________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __| |\ /| /\ |\ | | /\ \ / | || | \ v v / | __| | v |/ \| \| __| /__\ \/ |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| | |\ /| |/ |/ \/ | | \/ | |\_// /\ |\ /| | _ | / __ / __ | v | | | / \ . |\ | / \ / \ | | | | \__ | | \| | __ \__ 3 November 1997 | | | | \ | | | \__| \ .....................|..v_____/.|.|..|____|____/ ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [The camera fades in on the curtain backstage that leads to the aisleway. A muffled voice can be heard getting closer and closer.] VOICE: ...time ta set a few things right... [The curtain bursts open and in steps Brody Thunder.] BT: ...an' I wanna make sure a certain _"outlaw"_... gets my message loud an' clear... Hey you! Get that camera rollin', runt... right _now_! [Thunder is drenched in sweat having only moments earlier battled both Requiem and J.W. Hardin throughout the arena. In his hand is a sign he took from a fan on the way back to the interview area.  He stands in front of the camera with the title belt folded in his left hand, the sign in his right and his trademark cigar smoldering between his clenched teeth. He slowly looks down at the sign in his hand before looking back at the camera once again.] BT: Ain't this sumpthin'? [Thunder looks down at the sign once again.] BT: First go out an' do jus' what I said I'd do an' put that runt, Requiem's shoulders ta the mat, provin' what I said all along. I _am_ the best there is in this sport today, bar none. Then the so-called "legend" himself, sticks his nose inta my business again. Then ta top it all off I get some snot-nosed punk wavin' _this_ in my face. [Thunder holds the sign up for the camera.] BT: Fer alla you uneducated idjits out there... the sign says, "J.W. HARDIN - NO KIDS - NO WIFE - NO WORRIES - LONG LIVE THE OUTLAW". [The fans' reaction is deafening. Thunder lowers the sign and takes another long look at it and shakes his head.] BT: Yeah... "Long live the Outlaw".     An' lemme jus' tell ya how long.  Exactly five more days.  No more.  No less. Five more days ta cheer fer yer flamin' "legend".  An' five more days... till the charade that's known as The Outlaw is exposed fer the rube his is. So yeah... "Long live the Outlaw"... th' sign says it all. [Thunder puts the sign on the bench.] Hardin... I know yer here somewhere. I know ya can see an' hear me on them monitors back here. I heard ya out there tonight. Flappin' yer gums 'bout how I backstabbed ya. How yer gonna somehow beat inta me what a big mistake I made by smartenin' up an' seein' what ya really are. Well, I only made two mistakes, hoss. One was ever trustin' _you_. An' two was not finishin' the job when I had the chance. Rest assured, ol' friend... I won't make them again.    The problem was simple. I wanted the title. You wanted ta join a clique. That's when ya changed, Hardin. Ya spoke all high an' mighty 'bout gettin' the strap 'round my waist ta the camera... but the truth was... ya couldn't stand ta see someone eclipse yer acheivements in this sport. It was true then... an' it's true now. An' Saturday night... Ring Wars IV... I'm puttin' alla the rumors an' stories ta bed once an' fer all.    But I can't help but think about how the mighty have fallen. Earlier tonight you stood out there and actually referred ta me as a "paper" champion, implyin' the "paper" was toilet paper.  [Thunder shakes his head and chuckles to myself.]    Toilet humor, Hardin? That all ya got fer me? Well, if I gotta be toilet paper I guess I'll be the cheap kind... 'cuz I sure as hell _ain't_ about ta take any [BLEEP] offa _yer_ sorry ass. An act like yers oughta be on a stage. There's one leavin' in an hour. Buy a ticket. [Thunder suddenly appears to change his expression and train of thought briefly.]    An' Steve Roberts... ya ain't no legend, son. Yer jus' an' ego with legs -- an' remember, ace... legs _can_ be broken. Live with _that_. [He returns his gaze to the camera.]    Now Hardin... despite our l'il upcomin' scrap... I gotta admit... last Saturday night? Ya were right about a few things. [Thunder nods his head in abject mock approval.]    Yeah... you were right on the money when ya said every thought that goes through my head is about protectin' somethin'. Startin' with this strap. Y'see, this belt means two things ta me.  One, it means I'm the best there is in this sport today. Period. An' two, it provides a healthy paycheck. I ain't never claimed nuthin' different since I been here. But I gotta make this next point crystal clear ta _you_, my friend.    I said this fight was personal. I meant it in a personal career way. I still mean it. But now it's more'n jus' that. When _you_ stand out there an' bring my _family_ inta it... well, _now_... [Thunder removes the cigar from his mouth and looks directly into the camera being used on the ring apron.]    ...now it _is_ personal, _John_.    Ya wanna think yer better'n me... go right ahead. But when ya start sayin' [BLEEP] like because I supposedly worry 'bout providin' fer my family as an attempt ta gain some "edge"... well, believe me when I tell ya, friend... I got _no_ such worries 'bout endin' yer career. I can't make it any clearer than that, John.    It's you or me this time.  I'm done playin' this cat an' mouse game o' one-upmanship. It stops Saturday night. You bring yers... I'll bring mine. One-on-one. Straight up.    An' Saturday Night... if you pin my shoulders ta the mat... I'll shake yer hand, I'll say yer the legend an' I'll walk away, simple as that. Short o' that I'm gonna kick yer ass eight ways ta Sunday, hoss, make no mistake about it. I am gonna do everythin' possible ta plant yer carcass in the emergency room o' yer choice, sport. An' 'fore ya go thinkin' ya got me riled up an' outta control... prone ta mistakes an' all... I'm tellin' ya right now, I ain't never been more _focused_ in my entire life. Thanks ta you. [Thunder replaces the cigar in his teeth.]    An' one more thing. Ya said that, "There ain't a thing in this world more dangerous than a man who's got nothin' to lose."    Yer wrong, John.    The most dangerous man... [Thunder grabs the sign from the bench and holds it up once more.]    ...is the man who's got everythin' ta _lose_. [Thunder rips the sign in half and throws it down before exiting the interview area. The camera swings in and down for a close-up of the torn sign lying on the floor. Fade out.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Outlaw" J.W. Hardin ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [SCENE: The IIWF interview area.  Following his brawl with Brody Thunder, "Outlaw" J.W. Hardin stands with his branding iron leaning against his shoulder like a baseball bat.  He has replaced his cowboy hat but he is not wearing his leather duster.] JWH: Mebbe I was wrong all along, Thunder.  Mebbe you wasn't such a good      student.      Didja really think I wouldn't come to the ring prepared fer one o'      yer little toys?  Didja really think I wouldn't come to the ring      prepared to rip yer fool head off?  Didja really think a lil'      bullwhip would stop the Outlaw?  Well, the clock's tickin' and I      got a proposal... [Hardin tosses the branding iron aside and it lands with a loud clang.]      ...let's leave the toys at home next week.  Now that... _that_ might actually impress me.  Think you can bring yer own two fists to the ring and hold yer own?  Let's find out.      But first... first the teacher's got one more lesson fer ya, Thunder. Call it a history lesson.      An' it's comin' yer way on Friday. [Hardin turns and leaves the set.  Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Lord Byron ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [The scene opens in a makeshift interview area, backstage at IIWF Saturday Night.  Lord Byron is stood on set, head bowed and resting on his fist, arms crossed, as if in deep thought.  As the camera focuses in on him, he looks up and brushes his hair back, his eyes blazing in cold fury.  The scar above his left eye has opened up again, and blood is beginning to seep across his forehead.  He stares past the camera, and slowly begins to speak.] LB: So it comes down to this.  In seven days' time, in the Los Angeles Memorial Coliseum, California, the European Alliance collides. [Byron smirks bitterly and shakes his head, before continuing.] So it has been billed.  But we both know, Butcher, that this isn't going to be a wrestling match we're going into here:  It's not going to even be a contest.  The fact of the matter, as we both see it, is this. You will be coming to try and destroy me.  And I... [Byron smirks again, self mockingly, and changes tack]  What will I be coming for, Butcher?  Revenge?  To prove a point?  To restore my lost honour?  [Byron snorts in derision] Steve Roberts would have me believe that you are the most devastating force in this federation, if not the world, and that I'd be a fool to go anywhere near you.  Maybe I am.  But you've left me with very little choice.  And to be honest, Butcher, it's not a choice I'm loathe to make.  In fact, I'm going to enjoy it.  I don't fear this opportunity, Butcher, for all Roberts' posturing.  I welcome it! [Blood drips across Byron's eye.  He scowls, and wipes it clear, before continuing.] For four months, Butcher, I've been dealt insult after insult by you.  Blow after blow, humiliation after humiliation.  No less than three times you've had me lying unconcious at your feet, crushed, broken... I've seen those I love insulted and suffering as a result  and not once have I been able to strike a telling blow in return. No more.  Now, Butcher, finally... I get my chance to strike back.   They say that revenge is a dish best served cold.  But at the moment, my hate for you burns in my soul hotter than the flames of Hell itself. In seven days, Butcher, we'll meet in the squared circle once more.  You know why I'm coming.   I'm coming to settle a score.  To set the record straight.  To get payback -- a concept I'm very familiar with.  Yes, I'm coming for revenge. And I'm coming to destroy _you_. [Byron tilts his head slightly, his lips twisting into a sneer.  He turns and stalks away quietly, and the image fades to black. ] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Otto "the Butcher" Verhoeven ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Scene: The middle of Main Street where an IIWF screen has been set up. Otto "the Butcher" Verhoeven, wearing street clothes, is standing there, surrounded by a couple of Disney Dwarfs who dance and prance around him. Verhoeven is obviously fuming with rage.] OV: Gottverdammt, has everybody in this promotion gone mad? Byron does not deserve to show his face even close to the wrestling ring, much less be reinstated in the IIWF! He has gambled with that privilege and _lost_ it, lost it forever. But if you want it that way, Janois, you can have it. _I_ will make sure that that English bastard will only appear once again in the IIWF, no, only once in any wrestling ring. I will use that one opportunity to beat him, to humiliate him, to destroy him, to tear him apart, to obliterate him, to ANNIHILATE HIM, TO SMASH HIM TO A BLOODY PULP, TO ELIMINATE HIM, TO CRU... [He abruptly stops, catches his breath and shakes his head.] Prepare for your last hurrah, Byron. Prepare... [Fade to black as he storms off, pushing Clumsy to the ground.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [SCENE: Backstage of IIWF Saturday Night.  Chris Quigley, freshly showered and looking about ready to leave the arena stands next to Steve Manning, who is in a brand new wheelchair.] CQ: Sick, demented, twisted, no-good, son of a bitch. SM: Hey!  What did I do?! CQ: [shakes his head]  Not _you_.  I'm talking about Timothy N. Turner. Nice name, by the way.  First of all, this punk comes out here a few months ago and wrestles me, and _loses_.  He loses by submission to the Quickstriker.  End of story.  But no, ever since then he's been blinded by his own idiocy, and actually seems to believe he won that match.  That's fine, I never bothered to mention it until now.  But I am mentioning it.  I won.  You lost.  Get over it.  [Quigley spits on the ground.] CQ: But that's not the problem here.  The problem is you, "TNT", rushing down the aisle and stealing the wheelchair right out from under a parapalegic.  What kind of rotten scum are you?  Then maybe, just maybe you realized I was going to kill you after I was done with Mota, so you decided to run down again and try to make amends by giving me an assist in my victory.  