________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __| | || | \ v v / | __| |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| C + O + U + N + T + D + O + W + N T + O ________ ______ ______ | | \ \ / / _______ | | \ \__ ___ / / | ____ \ _____|_ __ |____ \ | | | | / __ / _____ _____ | | \ \/_ _| \ | |/ ___\ \ | | __ | | / / \/ | __ \/ ____| | |___/ / | | | \| | / __ \ | |/ \| |/ / /\ \ | |_> | /____ | ____ < | | | \ \ |/ /_ \ \ | / /\ \ | / ____ \| __ <\____ \ | | \ \_| |_| |\ |\___\ \ \| / \\ |/ / / \ \ | \ \____\ \ |_| |_|____/|_| \_|______/ |_/ \\_|\/ / \/_| |_|______/ | | \ / | | \ / |______| \______/ Friday 7 November 1997 [The shot opens in one of the executive press boxes high in the Los Angeles Memorial Coliseum. A window makes up one side of the room, through which the floodlit stadium is visible, various ring crews working to erect the rigging and the extra seating that lines the floor of the huge arena. In the press box, sitting around a round glass table, are Larry Morton, Becky LaRue, Steve Summer, and Tim Dross. There is also an empty chair. The shot closes in on Larry Morton, who gives a warm smile and speaks:] LM: Welcome one and all to this very special "Countdown to Ring Wars IV"! I am Larry Morton, and we are now just twenty-four hours away from one of the most eagerly-anticipated wrestling events of all time. Joining me here tonight for a special discussion of this event are my broadcast colleagues, Becky LaRue, Tim Dross, Steve Summer, and... well, and... TD: Steve Roberts is supposed to be here, Larry. I don't know where he is. SS: Mr. Morton... Mr. Dross... let me just say how cool it is to be invited onto this special discussion of Ring Wars IV! Reminds me of that old wrestling show I used to watch when I was a kid... BL: "When I was a kid?" Give me a break, little boy! SS: ...they used to have those guys sitting around a big table, and they'd show those great matches. This is just so cool! TD: That's quite all right, young Summer. You have to enjoy these opportunities when they come. BL: Amen to that, Timmy. Although I was under the impression that I was going to get a nice extended vacation in New Orleans -- since I was _dropped_ from the pay-per-view announce team... LM: You could always go back to doing those merchandise spots. Or how about some guest ring announcing? I hear it's kind of... YOW! [Larry bites his lip to suppress an anguished cry.] BL: I'm sorry, Larry, I was under the impression there was nothing there to hurt. TD: Well, here we are in one of the press boxes of the Los Angeles Memorial Coliseum, while far, far below us, on the floor of this huge arena, the IIWF's technical people are busy setting everything up for what is sure to be an incredible pay-per-view show tomorrow night. SS: The IIWF's biggest crowd ever, Mr. Dross! One hundred thousand fans! Just imagine the noise... imagine how the wrestlers are going to feel as they step out of the entranceway... imagine one hundred thousand people chanting your name... BL: Keep dreaming, kid. The only time you're ever going to hear your name chanted is in connection with the word "fire". SS: "Summer... Fire"? I don't get it, Mr. Dross. TD: That's okay, young Summer. Becky, there's no need to be rude. BL: On the contrary. It's a Friday night and you've got me sitting in a press box with a chilli-dog chewing, toupée-wearing Oklahoman, an adolescent kid who has less hair on his body than you have on your head, Dross, and that excuse for an announcer over there. Things haven't been this bad since my convent days. TD: You were in a convent? BL: Not for long. LM: [recovered sufficiently] Ahem... Excuse me, folks, but we have a show to do. Tomorrow night, fans, you will see fourteen of the biggest matches anywhere in the wrestling world -- you will see just about every athlete in the IIWF step out in front of one hundred thousand screaming fans -- you will see history in the making, folks, as the "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder takes on the legendary "Outlaw" J.W. Hardin... you will see Chris Quigley defend his Intercontinental Championship against Duncan Macbeth... you will see that Barbed Wire match pitting Creed, Serge Annis and the Subway Psycho against one another... you will see the Prophets of Rage and Damage Inc. go at it to finally settle the issue of just who is the number one tag team... you will see such action as you have never even imagined. And it's all coming up _tomorrow night_, only on pay-per-view! In the next sixty-minutes, we will be discussing the card from top to bottom, hearing from all the superstars involved... and reminding you to call your local cable operator right now to ensure you don't miss out on any of the action! TD: With that in mind, let's jump straight in with our run-down of the card... starting with the biggest match of the night, and possibly the biggest match of the year. It's Cowboy vs. Cowboy -- only at Ring Wars IV! ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [MAIN EVENT] NON-TITLE GRUDGE MATCH: "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder vs. "Outlaw" J.W. Hardin ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: Well, this match has been some time in the making, lady and gentlemen. TD: Indeed it has, Larry. It was five weeks ago that the "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder executed that stunning triple cross on Steve "the Fury" Kowalski and the Syndicate as he propelled himself to the position that many feel should have been his a long, long time ago -- that of IIWF World Heavyweight Champion. But he did it at the expense of not only Kowalski and the Syndicate, but new Syndicate member, the "Outlaw" J.W. Hardin. Thunder and Hardin had been fast friends since Thunder called the legendary "Outlaw" back to the IIWF to help him fight _against_ the Syndicate back last winter, but when Thunder turned on his mentor -- the man who taught him the Cattle Buster DDT, one of the most deadly finishers in the sport today -- he may well have bitten off more than he can chew. A lot more. LM: Certainly many feel that the man who walks out of this match the winner will be the true "legend" of the IIWF. SS: It's gonna be Thunder, Mr. Morton! It's gonna be the Champ! He's leaner, he's meaner -- he's proved before that he can outsmart Hardin, and he's gonna do it again! Don't get me wrong -- I love the "Outlaw", he's one of the all-time greats, but it's time for him to move on out. We've not seen a champion like Thunder in a long time here in the IIWF! TD: That's true enough. I know for a fact that there have been a considerable amount of surprise expressed at the strength of Brody Thunder in his tenure as champion so far. This is a man who isn't afraid to stand on his own... to fight on his own... BL: ...and lose on his own! Hardin's got Thunder's number, and there's nothing anybody can do about it. LM: What makes you say that, Becky? BL: The "Outlaw" told me, Larry, while we were, uh... ensconced in the bathtub. You know what they say, "Rub a dub dub, me and Jay Dub..." LM: [interrupting] That's quite enough, Becky. TD: You've already said, Larry, that the man who wins this match may be considered the true "legend" of the IIWF -- but what about the man who loses? SS: Moving on out, Mr. Dross! BL: You should know. SS: [puzzled] What's Ms. LaRue talking about? LM: Not now. Let's get comments from the IIWF World Heavyweight Champion, the "Lone Wolf" himself. [Cut to a shot of the giant sign signifying the location of the L.A. Memorial Coliseum. Cut to a close-up of the concrete sidewalk. A pair of black Tony Lama's come into view and the camera begins following them as the walk.] BT: Los Angeles.    The "City o' Angels".     Seems pretty funny since tomorrow night... [The boots stop dead in their tracks. The camera pans up the blue denim jeans, past the black t-shirt which reads "Legend Killer", to the cigar smoking visage of Brody Thunder. He's sporting a grim smile.]    ...it's gonna be Hell. [Thunder removes the cigar and flicks away the ashes.]     Twenty-four hours, John. Twenty-four hours until we get this thing settled, once an' fer all. Who's the best? Who _is_ the real _legend_?  From the start I knew yer reputation. I knew what ya were capable o' doin'. But I also knew somethin' else. I knew what _I_ could do. An' twenty-four hours from now I'm gonna _show_ ya... what _I_ can do. [He flicks the cigar away and looks back to the camera,the smile now gone from his face.]     The time fer talkin's over, amigo. Ya say ya wanna "leave the toys at home" fer our lil dance? Fine by me. Ya wanna throw down mano-y-mano? Fine by me. Ya wanna get beat by knuckles? [Just as quickly, the eerie grin returns.]     Fine by me.     One way or th'other... this thing ends here. Tomorrow night. I beat you... or you beat me. It's jus' that simple, John. An' like I said before, if ya put my shoulders ta the mat, I'll shake yer hand, say yer the legend an' I'll walk away.     Either way... it gets settled. [Thunder removes his hat and runs his hand over his bald head.]     I hope yer ready, hoss.  It's gonna be like no other fight you have _ever_ had. Bell ta bell an' straight through Hell. That's the way it's _gotta_ be. That's the way it's _gonna_ be. Two men will walk inta history. [Thunder cinches his hat back on his head.]     One legend will walk out.     Come ready fer a fight, John... or trust me... [Thunder turns back to the camera with a stoic face.]     ...don't come at all. [Thunder walks off camera. The camera then pans up to the L.A. Coliseum marquee, which reads  "IIWF WRESTLING - MAIN EVENT - GRUDGE MATCH - OUTLAW J.W. HARDIN VS LONE WOLF BRODY THUNDER - PLUS MANY MANY MORE MATCHES". The camera tightens in on the words "GRUDGE MATCH" and fades to black. Cut back to the press box.] LM: It's certainly going to be a fight tomorrow night when these two tough ornery cowboys get it on in front of one hundred thousand fans here in the LA Coliseum! Let's get straight to comments from the "Outlaw" himself... who has a history lesson for Thunder. [SCENE: A stormy late afternoon at Gettysburg Battlefield.  Torrents of rain slap the monuments and occasional claps of thunder can be heard in the distance.  The camera zooms low through a Confederate cemetery as the unmistakable voice of "Outlaw" J.W. Hardin provides a voice-over.] JWH: Gettysburg... one of the bloodiest sites o' the American Civil War.      It turned father against son... [A shot rings out and screams are heard as an old photo from a Civil War battle suddenly flashes on the screen.  It segues to a photo of a field hospital where an anguished man missing his left leg lies on a crude wooden table.]      ...brother against brother... [Dissolve to a ghostly image of a man being thrown from his dying horse, both mount and rider screaming as they fall in their tracks.  A man in a tattered and faded uniform stands nearby with his sword drawn.  A sick thud is heard as the shot fades to black.]      ...family against family... [A red trail of blood begins flowing from the top of the black screen, spreading until crimson covers the entire screen.  Yells are heard and the clang of metal against metal dominates the audio.  The red screen goes opaque and shows two men with bayonetted rifles facing each other only feet apart... but neither moves.]      ...friend against friend... [The red screen dissolves to full color.  Through the driving rain, it is evident that the two figures are part of a statue at the Civil War site. The camera pans down to reveal the hulking figure of J.W. Hardin standing at the base of the statue -- his cowboy hat pulled low over his eyes and only his leather duster protecting him from the storm.]      ...fools who made war on their brothers in arms. [Like a 350-pound grim reaper, Hardin walks slowly toward the camera and extends his arm toward one of the battle sites, the rain rolling from his coat.]      They call this hallowed ground... ground that was stained red with      the blood of thousands o' men more'n a hunnerd years ago.      The winners walked away.      The losers was maimed and left to live the rest of their lives      without arms and legs -- limbs that was left to rot in the      Pennsylvania dirt.      The dead... I guess ya could just call them the _lucky_ ones. [Hardin tilts his head back as if listening to the voices of the ghosts who walk the battlefield.  He finally continues.]      But ev'ry war has its victims.      Victims o' ideology... victims o' peer pressure... victims o'      foolish civic pride... victims o' fate... victims o' ego... [Hardin's eyes seem to darken even more.]      ...victims o' youth. [He begins to walk through the downpour, speaking as he goes.]      Ain't it ironic how many kids went off ta war with enthusiasm?      Youthful arr'gance got them girlfriends.  Youthful arr'gance got them amigos.  Youthful arr'gance... [He stops briefly to finish his thought.]      ...ended their lives. [The Outlaw resumes walking to a nearby cannon which sits on a crest overlooking a vast field.  He leans against the old weapon and looks across the field.]      How could the losers go home and face their wives knowin' that they      was gonna have to lean on a crutch fer the rest o' their lives?  How could the blinded face life when they knew they'd never see their children growed up?  How could they wake up crippled and hope to find comfort in that little shiny medal pinned to the pillow? [Hardin turns his stare at the camera.]      They couldn't.      Ev'ry man wants to test himself and ev'ry man thinks he's up to it,      but I seen too many crushed by defeat.  The very second self-doubt      creeps into their mind, they're better off dead.  They can't accept      that fate and deep down they know they'll never be the same again.      "Momma, what happened to Daddy's legs?" [Hardin walks directly toward the camera.]      The bullet does more damage when it doesn't kill...      ...and it knows exactly what it's doin'. [The Outlaw stops and the camera zooms in tight on his face, his cold, dark eyes glaring into the lens.]      Class is over, Thunder. [The rain continues to drip from Hardin's hat as he stares into the lens. Slow fade. Cut back to the press box.] LM: Wow. An intense J.W. Hardin going into this match. TD: Absolutely. Remember that, although the title isn't on the line, this match is for something perhaps even more valuable than gold belts: pride. LM: It's going to be an incredible main event. Perhaps we should all pick a winner? SS: It's gonna be Thunder, Mr. Morton! BL: Get real. Hardin all the way. LM: I'd be inclined to agree -- Thunder may have got one over on the "Outlaw" in the past, but I can't see him doing it twice. I pick Hardin. TD: I'm going to have to cheat right off the bat -- the winner in this match is going to be the fans. I can't choose between these two athletes -- but it's going to be one hell of a fight, live on pay-per-view! ------------------------------------------------------------------------ EUROPEAN ALLIANCE COLLIDES: Lord Byron vs. Otto "the Butcher" Verhoeven ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: Among the very last matches to be added to the card for tomorrow night, this one has "classic" written all over it. On the one hand, we have the Butcher, Otto Verhoeven, who seems to have recaptured the form that took him to the IIWF World Heavyweight Championship almost exactly one year ago -- and on the other we have the man who can lay claim to being the best Intercontinental Champion the IIWF has ever seen, the man with the longest winning streak in the organisation's history, Lord Byron. TD: Former allies going at it one on one tomorrow night -- first Thunder and Hardin, and now Byron and Verhoeven. But I have a feeling we're not going to see the kind of match we're used to seeing from Lord Byron. He's had a long lay-off -- sure, he's in great shape physically, but I'd have to question his mental fitness. Part of his success earlier in the year was the air of invincibility he cultivated. The man positively exuded confidence in his abilities throughout his record-breaking tenure as Intercontinental Champion -- but he over-stretched his means in that epic match with Creed back at Coronation Clash, and that facade was smashed. Not only was he not invincible any longer -- but the Butcher took great pleasure in stomping a mudhole in him after the match. Down the road four months, and Byron is back in the IIWF... and the Butcher is still stomping mudholes in Byron. BL: Good point, Timmy. Byron really doesn't seem to have been able to touch Verhoeven since his return. Seems he's too googly-eyed over that DeWinter woman -- and I use the term loosely -- to have the killer instinct that made him so successful before. SS: Byron's gone soft, Mr. Dross. TD: Well, Lord Byron certainly has exhibited strong feelings for the Lady DeWinter -- and he's out for vengeance. LM: But with the Butcher currently so strong, will he get it? Will Byron get the victory he needs to restore his