Marty Warnett ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: While we'll be seeing some pretty unlikely partnerships in tomorrow night's action, there will be no friends whatsoever in this match, which could be the most explosive encounter on the card. All four men have problems not only with each other, but with others not involved in this match. First, Otto Verhoeven, fined heavily for his attack last week on the retired Lord Byron and his ward, the Lady DeWinter; the Butcher has certainly been on a tear in the IIWF recently, defeating former champion Requiem at the second attempt just two weeks ago, but the match he truly wants -- with Lord Byron -- may never happen, since IIWF President Daniel Spreadbury has stated that the terms of Byron's no compete contract, signed as a result of the Loser Leaves Town match at Coronation Clash, are non-negotiable. [SCENE: A dark room. A single light bulb hanging from the ceiling illuminates the damp cellar, the bare concrete floor, the graffiti stained walls. Under the light bulb stands a punching ball. The massive figure of Otto "the Butcher" is blasting away on it, raining down a storm of jabs, hooks, uppercuts...After a moment, he hits the ball with one more, powerful blow which sends it spinning wildly, then looks up to glare at the camera, his eyes blazing with murderous rage, sweat dripping from his forehead.] OV: [in a low, threatening voice] Byron, once again you chose to insult me, once again you used an opportunity to insult an humiliate me. Did you really believe I would you get away, I would let you turn your back on me and just walk away from me? You should know me better than that. I warned you not to set your foot into this federation again, yet you choose to ignore my threats, mock them in front of the cameras. I won't tolerate that kind of behaviour anymore, du hund, not from you. When I walked out of your shadow at Coronation Clash I swore that I wouldn't be anybody's tool ever again. The instant you showed up again I felt the urge to confront you again, to punish you once more for the wrongs you did to me. The Final Cut was the perfect opportunity to show you again who of us was the _true_ force in the European Alliance... and who was the feigling...the coward who claimed the spotlight for himself. Ah, and the slap to Lady DeWinter... you better teach your whor... I mean your ward some manners. She should not mess with situations she cannot even hope to come out of unscathed. It was probably a valuable lesson for her which could save her well-being sometime in the future... or maybe not. [He wipes away some sweat from his eyes.] You want to come out of retirement? You want to persuade the suits to give you another chance in this game? Do it. Do me the favor so I get another opportunity to get at you again, to obliterate you one more time... to finish the job. [He looks up and seems to be captured by his imagination... but then he shakes his head to send the vision away and his eyes focus again on the camera.] But there are other, more pressing matters to turn my attention to. The Four Corners match. These kind of matches are always gruelling, always violent, always taking all competitors to their very limits... and sometimes beyond. But nobody plays this game better than me. I _live_ to exceed my limits, to refine my skills, to strife to gain undisputed supremacy in this sport. I need challenges like that to prove my abilities, to feed my determination, my drive to victory. I am familiar with all of my opponents, having clashed with all three of them before. They are famous for their resilience and their stamina, respected for their past accomplishments...and doomed to fall victim to the Butcher on Saturday. There is Tony Starks, the proud gutter runner. An extraordinary submission wrestler, a vicious man who, as of late, seems to enjoy to bring the pain to his opponents. He stops at nothing to overcome an opponent, always ready to execute another crippling maneuver. We had some memorable fights. I learned to respect your fabled Katha Jime, but ultimately I came out on top in our little war. Do you remember our last match? When it was _you_ who had to submit, who couldn't take the pain of the Meat Grinder anymore?  Do you remember me whipping you with the belt afterwards, to remind you of the lesson a certain "Outlaw" taught you at the very beginning of your career? You are seriously outmatched once again, Starks. Even your newfound killer instinct cannot do anything to stop my strength from squashing you like a bug. Then there is Marty Warnett. It has been a long time, Warnett, since two unknown rookies made their double debut in a dark match. At that time you were still the "Welsh Rocker" while nobody here hadn't even heard of the German Juggernaut or the Slaughterhouse. You were the very first victim of the Slaughterslam, the very first in a long row of opponents who had to admit I was their superior. We have both changed in this long time. We have become franchises of this federation, mainstays