I didn't need it in the first place, and I don't appreciate the effort.  It's bad enough the IIWF never allowed me to defend my title, but the win itself was unnecessairily tainted.  The only thing I'm proud of is, Mota, you talked the big talk, but in the end the only words coming out of your mouth were, "I Quit!" [Quigley looks over at Manning.] CQ: How's your knee feelin', Steve? SM: I haven't felt my knees in a year, man. CQ: [smirks]  I can tell you who is feeling their knee right now.  Duncan Macbeth.  Can you believe his bad luck?  He's facing me, and maybe, just maybe he could've had a slight advantage, this being a No Disqualification match and all, but now, against a man who is known worldwide for turning opponents' knees to mayonnaise, he gets a knee injury.  I know all about knee injuries, Macbeth, that's why I'm so good at taking them apart, I know what's weak and where every small tendon could snap.  You're going to be a courageous challenger.  I know you're not going to let this stop you from trying to get this Intercontinental Title away from me, but trust me, you're going to wish you stayed home and watched me on TV, because you're never going to walk again! [Quigley stares into the camera as Manning chips in...] SM: And Macbeth, after Ring Wars, when you're sitting in _your_ wheelchair with your little kilt on, don't forget to cross your legs! [Quigley appears momentarily sickened by the thought, as Manning laughs like it was the funniest joke in history.  Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Serge Annis ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Flash cut to various scenes, captioned "Courtesy of the UWF -- Fright Night 2, October 31, 1997". Serge Annis takes a horrible fall from the top rope, landing on his head. Cut to a hospital room in Caslifornia. The 6'8", 290 pound Serge Annis sits on a bed, with his legs hanging over the edge. Serge is still wearing his ring clothes consisting of the black boots and ring pants with the blood tears. Annis' face is cleaned up, and has a bandage over his forehead covering the cut. Annis' wrist has also been taped up. Annis's body is covered with dry blood however, almost as if he took a shower of it. A nurse is in the room with Serge, signing papers on a clipboard. Annis looks unamused and gazes about the room, waiting. The door opens and in walks a doctor along with Poutine Janois. Janois doesn't look too happy.] DR: Hello Serge... SA: Spare me your cheerfulness and let me out of here. [Poutine Janois cross his arms as he looks at Serge sternly. The doctor notes the tension in the room and prepares to leave, with the nurse.] DR: Uhm, I imagine that will be all I need for now. I'll be back in a few minutes, to give you a little privacy. [The doctor quickly exits through the door with the nurse.] PJ: You coulda gotten yerself killed. SA: So? PJ: So? This is a wrestlin' organization, not a death trap. You're lucky I covered for you and your injuries... Spreadbury would never have let you wrestle if he knew the condition you were in. SA: Spreadbury can't afford not to let me wrestle. He's realized, as have you, that the people want to see me. They want to see me raise Hell. Doctor's orders -- or anything else -- couldn't stop me from competing. PJ: I don't think you're looking at the facts, Annis. Your head was busted open and required plastic surgery. You damn near broke your wrist. And Hell, last night you were in the Portland Hospital, in shock! I shouldn't have brought you to California. I shouldn't have let you wrestle at all! You weren't in good enough shape! SA: But fact is, you did, Janois. You cleared me, and I went out there to wrestle that goddamned booking disaster of a match. You know it shouldn't have happened. I don't give a damn if I bleed. I don't give a damn if I pass out. The only thing I care about is getting my hands on Creed and the Subway Psycho! And whether you clear me for Ring Wars or not, it's gonna happen! I don't care if I had plastic surgery. I don't care if they have to re-align my hips! No matter what, I'm gonna be at Ring Wars IV! And I don't think you can afford not to let me. [Poutine Janois seems to calme down a bit and uncrosses his arms as he thinks.] PJ: Look, Annis, we don't want to see you ending up hurt. And if you wrestle at Ring Wars, you're gonna get yourself killed. [Annis reaches out to Poutine Janois and grabs him by his collar and Annis speaks into Janois' face.] SA: Listen, Janois. I've lived my _entire_ life, cheating death. I've gone each and every day as a man without fear. Death isn't a worry of mine, otherwise the reaper would have taken me long ago. Fact is, The Epitome will never die. Death isn't an issue here. Neither is injury. I'll bounce back, Janois. You know it. The IIWF knows it, and most importantly, Creed and The Psycho know it. PJ: The doctor said you're going to need rest... SA: There is no time for rest! Ring Wars is this week. I have to prepare. But you're lucky Janois... I do my best thinking... when I'm asleep, in one of my nightmares... heh heh. PJ: Look, I cannot promise you anything, but I'll see what I can do. But for God's sake, until I get back to you, get some rest. Recuperate. I'm not going to let anything happen to you while I'm around. [Poutine Janois turns around after Annis loosens his grip. Janois storms out of the room as the doctor walks back in.] DR: Uhmm... well, I assume things went well in here. Now Serge, I have good news for you. We can give you plastic surgery once again, for the laceration on your forehead. But it will cost. SA: Heh heh... that's okay. Janois is footing the bill. DR: Yes, well... what else? You chipped the bone in your wrist. Nothing too serious... you'll just have to wear a wrist guard for the next few weeks. As for the events of Friday Night, I talked to your Doctor in Portland and he gave you ring clearance after your short term shock. However, I'm more sceptical. I'm not giving you ring clearance, until the day of Ring Wars IV, and that is _IF_ you are capable of wrestling. We'll see then. [Annis starts to twist and contort his face to a very unhappy grin.] DR: Uhm... yes... well, I best be going. I have babies to deliver, you know. Uhm... page me if you need