pride, and the honour of the Lady DeWinter -- or will he be defeated again? Let's hear from the combatants in this huge, huge match: [SCENE: The camera fades in on "Nurse" Heidi Uppenmann, curled up on a first class airline seat, wearing a jade green sweatshirt, black sweatpants, and hi-tops. Her head is on Otto Verhoeven's shoulder, and she is asleep. Otto stares out the window as the ground disappears below. He is wearing casual street clothes. He looks over at Heidi and sighs as he puts his arm around her. She mumbles something incoherent and goes back to sleep.] OV: [softly] Only a few more hours. A few more hours until I will once again walk down an aisle, besieged by frothing and screaming people who hunger for the opportunity to see their heroes and their villains in the modern day arena, fighting each other with reckless abandon and brutal and spectacular manuevers. It may be a different place every time -- New York, Los Angeles, Canada, Japan, Mexico, Germany... [he chuckles]... Disneyland -- but the place is only the setting, only the backdrop for a battle of men who fight for honor, glory, money or... personal reasons. It is a tough sport, maybe the toughest there is. The competitors are athletes of all kinds, giants who can toss their opponents around like rag dolls, mat wrestlers who are able to tie knots in other fighters, or dazzling aerial artists. They all deserve respect. They all push their bodies to the limits. [The sleeping Heidi moans and moves closer to the warming body of the massive Verhoeven.] OV: But there are some men in this business do not deserve any respect. Men who deceive the people who trusted them. Men who thrive on the humiliation of those who surround them. Men who call others "friend" while they use them like a tool. Men like "Lord" Byron. The marketing wizards have called our match at Ring Wars IV the "European Alliance collides". A fitting theme. It will be a collision. And _I_ am an unstoppable object which is coming your way, full speed. I had long conflicts, even wars, with many people. Starks, Macbeth, the Subway Psycho, Chris Quigley... the list goes on and on. But few, if any, of them, have insulted me like that English son of a... like Byron has. He was the first one who outright lied to me, in my face, mocked me when I turned my back on him and I was to blind to notice. Always flaunting his wealth, his title, his verdammte heritage... it may have taken several months before I finally woke up and realized the truth. [He slowly shakes his head.] In the last weeks I have told that little story time and time again. You know what happened in the past. What you don't know what will happen in the future, what will happen at Ring Wars IV? Will Lord Byron make his glorious comeback, defeat me in the name of his little whor... of his ward? Will he once again take the place he once held in this promotion, the record-breaking master of mat-wrestling, unchallenged best technical competitor in the whole sport? Most people seem to think that. Most people seem that his victory is already set in stone, that I am only a minor roadblock on Byron's path back to the top of the IIWF. [He smirks.] The people better start to think again. This is a personal issue and that means I will wrestle for more than the glory of the German people. This time I am fighting for my honor. This time the name of the game is vengeance. You are addicted to the spotlight, Byron. After your wounds have healed you returned to your old hunting grounds, only this time around you are not the predator anymore. You are the prey, a prey _I_ have set my eyes on. I know you inside-out and you know me and we _both_ know that you cannot defeat me. Your technical tricks can do me no harm. An armlock? I'll swat you aside like a fly. A figure four leglock? One kick of me and you'll fly through the ring. Your fabled La Majistral Cradle? All it takes is one roll-over and you are buried under me. What, on the other hand, can you do to counter a lariat? A powerbomb? Hell, I don't think you can even escape from a Camel Clutch I lock on. You have felt the Slaughterslam before. You know it, you fear it. Fear it like a wolve fears fire, fear it like a mouse fears a cat. It is this fear, which will ultimately spell doom for you. [He raises his right hand.] You will panic whenever I even try to grab your throat. You will start to shriek and kick and scream and cry because you remember the devastating effect it had on you in the past. And yet, all your efforts will be futile. In the end, the man people call Butcher, Juggernaut, Terror, shall once again triumph, finishing a conflict which really ended months ago when I first sent you out of the IIWF on a stretcher. You are fighting this match on borrowed time and at the end it will be time to pay the price for it. It will be time for you to enter the slaughterhouse. [Verhoeven smiles and closes his eyes, his chin resting on Heidi's head. Fade to black. The shot spins to reveal Lord Byron standing in a plain white IIWF interview area, dressed simply in black trousers and a plain white shirt, his arms folded around his trademark brass topped cane.  His head in lowered, and as he talks, he seems to almost to be speaking to himself.] LB: I've heard many things this week, many thoughts from many people.  There are those who think I was lucky.  That the President would never have allowed me to return had it not been for the action taken on his behalf by Poutine Janios.  There are those who say that I should never have come back in the first place - not even to talk about my final match.  That I brought everything that has happened on myself. [Byron smirks self-mockingly] Maybe they were right. When I've seen what it's done, I feel the same.  