who were the basis of the incredible success. You have battled many men here, from Stetson to Tiger Claw, from Quigley to... Byron. You turned from inexperienced rookie who could be defeated with a simple low blow to a seasoned veteran who knows more tricks than men double your age. You have won the IC-title, an admirable feat. You have wrestled classic matches, forever branded in the annals of this very promotion. But when you step into the ring on Saturday, and look into my eyes, you will have to realize that _nothing_ has changed. Absolutely nothing. When I wrap my hand around your throat you will once again feel the fear, the dread, the terror... and the pain before you feel the devastating pain which will spell defeat for you. A nice way to honor the past, don't you think? Finally, there is the one who I deem the most challenging of my trio of adversaries. Duncan Macbeth. A couple of months we had a see-saw conflict, which forced you to bring in your inbred cousin to support you. A brave Scotsman, Number One challenger to Quigley's joke of a reign, latest victim of J.W. Hardin... recent events were good for you, weren't they? You have accomplished much, have finally become a player in this brutal game. Do you think your skills have improved enough to challenge Germany's finest athlete again? Do you think you have finally found a way to defeat me while I am on the top of my game, on the peak of my form? Or are you still seeing the scenes of our last battle at night, haunting your dreams? Your trashed motorcycle, your injured relative, your body a crumpled form on the mat after my finisher? You three are unfortunate enough to return to the most violent place in all of wrestling, you have to return to the Slaughterhouse... and it won't be a pleasure for you. [He turns his back on the camera.] You are obstacles on my path to glory, obstacles which will be removed with major force. [Fade to black as we hear the blows to the punching ball again. Cut back to Larry in the video truck.] Secondly, we have Duncan Macbeth, who has been simply explosive since winning the battle royal several weeks ago, propelling himself into contention for the Intercontinental Champion, and establishing himself as one of the IIWF's hottest stars. IC champ Chris Quigley, and more particularly his insane sidekick, the crippled Steve Manning Jr., is sure to be watching this match... but that's exactly what Macbeth, who underwent treatment for a knee injury of unknown severity sustained in his impressive match against the "Outlaw" J.W. Hardin last Saturday Night, wants from his opponent. [SCENE: A long stretch of beach just outside of Venice, California, just after sunrise.  The ocean wind is brisk this morning, and the sound of the surf pounding against the beach rumbles loudly all down the shoreline.  Seagulls wheel in the sky against a backdrop of low-hanging gray clouds and abandoned, red lifeguard towers as the brisk salt wind continues to spit sea foam up and down the coast.  Over the sound of the crashing waves can be heard the faint sound of footsteps approaching from up the beach, and as the camera pans down the shore, we can see a runner jogging up the beach in the faint light of the early morning. The runner is slowly making his way towards the camera, and as he nears, we recognise the form of Duncan Macbeth, the number one contender to the IIWF Intercontinental title.  Macbeth is wearing blue shorts despite the morning chill of the sea air, and a white hooded sweat top that reads "Team Scotland - World Cup 97".  HIs long ruddy-blond hair is tied back in a severe ponytail, his right knee has been heavily taped, and we notice a slight limp in his stride as he runs up to the camera and stops, wiping away sweat from his brow as he fixes the camera with his piercing jade eyes.] DM: One more week, Quigley. Ye've got one more week t' hold on t' tha' Intercontinental Title. Yuir track record since ye roughed up tha' auld man t win tha' strap's been REAL impressive, sweetheart.  Two title defenses.  Th' first time, ye needed Serge Annis t' help ye beat Creed, an' th' second time, ye needed yuir wee wheeled pet t' help ye beat Serge Annis.  An' now, ye're fight Derek Mota in a non-title bout.  Now, THA'S a brave move, is it no'?  THIS is th' so-called "fightin' champion"?  THIS is the new, "hardcore" Chris Quigley?  THIS is th' man who's carryin' 'round th' IIWF Intercontinental Title for all th' wrestlin' world t' see? This is a bleedin' TRAGEDY, wha'. Ye say I dinnae deserve t' be in th' ring wi' ye at Ring Wars?  Ye say I cannae wrestle wi' th' "legends" o' th' IIWF?  Jus' last week, I took th' ONLY legend in th' IIWF, J.W. Hardin himself, t' th' very limit, a man who's boots ye're no' even worthy t' polish.  An' Chrissie, dinnae go puttin' on airs about yuir so-called "legend" here in this fed.  Ye've never been a World Champ.  Ye're no' in th' IIWF Hall O' Fame.  Hell, ye an' Hardin aren't even th' same species.  I don't believe in legends.  