________ ______ __ ____ ___ __ . _ ___ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __| / /\ | | || \| \ /\ \ / |\ || / \| | | | || | \ v v / | __| \__ /__\ | | ||__/| |/__\ v | \||| __|-| | |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| \ \| v | \|__/ \| | || \_|| | | __________________________/...hour two...\........|...|.......|....| LIVE! Disneyland, Anaheim, California 1 November 1997 [Fade through to a wide-angle shot of the ringside area, the ring enclosure and bleachers now a beacon of bright light inbetween the flashing lights and whirling rides that surround the boulevard on all sides. The crowd -- some two thousand seated in the bleachers, and several thousand more clamouring for a view of the action -- give a huge pop as another huge volley of fireworks shoot into the sky! Countless explosions shower coloured sparks down on the excited fans! Cut to the broadcast desk at ringside, at which are seated Tim Dross and "Soundbite" Steve Roberts.] TD: Welcome back, folks, to Disneyland for Hour Two of IIWF Saturday Night! What action we've already seen here tonight -- but there is so much more to come! We're going to see a Four Corners match featuring Otto Verhoeven, Marty Warnett, Tony Starks and Duncan Macbeth. We're going to see champion vs. champion as Intercontinental Champion Chris Quigley faces Cruiserweight Champion Derek Mota. And in our huge, huge main event -- it's the title rematch between the "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder and former champion Requiem! SR: Aw, Dross, you gotta love the action. TD: Indeed you have, Steve Roberts -- but before our next match, folks, we appear to have an official statement of sorts here... both our esteemed president Daniel Spreadbury and... SR: ...the troublemaker... TD: ...and the head of the IIWF Special Concerns Committee, Poutine Janois, have made their way down to ringside, currently talking to Sparkplug Lee and two other officials... I'm not quite sure what's going on here, but no doubt we're due to find out. [The crowd buzzes in anticipation as the officials enter the ring, alongside Sparkplug Lee, who is looking decidedly nervous in front of his employer. One of the officials walks across to the commentary desk, and whispers in Tim Dross's ear...] TD: It seems that the President and Poutine Janois are here to discuss the events of last week... SR: Which events? [The official continues to whisper to Dross.] TD: The events pertaining to the attack on Lord Byron and his young ward, the Lady DeWinter, his comments, and the possibility of a punishment on Otto Verhoeven? SR: What kind of crap is this? What's the deal here? Byron's gone, who cares what happens to him, and as for Otto, well, good on him for taking the trash out! And as for DeWinter, I don't want her round here anymore, not after she's been inbetween Lebec's legs, at any rate... TD: Steve! [Inside the ring, the President Spreadbury takes the microphone from Sparkplug Lee and puts on a pair of glasses, preparing to read out a pre-written statement to the expectant crowd...] DS: Over the last couple of weeks there has been widespread rumours of a return to action inside the IIWF of one of its former superstars, the athlete known as Lord Byron. [The crowd pops as Byron's name is mentioned, and the President and Janois exchange a few brief words as the crowd quietens down.] DS: While it is true that we invited him back to talk about his career after Coronation Clash recently in a special edition of Up Close and Personal, this was a segment which we had decided would be appropriate to a former superstar, and nothing more. It was a decision that, after the events of the last two weeks, appears to have been an unfortunate choice. [The crowd reacts nervously at the President's words and some sections of the audience start to get restless.] DS: It was without any permission from the IIWF officials that Lord Byron appeared on last week's edition of the Final Cut: Had any direct approach been made, the IIWF executive committee would have refused permission. We had no prior knowledge that Byron was scheduled to appear alongside Otto Verhoeven. As such, for while we regard the events following the Final Cut as regrettable, no blame can be placed on anyone other than Byron himself, as it was his decision and his decision alone to attend the interview. [The jeers from the crowd start to increase in number, as they realise what direction the statement is taking...] DS: Minimum fine charges will be levelled against the athlete Otto "The Butcher" Verhoeven for his part in the events, while the "Showstopper" Simon Lebec will face much greater charges due to his withholding information as to his guest from the IIWF officials. As for Byron himself -- the terms of the contract he signed at Coronation Clash still stand in full. Byron has no further part in the future of the IIWF. Not now, not ever. [The jeers from the crowd are now deafening. Several fans start to throw rubbish into the ring.] DS: I repeat, the terms stand. Lord Byron cannot participate in any match inside the IIWF. SR: [from the broadcast booth] First good decision in a good long while, boss man. [The jeers from the crowd fade rapidly and are replaced by a mass of confusion as a figure strides down towards ringside... and the confusion rapidly changes to an explosive crowd pop as the fans recognise who the figure is...] TD: It's Lord Byron! Byron's coming to ringside! SR: Yeah, for what good it'll do him... I've said it before, Dross, exactly what part of "Loser Leaves Town" doesn't he understand? [As Byron reaches the broadcast booth, he reaches down and snatches a spare microphone, before looking up and pointing at the officials in the ring.] DS: Lord Byron, you have no business here tonight, please leave before you cause another disturbance... [Spreadbury turns off mic to Janois and mouths the words "Call Security". Byron climbs up onto the ring apron and steps into the ring, throwing his suit jacket off and brushing his hair back, revealing three butterfly stitches over his left eye. He glares at Spreadbury with unconcealed anger, and Janois and one of the other two officials quickly move across to restrain him.] DS: I'll repeat my request, Lord Byron, please leave, before I have you thrown out of the building. LB: No. You'll listen to what I have to say. [There's another big pop from the crowd as Byron struggles against his restrainers, and raises the microphone once more.] LB: A separated and severely sprained shoulder. Torn ligaments in the wrist and elbow. Severe bruising to the face and body, a broken nose and a concussion. [Byron literally throws the official into the turnbuckle as he steps towards the President. Janois whispers into Byron's ear as a security team rush down towards ringside, and Byron checks around, then glares across at Spreadbury.] LB: She has spent four days in hospital under observation, and they are still not releasing her because they are concerned about her depression. And all she can ask, whenever she sees me, is "Are you alright?" [Spreadbury looks at Byron and shakes his head, before looking away.] LB: You know what I'm talking about, Spreadbury. [Spreadbury nods at the security team and they stand back. Janois loosens his grip on Byron, and he shakes him off with a glare, before continuing.] LB: And do you know why this happened, Spreadbury? Do you? DS: Because you wouldn't leave well enough alone. LB: I'm well aware of my own part in this... this situation, Mr. Spreadbury. Only too well. But it is just as much your fault as mine. You knew we were both in the arena last Saturday, don't deny that. And you had all the time in the world to send security down to break up our interview. And to break up the brawl that followed. But someone was keeping their eye on the ratings, weren't they? TD: [from the broadcast booth] Uh-oh... [Spreadbury flushes a deep crimson] DS: I don't have to take this from you, Byron. I don't have to listen to this. LB: Wrong. You're going to listen to this. Like I said, you wouldn't break it up. I was being torn apart down there, and maybe yes, I set myself up for it. Maybe yes, I deserved it. But you wouldn't do anything to help me, so my ward decided to try and help me out. That was her only mistake. And tell me this, Spreadbury. I might have deserved what happened to me, but did she deserve what happened to her? TD: [from the broadcast booth] Definitely not. What happened to her was despicable. LB: Rebecca isn't a wrestler, Mr. Spreadbury. She only came down to try and help me. She ended up in hospital. And you have the... [Byron shakes his head in disbelief] you have the pure gall to stand out here, in front of all these people, and say that you are going to let the Butcher go unpunished for this? [Spreadbury swallows, but says nothing.] LB: You stand here and tell me it's my fault. I know it's my fault. SR: [from the broadcast booth] Then shut the hell up! LB: Do you know what it's like to watch your ward... [Byron pauses] to watch your fiancée... be beaten and humiliated in front of you, when there is nothing you can do about it? [Spreadbury looks around at the now silent crowd, and then back at Byron. Byron's face twists in anger.] LB: You tell me the Butcher's going to go unpunished. I tell you... he's not. DS: Stop, Byron. Stop right there. [Byron glares at the IIWF President, and he, like the crowd waits expectantly.] DS: I know what you're leading up to here, Byron. And I heard your appeal and request earlier this week. And I heard your veiled appeal tonight. Back before Coronation Clash, you signed a written, professional agreement with this federation. [The jeers from the crowd begin to rise again] DS: You signed an agreement that said that you would be prevented from competing in this federation should you lose the match. Your opponent at that time signed the exact same agreement. SR: [from the broadcast booth] That's right, boss man. Lay down the law. DS: You took the risk, Byron. And you lost. And while you have my deepest sympathy for the treatment suffered by your valet, in respect to the other athlete involved in that contract, there is nothing I can do. The contract still stands. [The crowd is silenced again as Byron slumps his head in despair. suddenly, a figure bursts from ringside and into the ring, levelling Byron with a steel chair! The crowd goes wild!] TD: [from the broadcast booth] It's the Butcher! Otto Verhoeven just nailed Byron with that steel chair! SR: And look at him, Dross, he is laughing here! He's gonna take Byron apart again! [Verhoeven repeatedly strikes Byron with the chair as he struggles to get back to his feet, throwing off the officials as they try to pull him back, sending one of them clear out of the ring! Huge heel pop from the crowd!] SR: Verhoeven is destroying Byron, right here, in the centre of the ring, and there isn't a single god-damned thing Byron can do about it! I love it! TD: This is absolutely despicable... and security are just standing, watching? why don't they get the Butcher out of there? SR: He's got a chair, Dross! Would you go near him? [Janois spins Verhoeven around, and receives a blow to the chest that sends him staggering back into the turnbuckles! Verhoeven turns back to Byron, spitting on him and repeatedly kicking away at him. Spreadbury runs across to pull Verhoeven back... and Verhoeven spins, nailing him with a huge right hand that sends the IIWF President flying out to the arena floor! Huge heel pop from the crowd!] TD: Oh my! The IIWF President is down! SR: Casualty of war, baby dolls! [Verhoeven stares at the President for a second, then laughs again and turns back to Byron, continuing his onslaught. Janois staggers away from the turnbuckles, picking up a microphone and staring at the Butcher as he picks up Byron by the throat, spitting in his face as he prepares to deliver a Slaughterslam...] PJ: Verhoeven! You've gone too far dis time! [Huge pop from the crowd! Verhoeven drops Byron, and spins to look at Janois, holding out his arms in a shrug] OV: Why? What are you going to do, little man? [Janois glares down at the unconscious form of the President, then across at Byron, who is slowly pulling himself to his feet with the help of the ropes...] PJ: You've gone too far! I could give you a substantial fine for dese actions, or a suspension... [Verhoeven shrugs and grins as the noise from the crowd increases...] PJ: But I'm going to start by giving you an opponent! [Verhoeven stares at Janois in disbelief] PJ: Next week, at Ring Wars IV! You against Lord Byron, who is hereby reinstated in full, pending contract! [The crowd pops wildly as Verhoeven rages at Janois, and turns, straight into a thumb to the eye from Byron! Huge pop from the crowd! Both men flail away at each over, Verhoeven backing Byron to the ropes...] TD: [from the broadcast booth] And Byron grabs Verhoeven's shoulders, launching him through the ropes and to the outside with a sacrifice throw! SR: What the hell is this, Dross? What the hell's going on here? Janois can't do that! He hasn't got the authority to reinstate Byron! TD: Wrong, Steve, Janois can do that, and he just has! The President is down, leaving Janois with effective control of this situation! [Verhoeven leaps to his feet on the outside, and is immediately restrained by security, who just barely manage to overpower him through force of numbers. Byron leans onto the ropes, exhausted, and gives a faint nod of gratitude towards Janois, who is helping the President back to his feet.] SR: This is crap, Dross. Byron was out -- gone! Janois can't do this. TD: But he has, Steve, and now it looks as though these two will finally get it on, and at Ring Wars IV next week! Incredible! [Byron slowly rolls out of the ring to a huge crowd pop, pulling off the tattered remains of his shirt as he does so. Two of the security team immediately take him by the arms and help him towards the back. Janois and the officials help the President up, and follow them back. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: Well, I guess it's official, folks -- add Lord Byron vs. Otto Verhoeven to the card for Ring Wars IV! We'll be hearing from the IIWF President again later tonight, assuming he is fit to speak to us, with the final word on the rest of the Ring Wars IV card... but can you believe this, Steve Roberts? Lord Byron is back in the IIWF! SR: It's a bunch of crap, Dross. A bunch of crap. TD: Be that as it may, it's time to kick off our second hour of action with that big mixed tag match featuring some upcoming opponents in that gargantuan Pay-Per-View, Ring Wars IV. SR: Damn, Dross... you are one selling son of a bitch.  What we got here is a has-been and three babies, Dross.  The Psycho hasn't put up a decent accounting since he lost the World Title a whole year ago -- and the other guys are just Genesis castoffs... wandering around lonely in the streets, asking when Boy Requiem will come back and allow them to bask in his reflected glory.  TD: I don't know about that, Steve Roberts.  We have a former Champion and one of the hottest wrestlers in the IIWF on one side -- and friends turned bitter enemies on the other... with Ring Wars IV just one week away -- this shapes up as a very intriguing matchup.  SR: What's the name of that card again? TD: Ring Wars IV! SR: What day is that going to be held? TD: Saturday, November 8! SR: How can... say, were I of such a mind, Dross -- how can a man like me get to see such an event? TD: Pay -- Per -- View! SR: What did guys like you ever do before 1983, Dross?  How did you live... how did you love?  I'm curious, Dross.  I'm the intrepid Soundbite, always trying to get in your mind.  Like a chigger or Charles Manson. TD: Care to go to the ring? SR: Why the hell don't I have the week off? ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| Subway Psycho & Serge Annis vs. |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| Scot Rogers & Highwayman ....................................................................... WRITER: JJ [Sparkplug Lee gives a thumbs up to a young woman in a Pocahontas costume waving a sign which reads:  "These Angles Are Cleverly Constructed!"] SL: The following tag team contest is set for one fall.  Introducing first, at a combined weight of 540 pounds... from Oakville, Ontario, Canada... the "Epitome of Evil" Serge Annis! [Heel pop for the chiseled Serge, who calmly begins walking to ringside as "Some Days It's Dark" rings throughout the area.  Annis is clad in black tights, red droplets giving the appearance of blood are discernable thereon -- also red is Creed's crimson chair -- which Annis carries with him as he walks to the ring.] SL: ...and his partner... [Big Pop as "Crazy Train" begins and the Subway Psycho begins to walk to the ring.] SL: ...from the subways of New York, he is the former IIWF World's Heavyweight Champion....he is the Subway Psycho! [The familiar figure of the long haired "People's Champion" reaches the ring -- not looking even for a second in the direction of Annis.  The two men going through pre-match rituals separately... almost as if oblivious to the existence of the other.] TD: Annis and the Psycho -- two men, along with the red gloved warrior Creed who will meet in one week in the Los Angeles Memorial Coliseum inside the barbed wire... the first -- and possibly last match of its type in the IIWF.  SR: Well, there's an interesting way to look at this match, Dross... sure, the Psycho and Annis obviously don't much like each other -- but if they can learn to get along... if they can learn to fight together just a little bit... then they'll team up for the first couple of minutes next week to shishkebab that punk Creed -- and then they can slice each other up.  I love this game, Dross! [The crowd begins a chant of "Psy-cho! Psy-cho! Psy-cho!" as Sparkplug retakes the mic.] SL: And their opponents... at a combined weight of 582 lbs... from Leeds, England... here is Adam Smith... the Highwayman! [Heel pop as Smith makes his way to the ring, "Stand and Deliver" plays as the powerful Highwayman reaches ringside, the big man bowing to the heel popping fans as he steps through the ropes.] SL: His partner.... [Another heel pop, but this one marked with confusion as Scot "the Fop" Rogers quickly comes down to the ring... but is accompanied by Dakota Bundy and his manager, "The Mouth" Matt Malone.] TD: Well, we've got something here, Steve Roberts -- one week from today these three men, Rogers, Bundy and the Highwayman will meet in a tag match alongside Richard "Moxy" Blue at Ring Wars IV -- so there is something that's clearly going on here. SR: Good God, Dross!  Don't look directly at it!  It is hideous... It is frightening... It... It is not human! TD: Your opinion of the appearance of Dakota Bundy is on the record, Steve Roberts. SR: I wasn't talking about Bundy... I meant Rogers -- how can a man with so little talent be allowed inside a professional wrestling ring?  It's an insult to great men like myself and J.W. Hardin who have built this company into what it is today. [Rogers moves to the Highwayman... who looks upon him suspiciously... and with even more suspicion when "The Fop" extends his hand in reconciliation.] TD: Oh... we are going to learn a little about the Highwayman here -- you know there have been a number of people who believe that, like Icehawk, he was simply steered in the wrong direction by Requiem and Genesis... that maybe there is some hope of redemption for this man... SR: What there ain't hope for is this punk ever winning another match.  [The Highwayman looks out into the crowd... seeming to consider Rogers' offer... and then holds out his hand...] TD: Firearm!  Firearm!  Dakota Bundy drops the Highwayman... and Rogers and Bundy are stomping him out!  Terrible!  This is just terrible! SR: Punk on Punk Crime!  I love it! [With Matt Malone pointing the way, Rogers lifts Smith to his feet -- where he is Firearmed again by Bundy -- knocking Smith clear from the ring... and out to the floor where he is totally unmoving.] TD: Well, Scot Rogers and his Ring Wars IV partner, Dakota Bundy have waylaid the Highwayman... and this match is now underway! [Ding! Ding! Ding! Referee Patrick looks to the Highwayman... and then to Rogers.  Matt Malone immediately begins protesting that Bundy be allowed as a legal man in the match... Patrick shakes his head no... no... that the Highwayman is the legal man -- and Patrick begins to count him out!  Joey Patrick reaches 3 - 4 - 5... and is then Firearmed by Bundy!  Dakota Bundy attacks Joey Patrick, knocking him to the mat!  Scot Rogers picks him in a military press... and tosses him over the top rope atop the Highwayman!] TD: Good God!  Dakota Bundy and Scot Rogers have knocked out the Highwayman... and Big Joey Patrick -- there's no official... and there they go! [Rogers and Bundy charge across the ring, each hitting Annis and the Psycho with right hands!  Bundy moves to Annis... whipping him hard to Rogers, who in one smooth motion powerslams his former stablemate to the canvas. Bundy immediately follows up with the Psycho... whipping him to Rogers -- into a military press... and Rogers drops him from that press into a stomachbreaker! Rogers pauses, letting the heel pop come, and then shoots a big double bicep to the crowd! The Psycho and Annis stagger up simultaneously... are each caught with boots to the midsection... and then each hit with simultaneous swinging neckbreakers that brings the heel pop to an enormous level...] TD: Tremendous teamwork by Rogers and Bundy... this is no "spur of the moment" tag team, Steve Roberts. I believe that Matt Malone has had this combination in mind for a longer time that we have been led to believe. SR: I ain't gonna complain when the Subway Psycho finds himself buried under the ugly guy's boot.  But don't ask me to hop on the Rogers bandwagon... not that there isn't plenty of room. [Bundy and Rogers move for pinfalls... but Annis and the Psycho are each able to kick out.  Rogers and Bundy move their opponents to their feet... then into Irish whips -- reverse -- and it's Bundy and Rogers who go off the ropes... and into big Annis and Psycho boots! Bundy and Rogers stagger to opposite corners of the ring... where they are met by Annis and the Psycho, who whip their opposite numbers to the center -- where they meet and smack hard into each other!  Big Pop as Rogers and Bundy hit heads... each man staggering to an opposite rope -- and then each man clotheslined over the top rope by Annis and the Psycho! Big, Big Pop!] TD: And some teamwork, albeit out of necessity, by Annis and the Psycho as they rock Bundy and Rogers all the way to the floor! [Annis and the Psycho then turn and face each other... and the Subway Psycho lashes out with a big right hand!  The Psycho pounds away at Annis with lighning fast right hands... whipping him hard to the buckle -- bouncing off the sideropes and then_dropping him with a bulldog to the roar of the crowd!  Serge staggers up -- is whipped to the nearside as the Psycho bounces off the ropes -- and then levels Serge again with a flying shoulderblock!  Serge rolls to the corner... as the Psycho moves to the opposite buckle... Serge reaches to the floor as the Psycho charges with a splash... Serge pulls his hand up... he's got the chair! The Psycho can't stop his momentum...] TD: Oh My!  The Subway Psycho runs dead into that crimson steel chair which Serge Annis has taken from Creed!  And the Psycho is down! SR: Oooh, alert the media... someone knocks the Subway Psycho down. [Serge places the chair on the canvas... then bounces off the backropes as the Psycho begins to rise... Serge running to the chair -- leaping off into a flying clothesline of the Psycho that drives him over the top rope... and to the outside! Serge is quick to capitalize, grabbing the top rope and slingshotting himself all the way outside into a high crossbody of the standing Psycho -- a move that takes each of them down! Serge begins pounding away at the Psycho, battering him with right hands...] TD: Scot Rogers!  Scot Rogers!  Rogers with that steel chair to the back of Annis' skull!  And Annis is down!  Serge Annis is down! [Rogers picks up Serge, laying into him with knife edge chops... and then holds him, while the Subway Psycho hits him!  Rogers and the Subway Psycho working together to batter Serge Annis!] TD: Serge Annis is getting taken... it's Bundy! [Malone moions for Bundy to go to the top rope... his charge is followed -- and then Malone tosses him the ringbell! Rogers and the Psycho grab ahold of Annis' arms... and Bundy makes his way down... ..._cracking_ Annis over the head!] TD: Oh My!  And Serge Annis is split open!  Serge Annis is split open! SR: Wooooo!  Triple teamed like Snow White when Dopey, Sleepy and Sneezy come home from work early! [Rogers, taking the direction of Malone, impressively lifts Annis high in a military press -- and tosses him into the ring... Rogers and the Psycho then climb in, holding Annis still as Bundy again goes off the top rope... and drops a big elbow onto Annis! Rogers drops down and dramatically hooks a leg as Malone counts... 1 -- 2 -- 3!] TD: Well, there's a "pinfall" -- but that's not going to count... we've got no match here... but Serge Annis has been taken apart one week before Ring Wars IV by Rogers, Bundy and the Subway Psycho. [Rogers lifts his arms, posing over Annis with another big bicep -- and he is then struck between the shoulder blades by a chair swinging Subway Psycho!  The Psycho brings the chair down on Rogers again, the mangled, indented steel now showing the wear of the match as Rogers drops to the mat... where he is pulled out of the ring by Malone and Bundy. Rogers is clearly in pain, but smirks anyway as Malone raises his and Bundy's arms in victory as they begin to make their way up the aisle... In the ring, the Psycho now puts the boots to Serge... stomping him into the canvas... Rogers, Malone and Bundy continue their walk up the aisle... when they are beseiged... when they are assaulted... when they are buried...] TD: Good God!  Mice!  Mice!  A batallion of mice have just been dropped on top of Malone, Bundy and Rogers! SR: These ain't no cartoons, Dross -- these are real live disease carrying rodents!  And I ain't talking about the mice, baby dolls. [The crowd squeals as Bundy, Malone and Rogers scramble from the mice -- and then on the video wall comes the person of Richard "Moxy" Blue... laughing up a storm as the three men race up the aisle...] MB: M - I - C... See ya at Ring Wars.... K - E - Y... Why?  Because I don't like you! M - O - X - Y... MOXY! [Big pop as the shot of Blue vanishes, the three men angrily walking back up the aisle, laughing again as they pass the spot where the Highwayman and Joey Patrick had been taken away earlier by medical personnel after being attacked by Rogers and Bundy. The Psycho has continued his assault on Annis, placing the chair atop Serge's head and then hitting Serge with consecutive De-Railers to a mixed pop from the fans! The Psycho, no trace of his familiar demeanor, continues unabated -- pounding away at Serge... then lifting him into an Irish whip -- reverse -- the Psycho comes off the ropes... and is caught hard by Serge!] TD: Spinebuster!  Spinebuster!  Annis with the spinebuster over that steel chair!  Good God! SR: We got one here, Dross... and Ring Wars IV is one week away... what the hell happened to the lights? [The crowd begins to "oooohhhh" as the park lights -- not merely the auxilary IIWF lights... but the lights illuminating the entire Magic Kingdom... go out. Pearl Jam's "Indifference" then begins... as the video wall lights up with the crimson words... ANYONE. ANYWHERE. ANYTIME. The crowd pop goes wild as the lights then begin to flicker... on and off... on and off... on and off... creating a strobe effect that is coupled with the flashing words on the video wall -- the words now coming faster and faster.... ANYONE ANYWHERE ANYTIME ANYONE ANYWHERE ANYTIME The Psycho and Annis are now visible during the "on" portion of the lighting... and each man is standing -- each man is throwing right hands at the other which causes the pop to grow louder... many in the crowd now chanting, "Creed! Creed! Creed! Creed! Creed!" From all sides then come a sea of men... of young African American men wearing red and black "One_More_Time_" sweatshirts... ...Men carrying chainsaws...] TD: This is totally out of control... this is totally out of control... there must be two dozen men who have seemingly appeared out of nowhere -- it is obviously a portion of the "Creed Army"... and they have chain saws... Good God! [As the music grows louder... and faster... and the lights flicker gets more and more rapid in time with the pounding of the crimson words on the video wall... the Creed Army revs up the saws -- and then slices away at the ring ropes! The Creed Army shears away at the ropes... Annis and the Psycho continuing their private war... almost oblivious to the action... Annis and the Psycho continue to go toe-to-toe at each other as the ropes come down and in their place...] TD: Barbed Wire!  Barbed Wire!  The Creed Army is putting up Barbed Wire in place of the ropes... we might not have a Ring Wars IV... it's gonna happen right NOW! [The roar increases as the wire is quickly strung up... soon covering the entire ring... and then... as the music-lights-video wall build to a crescendo... Everything stops _dead_. The crowd goes silent... as the video wall then glows only three more words... piercing the Southern California night sky... EVERYONE. EVERYWHERE. EVERYTIME. The lights come on -- the crowd roaring as the Creed Army has disappeared -- and Annis and the Psycho finally stop their battle to look about them... noticing that now they are two men totally encased in barbed wire. Annis and the Psycho back away from each other... each man surveying the scene as the crowd begins to chant, "Ring Wars IV! Ring Wars IV! Ring Wars IV!"] TD: Wow.  Quite a scene here at Disneyland, Steve Roberts... Annis and the Psycho are making their way from opposite sides of the ring... and this crowd is ready to explode, Steve Roberts. SR: There's nothing I like better than a good bloodbath, Dross -- and that's what we are guaranteed at this Barbed Wire Elimination Match... who wins?  Who cares?  It's all about pain -- it's all about RW4 -- and it is all about the Soundbite.  Whoooooo! [A ring crew rapidly descends on the ring area to replace the barbed wire with a spare set of ropes pulled from under the squared circle. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: Well, we have a slight pause in the proceedings now, folks, while the ring crew replaces that barbed wire with our more traditional ropes. SR: It's the four way dance up next, right, Dross? TD: Indeed it is, Steve Roberts. SR: They should leave that barbed wire right there. We've not had enough blood here tonight... and nothing would please me more right now than seeing Marty Warnett wrapped in barbed wire, head to toe. Except maybe Pizzazz and Jeandra coming back out here for a little more rough and tumble, if ya know what I mean, Dross. TD: I know exactly what you mean, Steve Roberts, and I don't think we need to say any more about it. Instead, let's talk about the four men we are about to see in this Four Corners match. We have Otto Verhoeven -- whom we saw at the top of this hour, and whose assault on the IIWF President will surely not go unpunished. We have the number one contender to the Intercontinental Championship, Duncan Macbeth. We have the ruthless Tony Starks... and we have Marty Warnett. SR: Spot the odd one out in there, Dross -- it's Warnett. He's gonna get pasted out here! TD: The ring crew is just testing the tension of the ropes -- but the ring is set to explode in our next encounter, folks, as four of the IIWF's biggest superstars collide in what should be a spectacular encounter! SR: I just hope all the people out there realise what a pain in the ass the production work is for these matches with a whole buncha guys in 'em. TD: I really have no idea what you mean by that statement, Steve Roberts. Let's go down to Sparkplug Lee for the introductions. ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| FOUR CORNERS MATCH: Otto Verhoeven vs. |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| Duncan Macbeth vs. Tony Starks vs. Marty Warnett ....................................................................... WRITER: RD [The Sparkster is observed to swig heavilly from a hip flask, before stepping out into center ring and raising the mic to his lips.] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, get ready for the four way dance! [pop from the crowd]. At the sound of the bell, each corner of the ring will be occupied; when it's all over, only one man will stand triumphant! [crowd pops] Introducing first, hailing from Cardiff, Wales and weighing in at 245 lbs; here is the resident party maniac of the IIWF -- please give a big welcome for Marty Warnett! ["Cold Gin" by Kiss rocks out over the loudspeakers and the crowd explodes into a big pop. Marty Warnett, a cocky grin on his face, races down the aisle, slapping the hands of the fans who reach out to touch him. The screams of the adolescent girls in the audience reach an ear-splitting decibel, drowning out even the Steve Kowalski fans, who hurl drunken insults at the pretty boy fan favourite.] SR: What a snot nosed punk. I saw Marty Warnett at a nightclub once, and let me tell ya something, he's no genuine party maniac. After sipping on two glasses of light ale, he turned green, keeled over and landed face down in a pool of blancmange. TD: I still have no idea what blancmange is, Steve, but the measure of a man is not how much alcohol he can consume. SR: You're right of course. The measure is how much he can consume and still remain standing, with enough stamina left over to break into Mount Blanc's Catholic College for girls at 3:00am with the intention of... TD: [interrupting] That will be quite enough of that, Steve Roberts! [Marty steps between the ropes, climbs up onto the second turnbuckle and poses to the delight of his fans.] RA: Hailing from Staten Island, NY and weighing in at 269 lbs; here is the IIWF's most dangerous man -- please give a big welcome for Tony Starks! [The eerie piano loop of "C.R.E.A.M." by the Wu Tang Clan resounds over the loudspeakers, and a huge decibel of heel heat emits from the crowd. Tony Starks stalks down the aisle, his face permanently chiselled in a menacing scowl. Most of the fans throw trash and howl derisively, but a contingent of African Americans at ringside fervently declare their support. Starks stops to slap their hands, although his glance never wavers from the ring.] SR: Yeah. We got a natural born ass-kicker right here, baby dolls; not one of them pretty boy punks like Warty Warnett. I'm down with this homeboy, Dross. Are you down with the homeboys? Get nasty like the Cube named Ice. [starts rapping] "Roamin' through Disneyland, late at night" "Red n' Blue lights what a common sight" "Pulled to the curb gettin' played like a sucka'" "Don't fight the power just shoot the mother[BLEEP]er'" TD: Good grief. [Starks climbs into the ring and focuses his menacing stare on Marty Warnett, who pays him no heed and clowns around for the fans.] RA: Hailing from Glenfinnan, Scotland and weighing in at 270 lbs; here is the number one contender for the Intercontinental championship -- please give a big welcome for Duncan Macbeth! ["Scotland the Brave" blares out over the loudspeakers, and a tremendous pop goes up from the crowd. Duncan Macbeth heads down the aisle, looking confidently cheerful, although his right knee is thickly taped and a close observer might notice a slight limp.] TD: Here comes Duncan Macbeth, who really seems to be brewing up a storm here in the IIWF -- I only hope he didn't injure himself too severely last Saturday night during that knock-down, drag-out brawl with the Outlaw. SR: Ach... A tough Scotish laddy like Macbean won't let a little bump on the knee bother him. Hell, it better not bother him; I've got bigger bucks than Don McQueen riding on MacBean to whup Quigley's ass at Ring Wars! TD: You do know of course, that gambling on sporting events is illegal? SR: Hell, so's distilling 90% proof moonshine and importing Phillopino prostitutes into the country, but that 'aint stopped me yet. TD: Good grief. [Duncan Macbeth grins, unfastens his kilt and throws it into the crowd. He also removes his jacket, revealing a T-shirt bearing the words "Quickstrike Island Disaster Relief Fund -- Give Generously" - drawing a pop from the fans - before climbing into the ring.] RA: And introducing the final participant in this four way dance, hailing from Essen, Germany and weighing in at 340 lbs; he's a former heavyweight champion of the world; feared across the globe as the "Teutonic Terror" and the "German Juggernaut" -- please give a big welcome for Otto "the Butcher" Verhoeven! [The deep chord horror theme from "Halloween" echoes over the loudspeakers, and a huge, huge heel pop erupts from the crowd. The gargantuan figure of Otto Verhoeven, followed closely by Nurse Heidi, makes his way down the aisle, swiping at the fans who shower him with insults. Sweat drips down Verhoeven's torso, and his eyes bug out with psychotic menace.] TD: What a fearsome sight greets the eyes, as this man... this monster, makes his way towards the ring. Otto Verhoeven might very well be the most sadistic and intimidating individual in the IIWF, Steve Roberts. SR: He's a steel wrecking machine come to life, Tim Dross, and after his brutal dismantling of Requiem at Leavenworth, he trully must be considered virtually unstoppable. I gotta say this... if Lord Byron is ever -- as slim as that chance may be -- I mean ever, gets re-instated... he better stay far, far away from this psychotic, rampaging lunatic. [Otto Verhoeven climbs up the ring steps and into his corner. All four men, taking their positions, glaring determinedly across the ring at one another.] TD: And we should be finally underway in just a moment... hold on a second, there seems to be some trouble in the crowd! VOICE: Hey, WARNETT!  Over here you stupid drunken Welsh moron! [The camera turns to show a farmilair figure in the stands -- none other than the man who attacked Warnett last weekend.  With a portable mic in hand, the young grunger is standing among the fans in the stands.  He is wearing his usual attire of torn jeans and a plaid shirt over a t-shirt which reads, "Whale Hunter". Marty Warnett puts his hands on his hips and looks at the man incredulously.] MAN: I'm sure you haven't forgotten me quite yet, Warnett.  I'm sure      that Superstar Belt across the head is still implanted in your      memory.  By the looks of you, its looks like you're still feeling      that blow too.  I wonder what your fourteen year old girlfriend      thinks now that you're not such a pretty boy anymore.  Oh well,      your best friend Mr. Heroin never cares how you look, as long as      you remember to shove him up your arm everyday. [Not only are these comments angering Warnett, but they have raised the ire of the fans who are giving the man a deafening heel pop.]      Now I realize you have a match to get squashed in, so I won't try      to waste much more of your time.  Let me just tell you why I am      doing what I am doing and who I really am.  Well, I guess it goes      all the way back to 1973 when a bouncing baby boy was born into      this world.  He was a good kid raised by a good mother and jerky      father who left the family when the boy was only six. [The heel pop continues]      SHUT UP!  Do you want me to tell my story or not?! [The fans cheer at the idea of the story not being told.  Reed gets a evil smirk across his face]      In that case I will continue.  With the father's departure this      caused the mother to get very depressive and unforunately pass      away.  The great young kid was forced to live with his asshole of      an uncle in Chicago.  The kid lived in a tough neighborhood while      trying to keep on being a good kid.  He tried.  And what happened?      Society proved how great it really was by treating him like trash.      It proved that it was only the jerks that survived.  While this kid      tried to live a good life he continued to be picked on and pushed      down.  But did he retaliate?  NO!  He kept up his spirit and      continued being a nice kid who was taken advantage of.      But in his senior year of high school things took a turn for the      worse.  The kid found the girl of his dreams, and treated her like      a princess -- but instead of getting the dream girl, she went with      one of the same jerks who pushed the poor kid around.      You know what that proves?  It proves society stinks.  It proves      that this world is full of injustice.  It proves it was time for      this kid to fight back.  So this boy hired the best damn wrestling      legend in Chicago -- The one and ony "Riddler" Rusty Oliver [slight      pop for the former great].  And this man taught him everything he      knew.  He treated this kid like he was his own son.  What did the      kid do as a way of thank you?  He turned his back on him.  Why      would such a good kid do such a evil thing?  'Cause society forced      him to.      You see this kid is known as Bradley Reed.  I'm that kid.  And I am      tired of getting the short end of the stick.  It's time to fight      back.  How will I fight back?  By being the biggest jerk      possible.  And that why I am known as "The Brat".  "The Brat"      Bradley Reed.  The new Superstar Champion.  And your worst      nightmare. [Reed turns to leave, but thinks better of it and turns back around.]      Why did I pick you, Warnett?  'Cause you remind me exactly of one      of those preppy jerks back in High School.  It's people like you      that forced good kids like me into these terrors.  People like you      made me realize the only way to survive is to rebel.  You made me      bite back at soceity.   So it's only fitting I let you get a taste      of your own medicine.  Besides, as the new Superstar Champion it is      my duty to finish what the past champions started.  See you at Ring      Wars, Welsh.  You better be ready for anything because I could do      exactly that. [Reed slams the mic onto the bleachers, causing major feedback.] TD: What an angry young man, I wonder what... hold on a minute, what's Marty Warnett doing? [Marty Warnett climbs up onto the top turnbuckle, turns his back towards Bradley Reed, bends over and...] TD: Oh my goodness! Marty Warnett is mooning at Bradley Reed! This is unprecedented in the IIWF, ladies and gentlemen! SR: Argghh! What a horrible sight! Get it away! Get it away! [The crowd laughs uproariously, and a black scowl of rage colours Reed's expression. He leaps over the protective railing and takes a step towards the ring, but Marty Warnett pulls his tights back up, turns around and leaps from the top buckle, crashing into Bradley Reed and bringing him tumbling down to the arena floor! Huge pop from the crowd! The two foes immediatley begin to slug it out, scrabbling up to their feet and exchanging hard rights and lefts. After only a few moments, however, a squadron of security charges down the aisle and extricates the two combatants. Both men struggle against their restrainers, yelling insults at one another. Quite visibly, blood streams from Marty Warnett's nose.] TD: Oh my goodness! The simmering feud between these two men -- this newcomer Bradley Reed clearly incensed by Marty Warnett's persoanl attitude -- has exploded right here on IIWF Saturday night! SR: Ha! Ha! Whatsisname gave Warnett a blood nose! I could grow to like having this punk kid around! TD: You can see Marty Warnett battle it out with Bradley Reed at Ring Wars IV next Saturday night, only on PPV! Call your cable company now! [The security team drags Bradley Reed kicking and struggling back up the aisle, still yelling insults. Marty Warnett is herded back into his corner, where he wipes the blood from his nose. Tony Starks and Otto Verhoeven stand forth in the center of the ring to open the match, and the ref signals for the bell: Ding! Ding! Ding! With a snarl, Tony Starks immediately rips at his former rival, Otto Verhoeven, slugging him with a left-right combination. Verhoeven shakes off the blows as if they were mere mosquito bites, and drives his boot hard into Stark's midsection. Stark's grunts, staggers back, and doubles over slightly, giving Verhoeven the chance to lunge forward and clobber him across the head with a huge double axe-handle! Stark's doubles over further, and Verhoeven repeatedly clubs his back with axehandles, each blow driving Starks further down until he's prone on the canvas. Verhoeven raises his fists to the heavens triumphantly to a big heel pop! Verhoeven drags Starks up to his feet and slings him into the turnbuckles, where he bangs his shoulder painfully. Bellowing like a madman, Verhoven charges forward and leaps up into a huge avalanche splash, but at the last moment, Starks ducks aside and this time it is Verhoeven who tastes the turnbuckles. The "German Juggernaut" howls with rage and whips around, but Starks has already tagged in a game Duncan Macbeth.] TD: Just look at the over-bearing force that is Otto Verhoeven! Starks, a rough and dangerous opponent himself, could barely fend off the onslaught! SR: You can never under-estimate the "Butcher", Tim Dross. Ever since he dropped the big strap to -- ack -- Dan Kauffman, he's been on a wild and hungry quest to decimate all that stand before him. Even former World champions and fellow giants like Requiem are like twigs in his mighty hands. TD: Let's see how Macbeth, perhaps the hottest wrestler in the IIWF at the moment, will fare. One wonders how a young wrestler like Macbeth can stand the pace of the IIWF in recent weeks -- night after night he's thrown in at the deep end against the likes of J.W. Hardin, but somehow, he always manages to come back fighting. I hope he hasn't taken on too much, too soon. [Verhoeven charges at Macbeth with a clothesline, but the Scot nimbly ducks beneath it, whips around and boots his former foe hard in the behind! The crowd laughs and pops as Verhoeven, unable to reverse his momentum, slams hard into the opposite turnbuckles. Marty Warnett, staring right across at the the "Butcher" from his corner, hauls back and busts him one right in the chops! Big pop from the crowd! Seething with rage, Verhoeven swipes at Warnett with a meaty paw, but the Welshman drops laughing off the apron and out of the way. Duncan Macbeth nips in behind the "Butcher", clinches him around the waist, and with herculean effort lifts Verhoeven up, over into a German suplex! Macbeth dumps the "Butcher" shoulders first into the mat, and bridges for the pin attempt: 1 - 2 - Verhoeven rolls out of it to a dissapointed gasp from the fans. Both men leap to their feet, but Macbeth, the far quicker of the two, strikes first, unleashing a powerful standing dropkick into the chest of Verhoeven. The "Butcher" staggers back under the impact and falls against the ropes. Macbeth goes over to Marty Warnett, and decides to tag him in by slapping him hard across the face! Warnett immediately flies into a rage and bounds over the top rope into the ring. He punches