me! Bye! [The Doctor quickly leaves the room, slamming the door behind him. Annis finally looks at the camera for the first time.] SA: Well well well... what a predictiment The Epitome of Evil is in. But doctor's clearance means nothing to me. My injuries are minor compared to the pain and suffering I shall bring down on the Subway Psycho, and more imortantly, Creed. In the barbed wire match, you two are really going to find out why I am called The Epitome of Evil... trust me... heh heh. Psycho, you think you're tough, attacking me in the tag match? Well you were dumped on your ass for doing it, and next time I do it... it will be over strands of barbed wire, and we'll see just how you like that. Creed? You want to get your followers to bring chainsaws to the ring? You think that is supposed to symbolize something? Let me ask you this. Of the elements, which has the capability to destroy all that crosses its path, much like Serge Annis? Whether you have your loser punk-assed friends is irrelevant. When you mess with Serge Annis... you get burned. And trust me... chainsaws will look like a child's birthday novelty compared to the things I've seen... done... and am going to do to you. Creed and The Subway Psycho... you both wish to be heroes in this world of darkness... well, the Epitome of Evil is going to make sure... that this becomes a world without heroes, as I will send you both to a sure damnation in the holy playground I call home, Hell. Have fun boys... because I know I will. [Fade to black as Annis tries to laugh to himself, but has trouble mustering the ability to, so he instead grins and evil grin and snickers.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Creed ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Immediately following the televised broadcast of Serge Annis and the Subway Psycho brawling inside the razor sharp prison created by the "Creed Army", the red gloved warrior himself stands in a makeshift IIWF interview area outside the Los Angeles Memorial Coliseum, site of next week's Ring Wars IV.] CREED: Y'all know who Joe Glidden was? Serge?  Psycho?  Anybody?  Get them hands high so I can see em. Joe Glidden was a farmer in Illinois, 'bout a hun'red and 25 year ago -- and he had hisself a little pro'lem.  Not like you two boys have a problem... ain't no dead farmer e'er had to face Creed in fron' of 100,000 people... But Joe Glidden had a pro'lem. He had cows, see.  Lots of 'em.  An' he had horses.  Even more.  An' he had wheat.  Damn did that Glidden have wheat.  So much wheat you woulda thought the side o' his barn had a picture of Michael Jordan on it.  Thas' a joke.  Case you hadn't noticed, I havin' a little fun in my las' week in the IIWF. But -- Joe Glidden couldn't keep his cows an' his horses from gettin' into his corn... hell, couldn' keep half of 'em from runnin' away mos' of the time. Man had a lot of cows. So... Joe Glidden looked at his land... an' looked at his animals an' said "How the [BLEEP] am I gonna keep my damn cows from leavin' my ass?" Know what he came up with? Annis?  Psycho?  No penalty for guessin'... Time up... Joe Glidden 'vented somethin'. Somethin' you boys maybe 'bout to get a little more familiar with. Joe Glidden 'vented barbed wire. Kept the horses an' the cows out o' the wheat, fact, all the other big farmers used it too.  It one of the reasons why the US farms got so damn big...'cause they could keep the animals in the fields... take 'em out of the barns an' cages.  'Portant part of the past. Joe Glidden.  Barbed Wire. 'Course, y'all ain't no cows or horses.  But I willin' to bet there ain't no man ever more 'portant to either of you, Annis and Psycho, than Joe Glidden. 'Portant part of the future. 'Cause I may not be the greates'... historian. But I damn sure can see your future. I seen the future, Serge.  I seen your broken body mangled i'side the barbed wire.  I seen you stuck like a runaway cow... blood flowing like water on the winter wheat.  I seen you hurt... cut... your flesh ripped 'part as you look into the eyes o' the man who jus' won't stop tearin' you apart... who won't stop beatin' you within a inch of your life.... That... that be me, Serge.  I know you a little slow.  Jus' want to make sure you keepin' up with me here.  That be Creed. I seen yo' future too, Psycho.  Know what I see?  Know what I see when I see yo' future? I see you crying.  I see you screaming.   I see you begging for mercy. But I don' hear nothing.  I don't hear nothing, Psycho... 'cause when I look where your throat used to be... all I see is Joe Glidden's 'vention, all soaked with blood like a horse who 'cided to go for a midnight stroll in a bad part o' town. You a mess, Psycho.  I'd feel sorry for you if you weren't so goddamn stupid. 1--2--3, Psycho.  1--2--3, Annis.         Yeah, Creed and ole Joe Glidden.  Thas' a nasty combination. I seen the future as it will be Serge... Psycho. I seen the future -- and it works.  Leas'... it work for me. [Creed turns his lip upward in what on another man might even appear to be a smile as the shot fades.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Subway Psycho ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [The Subway Psycho, his torso glistening with water droplets and his hair stringy from the wet of a recent shower, steps into the interview area, his dark, grey-encircled eyes staring out at the camera.] SP: Creed, nice theatrics on Saturday Night.  Do you think that putting those wires around that ring was going to intimidate me?  I understand better than you or Annis what we're getting ourselves into.  I can't wait until that moment when those cold steel barbs pierce my skin and I feel my warm blood flow and spill.  Some men claim not to feel pain... I feel pain, all right... in fact I feed on it.  I'm a junkie for personal discomfort.  Both of you are going down at Ring Wars IV.  Annis is still reeling from the beating I just gave him and Creed hasn't been able to beat me ever... and that will never change.  At Ring Wars, its Psycho's Rules! [Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Spotlight" Billy Shakespeare ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Billy Shakespeare enters the interview area in obvious frustration.  