I cannot excuse my own part in what happened to Milady -- how I inadvertantly brought upon her the suffering and humiliation she now feels.  I can't excuse it -- but I can try to avenge it.  And that is exactly what I intend to do. [Byron looks up as the camera focuses in on him, his eyes blazing... with hate... with pain... with rage.] LB: All I can do is try to avenge it. [Byron looks away again, and after a brief pause, he continues to speak] LB: I was this close, Butcher.  _This_ close to leaving the sport for good.  I had almost resolved myself.  But when I heard your comments -- your insults.  I had to try and set the record straight. I had to try and salvage some dignity from the punishment you heaped upon me back at Coronation Clash.   And then Milady was dragged into it.  Punished for my mistakes.   Punished and humiliated, simply for being there... and there was nothing I could do to stop it.   And when that happened, something within me snapped. [Byron looks back up again, the anger smouldering in his eyes... and slowly, his face twists into a sneer.] LB: And now it all boils down to this.  You know what's going to happen when we step in that ring on Saturday night. We are going to collide.  We are going to war.  And whatever the result, only one man is going to leave the ring standing.  And I'm looking forward to it.  I'm knocking on the Slaughterhouse's door, Verhoeven.  Make no mistake about it:  I'm coming for you.  And whatever it takes, it doesn't matter how deep I have to dig, I'm going to bring you down.   Because I want vengeance, Verhoeven.  Not for me. For Milady.  And nothing is going to stop me from getting it.  Nothing.   There's nothing more to be said.  I'll see you in the ring, Herr Verhoeven. [Byron turns and walks off the set in silence, the only sound being the clicking of his cane in time with his footsteps.  The scene fades out. Cut back to the press box.] LM: Okay, let's pick our winners. BL: It's the Butcher. SS: I'm with you, Ms. LaRue. BL: Ha! In your dreams. LM: I know the Butcher has been on a tremendous roll lately -- but if anybody can put a stop to that momentum, it's Lord Byron. He gets my vote. TD: I'd like to agree with you, Larry, but I can't see it, myself. I have a feeling we're going to see a different Lord Byron to the cold, calculating individual we saw as Intercontinental Champion earlier this year. I'm sure that those world-beating technical skills are still there -- but I have a feeling we're not going to see very many of them. Verhoeven said that this match is going to be a "collision". I have to agree -- and I can't bet against the German Juggernaut in a situation like this. LM: The European Alliance Collides, folks! Can Lord Byron beat the odds? Find out tomorrow night -- only on pay-per-view! ------------------------------------------------------------------------ IIWF INTERCONTINENTAL CHAMPIONSHIP NO DISQUALIFICATION MATCH: Chris Quigley [c] vs. Duncan Macbeth ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: The big matches just keep on coming, folks. One of the most eagerly awaited Intercontinental Championship matches of recent months will go down tomorrow night, when the impressive Chris Quigley is scheduled to defend against Duncan Macbeth, although there have been nervous moments in the front office this week due to Macbeth's knee injury. TD: Indeed. This is just the first of several matches scheduled for tomorrow night which has been hit by injury -- Serge Annis, about whom we'll be talking later, has yet to be discharged from hospital, Requiem too has been advised not to wrestle -- more about that later on, too -- and Duncan Macbeth has suffered an MCL tear which could be career threatening. LM: Let's go to footage featuring Macbeth and his doctor, leading knee specialist, Dr. O'Keefe. [SCENE:  Los Angeles, California, inside the Great Western Forum, home of the NBA's L.A. Lakers and the NHL's L.A. Kings.  The camera shot pans down a long hallway in the famous arena, passing dressing rooms, equipment rooms, offices, and framed photographs of Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, Julius Erving, Magic Johnson, Marcel Dionne, Charlie Simmer, Dave Taylor, and Wayne Gretzky, among others.  The camera contines down the hall and stops outside a door that reads SPORTS MEDICINE CLINIC.  The cameraman pushes open the door and enters, sweeping the room with the camera. Inside the clinic, we can see a number of high-tech looking machines, scanners, and monitors.  Two of the monitors display black-and white ultrasound images of what appears to be a knee joint, bent and extended, while another two show the same image, but with a myriad of coloured contours rather than the grainy grays of the former two.  Illuminated X-ray photographs can be seen on the far wall of the clinic, and finally, to the side, we can see Duncan Macbeth seated on a black trainer's bench, clad in a Glasgow Rangers warmup jacket and blue shorts, his long ruddy hair flowing out from underneath a red and yellow Scottish Standard bandanna.  In front of him, the L.A. Kings' physiotherapist, Dr. Sandy O'Keefe, works away at the Scot's right knee, which is hidden from view, as Timothy N. Turner looks on, both concerned and curious about what Dr. O'Keefe is doing to Macbeth's knee. Macbeth's expression remains stoic throughout the procedure, although the odd squint of his green eyes betrays the obvious discomfort he is experiencing.  Finally, Dr. O'Keefe steps back, admiring his handiwork, and we see that Duncan Macbeth's right knee is now encased in a sleek, form-fitting knee brace, running from the bottom of his quadriceps to just above his calf muscle.  