For all Hardin's accomplishments an' history in this fed, at th' end o' th' day, 'e's jus' flesh an' blood, same as me.  'E feels pain, jus' like me.  'E bleeds, jus' like me.  An' 'e can be beaten -- jus' like me. An' 'e wanted t' wrestle ME.  Not you. 'Cause there's nothin' t' be proven t' anyone by beatin' up Chris Quigley.  It's been done sae many times, by sae many different people. An' nobody wants t' hear th' bitchin' an' complainin' afterward, which I'm sure we're all goin' t' be hearin' a LOT of after Ring Wars. [Macbeth shifts his weight onto his left leg as he tries to straighten his right knee, betraying a slight wince of pain as he glances down at the offending joint, but the Scot just chuckles to himself as he once more raises his eyes to the camera.] But now, we're all supposed t' believe ye're a different man.  Ye're a hard man now, a real tough guy.  Wants a no-disqualification match at Ring Wars, 'cause all of a sudden, 'e's "hardcore". Bollocks. Th' only thing different about ye now, Quigley, is tha' ye need tha' four wheeled pest t' help ye cling t' tha' Intercontinental Title o' yuirs.  An' lettin' tha' wee bollix talk ye in t' signin' th' no-DQ stipulation is a mistake tha's goin' t' haunt ye fer th' rest o' yuir miserable career. 'Cause I fought me way through eighteen men t' get me shot at yuir belt. I put away Luke Steele in th' time it takes t' say "Th' Real Deal's a piss-poor heel". I fought me way in t' Leavenworth, an' fought me way back out, with nobody there t' save ye from pinnin' ye, tosser. I fought J. W. Hardin to a standstill, an' walked away t' tell th' tale. Tomorrow night, I'll fight Otto Verhoeven, Tony Starks, an' Marty Warnett all at once. No' th' easiest road t' a title shot, t' be sure.  But I've ne'er been one t' do things th' easy way. I've been bruised, battered, broken an' bloodied every week leadin' up t' Ring Wars.  I've taken punishment tha' would hae put a lot o' wrestlers in t' retirement by now, while ye've been hidin' behind a cripple who puts tough words in yuir mouth an' helps fight yuir battles for ye. Tha's th' difference between ye an' me, Quigley. Ye think tha' jus' callin' yuirself a hard man's goin' t' make it so. At Ring Wars, ye're goin' t' learn wha' it MEANS t' be hard. An' tha' lesson's goin' t' be a costly one. No excuses, sweetheart. [With that, Macbeth turns and begins jogging doen the beach once more at a quick pace that soon takes him far down the shoreline.  Try as he might, though, the gutsy Scot cannot wholly hide the slight but noticeable stutter in his stride, as he appears to be favouring his right leg.  Macbeth's pace does not slow, however, and the Highlander is soon no more than a dot far down the beach as the shot fades out. Cut back to the video truck.] Thirdly, we have Marty Warnett, who has refused to make any comments since last Saturday Night's events, when we finally got a good look at the man who has been brutally attacking him for weeks on end now... although we still do not know this young man's name. Warnett will have to be looking over his shoulder at all times in this match, in case his assailant -- or his huge bodyguard -- make another unscheduled appearance. And lastly, we have Tony Starks, who is simply one of the most dangerous, ruthless and downright vicious superstars in the IIWF at the present time. Not caring about wins or losses, Starks desires only to hurt his opponents -- and he has no love lost for any of the men he will find himself in the ring with tomorrow night. Perhaps Ike Sampson will also make an appearance -- anything can happen tomorrow night, live from Disneyland! [Scene: The IIWF locker room area. Starks is seated in a chair with his towel wrapped head looking down. The shot closes in his head. He speaks with a dead calm:] TS: You hit the nail right on the head, Highlander. You are in a match     in which one thing is certain: you are gonna limp away... pain.     You listen to me Braveheart, you get in my face and you will not     make it to fight Quigley... you won't make it back to say goodbye     to your family.     You see, in my youth, we never had anything but each other... we     didn't have sparkly entrances and fans cheering us on. All we had     was us. I started fighting to get away from the street... my moma     was certain that her son won't gonna fall... I never did.     My life got clouded. I fought for money, that was the only thing     that mattered. I didn't even have my pride... but I got paid. That was my mistake... I let the paper cloud my head. I forgot who the hell I was really. Won't let that heppen again.     Otto, we got history. If you thought I was your nemesis before.     [Starks looks up and sneers] Wait until Saturday Night. You know me and I know you... but I got a vendetta against you. I am gonna try to finish you off. Your Reich is over...     Marty Warnett? You are the example of everything I stand for. You parade around like life is bowl of cherries or something. Your shook ass never had it rough so I know you can't possibly understand. But understand this... you are just like the rest of these cats. You are gonna feel my pain. And I am gonna rip that smug little grin off your babyface. Believe it.     