Macbeth on the jaw, and immediately the two Brits are engaged in a wild fist fight! Otto Verhoeven gets up off the ropes, and siezing hold of his foe's heads, clangs them togethor with resounding force! Not to be left out in the cold, Tony Starks charges the ring and careens into Otto Verhoeven with a flying clothesline!] TD: Already, this match has descended into chaos! All four men, engaging in a wild donnybrook right in the centre of the ring! The referee must assert some control in this match-up. SR: Verhoeven, Macbeth and Starks should just gang up and put the beat down on Marty Warnett. That's what I would call a clean, competitive contest. [Marty Warnett slugs Verhoeven on the jaw, while Tony Starks puts the boots to Duncan Macbeth's midsection. The referee ducks under the wild blows and interjects himself into the fray, waving his arms about and threatening disqualifications all around. Finally, judging that Macbeth's slap on Marty Warnett was not an according to hoyle tag, the ref shepherds Starks and Warnett back to their respective corners, leaving the two legal men -- Verhoeven and Macbeth -- in the ring. Verhoeven immediately lashes out with a brutal kick to Macbeth's taped up knee. The Scot grabs at his wounded joint with a howl of pain, and Verhoeven cuts him down with a lacerating clothesline. The big German is immediately seranaded with a chorus of boos for his ruthless tactics, but simply snarls sadistically and begins to drive big stomping boots into Macbeth's ribs. The Scot is prone on the mat, still clutching at his knee, and Verhoeven runs to the ropes, bounding off and propelling himself onto Duncan Macbeth with a crunching big splash! Verhoeven remains atop of his foe for the cover: 1 - 2 - kickout by Macbeth to a pop from the fans!] TD: Duncan Macbeth may have escaped that pin attempt, but things don't look to good for him right now. Apparently, his knee was in no solid state for him to even think about participating in this match, but I guess he was just too courageous to stay at home and watch all the action pass him by. SR: I'm not gonna give MacBean any sympathy, Timbo. You can't let your hot headed instincts get the better of you, and if you have a title opportunity within your grasp you damn well make sure you're fit for the big day. Otto was merely taking advantage of his oppotunities by putting an extra dent in that knee, and you can't blame him for that. [Verhoeven clambers up to his feet, and grabbing hold of Macbeth's flowing locks, drags him up to a standing position. Macbeth hobbles on his banged up knee, and can do nothing as Verhoeven clinches him around the throat, hauls him up into the air, and carries him over to the ropes. Several fans at ringside scream out in horror, as Verhoeven hurls Macbeth bodily down to the arena floor... and the feisty Scot almost lands on his feet, but appears to twist his injured knee! Macbeth howls out in agony and once again clutches at his knee.] SR: Oh man, what a shot! Legs just don't bend that way, Dross! [The referee is putting on the count, and Macbeth can do nothing but roll around on the arena floor in agony. Otto Verhoeven leans over the ropes and looks on with a triumphant, sadistic gleam in his eyes. Macbeth struggles, grasps, tries to get up to his feet... but topples right back down again. The count reaches six.] TD: This is just calamitous, folks. How much damage can Macbeth's knee withstand? Even for a competitor as hardy as this, you've got to imagine that this could put him out of action for a very long time. [With the crowd rallying behind him, Macbeth begins to crawl across the arena floor, courageously striving to return to the ring. The count reaches seven. Macbeth reaches out for the steel ring steps and tries to pull himself up them, the noise of the crowd reaching a fevered pitch, clearly feeling the tension. The count reaches eight. Macbeth has dragged himself almost to the top of the steps; Warnett, Starks and Verhoeven looking on but making no move to help, knowing that the Scot is their opponent and thus, deserves no mercy. The count reaches nine. Macbeth is at the top of the steps, just one move away from regaining the ring... he pulls himself up to his feet, hobbles, steps forward and... suddenly his knee buckles under the strain! A shocked pop goes up from the crowd as Macbeth topples from the steps and back down to the arena floor, his face contorted with the pain his injured knee is giving him. The count reaches ten. Ding! Ding! Ding!] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, as a result of a count-out, Duncan Macbeth has been eliminated! SR: MacBean is finished, baby dolls! Look at the state of his knee! He can stand up about as well as Marty Warnett can after a shot of Kessler's whiskey. Geez, thanks for blowing my bet Verhoeven you bastard! [An EMT crew, accompanied by a concerned looking Timothy N Turner, makes its way to ringside. The medics attempt to help Macbeth up and onto the stretcher, but he shoves them away with a snarl of rage, determined to stand under his own power. The medics mill about uncertainly, until finally, Macbeth allows Timothy N Turner to lend him a hand, the technician placing the Scot's arm over his shoulder and helping him up the aisle. Macbeth's knee is almost visibly swelling up, and clearly looks to be in a very messy state indeed.] TD: What an unfortunate situation has developed here tonight, folks! Duncan Macbeth, on the cusp of superstardom with his title shot at Quigley at Ring Wars -- what will become of that match-up now, I can't begin to guess -- may not even have a career after the incredible punishment his wounded knee has taken during this match. SR: Who cares about that now, Timbo? We have a match to get back underway. Enough speculation, let's see some more bone breaking! [Otto Verhoeven remains in the ring as the legal man, and Marty Warnett steps out to take up the challenge. The two veterans circle each other warily, looking for an opening. It is Verhoeven, ever the aggressor, who strikes first, charging at Warnett with a clothesline, but the Welshman ducks nimbly aside. Verhoeven whips around, swinging a big meaty fist at his opponent's head, but Warnett catches it and flips the "Butcher" to the mat with an armdrag takedown. Warnett attempts an arm-wringer, but Verhoeven quickly powers back up to his feet, hauling Warnett in close and cutting him down with a short-arm clothesline. Verhoeven goes to stomp a hole through Warnett, but the "Party Maniac" rolls aside and leaps back up to his feet, booting the big german in the midsection. Verhoeven grunts and staggers back winded, giving Marty the chance to run back to the ropes, bound off and blast him with a flying cross body block! Verhoeven topples and crashes into the mat, Warnett poised atop of him for the cover: 1 - Verhoeven presses Warnett up off his chest and hurls him bodily across the ring, escaping the pin attempt! Awed pop from the crowd for this demonstration of raw power!] TD: What an unstoppable force is Otto Verhoeven! Starks, Macbeth, and now Marty Warnett have all taken the fight to him, yet none of them has been able to maintain any kind of offensive! SR: Verhoeven is like a big raging slab of concrete, Timbo. He may not move very fast, but ya' just can't crack him. He's got this match well in his power, Daddy-O. TD: Can you imagine the tremendous match up we would witness if, miracle of miracles, Lord Byron was granted a re-instatment? The awesome raw strength of Otto Verhoeven, up against the fabulous scientific skills and natural stamina of the former Intercontinental champion... That would be a classic confrontation between power and technical skill. SR: A good big man will always triumph over a good scientific wrestler, Timbo. STF's, ankle-pick submissions, aristoclutches... all that stuff is nice, but let's face it -- what good would it do against a godzilla of a man like Verhoeven? [Verhoeven pulls himself up to his feet, and lunges over at the unbalanced Marty Warnett. The "Party Maniac" tries to dart out of the way, but Verhoeven clinches him around the waist, hurls him up into the air with frightening ease... then brings him crunching down to the canvas with an absolutely pulverising gut-wrench powerbomb. Warnett is completely motionless down on the mat, and Verhoeven raises his fists triumphantly to the heavens once again, soaking up the intense level of heel heat from the crowd. Verhoeven looks down at Warnett disdainfully, and not even deigning to go for the pin, spits on him -- before tagging in Tony Starks. Starks, fresh and eager for action, charges into the ring and drops an elbow across the throat of Marty Warnett, then makes the cover: 1 - 2 -] TD: Thre... No! Marty Warnett has kicked out! Unbelievable! What resilence from this veteran IIWF superstar! SR: Ha! If only he could be so resilient when down the pub, then I'd be impressed. How long do ya think this punk is gonna last against a man as dangerous as Tony Starks? TD: Starks has been on the outside for quite some time, and might indeed prevail over a weakened Marty Warnett. But, Warnett is definately a tougher customer than his image may project, as I'm sure Starks will soon find out -- as will that Bradley Reed fellow at Ring Wars IV. [Tony Starks drags Warnett up to his feet, digging an elbow into his ribcage, and lashing his head back with a forearm smash. Starks grabs Warnett by the arm and whips him to the ropes, catching him on the rebound in a sleeper hold! Warnett flails his arms around wildly and the crowd begins to pop anxiously, Starks clinching the hold on as tight as his strength allows, choking the air out of Marty's system. As the crowd rallies behind him, Marty begins to drive elbow smashes into the gut of Tony Starks, hoping to break the hold. Starks staggers backwards, and on the fifth elbow shot releases his grip, winded. Warnett, his energy fired up by the support from the fans, whips around and begins unloading on Stark's noggin with right handed shots! Warnett pummels Starks into the corner, then climbs up onto the second buckle, pounding down on his opponent's skull with repeated right hands! The crowd counts along as Marty lays in the shots, all the way up to ten! Warnett drops down from the buckle, and Tony Starks staggers punch drunkenly out of the corner and right into the "Party Maniac's" grasp. Warnett clinches Starks around the waist, hefts him up into the air, and blasts him into the canvas with a belly to belly suplex! Big face pop! Warnett hooks the leg for the cover: 1 - 2 - ] TD: Starks kicks out! Warnett seems to be clearly outwrestling Starks right now, however. SR: What up wit' this homeboy tonight? Come on Starks, get with the program and smoke this whitey like Ice T smokes cops! Oh Yeah! I'm sayin' it loud, I'm black and I'm proud! TD: I'm sure James Brown would be flattered by your homage. SR: Hell, Drossy, us brothers gotta stick togethor in a racist organisation like the IIWF. TD: Good grief. [Both men stagger up to their feet, ripping at each other with furious punches. Starks stuns Warnett with a punishing uppercut to the jaw, siezes hold of his arm and goes for an Irish whip; Warnett reverses the attempt and sends Starks for the ride instead. Starks bounds off the ropes, comes charging back towards Warnett, who leaps up into the air, clinches his legs around Stark's head, and executes a flawless Frankensteiner, flipping Starks up and right over the top rope! Big pop for the athletic maneuver! Starks lands heavilly on the arena floor, and Warnett climbs up onto the top turnbuckle, facing outside the ring, launching himself off into a frog splash! Starks rolls aside at the last moment, and Marty Warnett goes flying into the steel crowd barriers with audible impact! The fans near at hand scatter as the barrier swings inwards, and Marty slumps down to the arena floor. Starks shakes off the cobwebs and grabs hold of Marty Warnett, hauling him up into the air and executing a punishing brainbuster suplex right on the concrete! Shocked pop from the fans! Once again, Starks siezes up the near unconcious Marty Warnett by the hair and rolls him back into the ring. Starks steps between the ropes himself, grapples Warnett around the throat, and fastens on his patented Kathe Jime judo choke hold! Big pop from the Starks supporters as the referee asks for the submission.] TD: Can Marty Warnett hold out for one of the most painful submission holds in the sport? Can this man take the pain?... No! Marty Warnett has submitted to the Kathe Jime judo hold! What an absolutely deadly finishing hold Tony Starks has devised! Now we're down to just two men! RA: Ladies and gentlemn, Marty Warnett has submitted to Tony Starks, and is now eliminated from the match! SR: Yee Haw! That snot nosed punk has finally been eliminated! I knew Tony Starks was too much of a tough guy to let some pretty boy big girl's blouse get one over him, and now we're gonna see some real action: Tony Starks vrs. Otto Verhoeven. What a violent slug fest this is gonna be! [Otto Verhoeven allows himself a faint smirk of anticipation as he climbs between the ropes and back into the ring. Tony Starks wipes the sweat from his brow and fixes his bad-ass stare on the German behemoth, holding his arms out in a shoot-fighting stance. The two gladiators circle around the ring, warilly keeping an eye out for sucker shots. Both men lunge at each other seemingly simultaneously, Verhoeven aiming a clenched fist dead at the centre of Starks face, but the submission fighter catches the blow and immediately twists Verhoeven's arm into a Fuginama armbar! Otto Verhoeven immediately emits a bellow of pain, and the crowd pops anxiously for the legendary debilitating hold. Starks keeps the armbar locked on firmly, Verhoeven's face contorting into a rictus of agony... but refusing to give it all up. Seconds of excruciating agony pass... Verhoeven shifts his massive boy weight, forcing Starks to give up some ground, and the big German siezes the opportunity to reach out and snatch hold of the top rope. The ref calls for the break, Starks reluctantly complying, and the expression of relief on Verhoeven's face is palpably visible. Verhoeven lunges in again, this time choosing to grapple with Tony Starks, and the two men lock up, forcing their body wieght against one another, stalemated for the moment. Verhoeven begins to overpower his foe, but Starks slips under and behind his guard, grappling Verhoeven from behind and locking him into an abdominal stretch! Once again, Verhoeven grits his teeth and strives to whether the pain of the submission hold.] TD: You said a good big man will always beat a good technical wrestler earlier on in the match, Steve Roberts, but right now Tony Starks is utilising his vast knowledge of debilitating holds to make Verhoeven look like a wrestling amateur. SR: Amateur my ass! Check out the pain threshold of the "Butcher"! I don't think this big bastard will ever submit to ANY hold, and Tony Starks is gonna have a helluva time of it when Verhoeven breaks out of that stretch and puts his ass through the mat with a gutwrench powerbomb! [Tony Starks, mustering all of his might just to keep a huge man like Verhoeven from breaking free, digs his heels in and increases the pressure. Verhoeven, not the most of advanced of technical wrestlers, is having trouble finding a method of escape, and his breath comes seething through clenched teeth -- his back is under intense strain from the abdominal stretch. Nurse Heidi watches anxiously from outside the ring, and the ref asks for the submission, but Verhoeven remains silent, determined to hold out to the bitter end. Tony Starks, noting his foe's resilency, decides to change tactics, and still applying the abdominal stretch, presses Verhoeven's shoulders down onto