Twin metal supports run along the inner and outer sides of the knee, and the knee itself is covered with a foam-filled black plastic sheath.  Turner grins broadly at Macbeth, but the proud Scot just stares balefully at the support, and shakes his head.] DR.O: All right, Duncan, try to straighten your leg, please. [Macbeth extends his right leg, the motion seeming not to discomfort him terribly.] DR.O: Good.  Now bend it as far as you're able. [Macbeth slowly pulls his leg back under the bench.  As soon as his knee reaches a 90 degree angle, a bolt of pain shoots through the leg, causing Macbeth to catch his breath, but he continues to bend the leg until his heel is nearly touching the bottom of the bench.  Macbeth is visibly trembling at the exertion, and finally lets the leg hang loosely as a sigh of anguish escapes him.] DR.O: That's fine, Duncan.  Actually, it's much better than I expected. Okay, now get off the table and stand up, and try not to favour your right leg, please. [Macbeth slides off the bench and stands, drawing himself up to his full height, and plants his feet shoulder width apart, balancing his weight evenly on both legs.  The knee holds, and Macbeth does not appear to feel any discomfort from bearing his weight on the knee.] DR.O: That's excellent.  Now, take a walk around and tell me how it feels. [Macbeth takes a tentative step with his right foot, and then another, and another.  The knee brace seems to be doing its job admirably, and Macbeth begins to pace in a circle, only the slightest trace of a limp now visible in his gait.  Macbeth even goes so far as to hop in place several times before turning back to Dr. O'Keefe and Turner, his green eyes flashing with excitement as a broad smile replaces his former stolid expression.] DM: Aye, it's holdin', doc!  Still hurts like th' Jaysis, but it's bearin' up!  DR.O: Yes, well, don't get too excited, okay?  I've seen worse MCL cases than yours in my time, but all those guys ended up retiring.  Both the ultrasound and the MRI images we took show that your medial collateral ligament is literally hanging on by a thread, my friend, and it's not going to take too much to tear it away completely.  Now, this brace I made for you is the same one I made for Marty McSorley a couple of years ago -- it got him throught the season when it looked like he was going to need surgery that would have finished him for the rest of the year. I've added a few special modifications of my own to this one, but the fact of the matter is, you're injured, and only proper medical treatment is going to put you right again. DM: We'll have t' talk about tha' later.  How d'ye take this contraption off? DR.O: Only with this, I'm afraid. [Dr. O'Keefe holds up a screwdriver.] The brace has to be bolted on to ensure that it remains stable.  It'll survive bodychecks and slam-dunks without coming loose; in fact, it'll survive a car crash with no trouble.  Don't worry -- once you bolt this little beauty on, it ain't coming off.  TNT: What about tomorrow night, Sandy?  Is he going to be all right to wrestle? DR.O: Like I said, Tim, the brace is only there to support the ligament, not to replace it.  If great enough force is applied to that knee, brace or no brace, there's a very good chance that the ligament will give, and then you're looking at surgery followed by eight months to a year of rehabilitation.  And then, there's a good chance that the knee may never recover sufficiently to allow Duncan to wrestle again.  What else can I say... [to Macbeth] if you go tomorrow night, Duncan, you're gambling with your future. TNT: Duncan... what do you think?  Quigley's a submission specialist, you're in a no-disqualification match, that little pest Manning's going to be there... I'm sorry, buddy, but this doesn't look too good for you right now.  Do you think maybe you should... [Macbeth's jade eyes flash fire at Turner's insinuation, cutting the Canadian off in mid-sentence, but the Scot's temper fades as he bears down on the braced knee a couple more times, then looks back up at his friend, as Dr. O'Keefe looks on.] DM: No, Tim.  I don't think I should do anythin' except step in tha' ring tomorrow nigh'. I ken tha' I'm no' in th' best o' shape righ' now. I ken tha' I'm goin' t' be in a match where anythin' goes, an' tha' th' chances o' me comin' out o' this hurt are pretty good. I ken tha' Quigley's goin' t' be gunnin' fer this knee righ' from th' bell, an' tha' nothin' will make 'im happier than tyin' me up in tha' Quickstriker o' his, an' tryin' t' end me career fer good. I ken tha' this could be th' last match I e'er wrestle in th' IIWF, or anywhere else. But I've waited too long for this chance, fought through too many obstacles, spilt too much o' me blood, sweat, an' tears t' give it all up now. [Macbeth turns away from Turner, and strides boldly over to the camera, staring deep into the lens.] Did ye really think tha' I'd jus' roll o'er an' die, Chrissie?  Aye, I heard yuir smart-arsed remarks on Monday, while I was still havin' tests done in L.A. General, an' I'm no' th' least wee bit impressed by them. Bad luck, ye say?  Aye, tosser -- bad luck fer YE. Y'see, Chrissie, this match is goin' t' be all about pain.  I've been livin' with pain fer th' better part o' two weeks now, an' I reckon I'm gettin' used t' it, wha'.  Pain an' I are gettin' t' be pretty good mates.  I ken just how much pain I can take -- can ye say th' same?  I guarantee ye, sweetheart, a no-disqualification match is a damn good place t' find out. No disqualification means tha' I can do whate'er I want t' ye, with whate'er I want.  