This one is different. I am not worried about winning the match.     All I want [Starks sneers again] is to end three careers. I know     I can do it. Say goodbye to your wives and kiss the babies goodbye. There will be no more dreams of happy endings...         ...only thing that is certain is one thing: I am gonna bring     Hell. [With those words the shot closes in on Starks' half covered face. The shot somehow finds his hollow eyes as he stares intensely. Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAMPION vs. CHAMPION NON-TITLE MATCH: "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley vs. Derek Mota ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: Chris Quigley has been wrestling one of the most demanding championship schedules in IIWF history since capturing his first title at the end of September, since defending it against Creed and Serge Annis -- and he wishes to defend it yet again tomorrow night against Cruiserweight Champion, Derek Mota, in a match which he desperately wants to be made into a title vs. title encounter. [SCENE: The hallway outside a closed door marked "IIWF President Daniel Spreadbury".  Two voices can be heard yelling from the inside, one is obviously President Spreadbury's.  The other voice sounds a lot like Steve Manning's.  The camera flashes into the room, and we see the two of them, Spreadbury looking quite upset, as Manning, sitting in his wheelchair, wearing jean shorts and a black makeshift "I Don't Get Mad... I ALREADY AM!" t-shirt.] DS: [yelling]  I don't care about all your denials!  The fact of the matter is, there were several people who _saw_ you hanging around the lighting equipment a few minutes before Duncan Macbeth's Monday Night Musing!  Now, I want to know once again... do you have any idea why the lighting rig fell from the ceiling and nearly injured Mr. Macbeth? SM: [laughing]  Cheap ceilings? DS: This is _not_ a laughing matter, Mr. Manning. SM: [screaming]  Blow it out your ass, you dictator!  How the hell could I possibly have committed the foul deed?!  In order to make a light fixture fall on somebody, you need to climb a ladder, balance on one foot while you grab wire cutters out of your pocket, cut a few wires while holding up the light fixture with one hand, and then loosely tie the wires together again, providing just enough support to last the few minutes before your victim walks into the trap!  Now, can you tell me, how in the name of God I would be able to do something like this?!  Not just physically, Mr. President, but mentally.  I am not a crook!  I'm a caring human being!  Do I not cry when I am heartbroken?  Do I not laugh when I feel joy?  Do I not bleed when I fall fifteen feet off a stupid ladder and... actually, forget that last one. DS: I don't know what you're trying to pull, Mr. Manning.  But it's not going to work.  Obviously, you could not have done this, but I have a good idea who did. [Spreadbury pushes an intercom buzzer.] DS: Yes, send Chris Quigley to my office immediately.  I've got to have a word with our admirable champion. [As the words are spoken, Chris Quigley walks through the door.  Presumably, Quigley had been outside listening to most of the conversation, and took his cue rather nicely.  Quigley is clad in a black Adidas sweatshirt and blue jeans, he has his Intercontinental belt with him, and he does _not_ look happy.] DS: Why, Mr. Quigley.  That was fast. CQ: Save it for someone who wants to chat with you, Prez.  I've been outside your door, listening to this entire conversation, and I just want to say, for you to go on and accuse an _invalid_ of rigging a light fixture to fall on Duncan Macbeth, there has _definitely_ got to be something wrong with you.  And if that wasn't bad enough, you didn't stop there.  Once Steve Manning pointed out the facts to you about his damn wheelchair, you automatically assumed I had to do it.  How well do you know me, Spreadbury?  [Slams a hand on Spreadbury's desk, who grits his teeth as if he is used to such histrionics from his employees.] DS: That's _Mr._ Spreadbury. CQ: Do you honestly think for one second I would do something like that? I've got enough problems in this Federation without its president thinking I'm some kind of demented psychopath. [Steve Manning starts to giggle a little strangely. With a resigned look on his face, the President looks down at all the paperwork still remaining to be sifted on his desk, and speaks:] DS: [sighs]  You're probably right, Mr. Quigley.  Indeed there was absolutely no reason for me to believe you had anything to do with this, and to Mr. Manning, I apologize also, I realize it was physically impossible for you to attempt something like this, although given your mental state, I believe anything is possible. SM: Anything can happen in the IIWF! [Manning laughs uproarisly as Quigley just looks down at him and shakes his head.] DS: You two can leave now.  