the mat. The ref puts on the count: 1 - 2 - With a surge of effort Verheoven manages to get a shoulder up! Anxious pop from the crowd as Verhoeven's shoulder hovers mere centimeters away from the canvas! Tony Starks grunts and pushes Verhoeven's shoulders back down onto the mat: 1 - 2 - Verhoeven yells out in German and once again manages to inch a shoulder off the canvas! Both men are visibly trembling under the effort, Starks expending all of his strength to retain his hold and press Verhoeven's shoulders to the mat, Verhoeven expending all of his strength to fend off the pinfall. The noise from the crowd, clearly feeling the tension of this battle of wills, reaches a fevered pitch!] TD: What intensity! What a battle! What a sheer test of courage and will, as Tony Starks and Otto Verhoeven strive for supremacy! Tony Starks... victory just scant milimetres away from his grasp... Otto Verhoeven... spending all of his strength just trying to survive in there... Unbelievable! Listen to the noise from this crowd here at Disneyland! SR: I'm almost going hoarse with the excitement, Tim Dross! I can hardly bare to watch; this tension is unbearable! The crowd is freaking me out! There's some guy down there in a Mickey Mouse costume, baying for Tony Stark's blood! TD: This is Disneyland! That's the real Mickey Mouse! SR: Mickey Mouse is a IIWF fan? TD: You betcha. [Tony Starks is shaking almost uncontrollably, his ability to contain the fearsome power of Otto Verhoeven perhaps slipping away... and the "Butcher" is powering his way up from the canvas!] TD: Unbelievable! Tony Starks can no longer retain his hold on Otto Verhoeven! Sheer carnage must be only moments away! [Verhoeven shifts his shoulders up away from the mat, heaves backwards with all his might, and Tony Starks topples over, smashing into the canvas, crushed beneath the tremendous bulk of Otto Verhoeven! Huge pop from the crowd! Verhoeven staggers up to his feet, wiping the sweat from his brow and resting against the ropes for a moment. Tony Starks remains plastered to the mat, all of the breath knocked out of him, completely incapable of getting up! Otto Verhoeven lurches over to his opponent, breathing hard and clearly feeling the pace. He drags Tony Starks groggily up to his feet and hoists him up into the air... holding him aloft for several seconds... before bringing him crashing down to the mat with a vertical suplex! Verhoeven is back up to his feet, dragging Tony Starks up once again, clinching him around the waist, and blasting him into the canvas for a second time with a punishing belly to belly suplex! Verhoeven gets up once again. He hoists Tony Starks up into the air and slings him over his shoulder. Sweat streaming from his forehead, Verhoeven backs up into the corner, then charges across the ring, hurling himself and Tony Starks into the mat with an absolutely pulverising powerslam! Tony Starks shudders and goes still, the force of Verhoeven's high imapct maneuvers reducing him to jelly. Verhoeven's lust for destruction is not yet sated, however, and he fastens a big meaty paw around the neck of his foe. Wincing under the strain, Verhoeven lifts Tony Starks up into the air by the throat, and carries him over to the ropes. As the crowd pops in horror, Verhoeven hoists Starks up, over the top rope, hurling him down onto the steel ring steps below! Starks strikes the cold steel with an impact that resounds across the arena, flips over, and finally somes to a rest comatose on the arena floor.] TD: Oh my goodness! Otto Verhoeven has slammed the stuffing right out of Tony Starks! I bet his ribs are caved in after that powerslam, and his spine must be almost cracked in two after being blasted over the steel ring steps! SR: I told you Otto Verhoeven was an unstoppable force, Timbo! Lord Byron... Man, you'd better make sure you stay away from this psycho wrecking machine. [Almost breathless, moving in slow motion, Otto Verhoeven climbs out of the ring and stoops over the motionless carcass of Tony Starks. He siezes up the submission fighter like a rag doll and hurls him across the arena floor and into the steel railings! The fans close at hand pop in shock and scatter out of the way as the barrier impacts inwards. Starks slumps over the railing, his head lolling against his chest, as Otto Verhoeven, bellowing like a bull, charges towards him...] TD: This is too much! Verhoeven is gonna crush Starks with an avalan... SR: [interrupting] Jesus Christ! Starks moved out of the way! [The fans give a huge pop, as Tony Starks, obviously operating on pure instinct at this point, drops and rolls aside from the "Butcher's" charge. Verhoeven, unable to reverse his momentum, hurls himself straight into the steel crowd barriers, and with a yell of pain and frustration, drops down to the arena floor, the impact knocking him cold.] TD: This is just unbelievable mayhem, ladies and gentlemen! Both of these gladiators... dishing out tremendous proportions on punishment to one another... neither man seems capable of taking this match any further. SR: Oh man! Look at Tony Starks! He's beginning to stir down on the arena floor! Tony Starks is getting up to his feet! This is just plain crazy! [The crowd pop as the battered and bruised Tony Starks claws his way up to his feet with the aid of the crowd barriers. He heads, not over to the comatose "Butcher", but to Mickey Mouse, who is still cheering fervently from ringside! Starks grabs hold of Mickey's head, wrenching on it, pulling on it...] TD: What the hell is he doing! SR: He's ripping that damn ridiculous mouse's head off! He's gonna use it as a weapon! This is great! [...Mickey Mouse struggles to retain his head, but Tony Starks rips it clean off, revealing a faintly familar face beneath...] SR: What the... that's Sabin Rene Figaro! Unbelievable! TD: Good grief! [Former wrestling "great", Sabin Figaro, obviously embarrasessed about having his new occupation revealed, scurries off into the depths of the crowd. Verhoeven, meanwhile, is slowly pulling himself up to his feet with the aid of the crowd barriers, and Tony Starks, clutching onto the huge head of Mickey Mouse, staggers over to him. Otto Verhoeven looks on with a combination of surprise and horror, as Starks brings the head of Mickey Mouse crashing down across his noggin. Verhoeven slumps back against the crowd barriers, and Starks, in sheer desperation, whales away with the Mickey Mouse head, battering Verhoeven down to the ground with it, repeatedly striking away until the whole thing is busted up beyond repair. Finally, Starks throws the remnants of the Mickey Mouse head into the crowd, and drags the now unconcious Otto Verhoeven by his singlet over to the ring.] TD: That was just plain ridiculous! I don't know whether to laugh or cry. Unbelievable, ladies and gentlemen. SR: Ha! We just witnessed the destruction of Mickey Mouse right before our eyes! That annoying little cartoon rat's career is well and truly over! What a historic moment for the IIWF! TD: Hold on a moment, there's a disturbance at the head of the aisle... Ike Sampson is here! Ike Sampson is racing down to ringside! [A big pop goes up from the crowd as big Ike Sampson, brandishing a folded up steel chair, charges down to the ring, right at Tony Starks! Starks releases his grip on Otto Verhoeven and wearilly raises his fists in defence. It is not enough, however, to stop the momentum of Ike Sampson, who blasts Starks across the head with the steel chair with resounding force! Starks drops down to his knees, and Sampson hauls back the chair once again, cracking Stark's across the noggin a second time. Starks slumps down to the arena floor, and Sampson begins yelling at him - "You wanna go hardcore, Starks? Huh? You wanna go hardcore? I'll get hardcore on yo ass mutha'[BLEEP]er!" Sampson hauls back with the chair one final time, driving the edge down hard into Tony Stark's midsection. Sampson tosses the chair aside, and then stalks back up the aisle, a mean look on his face.] TD: What unbelievable carnage we are witnessing here in this four corners contest, ladies and gentlemen! Each and every single man in this match seems to have somebody holding a grudge against them, and nobody has escaped unscathed! SR: Man, Tony Starks is gonna be pissed after that! It'll be great watching him pulverise Ike Sampson for a second time at Ring Wars IV! TD: But what will be the result of this match now, Steve Roberts? Both Otto Verhoeven and Tony Starks are battered beyond any level a sane man should be willing to undergo... neither of them are moving a muscle! We may have a draw on our hands folks! [Otto Verhoeven and Tony Starks are both stretched out on the arena floor, sweat dripping down their torso's, their breath coming in harsh gulping gasps. Seconds pass, and suddenly, striving with herculean effort, Otto Verhoeven begins to clamber to his feet. Just moments later, Tony Starks stirs from out of his stupor, and the two foes lurch, stagger over, and wade into a brawl! Neither man possessess sufficient senses or energy to defend themselves properly at this point, and they simply stand and trade leaden fists in a final test of will! Starks clubs Verhoeven with a nasty roundhouse right on the jaw, following up with a headbutt to the nose and a left hook to the ear. Verhoeven takes the punishment and comes back with swinging axehandle across the side of Stark's head, a knee to the midsection, and a right cross to the temple -- this final blow felling Starks like a redwood. Verhoeven scoops his foe up and rolls him beneath the bottom ropes, finally taking the battle back into the ring. Starks stumbles up to his feet, but Verhoeven clinches him around the throat, heaves him up into the air... and brings him crashing down across the knee in his devestating chokeslam / back-breaker combination.] SR: Slaughterslam! It's all over, baby dolls! [Starks slumps down to the mat, crushed into oblivion by Verhoeven's Slaughterslam, and unable to offer any further resistance. The "Butcher", barely able to remain concious himself, flops down on Starks for the cover: 1 - 2 - 3! Ding! Ding! Ding!] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, the winner of the four way dance, with a pinfall over Tony Starks -- Otto "the Butcher" Verhoeven! TD: What a tremendous, bruising victory for the "Butcher", and what a fight was put up by Tony Starks! SR: I tell ya Dross baby, the "Butcher" is back on the warpath! This is the man right here... the man who will go on to become the very first wrestler to hold the real World's heavyweight championship two times. I can't believe how punishing this match was for all involved. [Verhoeven raises his fists up to the air in triumph, but overcome with fatigue and dehydration, slumps back down to his knees. Nurse Heidi enters the ring and helps her fiance' back up to his feet, and togethor they climb through the ropes and head back up the aisle, and despite his exhaustion, Verhoeven's victory exultation is unmistakable. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: Well, folks, what an incredible match -- and up next, we will hear from none other than IIWF Hall of Famer, the "Outlaw" J.W. Hardin himself as... hang on. SR: What is it this time, Dross? You wet your pants, big guy? I told you not to take the extra-large soda during the commercial break. TD: No, Steve Roberts -- I understand that we have the "Superstar" Stud Stetson on the phone! We will try to see if we can get his feed hooked up here and maybe he could shed some light on the current Warnett/Reed situation. Mr. Stetson, are you there? SS: Yeah, I'm here, Dross. TD: So this is truly the real "Superstar" Stud Stetson? SS: In living colour, my friend.  I have a few things I want to clear up. First, I'm still regretting to this very day for leaving the best organization in the world, the IIWF.  I realized the Loop is nothing but a over hyped hellhole after I won my second bout with just about as much ease as my first -- but before I could do anything else I found myself the victim of a serious car accident.  So the bastards at the Loop decided to release me and leave me out in the streets.  But that's alright, I'm training and hoping one day to be able to wrestle again.  And as everyone knows Lace is at my side again, so things are looking up.  That's besides the point right now though -- I'm not here to relish in past glories. I'm here to talk about the now.  TD: I'm sure you are talking about "The Brat" Bradley Reed. SS: I sure as hell am.  I want to clear one thing up right now.  I am in no way associated with this little punk.  Sure, me and Warnett had our differences but that was the past and I am getting too old to let our petty feud run my life.  Warnett got the better of me and I can live with that. What I can't live with is some guy who is trying to trick the great fans of the IIWF into thinking I am associated with this little pipsqueak and his walking steriod of a bodyguard.  TD: But what about that Superstar title he is carrying?  That definitely is your former title. SS: Dross, I got rid of that thing as quickly as I brought it in.  It was a joke and it wasn't helping my career any.  Look at it, Dross.  It's all rusty with neglect.  The little punk probably found it in a dumpster in Portland. But let's not get into this kid's pastimes.  I want to get one thing clear. Kid, I don't care if you have gone through a tough childhood and feel it's time to rebel.  I don't care if you want to make a name for yourself by punking Warnett, I did the same.  What I do care about is the fact you are masquerading around as if your my friend.  You are trying to make people think I am associated with you somehow.  At first you even tried to make people think you were me.  And for that I have a beef to pick with you.  And you know how I am going settle this thing?  By getting to know you face to face, Stud Stetson style.  You go ahead and show up at Los Angeles next week at Ring Wars.  But just be ready for me to be there too.  I missed my last Ring Wars appearance, so I think I'm due for one.  Unfortunately it is at your expence, kid. TD: Am I hearing you right?  You will be at Ring Wars? SS: You heard me right.  I'm getting packed right now and ready to take a cross country ride over to the sunshine state.  When I finally arrive, Reed isn't going to like the consequences. TD: Oh my. Thank you for your time, Stud Stetson. [Dross is answered by a dial tone, signifying that Stetson must already be on his way.] TD: Well, Steve Roberts, it's all happening here tonight -- Stud Stetson will be at Ring Wars IV, and, by the sounds of things, he'll be in the corner of one Marty Warnett! What a surprising turn of events! SR: Kinda miss Stetson, Dross. Miss that piece he used to hang around with more, though. That Lace... she can go, Dross. TD: Perhaps so. Folks, it's time for the promised interview with the "Outlaw" J.W. Hardin. If you'll excuse me, Steve Roberts. SR: You think Hardin's gonna want to talk to you, Dross? Be my guest -- hope he Cattle Busters ya, buddy! [Dross leaves the broadcast table, climbs into the ring, and accepts a microphone from Sparkplug Lee.] TD: Ladies and gentlemen, at this time please welcome the man who will     challenge Brody Thunder next weekend at Ring Wars IV.  He has been     called a legend, he is a IIWF Hall of Famer, he is the Outlaw...     J.W. Hardin! [A big heel pop rumbles through the crowd as Pat Benatar's "Outlaw Blues" begins to play and several Disney characters at the top of the aisle begin to dance.  Hardin, wearing his traditional black duster and cowboy hat, steps out and encounters Donald Duck, who raises his wing for a high-five. Hardin immediately kicks Donald in the meaty portion of the duck's breast and DDTs him on the concrete.  