Smash yuir face in wi' a steel chair, crush yuir windpipe wi' th' ring bell, throw ye like th' garbage ye are o'er th' top rope an' in t' th' stands, choke ye wi' th' camera cords -- anythin' I want. But I still have t' pin ye t' win tha' belt, don't I? Bad knee or no', there's no way ye're goin' t' beat me at the kind o' game I've been playin' since I was a wee lad in Glenfinnan, gettin' dragged out o' the pubs by th' coppers while everyone else got carted out by th' medics.  But I think ye knew tha' when ye asked fer this stipulation.  Or rather, when yuir four-wheeled "companion" shamed ye in t' askin' fer it. We're in a match where there's no rules, except tha' I can only win th' belt by pinfall or submission.  We end up brawlin' in th' aisle an' get counted out, ye keep th' belt.  Ye take a chair or a lead pipe t' this knee o' mine an' snap tha' tendon like a toothpick, ye keep th' belt. Yuir wee pet tries t' interefere, ye keep th' belt.  We beat each other t' a bloody pulp an' can't continue, ye keep th' belt.  I need a pinfall or submission t' take th' title, which means at some point, I'll need t' wrestle ye, rather than fight ye, while ye're free t' pull hair, tights, use foreign objects, get Manning t' save yuir arse, do anythin' ye want t' aviod a pin.  Ye probably see this as an advantage, don't ye? Ye shouldn't, tosser. Fer weeks now, sweetheart, I've had t' listen t' ye runnin' yuir mouth about wha' a great wrestler ye are, aout how ye're a "legend" in th' IIWF, about how Duncan Macbeth can't hold a candle t' ye an' yuir so-called "talent".  Ye've been struttin' around here actin' like this hard man, but actin' is all ye've been doin', 'cause nobody's buyin' yuir "hardcore" act.  Tomorrow, Chrissie dear, ye're goin' t' meet th' DEFINITION o' hard. An' ye're goin' t' find out tha' Duncan Macbeth is a lot more than th' glorified football hooligan ye think me t' be. Bring yuir tough new attitude, bring yuir "superior talent", bring yuir Quickstriker, bring yuir wheeled monkey-boy, bring th' bleedin' kitchen sink fer all I care, 'cause none o' it's goin' t' save ye from me. Ye've got somethin' I want, an' NOTHIN's goin' t' stop me from takin' it -- injuries, interference, pleas for mercy, NOTHIN'. Tomorrow nigh', I'm takin' th' IIWF Intercontinental Title from ye. Even if it's th' last thing I e'er do. No excuses, Quigley.  Remember tha'. [Macbeth turns back to Turner and O'Keefe, the familiar confidence flashing once again in his face.] DM: Does tha' answer yuir question, Tim? [Turner shakes his head, and chuckles.] TNT: Hey, it's your funeral, pal.  Not that I'm the least bit surprised, of course! DM: Good.  Now, let's get to the stadium.  I'd like t' see how this... apparatus here stands up t' a few moonsaults an' Claymores, wha'.  My thanks t' ye, Dr. O'Keefe.  I'm in yuir debt, an' after tomorrow nigh', th' debt will be all th' greater when I'm th' new Intercontinental Champion! DR.O: Don't worry about it, Duncan.  Just remember what I told you, okay?  A title's not worth permanent injury... [Macbeth does not hear Dr. O'Keefe's final words as he lopes out of the office, his footsteps coming quickly and more or less evenly as they echo down the hall.  Turner just shakes his head again, grinning at his friend's fortitude, and as the shot fades, turns and discusses something with Dr. O'Keefe that the microphone does not pick up.  Fade.] LM: Duncan Macbeth is determined to wrestle tomorrow night, but his determination could ultimately cost him his career. SS: Mr. Morton, you really have to wonder why a guy like Duncan Macbeth would decide to go right on into that ring tomorrow night against a guy who can turn his legs into jello at the drop of a hat. TD: I believe Macbeth will be looking to end this match quickly, young Summer. You're right when you say that Chris Quigley possesses a formidable arsenal of holds that can be extremely debilitating to the legs -- although let's not forget that Macbeth has plenty of experience in Japan and Europe, and he's no one-dimensional brawler either -- but if Macbeth is able to knock Quigley out early, it doesn't matter how many pretzel holds the Intercontinental Champion knows. BL: But don't forget that delightful Steve Manning will be on the outside -- and he's proven time and time again what an effective distraction he can be. LM: That's certainly true. Let's get comments from Mr. Manning, and, of course, the Intercontinental Champion, Chris Quigley: [SCENE: A dark locker room.  Chris Quigley is seen in full wrestling gear, sitting on a wooden bench.  His hands are joined, and he is staring intently at the floor.  He is the absolute picture of focus and determination.  The Intercontinental Title Belt glistens from the light of the camera in the otherwise black room.] CQ: An old rival of mine said it best:  Anyone.  Anywhere.  Anytime.  That's how I've tried to defend this Intercontinental Title belt.  Hell, that's the motto I've tried to follow my entire career.  I know the answers this time though.  Duncan Macbeth.  Los Angeles Memorial Coliseum.  Ring Wars IV. [Quigley finally looks up at the camera.] I've been accused of being a lot of things during my stay in the IIWF. I've claimed to be a lot of things as well.  Never once have I tried to be or tried to make anyone believe I was "hardcore".  It's a loose definition of a sadistic wrestler who can't make it on his own merits and hides behind weapons and cage and explosions to win matches.  I hide behind nothing.  Not weapons, not a gang of thugs, and certainly not behind my status as IIWF Intercontinental Champion.  You think you have it made, Macbeth.  You think I signed my own death warrant when I agreed to a No Disqualification match at Ring Wars.  