He rips the IIWF banner off the wall, throwing it to the floor in an overly dramatic gesture.] BS: Ronnie Paris, all you had to do was pin Turner... but would you listen to me?  No.  Which of us has worn the Cruiserweight Title?  Which one of us was the Intercontinental Champion?  It wasn't you.  But no, you know best.  But harken to this words, Paris:  All your study, your family training, your time in Japan never seems to have taught you that the whole point is to pin your man.  Now the suits have given me the chance at Ring Wars to show you how it's done.  Twice.     I vowed that you would win the Cruiserweight Title, but you proved     me wrong.  Ronnie Paris, in my book that makes me a liar.  I may be     a lot of things... but no man calls me a liar.   Said Henry IV, "Let     the end try the man." [He looks over his shoulder to ses Ronnie Paris limping up the aisle. Muttering a quick profanity, Shakespeare dodges out of the camera's sight.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Blind Guardian ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [SCENE: The IIWF interview area. The Blind Guardian is standing in front of the camera, still wearing the attire he was seen in on Saturday Night. Obviously the interview was recorded shortly after the events of that night, as he is still breathing heavily, just as if the Blind Guardian needed all his energies to defend against Requiem. The right part of the piece of cloth which usually is completely white now shows a blood-colored stain, seemingly caused by some kind of a wound in his head area. The Blind Guardian stands there for a few seconds before starting to talk.] BG: So now it's official. A match between the irrelevant one and Rectum.     A match which has to take place at Ring Wars IV, at one of the     several PPVs of the _mighty_ IIWF.     Finally we'll be able to see just _how_ irrelevant I am, right? And     finally we'll be able to see what a great champion you could have     been if it hadn't been for me -- that's what you think, right? Yes,     I know exactly what you think, Rectum:         "That old guy cost me the belt -- I should be the champion right now     -- Why am I not as bright as Donald Duck?"     So many questions, so few answers. Just don't worry, brat, in just     a few days I'll give you the answer to each and every one of your     questions. And be sure that you don't like that answer! [The Blind Guardian carefully removes the piece of cloth the covers his eyes, and as he removes it, a deep, one inch-long scratch becomes visible at his right forehead] BG: I just wonder whether you'll need that chair again... Well, sure you     do. After all, I'm an old man. And even I couldn't think of a greater threat. Oh, that's not quite true, as your _breath_ just falls into my mind.     But whatever. Next saturday will be my night, it'll be the night     of justice. Prepare well, Rectum. Prepare well. The irrelevant one     will.     And that's as sure as the fact that I am... [The camera zooms in to the Blind Guardian's eerie white eyes.]     ...the Blind Guardian. [Fade] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Cold Spell ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [SCENE: The IIWF backstage set, where the Harlequins have just turned on Cold Spell.] EF: Somehow, I never expected that Potato Famine and the Cold Quins were going to be long-lived tag teams, but the Quins surprised me. I didn't think they would attack us until Ring Wars. By doing it this way, the IIWF suits are going to have to change the PPV match to us against them, and they have _never_ beaten us. IH: That's right! How stupid are you? You think that with a career record against us of 0-10, you are finally going to beat us? I don't _think_ so. After Saturday, Cold Spell will be the two-time tag champs, and the Harlequins will still be a bunch of pathetic misfits. [At that point, someone off-camera yells that President Spreadbury has just announced that the PPV match will go on as planned. Fitz and Icehawk look blankly at each other before Fitz turns back to the camera.] EF: Boy, the guys in the front office really think they are cute this week, don't they? Fine, you want Cold Quins against Potato Famine? You got it -- at least the Cold Spell half of it. And may the best team win. [Icehawk and Fitz solemnly shake hands and walk off.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Timothy N. Turner ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Timothy N. Turner strides purposefully into the interview area, his Armani suit a little more crumpled than usual.] TNT: I suppose you expect me to gloat about how I easily handled that nuisance, Ronnie Paris. Maybe you expect me to rant on about how I'm going to beat Derek Mota and become the best Cruiseweight Champion the IIWF has ever seen. Well, you are wrong. I want to talk about Chris Quigley and Duncan Macbeth. Duncan is my friend... one of the best I've ever had... and you have put his career in jeopardy. I know all about Hardin. I know all about Verhoeven. We all know who is really responsible for that injury, don't we Quigley? You were so afraid of facing a man that you knoe can beat you... a man who has beaten you before. I've got news for you, Quigley. Never count out Duncan Macbeth. After next Saturday we will se a different Intercontinental Champion, even if Duncan has to stand on crutches to do it. We will also see a different Cruiserweight Champion, as Timothy N. Turner receives his just rewards in the IIWF. After that... I want you, Quigley. Win, lose, or draw... for each of us. When Ring Wars has gone into the history books and the future beckons... I'm going to be your future. Derek Mota! I bet you're mad that I interfered in your match! Too bad. You've been a good champion but your time is over. Prepare for the Rocket Man to take the IIWF to new heights. You couldn't even beat Genesis, something Duncan and I did easily. We are the strongest force in the IIWF and soon we will have the gold to prove it! [Fade] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Derek Mota ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [The Musing begins with Derek Mota standing in his dressing room immediately following his loss in the Champion vs. Champion match.  