The heel pop is now huge as the remainder of the costumed characters flee and Hardin gets back to his feet and continues down the aisle.] TD: Oh my...!  Get some help for that duck! [Emergency medical workers are quickly on the scene to tend to Donald.  A fan at ringside waves a Brody Thunder bandana at Hardin, who snatches the souvenir and climbs into the ring to join Tim Dross.] TD: J.W. Hardin, we are guests of the Disney Company tonight and I don't     think they're going to appreciate having one of their characters     Cattle Busted on this program. JWH: Well, ain't that just too bad?  Goes to prove one thing... ducks and wolves both got short life spans around the Outlaw.  Now get the hell outta the ring, Dross.  I want a _real_ commentator to handle this here interview.  [Hardin grabs the microphone.]  C'mon up, Steve Roberts. [Dross looks at Hardin incredulously.  Steve Roberts grins and feigns embarrassment before jumping to his feet and climbing into the ring.  Dross shrugs his shoulders and begins to leave the ring.] JWH: Hold on, Dross.  I found ya somethin' in Frontierland. [Hardin reaches into his duster and pulls out a coonskin cap.  He unceremoniously slaps it on Tim's head and pulls it down low.] SR: Looks more like hair than your real rat, Dross. [Another big heel pop as Dross scowls, climbs from the ring and pulls the cap from his head.  He smooths his "real" hair and returns to the broadcasters' table, leaving Hardin and Roberts grinning in the ring.] JWH: Here ya go, Soundbite. [he hands the microphone to Roberts.]  By the way, Vanessa sends her love. SR: You da man, cowboy!  By the way, does she have any blonde friends? JWH: Later, amigo.  I ain't out here 'cause Spreadbury wants to sell a few more tickets to Ring Wars.  I'm here to remind one back-stabbin' Brody Thunder that he's only got seven more days 'fore he realizes just what a big mistake he made a few weeks back.  I reckon there's only one way to pound that into his head...      ...and that's by pounding it into his head. SR: Just remember, hoss, blood really helps the buy rate. JWH: That ain't gonna be a problem.  [He unfolds the Brody Thunder bandana and holds it above his head.] Y'all better get these rags while ya can 'cause they're gonna be collector's items next Sunday.  I reckon they'll start selling Thunder logos on little rolls with perforated squares... mebbe that's why they call him a _paper_ champion. SR: Hehe... and why he looks so flushed these days.  But why not take the belt, big guy?  We needs a real champ again. [The heel pop rises again and "Space Mountain" plastic cups begin flying into the ring.] JWH: Lookit what that shiny belt means to Thunder. You'd think it's his      life right now.  But I've been there.  That belt ain't nothin' but a prison... and the Outlaw ain't about to go back to prison.  See,      Roberts, I don't need a trophy.  I don't need to keep lookin' over my shoulder.  I don't need to wonder who's next.  An' I don't need no family to worry about. SR: And yer point... er, I mean _your_ point would be? JWH: There ain't a thing in this world more dangerous than a man who's got nothin' to lose.  Thunder's got his belt, his wife, his kids, an' his career to worry about.  Every thought that goes through his lil' mind is about protectin' somethin'.      Me?  I'm just an mean cowboy with nothin' to lose.  It's all goin' on the line next Saturday.      Now, who ya gonna bet on? [The heel pop rises once again.] SR: There are only two legends in this ring right now.  Learn to live with _that_, Brody Thunder. ["Outlaw Blues" begins again and Hardin merely nods at Roberts.  The souvenir cups bounce off the Outlaw as he climbs from the ring and walks to the back, ignoring the fans along the way.  Roberts gives a sarcastic salute to the fans as he rejoins Dross at the broadcasters' table.] TD: Well, there you have it, folks -- the "Outlaw" J.W. Hardin is ready for that big non-title match with Brody Thunder next Saturday night at Ring Wars IV. What an event it's gonna be! SR: You know, Dross, if there was one match I'd willingly pay thirty bucks to see, it would be Hardin and Thunder beating the snot out of one another. Well, that or a young Susan Sarandon and Ashley Judd in a ring filled with liquid chocolate... TD: I don't think we need to delve any further into your little fantasy world, Steve Roberts. Instead, let's get up to the ring for our huge non-title champion vs. champion match. It's Chris Quigley and Derek Mota -- they are going to get it on right now! ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| CHAMPION vs. CHAMPION NON-TITLE MATCH: |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley vs. Derek Mota ....................................................................... WRITER: JH [Sparkplug Lee breaks his hug with one of the Fantasia dancing elephants and is herded toward the ring by the Little Mermaid and Jafar. As Sparkplug climbs into the ring, the crowd turns to hear the screaming of children on a nearby roller coaster, cheering them on. When the cheers die down a bit, Sparkplug begins the announcement.] SL: The following contest is a non-title matchup between two of the IIWF's most respected champions... Introducing first... from Toronto, Ontario, Canada... He is the reigning Current IIWF Cruiserweight Champion... Weighing in at 224 pounds... [Pantera's "The Great Southern Trendkill" pumps through the speaker system and the video wall bursts with color for the entrance of...] SL: Derek Mota! [The crowd boos as the sleek and trim Mota struts backwards to the ring. In a show of deviousness, he goes to shake the hand of a small boy only to steal a portion of the tike's cotton candy. The Cruiserweight strap, slung over his shoulder, is slightly cover by his jet, black hair. Derek looks to the camera and throws his leg up on the ring steps and mouths the letters "M" "O" "T" "A" as he point to the letters on his pants leg.] TD: Mr. Mota showing the folks at home that he has remembered a few things from school. At least the ABC's weren't wasted on him. SR: I hate to burst your bubble, professor, but you can't spell squat with an "A," "B" or "C". You need a few vowels. TD: "A" is a vowel, Steve. SR: Whatever. I don't sweat the small stuff. That's why I sign my checks with an "X." [Mota sits on the top turnbuckle as Sparkplug points to the video screen. "For Those About to Rock" AC/DC explodes and the fans leave their seats for the hottest ticket in wrestling today.] SL: His opponent is the current IIWF Intercontinental Champion... Hailing from Corner Brook, Newfoundland, Canada... Accompanied by Steve Manning, Jr., he weighs in at 238 pounds... he is "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley! [The audience is stirred into a frenzy as Quigley makes his way down to the ring, with Manning trailing behind him in a wheel chair. Manning is hefting a baseball bat, but ignores Goofy trying to throw him a fastball. Quigley rolls into the ring immediately tossing his jacket out of the ring.] TD: Quigley looks like he wants to start this one off as soon as possible. The ref has just collected the belts from each man and has to hold back Quigley. SR: He's still complaining that he wants this to be a title bout. Are you kidding me? Chrissy should be figuring out a way how to save his ass at Ring Wars from beating he should get from Duckin-stein. Mota is just a few seconds away from slapping the snot outta him. [It's obvious that Quigley is upset with the stipulations of the match. It is also obvious that Gofer is now wearing Quigley's jacket and is trying to pal around with Manning. Manning doesn't seem amused. Mota is just aggravating the situation by taunting "Quickstrike".] TD: Since you brought up Duncan Macbeth, Steve, I'm getting a report from the locker room that Macbeth's knee seems to be seriously hurt. Horrible as it is to say, he might not make it to Ring Wars. SR: That's why its called Ring Wars, twinkie toaster. Only the strong... Foul! Foul! Foul! [Ding! Ding! Ding! Quigley is fed up with arguing and just begins waylaying a surprised Mota. Mota is pushed back to the corner, trying to cover up from the clubbing Quigley is giving. The Cruiserweight champ duck a left hook to execute a hip-lock takedown. Quigley quickly sits out of it and both hit the ropes for momentum. The crowd is anxious watching the two men leap frog and duck each other until...] TD: Chris puts an end to this and puts on the brakes, abruptly booting Mota in the gut. Hiptoss! Reversed by Mota... Catching Quigley on the jaw with a drop kick! SR: Goofy can't believe it, but I can. An impact like that will re-arrange your smile... and I never liked Chrissy's smile. I'd like to take that bat from rolling thunder over there and stick up Chrissy's... [Roberts remarks are lost in a major crowd pop as Quigley rolls over a shoulder block and hits Mota with a side Russian leg sweep. He covers for a quick one count but is pushed off. Mota reverses a hammerlock into a nice fireman's carry. Dropping back for a Samoan drop, Mota is up and stomping away on Quigley. After a few kicks the Intercontinental champ is sent for the ride only to be sent down again with a hiptoss. Mota locks up the left ankle for a spinning toe hold, but Quigley pushes him away with the other leg and kips up.] SR: Quigley just snap suplexed Mota like he actually had talent. I guess those all male revues Chrissy's been going to has really given him a lift. Especially in his lap. Ha ha. TD: Uh... Only you could come up with that. Both men lock up again and move to the corner. The ref has to break them up and... Mota slaps Quigley right across the face. Quigley is furious! SR: He's your bitch, Derek! Now tell him to get back in the kitchen and make you some pie! [Quigley is barely restrained, as Mota rolls out of the ring. Manning pushes the bat against Mota's side and starts to bad mouth him. Just staying out of reach, Mota threatens the man. Huge crowd pop as Quigley reaches over the ropes and drags Mota up by his hair. After a couple of shot across Mota's chest, Quigley signals to the crowd. Spinning Mota around, Quigley hefts Mota up for a reverse suplex... but Mota lands on his feet and clenches Quigley's head... Heel Pop!] TD: Jawbreaker! Quigley is rolling in pain! And Mota hasn't let up yet! He bounces off the opposite ropes... comes back... hops to the second rope... flipping leg drop! Now applying a reverse chin lock. SR: And now the rest of Quigley's entourage makes it to ringside. Probably he to root him on. [The classic piece of music begins and the crowd starts to cheer as the "Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairies" plays and numerous Disney characters begin parading around the ring. Much to his protest, Winnie the Pooh starts wheeling Steve Manning around with them. Fans around ringside also start walking with the characters, making for quite a confused scene.] TD: Where's the security? This is crazy! SR: Audience participation, it can't be beat. Just ask any Go Go dancer. They don't get their dollars without me. [At this point Quigley has broken free and hits with a gutwrench suplex. He attempts a STF but Mota rolls over and races to the ropes again. Mota launches himself for a cartwheel kick but Quigley avoids and waits for Mota to rise. A kick is blocked by Quigley... and turned into an enzuigiri! The Intercontinental Champion attempts to put on an octopus hold, but is broken up as Mota has a handle on the ropes. Mota is locked up in an armbar but reverses it into a beautiful hangman's neck breaker. The Cruiser champ tries a cross face, but Quigley sits and rolls and connects with a spin wheel kick! Quigley leads Derek, into pile driver position. Mota backdrops out of it, but Quigley doesn't let go and rolls Mota up...] TD: Two count! Mota escaped that one! [Huge Crowd Pop!] TD: But he doesn't escape a massive Quigley superkick! Mota falls through the ropes, onto the Hunchback Notre Dame! Mota pushes the Hunchback, well... back! [The count: 1 - 2...] SR: Pinhead Manning wheels his crippled ass over to Mota. Knock his ass outta that chair, Derek! [Quigley, always willing to take it to the next level, skies over the top rope executing a senton. Mota, Manning, three milk maids and one dancing crab are caught in the impact! Manning is sent from his wheel chair, his bat kicked into the crowd by screaming Disney characters. The scene gets chaotic quickly, since no one ever expected Disney Land to become a war zone. The count continues: 4 - 5 - Quigley sends Mota into an ice cream cart, dumping its contents everywhere!] SR: Vanilla, chocolate, strawberry! Oh, the humanity! [reaching down to pick up a Mickey stick] Cool, freebie! TD: Mota hits Quigley with a clothesline! And... throws Manning's wheel chair into the ring?! He's on the outside apron... running... another senton... [...7...8... Major Pop!] SR: Missed! Damn it! [Quigley avoided the move, allowing Mota to roll to the feet of the outer most fans. A scoop slam sends Mota down to the floor again. The last of the Disney characters run out. Intercontinental Champion rolls in and out to restart the count. Quigley goes over to Manning, who seems to be no worse for wear... at least until a belly-to-back suplex sends Quigley sprawling. Manning gets a boot to the face for his troubles... 2... 3... Trying to get up, Quigley is dropped again with an elbow drop from Mota. Then is tossed into the ring... 4... 5...] TD: Mota is in the ring and arguing with the ref about the wheelchair. Mota wants it and the ref says no. SR: Look at that fat little bastard, he's trying to pull it away from Mota. Who is he to judge? TD: He's the referee, it's his job. SR: Shut up, pillow biter. He should.... Foul! Foul! Foul! [Quigley clotheslines Mota from behind, causing Mota to fly forward... crushing the referee against the turnbuckle with the wheel chair atop. Mota spins around with a wicked chop and follows with an elbow to the head. A dazed Quigley wobbles in the middle of the ring. Mota runs toward him for... Crowd pop! Whatever it was supposed to be, it was turned into a spinebuster by Quigley! Setting up the wheel chair in the middle of the ring, Quigley bulldogs Mota onto it! He sends the wheel chair to the floor by Manning. Pulling the stunned body of Mota up and executes a fisherman's suplex. With no referee, the crowd counts...] Crowd: One!... TWO!... THREE! SR: They could count to a million, because the ref is in La La land and he ain't... Wake up the children, honey. There's dynamite tonight! [Heel Crowd pop, as Timothy N. Turner makes his way to ringside. Dressed in an Armani suit and sipping on a soda, he is talking trash to Quigley. "Quickstrike" leans on the ropes and returns the insults to TNT, Mota still slumped on the canvas. Manning, just dragging himself back into the chair again, is "highjacked" by TNT. Turner begins wheeling Manning backward up the aisle. Quigley is quickly on the scene and charges the two.] TD: Disgusting! Turner dumps Manning forward onto Quigley and steals the wheelchair again. Fortunately for Manning, Quigley sits him down at a nearby seat that is offered by the IIWF staff. SR: Brings a tear to my eye. TNT has Mota in his best interest and tosses the chair in the ring again. TD: Quigley makes chase but TNT avoids him, heading his way back to the locker room, having had his fun. Mota seems to be out of his funk, but the ref is still out. [Quigley, climbing into the ring, is met by a thunderous right hand from Mota. Then a side suplex bounces Quigley off the mat. Mota runs up to the second turnbuckle for a frankensteiner and LEVELS Quigley with the maneuver. Taking time to yell to the crowd "One belt's not enough!" Mota sends Quigley to the corner... who reverses it and plants Mota against the corner! The Intercontinental Champion backs up and goes for a