Thanks for your time. CQ: Whoah... whoah... whoah.  Hang on there, man.  My time isn't up yet.  I want to talk to you about Saturday Night.  I'm facing Derek Mota in a non-title match?  I _demand_ to know why I'm not putting the title on the line!  What?  You don't think Mota rates a title shot?  What's the problem? DS: Mr. Quigley, the pace you've set for your title defences thus far has been hectic, with this in mind, I felt that although you did request to wrestle this week, a non-title match would be in your best interest this close to Ring Wars IV. CQ: [yelling]  That's absolute bullsh[BLEEP]!  I don't want some non-title match.  You'd better make this a title shot for Mota, or there'll be hell to pay. [Quigley storms out of the office, slamming the door.] DS: [sighs] Damn these wrestlers. Why on earth didn't I just become a musician? SM: Speaking of hell to pay... I wanna discuss a problem with my contract... DS: You don't _have_ one! SM: Well, that's the problem.  I need some cash, man. DS: Get _out_!  Out!  O-U-T!  OUT! SM: Hmmm... maybe I'll come back when you're in more of a charitable mood. Later, Dictator Danny! DS: OUT! [Manning wheels his squeaky wheelchair out of the office, and closes the door, as Spreadbury is seen shaking his head and letting it fall on the desk.  Fade.] It is unknown at the moment whether Quigley's request will be granted -- but surely the Intercontinental Champion should be more concerned with the fact that Derek Mota is a formidable opponent in his own right than simply trying to match the arguably even more formidable schedule of his opponent at Ring Wars IV, Duncan Macbeth, who has put his body on the line each and every week since winning the battle royal -- in the shower room showdown where he pinned Chris Quigley, last week against J.W. Hardin, and tomorrow night in that dangerous four way dance. These two proud men feel that they have everything to prove... and they will meet in what many feel will be a classic match at Ring Wars IV. But let us take nothing away from young Derek Mota, the self-proclaimed "Heatseeker" of the IIWF, the toughest little S.O.B. the IIWF has seen in a long while, and who has consistently been stirring trouble throughout the past couple of months. He would like nothing better than to crown his achievements so far with a victory over a legend in the making like Chris Quigley -- and you can bet that he will go to just about any lengths to make that aspiration a reality. [The camera shot opens up with a golden glow.  Slowly, the picture gets more and more in focus, revealing a championship title... the IIWF Cruiserweight Title.  The strap is partially sticking out of a duffel bag, and as it pans out, we see Derek Mota doing situps on the grass outside. It is Bishop's Cross Park in Toronto, Ontario, and Mota is just finishing a workout, sweat dripping from his forehead.  Derek is wearing soccer trainer pants, and a Manchester United jersey.  After finishing his repetitions, he stands up, looking at the camera.] DM: So Billy, I've taken the best you can offer, and it wasn't enough, was it? Heh heh... ya did surprise me there, Shakes.  I gotta admit it.  But the Iceburg took more outta you than you wanna admit, didn't he?  You were totally obsessed with gettin' the title match, that you weren't ready for it when it finally was time.     Ah well, I'll give ya another title shot one day... so be ready this time... [Mota just snickers arrogantly.]     So this brings me to another match this week... champion vs. champion.  Derek Mota vs. Chris Quigley. Quigs, you keep on sayin' how you're bein' screwed by the IIWF... and how you're so much better than everyone else... but ya never prove it.  When have ya stepped in the ring with Hardin?   You're always talkin' about how you never heard of my buddy Macbeth before... maybe that's 'cause you're a stupid egotistical bastard that don't know how ta do their homework ahead of time?  That ring any bells, Quigley?     Yeah, I knew it would.     I'll tell ya somethin', Quigley.  If ya never heard of me, I'll guarantee you one thing.     You'll remember me after our match.  And for weeks after that, when ya can't get outta bed by yourself.     We both may be Canadians, but we couldn't be any more different.  Ya see, Quigs... I'm an underdog, and you're overrated.   I always tell the truth, and you're a damn liar.  I'm real, and you're fake.  I see your whole little schtick with Manning, Quigs.  Trying ta add a little toughness to your persona? Realize that your true personality don't work, so you gotta steal someone else's?  Know this, Quigley... Derek Mota is the real thing.  I've been a tough little runt right from the start, boy.  I don't bring nobody to the ring with me to make me inta somethin' I'm not.  I just step into the ring, and get ta work.     Can you say the same thing? [Mota gets back down to the ground and starts doing pushups.  The cold wind is biting, but he ignores it, pushing himself harder than ever.  