Mota is looking extremely annoyed, as we see him grabbing a garbage can and throwing it into the wall, the debris flying all over the dressing room.] DM: Turner, after all I've done for ya, this is your payment?  You made me lose face in the champion vs. champion match.  And you know who's hurtin' for it? You are. Now it's the Cruiserweight Title that's considered inferior to the Intercontinental Title.  And all cause of that stupid stunt ya pulled. Tell ya one thing, Turner, I've been working damn hard ta bring the shine back inta this gold, and it's stupid stunts like yours that set me back!  Turner... you owe me.  I was the one who brought you outta obscurity ta get this title shot.  You think anyone woulda noticed ya if I didn't challenge ya to a title match a few weeks ago?  No.  I think the suits thought it was such a great idea, that they needed ta highlight their PPV with it.  And without me?  Ya'd still be polishing the shoes of Paris after that first round loss. 'Member that one, Turner? Let's make this one worse.  You were the one who was beggin' me for help for your match against Genesis a while back.  And who came ta help you and my buddy Macbeth? Yeah, I did.  And this is your repayment? Ya pissed me off, Turner.  We coulda been friends, but now ya cost me a match, and it's all over.  I just got two things ta say ta you, Turner... [BLEEP] you... and see ya on Saturday. [Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Tony Starks ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Scene: A darkened IIWF locker room.  The shot comes up behind a man who is seated at his locker. The man is Tony Starks, he is wearing a pair of baggy white sweatpants with no shirt. Noticably gone from his head is his white towel. The shot just stops as his back is towards the camera. It seems as if he is looking down, he speaks:] TS: When I was born, I was blind to the ways of mankind. I didn't know     the truth of life... I was so happy as a child. That smile on my     face left when I was six. I was no longer ignorant to the world.     My eyes opened wide... that happens when you go hungry and you go     to sleep cold in the dead of winter.     Ike, you say how you like my world. You say how you are getting to know what makes me tick. Hanging out on a street corner and having a violent match doesn't show you squat. By being on the street you learn nothing... the way to know me is through struggle and suffering. You know nothing of my life.     Try suffering, Ike... I mean really suffering. Living in a house where you got roaches in the cereal box, you have to drink water     'cuz you got nothing else. Try enduring... see if it breaks you.     It never broke me... it molded me.     Same problem with "Soundbite" Steve. I hear the little snide comments about gangstas and beatdowns. You think I don't hear what you say? You are just like Sampson, you hear one rap song and you think you are the baddest thing since original sin.     Wrong. This is not about being black, or being a gangsta. This is     real simple, this is about life. The lessons that life deals...     God smiled on you Ike, like he did me. You are a top level athlete, world class. So am I, but, you see, at the same time, God is frowning too. Only he knows the suffering that I go through. He frowned on you too... because only he knows what I am gonna put you through. [Starks gets up from his chair and walks off. His footsteps echo through the empty room. The shot just closes on his empty locker. Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Ike Sampson ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Ike Sampson stands on the IIWF soundstage, still wielding the steel chair he blasted Tony Starks with just hours ago.  An eerie, almost chilling version of "It's a Small World After All" fills the theme park...] IKE: I told ya, Starks.  You opened up a whole new world to the Big      Dog.  And I kinda like it...      You cost me my match tonight?!  No problem.  I just cost you yours.      How'd that steel feel, laid against your thick head?!  Get used to      it... there's a lot more of it where that came from.      Tit for tat, Starkey.  And now, just one week to go.  One week 'til all this comes to a head.  It's been a long time coming... Your day of reckoning.  Better start preparing _your_ soul.  "Get right with God."  You better...      And that's the truth... [Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Richard "Moxy" Blue ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [The majestic IIWF backdrop once again hangs proudly in front of the camera, soon after the Disneyland Saturday Night. Off camera, a low, guttural buzzing sound can be heard, like a grizzly mosquito. The camera rumbles as if the floor is shaking.] RMB: VVVRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!!! [The hyperactive persona of Richard "Moxy" Blue rushes by the camera, thumping his feet ungracefully as he runs. He is holding something in his hands, but he runs by so fast it cannot be determined what it is.] RMB: NNNNNEEEEEEEEERRRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOMMMMM!! EEEEEEEESCH! [Blue "puts on the brakes". It can now be seen what he has in his hands, it is one of the mice from Saturday's card. He has been "giving him a ride", lifting him high in the air and rushing him around in airplane like fashion. Blue hold the cute wee beastie to the camera.] RMB: Isn't this fun, Dickey? You're living life Moxy style now! It's like I always say: Carpe Carp! Seize the fish! VRRRRRRRRROOOOOOM! [Moxy rushes off camera, taking his new "friend" on a thrill ride he most likely will not survive. Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Scott Rogers ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [SCENE: An IIWF Ring Wars IV backdrop with Scott "The Fop" Rogers standing in front, wearing only his wrestling trunks and a gold chain around his neck. His face is covered by the familiar grin.] SR: Smith, I _told_ you what'd happen if you messed with me... and Dakota was more than happy to help me out. See, that's what buddies are for, Smith. They _don't_ lose me a match against Warnett. They _don't_ piledrive me onto the concrete floor. But they _do_ help me when it comes to puttin' out the trash. You see, Smith, me and you, we never hit it off. Put me and Dakota in with Macbeth and Turner... you'd see a different result to what you got us. But, Smith, while you were relyin' on me to get us the wins, I was out findin' meself a new partner. Who've _you_ got? "Moxy" [BLEEP]in' Blue! I gotta admit it, I thought _he_ was gonna be fallin' out the roof once we'd destroyed Annis! [Rogers laughs heartily.] SR: But I got one problem, Smith. And that's me heart. Yeah, I'm feelin' sorry for ya, pal. But once Ring Wars is over, I'll be surprised if there'll be anythin' left of ya. [Fade out.