splash, but... Heel Pop!] TD: Mota caught Quigley and hot shots him on the turn buckle! Quigley is hurt! Quigley is Hurt1 SR: Mota's a good sport. He's going to give Quigley a seat... from the top! [Sure as Steve said it, Mota climbs to the top turnbuckle with wheel chair in tow.] Crowd: WHEEL CHAIR SAULT! WHEEL CHAIR SAULT! WHEEL CHAIR SAULT! [Huge heel pop as Mota comes crashing down on Quigley with the wheel chair. Wheels are torn free and rolling out of the ring. Quigley's chin is cut, holding his face. The mania outside the ring is getting out of control! Even than the people riding the nearby Ferris wheel are throwing garbage from the ride. Nothing but screaming and yelling can be heard. Mota shoves the referee until he wakes up, then makes the cover...] Crowd: One! SR: Two! [Crowd pop!] TD: Quigley kicked out! Amazing! He has the heart of a lion! SR: And the looks of a babboon! [Mota can't believe Quigley kicks out. A series of lefts and right sets Quigley up for a Northern Lights suplex. One... two...] SR: THREE! Yeah, baby! Yeah! TD: No! The referee is waving it off! Quigley's foot was on the rope. Quigley showing off quite a ring awareness here tonight. Mota lifts Quigley up for a... Small package by Quigley! [Crowd pops as Quigley gets a two count. Quigley seeming rejuvenated and ignoring the cut on his chin, begins exchanging technical moves with Mota. Times seems to float by as these two experts of the ring compete, one never getting the upper hand until...] TD: Quigley with a stomach breaker! Mota rolls over in pain! Piledriver! [Crowd is on its feet as Quigley rolls over Mota. A rake of the eyes break it up.] SR: Not yet, Chrissy! Go mount some other guy. Hey, all right. Repeat performance by TNT! [Crowd boos as Turner makes his way back to ringside, eyeing Manning as he goes by. Mota has Quigley on the mat with a Japanese arm drag, turning it into a handstand knee to the back. Mota missed with an elbow drop. Quigley rolls up and meets Mota with a reverse atomic drop. Dropping him with a forearm, races up to the top, preparing for the Lightning strike.] SR: No! It can't end this way! [Heel pop!] TD: Quigley missed! Mota moved and avoided the impact! TNT is clapping, as Mota rights himself. Mota is telling the crowd that it's all over! [Mota sends Quigley to the ropes. They criss-cross and hit the ropes again, but this time Turner grabs Mota's ankle. Mota falls face first to the mat. Quigley, expecting to leapfrog Mota, jumps straight up, only to land on the back of Mota's head.] SR: Intrigue! Mota's nose is bleeding! And the lame duck is throwing on the Quickstriker! [The crowd is in a frenzy, watching Mota pounding on the mat. It's only a matter of time before Mota submits. TNT's job done, he shuffles backstage waving to Quigley. "For Those About to Rock" starts up.] SL: Your winner, by submission... "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley! TD: Turner clearly wants Mota riled up before they meet next week at Ring Wars IV for the Cruiserweight Championship! SR: Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, Quigley. [Quigley helps Manning back to the dressing room, to the cheers of the crowd. Mota on the other hand, swipes his belt from the referee, standing in disgust at the turn of events. He slings his belt over his shoulder, wipes the blood away from his nose, and leaves the ring, shaking his head and muttering about Turner. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: That brings us to the main event of this incredible night of wrestling here in Disneyland.  The IIWF Heavyweight Champion, "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder, takes on the former champ, Requiem, in a match that the self-styled Herald of Damnation has been calling for for quite some time. SR: I'm really looking forward to this one, Dross.  We're gonna see the big ex-Bangle Rectum starting down that long, lonesome road to Jobberville tonight, and you know that wherever the Lone Wolf goes, you can be sure that the Outlaw, ol' J. Dub Hardin himself, won't be far behind. TD: That may very well be the case, Steve Roberts.  The ill will between Hardin and his former "pupil" Thunder has reached the breaking point, threatening to explode in just one week from tonight at Ring Wars IV. At the moment, though, the story is the current champ versus the former champ in our main event.  I understand that young Steve Summer is with the champion, let's go lve to our backstage camera for this exclusive interview. [Cut to a shot of Brody Thunder standing in the locker room.  He is looking distastefully into the camera as if it were wasting his time. Steve Summer looks very nervous as he steps up to Thunder, who blows a sideways puff of cigar smoke into the young reporter's face.] SS: Well, Mr. Thunder, you're just minutes away from facing the man you     defeated, in somewhat controversial fashion, for the world title.     Tonight Requiem has vowed that there'll be a different outcome     because... BT: Hey, lissen, Summer... he can _vow_ whatever the hell he wants but     the cold hard fact is when that bell rings I'm gonna kick his     whinin' hide start ta finish.  I'm sick o' his pissin' an' moanin'     'bout how he got screwed.  Ya didn't get _screwed_, Requiem... ya     got _beat_.  An' if ya don't know the difference then I pity yer ol'     lady. SS: Well, be that as it may, tonight's match will... BT: ...prove jus' what I said all along.  The runt ain't in my league     an' I'm gonna make him unnerstand that once an' fer all.  In     _fact_... [Thunder grabs the title belt an' slings it over his shoulder.] BT: ...I think I'll prove it ta him _right_now_. [Thunder storms off camera.] SS: Mr. Thunder...?  Well... all right, fans.  Things look to be reaching a fever pitch here tonight.  Back to you, Mr. Dross. [Cut back to Tim Dross and Steve Roberts at ringside.] TD: Brody Thunder with some decidedly pointed words for former champion Requiem there, Steve. SR: And did you see the look on Summer's face, Dross?  Looks like he took a few too many trips on Mr. Toad's Wild Ride today.  I tell you, you just can't eat all that candy floss and popcorn and then go on all those throw-up rides. TD: I believe Brody Thunder may have had more to do with that than the cuisine here at Disneyland, Steve, but be that as it may, we should certainly have a thrilling match to look forward to tonight.  Let's go up to the ring for the introductions. ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| IIWF WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH: |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder [c] vs. Requiem ....................................................................... WRITER: SK [Sparkplug Lee climbs into the ring, clad in an official Disneyland Goofy baseball cap, complete with ears, big eyes, and two buck teeth on the bill, drawing a chuckle from referee Earl Alfonso.  As Mickey Mouse and Donald Duck cavort in the aisle to the delight of the ringside spectators, Lee pulls a card out of his pocket and raises the ring mic.] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is your _main event_ of the evening, and is for the IIWF World Heavyweight Championship! [Big pop from the fans, as Mickey and Donald begin a mock grappling demonstration in the aisle.] Introducing first, the challenger... from Parts Unknown, weighing in at 306 pounds, here is the former World Heavyweight Champion, REQ... what the... [Lee's words trail off as he is distracted by a loud disturbance at the aisle entrance, and all eyes in the stands turn to try and get a glimpse of the action.] TD: What on earth is that?  Oh my goodness... SR: It's Thunder and Requiem, Dross!  Forget about the introductions, this match's already started!  Praise the Lord and pass the biscuits, we've got us a back alley brawl!  Whooo! [There is a huge pop from the crowd as suddenly, at the head of the aisle, Requiem and Brody Thunder suddenly burst through the curtain, swinging away with wild lefts and rights!  Thunder is clutching the Heavyweight title belt in his right hand, and he swings at Requiem with it, the former champion blocking with forearms while laying in with uppercuts and roundhouses of his own!  Requiem finally manages to duoble Thunder over with a kick to the midsection, but as he closes in for another strike, the wily champ suddenly lashes out with the title belt, catching Requiem flush under the jaw and dropping him to the floor! Pop!] TD: This is chaos, Steve Roberts!  Brody Thunder said that he would prove his point to Requiem "right now", but we had no way of knowing that he meant to start this match backstage! SR: Just goes to show you, Dross -- the Lone Wolf's a man of his word. If he says "right now", he means five minutes ago, baby dolls!  [Thunder hands his title belt off to a nearby usher, then sets upon the downed Requiem, seizing him by the back of the head and ramming his neck into a guardrail!  Big pop!  Requiem reels back, clutching at his throat, as Thunder reaches down to pull him up for another shot.  The former champion has the presence of mind, though, to drive his head hard into the lower midsection of the Lone Wolf before he can be pulled to his feet, doubling Thunder over in pain!  Requiem quickly rises to his feet, and swiftly sends a vicious knee lift into Thunder's face, sending the World Champion sprawling to the floor!  Huge pop!] TD: Requiem has taken the upper hand now.. this match shows no sign of coming close to the ring area, Steve Roberts!  Earl Alfonso's not going to allow this to continue for very long before he's going to rule this bout a no-contest! SR: Yeah, that would be too bad for poor Rectum, wouldn't it?  After all the whining he had to do to get his little rematch... say, do you think he and Kick-me could be related, Dross? TD: I seriously doubt it, Steve. SR: I mean, look at the facts, man... they both bitch and complain like spoiled brats, they both have bad haircuts, they both rely on their lame friends to save their sorry hides... TD: That was a _terrible_ pun, Steve.  Requiem's now attempting to drag Brody Thunder to ringside, but the World Champion seems content to keep this match outside the ring... [In the ring, Earl Alfonso has indeed grown tired of waiting for the two combatants to enter the ring, and calls for the bell to officially start the match: Ding!  Ding!  Ding!  Alfonso then begins a ten-count as Requiem and Thunder begin pounding at each other again with wild roundhouses about halfway up the aisle.  Requiem rocks the champion with a pair of unanswered right hands, then attempts to Irish whip Thunder into the steel barriers, but Thunder reverses the move, and sends Requiem caroming into Donald Duck, who has been trapped in the aisle with the two wrestlers!  Huge heel pop as both Requiem and Donald collapse to the floor!] TD: Good God, man -- _what_ have you DONE? SR: Yes!  Kill the duck!  I always liked Daffy better, Dross! [Thunder takes a moment to survey this absurd situation, and then, with a look of malicious glee on his face, scoops up the unconscious Donald Duck, presses him high over his head, and _bodyslams_ him on top of the prone Requiem!  The intense heel pop echoes throughout Disneyland as this heinous act is broadcast throughout the park!] TD: I... I simply just can't believe what I just saw, Steve Roberts! "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder has not only just physically assaulted Donald Duck, one of the great icons of our American culture, but then proceeded to use poor Donald to bludgeon Requiem wth that bodyslam! SR: That may have been the coolest thing I ever saw, Dross. [Alfonso's count reaches seven as Thunder finally drags Requiem to his feet and runs him down the remainder of the aisle and under the ropes, as Mickey Mouse runs over to the stunned Donald, shaking his fist at Thunder and spewing a very un-mouse like stream of invective at the champion as an EMT crew arrives to tend to the fallen duck.  Thunder climbs into the ring just under the nine count, but is quickly knocked to the mat as the resurgent Requiem takes the legs out from under the champion with a football-style clip!  Requiem wastes no time in grabbing Thunder's right leg and turning him over into a modified half-crab, exerting considerable force on Thunder's right knee as the champ pounds the mat in pain and frustration.  Requiem pours on the pressure, but Thunder is able to power his way over to the ropes for the break. Requiem waits until the four and a half count from Alfonso before relinquishing the hold, but follows up the break with a devastating elbow drop to the back of Thunder's knee that causes the champion to grimace in pain!] TD: Requiem has regained control of this match, as well as his composure.  Look at him, he's showing absolutely no emotion, he's like a machine in there! SR: Must be a whining machine, then, Dross, 'cause he sure as hell ain't no wrestling machine. [Requiem pulls Thunder to his feet as a small group of Genesis Generation fans at ringside cheer their hero on, and raises Thunder into the air and down for a shinbreaker!  Thunder scrabbles to his feet as the Angel of Destruction measures him, then kicks Thunder's right leg out from under him as he rises, sending the champ back to the mat, clutching at his leg!  Requiem quickly seizes the right leg of Thunder and somersaults over the champion, pulling the leg with him and snapping it back roughly!  Thunder bellows out in agony as the leg whips back and bounces off the mat, as the crowd pops wildly!] TD: A smart plan of attack from the former champion here, targetting Brody Thunder's right leg and working it over mercilessly, weakening the champ's base and limiting his power arsenal. SR: I wouldn't count on it, Dross.  Thunder's still got a left leg, two arms, two elbows, two hands, ten fingers, a forehead, and a set of teeth.  I'd say he's still pretty well equipped to kick Rectum's ass. [Requiem begins to pull Thunder to his feet once more, but this time, the champion grabs Requiem about the head, jams his head under Requiems chin, and quickly drops back to the mat, rocking Requiem with a jawbreaker!  Thunder struggles to his feet, looking somewhat off-balance due to his smarting right leg, but still manages to drop a leg across the throat of the former champoin, sending Requiem bouncing across the canvas as he grasps at his throat in pain!  Thunder, smiling now, drags Requiem up and lays him out again with a vicious swinging neckbreaker! Huge pop as Requiem crashes once again to the mat!] TD: Once more the momentum shifts, and now Brody Thunder is in full control in there!  He seems to be targetting the neck of the former champion with a blistering assault, Steve. SR: Thunder looks like he wants to hand Rectum his head, Dross. Literally. TD: Both of these men have been pulling out the stops in this match tonight, Requiem fully focused on regaining the Heavyweight Title, and Thunder trying to demonstrate to the former champion just _why_ he's holding that belt now!  The intensity in this match is unbelievable! [Thunder tries to set Requiem up for a piledriver, but the big man manages to block the attempt!  Thunder tries again -- blocked by Requiem!  Finally, Thunder manages to hoist Requiem into the air, but his damaged leg suddenly buckles under the weight of the 300 pound-plus former champion, and Thunder drops Requiem back to the mat.  With a quick burst of strength, Requiem uses the momentum to hoist Thunder up into a modified gutwrench sidewalk slam!  Pop!  Requiem covers as Alfonso drops for the count - 1 - 2 - kickout by Thunder!  Huge pop from the crowd!] TD: What a reversal by Requiem!  