Cut back to the video truck.] This is sure to be a very exciting match, folks -- so don't miss a moment of the action! ------------------------------------------------------------------------ IIWF WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH: "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder [c] vs. Requiem ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: It was just three weeks ago on October 4 that the history-making triple cross perpetrated by the "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder against not only Steve "the Fury" Kowalski, but also the men with whom he had plotted to plant Kowalski, the Syndicate and J.W. Hardin, changed the face of the IIWF forever. In all the furore surrounding Thunder's controversial victory, his victory over Otto Verhoeven the following week, and his impressive defence the week afterwards against NLWP Champion "To Excess" Rick Williams, one man has been largely forgotten -- the man from whom Thunder took the title, Requiem. Perhaps turning his back on Genesis has proved to be a bad career choice for Requiem. While undeniably a great athlete, one of the most dangerous big men in the sport without a doubt, his voice has somehow lost the voice without the support of his Genesis stablemates behind him. How else could it have taken so long for the IIWF officials to sign the rematch between the Angel of Destruction and the "Lone Wolf" -- unless, of course, there is the kind of corruption at work that Requiem claims. Both Thunder and Requiem will need eyes in the backs of their heads for this encounter, since both Thunder's nemesis, the "Outlaw" J.W. Hardin, and Requiem's irritant, the Blind Guardian -- whom Requiem regards as nothing more than an irrelevance -- are sure to be in attendance. Will history be made once again tomorrow night when these two men step into the ring to face one another for a second time? Set your alarms, unplug the phones -- and make sure you are right in front of your televisions tomorrow night as the hottest two hours of wrestling action anywhere in the world comes your way! It's IIWF Saturday Night, live from the happiest place on earth, Disneyland in Anaheim, California -- and it's going to be huge! ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| Trash Talk |_||_| \_/\_/ |_|.................................................... LM: One man who I have mentioned may be wishing to play a part in that huge match between Brody Thunder and Requiem is the mysterious Blind Guardian. Let's get his comments: [SCENE: The Blind Guardian's standing in the IIWF interview area, wearing his white cloak. The white piece of cloth that usually covers his eyes has been removed, so that his eerie white eyes can be seen, which are staring at a point somewhere far behind the camera] BG: I was wrong. I didn't foresee this. I never believed that this would     happen.     Rectum gets his title shot this Saturday night.     But who cares, as it won't change anything I said.     Rectum, you might get a chance at that title this Saturday night.     But that's it. A chance. Nothing more, nothing less. Putting the     fact aside that the Thunder-Man is the better wrestler, there is     yet another fact that you've overseen as you signed that contract,     brat: I'm still out there.     Did you forget about what I said just a few days ago? Don't you     believe in my words, Rectum? Don't you believe that I can ruin that     chance of yours? Well, I can.     But I won't.     At least not this week. No, this Saturday I'll leave you on your     own. Although I'll be right there, standing behind that curtain,     or maybe even underneath the ring, but I won't interfere. No, I     want everyone to see how you get battered down by the Thunder-Man.     I want everyone to see what you're really made of, or better, what     you're _not_ made of.     And first of all I want everyone to see, that you're truly the     perfect example for a wrestler of the _mighty_ IIWF... a pure loser.     This saturday, you don't have to fear me, you don't have to look     down the aisle to make sure that I don't come running to the ring.     This saturday will be the day when you recognize that the gold     will _never_ again find it's way into your hands.     And that is just what I want to happen. Maybe you'll then find the     time to deal with the irrelevant one. Or better: maybe the     irrelevant one will then finally finish his first task here in the     IIWF: To destroy the myth the surrounds you, Rectum and to sentence     you --- to DEATH...     I am the Blind Guardian. [Fade. Cut back to the studio.] LM: The other man with a deep interest in that title match tomorrow night is the "Outlaw" J.W. Hardin, who this week has been revisiting scenes from his past -- perhaps in an effort to give meaning to his future: [SCENE: The last rays of the setting sun create a painted sky in west Texas.  A solitary figure squats with his back to the camera at the edge of a butte, taking in the scene as if he is master of the domain.  