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Highwayman" Adam Smith ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Adam stands in the IIWF interview room.  He has changed from his ring attire into a simple black T-Shirt and dirty jeans.  His hair hangs lankly across his shoulders, a tangled mess of black strands that he drags his fingers through quickly before the mic picks up a whispered husky voice, he speaks:] HWM: Rogers... You have become the bane of my very existance.  Every time I close my eyes, I see... [His head spasms to the side, as if to shake free from a horror-filled memory.  He bares his teeth and winces briefly, before continuing:] Big mistake Rogers.  You and that jumped up little shit of a girlfriend, Dakota Bundy, are going to pay dearly next Saturday.  Hehehe! I can't believe that little snot laid me out with a move called "The Firearm"!  Me, "The Highwayman", taken out by a "Firearm"! In another place and time it might be funny.. hehehehe! [A laugh that seems uncomfortably close to a sob escapes his lips for a moment, to be replaced with a malevolent grin.  Steel-grey eyes, barely visible under the lank, hanging hair, stare holes through the camera:] Rogers, Bundy!  I don't care a damn whether I have a partner or not come Saturday, they can put whoever they bloody well want in the corner with me, but let me tell you something now... You've created the worst kind of enemy, Rogers... One that's got nothing left to lose. [Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The Machines ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Paul Wong and Simon O'Neal stand in front of the IIWF interview area, still holding the baseball bats on their hands from their brawl with LFD.] SO: These aren't the most original weapons... but they're very effective.  Right, Reggie? PW: It's kind of disgusting when we have to be prepared for a couple of street punks to come down and attack us with chairs. SO: LFD, you've been a pain in our side since the moment we got in here.  We should be moving on to bigger and better things, like tag teams that actually give us a decent match.  Instead, we keep getting stuck with you guys -- two pathetic Baltimore losers who whine when you lose and have to cheat to ever have a prayer of winning. PW: Ring Wars IV is going to be our last battle.  We're going to beat you -- badly.  You've pushed us too far. SO: Natural Predators, we don't know your story, and quite frankly, at this point we don't care.  But you stuck on the wrong side. PW: And Down Boys... if you're happy with a cheap countout victory over us, fine.  But you risked losing the big match when you ducked out. We'll team with you, and you'll get the winner's purse... but we aren't happy about it. SO: In other words, don't f... screw up in Ring Wars.  Leave LFD to us, and dance the night away, or we'll send you back to 1977. PW: The eighties... they're cheap 80's rip-offs. SO: Eighties, seventies, twenties, whatever.  The point is, don't get in our way when we finish off LFD. [Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The Down Boys ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Awesome T, manager of the Down Boys, stands in front of the IIWF backdrop.  Adam Peterson and Dan Oliver flank their manager, their normally teased, hairspray filled hair wet, slicked back, and under IIWF caps, turned backwards.  T wears a black t-shirt with "I SHOT 2PAC" written in white letters on it.] AT: To say that the Down Boys feel bad for what they did Saturday Night would be, in some ways, accurate.  It is not normally our position to leave wrestlers in need of help by the wayside, especially when it's our future partners being attacked by a group of repeative, unimaginative, thugs such as Licensed For Devastation.  But see, Simon and Paul, Adam Peterson's never gonna forget that fireball, and we didn't forget it when we saw you getting attacked.  So, consider us even.  Now honestly... if we were to hit you with a fireball, would YOU save us from getting jumped?  I thought not.  So, again... condider us even... and take out the anger you have for Licensed For Devastation at Ring Wars... [Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Natural Predators ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Kneeling between two pyres, incense wafting down over them, are BEAR and GREY PHOENIX. Their manager, KUYLER GREYSON walks back and forth, frantically, talking on a cellular phone. He is dressed in his customary single-breasted black suit, and the Predators are in their wrestling outfits. Drums beat out a tribal rhythm in the background] KG: [on phone] Mmm-hmm. Look, I don't like this arrangement any more than you do, hun, but I haven't got a lot of choice here. I know. Love you too, dear... goodnight. [Hangs up.] KG: Well, that was Karen. She's wondering why I asked her not to come     to Ring Wars. [Still kneeling, GREY PHOENIX looks up.] GP: Why is that? KG: Because I am going to put you two through the toughest week of hell you have ever faced. B: [Eyes open] What? KG: Seems to me like you two need a lesson or two on just what you're supposed to be doing in there. GP: Now wait a minute. KG: I told you, Michael, you start. You start the match, Michael, against whoever they start. So what the hell is Daniel doing in the ring when the bell rings? B: I... KG: No excuses. When we plan a strategy, you stick with it. I don't care what is going on, you STICK TO THE PLAN! GP: He made a choice, boss. He chose to start. And we aren't to blame for the loss. KG: No? You wanna be tag champs here some day, don't you? GP: Yeah, but... KG: When you're the champions you aren't supposed to be better than any team... you have to be better than all teams. At once, if