We could have seen the title change hands right there! SR: That was a pretty sweet move all right, Dross, but you're gonna have to do a lot better than that to put down the Lone Wolf. [Requiem slams the mat in frustration, jumps to his feet, and drops another elbow onto the inside right thigh of Brody Thunder, then begins tying up the champion's legs as he prepared to apply a figure-four leg lock!  The former champ doesn't manage to sink in the hold thought, because as he spins around to grapevine Thunder's right leg, Thunder lashes out with his left foot and knocks Requiem sprawling across the ring and into the far turnbuckles!  Pop!  Both men are quick to spring back to their feet, but this time, Thunder is just a little bit faster, and flattens the rising Requiem with a vicious clothesline! ] TD: What a devastating move from Brody Thunder!  Requiem is down, and he is not moving, Steve Roberts!  Once again, the old question of Brody Thunder and his allegedly "loaded" elbow pad must be raised here.  That was by no means a light tap to the head, but Requiem looks like he's just been hit by a car! SR: Aw, he can't be hurt _that_ bad, he's supposed to be an angel or something, isn't he?  Well, if he ain't, he's sure gonna be soon, heh heh.  What do you think, Dross -- Requiem vs. Michael Landon in a "Nine Clouds of Torture" match? TD: Good grief. [Just then, there is a deafening pop from the crowd as the Outlaw, J. W. Hardin, appears in the aisle and begins sauntering down to ringside. Thunder gets up, pulling Requiem to his feet again, and whips him into the ropes, nailing Requiem with the loaded elbowpad once again!  Requiem crashes to the mat again, motionless, as Thunder finally notices Hardin in the aisle.  Hardin is wearing his leather duster, and in his right hand he is carrying the steel branding iron he used last week in his match against Duncan Macbeth.  The Outlaw points at Thunder about ten feet from the ring, mouthing the words, "I'm the bullet" as the World Champion just glares at Hardin, then turns his attention back to the fallen Requiem.] TD: We may see a preview of the main event at Ring wars IV at any moment now, folks!  J. W. Hardin has just made his way to ringside, and the bad blood between Hardin and Brody Thunder could now boil over at any time! SR: Thank God for J. W. Hardin!  I was getting kind of bored, watching Rectum getting his clock cleaned and all, but Thunder wants to be real careful now.  He can't let Hardin distract him from the big moron, his belt's on the line here! [Thunder pulls the stunned Requiem to his feet, slaps a reverse facelock on him, and turns so that he is facing the Outlaw outside the ring. Grinning confidently, Thunder yells to Hardin, "Here's what I'm gonna do to you next week, Hoss!" and prepares to lay out Requiem with the Cattle Buster DDT!] TD: Look at the audacity of Brody Thunder, threatening to finish Hardin at Ring Wars with his own patented finisher! SR: Maybe not, Dross!  Look! [In an act of pure desperation, Requiem powers out of the DDT before Thunder can drop to the mat, and backdrops Thunder to the canvas!  Big pop!  Hardin howls with laughter on the outside as the embarrassed and infuriated Thunder scrambles to his feet, and is met with a huge hand to the throat!] TD: Chokeslam from Requiem!  The former champ pulled that move out of nowhere, and Thunder is in real trouble now! SR: Score one for the Outlaw, Dross.  If he somehow manages to make Thunder lose his belt tonight, we may have to call in the SWAT team at Ring Wars when these two meet next week. [Requiem quickly pulls Thunder to his feet, and grabs the World Champion in a reverse facelock.  the Genesis Grneration fans at ringside start to cheer wildly as their hero viciously twists Thunder around and drives him into the mat with his "Redemption" rocker dropper!] TD: Requiem hits the Redemption!  It could be all over right now! Requiem can regain the Heavyweight Title right now! SR: Ah cripes, not again... hey, what's going on now? [Requiem moves to pin the stunned Thunder, but hesitates as the floodlights illuminating the ring area suddenly die out, and over the P.A. a deep, unearthly voice booms across the stands: VO: IN THE NAME OF THE LORD, YOU WILL BE TAKEN FROM THIS COURT, AND HUNG, DRAWN, AND QUARTERED.  WHAT ARE YOUR LAST WORDS, ACCUSED? [Requiem looks around the ring area, searching for the perpetrator of this disurbance, and he soon finds what he is looking for, as a spotlight hits the entrance to the aisle, revealing the massive form of the Blind Guardian!] TD: It's the Blind Guardian!  He said that he would follow Requiem's every move, and he is certainly making good on that vow tonight! SR: I hate to say it, Dross, but why the hell isn't Rectum covering Thunder?  That decrepit old moron's not as important as winning a title! [The lights slowly return as the gray-cloaked Guardian starts to walk down to ringside, his blindfolded visage eerily locked on Requiem as he reaches the ring area and stops a few feet from Hardin, who just cackles at the robed stranger.  The Guardian takes no notice of the Outlaw, but just raises an arm and points menacingly in the direction of Requiem, who stares at the Guardian icily for a moment, before he realises just what the Guardian is indicating...] TD: He's not pointing at Requiem!  Oh my goodness! [Requiem turns quickly back to Brody Thunder, but the champion has had all the time in the world to sneak up behind Requiem and double him over with a well-timed boot to the midsection!  Thunder quickly facelocks requiem and hoists him into the air in a vertical suplex, but then kicks his legs into the air, slamming Requiem's head into the mat with a pulverising DDT!] TD: That was the Widowmaker, Brody Thunder's new finisher!  What a devastating move from the champion! SR: That was some move, Dross.  Thunder could pobably get a ten-count out of that one. [In this case, three is more than enough, as Thunder covers Requiem, staring at Hardin throught the ropes, and Alfonso drops for the count 1 - 2 - 3!  Ding!  Ding!  Ding!] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, here is your winner, and STILL IIWF World Heavyweight Champion, "LONE WOLF" BRODY THUNDER! [The theme from "High Plains Drifter" blares from the P.A. as Thunder rises to his feet, raising his arms in victory, then after a moment makes his way out of the ring, still limpng slightly from the damage inflicted on his right leg by Requiem.  Thunder steps through the ropes, looks over to Hardin, who is cutting off the exit aisle with his imposing 6'10" frame and is resting his branding iron on his shoulder, and then reaches under the ring apron, pulling out a black cloth sack.] TD: What is Thunder doing?  What is he carring in that black bag? SR: Beats me, Dross, but look, Rectum's coming to, and he doesn't look too happy!  [Requiem pulls himself up to one knee, shaking off the effects of the Widowmaker, and notices the Blind Guardian standing outside the ring, silently mocking the former champion.  Requiem's white eyes seem to glow with hatred, and he launches himself through the ropes, knocking the Guardian backwards into the steel barriers with a plancha dive!  Big pop!  Requiem and the Guardian begin trading blows, as on the other side of the ring, Thunder and Hardin come face to face with one another!] TD: Oh my goodness, this is getting out of control!  Requiem and the Blind Guardian have come to blows, Requiem absolutely infuriated at the Guardian for distracting him at a critical moment in the match where he surely would have regained the Heavyweight Title, and now Thunder and Hardin are squaring off as well! SR: Kinda hard to feel sorry for Rectum, Dross.  He may have had Thunder dead to rights, but he was more interested what the old fossil was doing outside the ring.  In a title match, you gotta keep your eyes on the prize, baby dolls.  Better luck in the minor leagues, loser. [Thunder and Hardin begin jawing at one another as the battle between the Guardian and Requiem rages on, and suddenly, the Outlaw takes a swing at Thunder's head with the branding iron, missing the Lone Wolf's skull by a fraction of an inch!  Thunder backs off, reaches into the black bag, and pulls out a long length of dark brown material, flicking it into the air behind him.  As Hardin moves forward to take another swing at Thunder with the iron, we hear a loud *CRACK*, and suddenly, the branding iron is yanked out of the Outlaw's hand!] TD: Thunder's got a whip!  This is getting ugly, Steve Roberts! SR: Hmmm, we've got blindfolds and bullwhips.  Kinda reminds me of Becky's Christmas party last year... [Thunder coils the bullwhip in his hands, snorting with laughter, and we can plainly see the length of barbed wire woven into the end of the leather whip.  Hardin just smirks and nods his head almost approvingly, removing his duster and beckoning to Thunder to bring it on!  Thunder swings the whip around again and cracks it in Hardin's  direction, but the wily Outlaw, his duster wrapped around his left arm, lets the whip coil itself around his padded forearm, the barbs sinking into the leather!  Hardin yanks back on the bullwhip, pulling the startled Thunder towards him and laying him out with a vicious lariat! Incredible pop!] TD: The Outlaw is absoultely fearless, Steve!  He didn't even blink as Thunder cracked that whip at him! SR: _That's_ a legend, Dross.  Right there.  In the flesh, baby dolls! [As Hardin and Thunder rise to their feet and begin laying into each other, the Blid Guardian and Requiem continue to assault each other on the other side of the ring area.  Requiem seizes a chair from ringside and raises it over his head, but before he can bring it down, the Guardian grabs Requiem's arms, stopping the blow, and sends Requiem to his knees with a well-placed kick below the belt!  The Guardien then tears the chair out of Requiem's grasp, and drives the end of the chair right between the eyes of the former champion!  Huge pop!] TD: This is absolute chaos! [Thunder and Hardin are now rolling around on the aisle floor, throwing punches, knees, and chokeholds at each other, while not too far away from them, Requiem has managed to take the Blind Guardian off of his feet, and is preparing to unleash a chair shot of his own.  In the background, the Jobber Justice Squad can finally be seen barrelling down the aisle.] TD: We are out of time, folks!  Out of time! But before we go -- we must go backstage to hear from the IIWF President, Daniel Spreadbury, who, I am told, is standing by -- we need some security out here. SR: Aw, let 'em fight, Dross. Let 'em fight all the way to LA! Whoo-hoo! [Cut to a corridor backstage, where the IIWF President stands in his shirt-sleeves, his tie loosened and his top button undone. He holds an icepack against his jaw, which he removes as he is addressed by Tim Dross.] TD: Mr. President -- thank you for joining us. DS: No problem, gentlemen. But you'll forgive me if I skip the pleasantries, given the circumstances of what we have seen tonight. TD: Of course. It's certainly been a wild night. DS: [grimly] Rather wilder than I would have liked, Tim. Nonetheless, there are several issues which I must address. First of all, that of Lord Byron and Otto Verhoeven. I will be disciplining both of these two athletes this coming week -- but of most importance to the fans is that their match at Ring Wars IV _will_ go ahead. Lord Byron will be reinstated to active competition, as decreed by Poutine Janois earlier tonight. TD: It's official! Byron vs. Verhoeven -- next Saturday night! DS: Secondly, given the ferocity of the brawl between the Prophets of Rage and Damage Inc. earlier tonight, a decision has been made regarding their Bragging Rights match at Ring Wars IV next weekend -- it will now take place inside a huge chain-link steel cage, which will extend over the ring and around the ringside area. IIWF officials simply feel that this is the only way to guarantee that fans are not injured in this encounter. TD: The Prophets and Damage Inc. in a cage! What a match! DS: Thirdly, despite the attack perpetrated on Cold Spell by the Harlequins after their match earlier tonight, the match at Ring Wars IV pitting Tragedy and Icehawk against Chaos and Edmund Fitzgerald _will stand_. It will still be the Cold Quins vs. Harle-Spell... SR: Potato Famine. DS: ...at Ring Wars IV! Fourthly, I have four further matches to announce. The IIWF Cruiserweight Champion, Derek Mota, will indeed defend his title against the winner of the contenders tournament, Timothy N. Turner. But due to the continued ill-will between Ronnie Paris and "Spotlight" Billy Shakespeare, I have sanctioned a match between these two athletes, also for Ring Wars IV -- and it will be a three falls match! TD: Shakespeare and Paris in a best of three falls match! Incredible! DS: In addition, I will also sanction at the first available opportunity a match between Requiem and the Blind Guardian, due to the events we have just witnessed. Finally, to complete the lineup for the PPV, on the Free For All, we will see a Four Way Dance featuring Alex Rio, the "Real Deal" Luke Steele, Kevin "the Cavalier" Christiansen, and Dexter St. Croix. TD: That's fourteen matches in total, Mr. President. What an event Ring Wars IV is going to be! DS: It certainly promises to live up to expectation. For clarity's sake, let's run down the card, top to bottom -- all fourteen matches! [Various graphics appear on the screen to illustrate the line-up:] 1. [MAIN EVENT] NON-TITLE GRUDGE MATCH: "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder vs. "Outlaw" J.W. Hardin 2. EUROPEAN ALLIANCE COLLIDES: Lord Byron vs. Otto "the Butcher" Verhoeven 3. IIWF INTERCONTINENTAL CHAMPIONSHIP NO DISQUALIFICATION MATCH: Chris Quigley [c] vs. Duncan Macbeth 4. BRAGGING RIGHTS CAGE MATCH: Prophets of Rage vs. Damage Inc. 5. BARBED WIRE ELIMINATION MATCH: Creed vs. Serge Annis vs. Subway Psycho 6. TWO OUT OF THREE FALLS MATCH: "Spotlight" Billy Shakespeare vs. Ronnie Paris 7. IIWF WORLD TAG TEAM CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH: Cold Quins [c] vs. Harle-Spell 8. Requiem vs. Blind Guardian 9. IIWF CRUISERWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH: Derek Mota [c] vs. Timothy N. Turner 10. SUBMISSION SHOWDOWN: Tony Starks vs. Ike Sampson 11. GENESIS EXPLODES: Highwayman & Richard "Moxy" Blue vs. Scot Rogers & Dakota Bundy 12. Marty Warnett vs. "The Brat" Bradley Reed 13. [FREE FOR ALL:] FOUR WAY DANCE: Kevin Christiansen vs. Alex Rio vs. Dexter St. Croix vs. Luke Steele 14. [FREE FOR ALL:] MIXED TAG MASSACRE: Licensed for Devastation & Natural Predators vs. The Down Boys & The Machines [Cut back to the IIWF President in the backstage corridor. A commotion can be heard off-camera, rapidly approaching. The President looks around, alarmed, and then rolls his eyes.] DS: You'll have to excuse me, gentlemen... [The President's words are cut off as Brody Thunder and J.W. Hardin crash into the scene, knocking the camera to the floor. Cut back to Dross and Roberts at ringside.] TD: There you have it, folks! The line-up for Ring Wars IV is complete... and we are right out of time! Be sure to tune in to this week's "Inside The IIWF" for all the details on tonight's exciting action, and be sure to call your local cable company or satellite provider for what is shaping up to be possibly the greatest night of wrestling the world has ever seen -- Ring Wars IV, just one week from tonight!  On behalf of my broadcast colleague, "Soundbite" Steve Roberts, this is Tim Dross, from the Magic Kingdom, Disneyland, in Anaheim, California, saying: so long, everybody! [Cut to a wide-angle shot of the ringside enclosure, security staff visible in a heap trying to keep Requiem and the Blind Guardian apart. Pan up to the turrets of the Magic Castle, now silhouetted against a large full moon. 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 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+