From the growling voice, it is evident that J.W. Hardin is back home.] JWH: I ain't visited this place fer a long time.  The local injuns say you can see the end of the world from here.      Well, I been there already.  It ain't much to look at. [Hardin takes a puff of what appears to be a cigar and the smoke trails off into the cool evening air.]      It's a holy place according to the great spirits.  'Course, we all      know how much good them great spirits did the Phoenix.  Now we got      another crazy hombre runnin' round callin' himself the Gray Phoenix. Uh-huh.      A little advice, son.  You play with fire... [For the first time, Hardin turns to face the camera, his hat pulled low over his dark eyes and his duster rustling in the light breeze.]      ...yer gonna get burned.      But I ain't innersted in this week's Phoenix right now.  I ain't      concerned with Duncan Macbeth.  I ain't even that innersted in      discussin' Champ Quigley and his Roller Derby Queen.  Naw, I'm only      innersted in one opponent...      ...one victim. [Hardin stands, takes one last pull from his cigar, then tosses the butt to the ground.  Again, he lets the smoke trail from his mouth before continuing.]      Brody Thunder, you seem obsessed with words like _legend_ and      _great_... 'specially when they're applied to my name.  Mebbe you      ain't noticed, but I never asked for them labels.      I earned them.      Ya know what makes a legend in this sport, Thunder?  Just one second. But it's the longest second of yer damn life.  It's the diff'rence tween a mere two-count and havin' yer shoulders pinned fer a loss. It's the diff'rence tween the Gecko and the Outlaw. [Hardin steps toward the camera until his massive upper body fills the frame.  He contines to glare into the camera.]      What goes through _yer_ mind during that one second, Thunder?  Are ya thinkin' 'bout how to escape the pin?  Are ya wonderin' where the ropes are?  Are ya tellin' yer body to respond even after the beatin' it's taken?  Are ya considerin' what part of yer opponent's body yer gonna tear off a few seconds later?  Are ya comin' to the real'zation that ya gotta do that every match fer the rest of yer life?      Ya damn well better be thinkin' all that...      ...'cause it's what makes a legend.      At Ring Wars, yer gonna find yerself in that situation, Thunder.  And during that longest second of yer life, yer gonna be asking yerself whether or not Brody Thunder is a legend.  But all yer gonna hear as the ref slaps the mat a third time is...      ...my voice with the answer. [Hardin pulls out another cigar, lights it, then turns his back to the camera again and walks back to the edge of the butte to face the dying sunset.]      School's out, Thunder. [Fade.] LM: Finally for tonight, we go to some special footage concerning the red-gloved wrecking machine, Creed. You won't want to miss this, folks. [SCENE:  The burned out Vagabond Gym in South Central L.A. -- current home to a phalanx of young, hungry African-American and Latino boxers. The perspiration of young lions seems to pour through the screen...the speed bags bounce and the heavy bag thuds with the rhythm that is distinctively inner city. In the far back corner is a man who is doing an endlessly familiar series of rapid fire crunches...one bleeds into the next in a similar fashion to the way that yesterday becomes today becomes tomorrow in the lives of so many of these young men....in the life of this young man...the young man who has been called the "Warrior Spirit" of the IIWF....the red gloved wrecking machine.... Creed. An older black man, wearing a "One_More_Time" sweatshirt smiles wryly as he turns up the sound on an old boom box which sits on the training table, from it roaring a voice familiar to an increasingly sizeable number of wrestling fans.] "This is Mark Madden, professional wrestling's only real journalist with the Halloween, 1997 edition of the Hotline Report.  I don't know who you are going as, but I think I'll be picking up my penguin suit and broken bicycle and dressing as my favorite professional wrestling executive -- Dan "Can't We All Just Get Along" Spreadbury. Why Ole' "Dictator Dan"?  Well, if the projections of the buyrates of that upcoming Los Angeles Supercard are anywhere near accurate -- I'd suggest that our friends from Portland will be putting another wing on the already ostentatious Monument to Excess known as the IIWF Tower. As you know...if there's anyone in favor of excess, it would be me -- Mark Madden.  And that's why the "Double Eye", as that no-talent punk Steve Roberts would call it, is gonna be picking up my $29.95 on November 8 -- Excess. The entire IIWF roster is expected to be on display...there are at least two big surprises planned...and of course...the Event of the Year...Cowboy v. Cowboy. But the match I'll have my VCR rolling for is when the People's Champion, the Epitome of Evil...and the man who just a few months ago was one of the hottest properties in this business -- the red gloved warrior himself -- hook it up inside the Barbed Wire. Gee -- I wonder who the Bookerman was on that one. Sure, we know what we're going to get with the Subway Psycho, former World's Champion...he's a genuine tough guy and his reputation is intact if he never laces on another pair of boots --- and we know what we'll see with Serge Annis -- he is in the midst of a big Porltand Push, maybe the only survivor from that train wreck called Genesis, he'll give a good, representative effort... But what about the kid?  