need be. That's what a champion is. Ideally speaking. Why do you think Champions never put their titles on the lines in battle royals? Too unpredictable. And no one thinks they're good enough. You were facing team one and team two in the IIWF. Champs and #1 contenders. You were facing them, forget LFD, F-(censored) LFD. You held your own against the top two teams. B: And lost. KG: Yeah, and lost. Everyone takes their lumps, Bear. Everyone. You're the good guys. You don't cheat. You don't cut corners. And that's gonna make it harder. GP: Hardly a worthy warrior if we were to change. B: The spirits reward those faithful to their ways. The ways of darkness are the not the ways of the Bear. KG: Good. The moment you make a conscious choice one way or another is the moment you learn a key lesson about yourself. President Spreadbury signed us because he needed a team the fans could look up to. Like the Down Boys. [Kuyler Looks to the Camera.] KG: Hey, Machines! We'll make you a trade. Down Boys for Licensed for Devastation. You got business with them, Down Boys got business with them, we got business with them... You want them? We can wait in line. B: So... what now? KG: Now I put you two through a week of hell. WOLF... I mean, Grey Phoenix... I want you to shear off ten lbs. GP: Huh? KG: Long term, Michael. Long term. Take a month to do so. Your aerials are getting sloppy, and you are going to be worked on those this week. Daniel, you're going to spend a few days just absorbing hits, and working your muscles. B: Wha...? KG: Down Boys and Machines are not pushovers... and you have to be ready to face them yourselves, four on two, maybe five on two if "Happy Meal" Luke Steele joins the party. GP: And LFD? KG: [bleep] LFD. This match is all about you two. Natural Predators vs. all. And if LFD wants in, you tag them in. Win if you can. But win for yourselves, and not for those two imbeciles. GP: Neyho neyehe hiyo. B: We will triumph. [Both men stand as the camera fades to black.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Real Deal" Luke Steele ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Fade up to the IIWF interview area, as the "Real Deal" Luke Steele steps in front of the camera, still carrying the bat from the six man tag team match.  He's wearing his wrestling outfit, as well as a silver bandana on his head, while resting the bat against his shoulder like a baseball player.] LS: Alright baby dolls, I'll make this one short and to the point.  Alex Rio?  Alex f'n Rio?  Why, Down Boys, why?  Why did you have to pick the most annoying person in the Double Eye, short of Steve Roberts? Was Triple M busy?  Did Moxy turn ya down?  Was the Gecko too into unmasking himself, if you catch my drift?  Alex f'n Rio.  Okay Boys, you and the Machines team up at Ring Wars 4.  They've got no problem with you, in fact the way you wrestled impressed them, not to mention me.  Too bad your partner couldn't do likewise. [Luke shakes his head as he looks down for a moment, but then looks right up into the camera.] LFD, you're starting to piss me and the Machines off.  You couldn't wait until Ring Wars IV?  You had to attack us before you go into the match, just to get an advantage?  That's pretty damn sick, and pretty damn low.  I wouldn't expect any less from a couple of inbreds like you.     And the word comes down from Prez Spreadbury that I've gotten roped into yet another meaningless match on a pay per view.  What's wrong Danny, couldn't scrape up enough guys for a full random pairing eight man tag match, AGAIN?     Out of the field in that four corners match, the only guy I have any respect for is Kevin Christiansen.  There's Dexter St. Croix, that tough little islander, and Alex f'n Rio.  I won't go into it right now, but it's so typical of IIWF brass, putting me in this crappy free for all match, and giving Turner a damn Cruiserweight Title shot.  Where the hell's the justice? [Luke puts his hand on the camera lens, darkening the picture and ending the interview. Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Kevin "the Cavalier" Christiansen ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Scene opens to the feasthall of an old, medieval style castle.  Kevin Christian sits at the head of a large oaken table, upon which lies his shield and sword.] KC: Well-met.  I shall cut to the chase here, as many preparations     must be made for Ring Wars.  It appears that my match at this card     shall be against not one man, but THREE.  All of whom hath proven     quite capable athletes in their own right, and all of whom desire     the same thing from this contest as I... victory.     Alex Rio, Dexter St. Croix, and Luke Steele... I know thee all to     an extent, be it through personal contest, or through the viewing     of thy matches.  I have nothing but the utmost respect for thy     talents in the ring... and as such, I would expect nothing less     than thy best performances on the night of our match.  However,     for all the respect I give thee, there is one thing I shalt NOT     allow thee....     The title of "victor".     I feel I have dallied too long, stayed mine hand for too great a     time in this fine federation.  Some hath begun to consider me none     more than a distraction, a placeholder, or as those that lack tact     hath proclaimed... [Christiansen clears his throat, then looks up at the camera.] KC: ... a "midcarder".  No longer.  Starting at Ring Wars, thou shalt     not see me stay mine hand any longer.  St. Croix, Rio, Steele,     mine Broadsword is honed and ready to cut the chaff from the     IIWF.  Which of you shalt be the first to fall to it? [Christiansen lowers his head, then glances back up at the camera with a renewed vigor in his eyes.] KC: We shalt see at Ring Wars. [Fade to black.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Alex Rio ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [SCENE: The Disneyland sign.  Alex Rio stands in front of it wearing a white "New Kids on the Block" half shirt along with a pair of Daisy Dukes and combat boots.  He has short bleached blonde hair and a small beard on his chin.] AR: Damn, I'm good. [smiles] [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 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+