What about the kid with the glove and the dead mother?  It is no secret that his career has been the subject of a political battle in the old Pacific Northwest...with some major players in that neck of the woods sharply critical of his continued involvement in that organization... And we aren't just talking in the ring, folks...as you "smarter" fans will know, outside the ring, Creed has been known to be a bit of a "taskmaster". The rumblings from Porltand have grown increasingly loud over the past booking cycle..some saying that Creed should focus his energies strictly "in the ring"....some saying that Creed has got to stay "behind the scenes"....there have been some voices saying that the IIWF needs Creed to continue his double duty -- that he is "letting down the company" by not doing both... And you know when I say both....that involves Tuesday as well.... And there are some who say the former Intercontinental Champion should pack up his red glove -- and take the next bus out o' town. The political football that has become his career has defintely curtailed what once was the hottest run of the year -- and with the recent announcement that win/lose or draw the "in-ring" version of Creed is definitely hitting the trail - you have top wonder is the "outside the ring" version soon to follow...and what effect all of that will have on the big Pay-Per-View on Saturday, November 8. Will the kid even show up?  Will he walk out on Dictator Dan and the IIWF?  Is there something going on that's so "inside" that the esteemable Tim Dross doesn't even know about it? The Barbed Wire Elimination Match will spill more than blood in the LA Memorial Coliseum..it will spill intrigue and some real "behind the scenes" drama... Wake up grandma and invite the neighbor kids over for pizza.  Charge 'em all 5 bucks a head and pick up RWIV...November 8 on Pay-Per-View. This is Mark Madden - and as always, it has been your pleasure." [The box -- and the gym -- go silent the rope skipping and sparring grind to a halt as if expecting something...anything to come from the corner of the room.... ....an explosion.... ....a rage of temper.... ....a fit of curse words culminating in the destruction of the radio and all the words which forth were spewed... Something, then, is heard from the back corner. A chuckle. Creed....Creed laughs. Creed laughs! And then, the moment of frivolity passed.... Creed begins again the familiar red/black wooshing of those soundless, constant crunches -- the fortification of his outside structure his only protection from forces within...and forces without....as the day of truth arrives for the red gloved warrior....the day when he steps into the IIWF ring for the final time...the day of November 8, 1997. The day of Ring Wars IV.  Fade to black. Cut back to Larry in the video truck.] LM: Well, that just about wraps it up for tonight's show, folks. Don't forget to tune in tomorrow night for the hottest wrestling show anywhere in the world, "Countdown to Saturday Night", complete with the latest news on Ring Wars IV -- and I'll be back next Friday with a special "Countdown to Ring Wars IV" show, live from the LA Memorial Coliseum. It's going to be a seven days in the IIWF, and it starts right here at Disneyland tomorrow night! Until then, this is Larry Morton, saying: good night, and thanks for watching! [Larry turns back to the bank of monitors behind him, presses a few buttons on the console in front of him, and the monitors flicker to black. Larry retracts his ballpoint pen and is about to place it in his inside breast pocket -- but never completes the motion, as the jack-o-lantern that has been mysteriously moving about throughout the broadcast suddenly lurches upwards, revealing itself to, in fact, be the head of some foul, pumpkin-headed fiend! Larry lets out a scream, and runs for his life, escaping from the video truck, an external shot showing him disappearing into the distance of the unending car park. Cut back to the interior of the video truck, where the pumpkin-fiend removes his head -- revealing none other than roving IIWF reporter, Steve Summer, who winks at the camera as it fades.] +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= I * I * W * F =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-+ | President: Daniel Spreadbury | Vice-President: Jim Jividen | | univ0322@sable.ox.ac.uk | brokeback@webtv.net | | iiwf@sisko.demon.co.uk | | +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- http://www.sisko.demon.co.uk -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+