Maybe that's exactly what I did.  But there's one thing you can be guaranteed, Macbeth.  If I go down, I'll be in a blaze of glory.  You show me no respect, you show me nothing but ignorant contempt.  When this thing is over, you will respect me.  When this thing is over, you'll realize the "Quickstrike" legend does exist, and it will _never_ die.  Y'see, all my opponents have one thing in common, Macbeth.  They all know who I am before the match, and by the end of the match, they wish they'd never heard the name Chris Quigley. [Quigley reaches over to where the Intercontinental belt rests, picks it up, and stares at the golden surface.] It took me over a year to finally achieve true success here in the IIWF. The reign will not end at Ring Wars IV because I won't _allow_ it to!  Last month, I lost to an undeserving punk who didn't deserve to be in the same ring as me.  I refuse to let history repeat itself.  Mark my words, Duncan Macbeth.  You will be _struck down_ one way or another.  I don't care if I have to use a steel chair.  I don't care if I have to spill a little blood. If that makes me hardcore, just call me Chris f'n Kowalski.  The difference between being hardcore and doing whatever it takes to win is a small one. Hardcore is pointless, meaningless violence.  When I crack your skull with the ring bell, I have a direct purpose in mind.  To defend my belt, or die trying, and that is a promise. [All of a sudden, light splashes over the locker room as the door creaks open, and Steve Manning slowly wheels into the picture wearing a black t-shirt with plaid lettering reading: "It's Not a Shirt... It's a KILT!" Manning is also wearing his usual sickly grin.] SM: Gettin' a tad intense, aren't we Quigs? [Quigley, who doesn't appear to be in the mood for Manning's antics, simply pats him on the shoulder and walks out of the room, Intercontinental Title belt in hand.] SM: Sometimes that guy gets a little too weird for me.  The excitement is building.  You could cut the tension with a knife. [Manning hauls out a sharp silver knife and slashes at the air.] SM: See?  Mr. Macbeth, your days, your hours, and your minutes are numbered! That much is a bonafide fact!  The Intercontinental Championship belt will stay in The Living Hell where it belongs, and there ain't nothing the Prince of Plaid is gonna do about it! [Manning starts picking his teeth with the sharp blade of the knife.] SM: There's another issue at hand.  It seems the wrestlers of the IIWF get their jollies by ripping off an innocent man's wheelchair.  And if that ain't bad enough, they're stealing my wheelchair too!  I've been knocked over, tossed around, and beaten up ever since I started showing some support for the greatest wrestler in the history of the IIWF, "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley.  The IIWF _reeks_ of jealousy for Chris Quigley, and that ain't a quote, that my friend, is the God damn truth!  From the announcers, to the suits, to the wrestlers themselves, everyone wants to be "Quickstrike", but it's an impossibility, because it takes a special breed of wrestler to graduate from The Living Hell.  He did it.  I did it.  No one else in the IIWF could possibly survive there, because you're all soft, weak, and pathetic.  [Manning sadly shakes his head.] SM: Our World Champion is a triple-crossing alcoholic, but enough about his good points, he just flat-out sucks.  Two of the biggest fan favorites in the IIWF?  Marty Warnett and Billy Shakespeare.  I'd call them The Ambiguously Gay Duo, but there's nothin' ambiguous about them.  When you get right down to it, Chris Quigley is the heart and soul of the IIWF.  He pumps the blood through this entire Federation.  His work makes it possible for the IIWF to pay everyone else's contracts.  And if you've gotta problem with him, you can just start bitchin' your way to the unemployment line!  [Manning giggles a little uneasily.] SM: And now, Ring Wars IV is upon us, and the hottest ticket in the IIWF is facing Macbeth.  There's an old adage in the wrestling industry... to be the _man_, you gotta beat the _man_.  I guess the only problem is, Chris is going to beat a cross-dressing, sheepherding, ignoramus.  I just hope there's a limit to the flexibility of that saying... [Manning stares into space for a moment, shrugs, and then tilts his head back and laughs.  He laughs long and he laughs hard.  Then he stops. Manning slowly turns his head back to the camera, staring hard into the lens.  He presents his middle finger for all to see, and then slowly draws it across his throat.  Manning keeps staring into the camera until the scene fades.] BL: Ooooh, I'm really scared now. Aren't you, Larry? LM: Not especially. BL: LOOK! A CLOWN! How about now? [Larry is too busy cowering under the table to reply.] TD: Poor Larry. Steve Manning is a truly unbalanced individual -- and I believe he will play a pivotal role in this match. Perhaps we should pick our winners? BL: Macbeth, hands down. He may not look good in a skirt, but I hear he's not bad out of one... SS: I have to go for the Quickstrike, Mr. Dross. That knee of Duncan's isn't going to hold up. BL: Nor's your career. TD: Hush, Becky. It's certainly true that Duncan Macbeth has taken the hardest road imaginable to this title match -- from the battle royal, to the match with Hardin, to the Shower Room Showdown, to last weekend's Four Way Dance which saw him stretchered out of the arena after exacerbating his knee injury. Sure, Quigley's been up against a fearsome schedule this cycle, too -- but he's managed to stay healthy, and I think that's going to be decisive. It's Quigley for me too. LM: [from under the table, muffled] Macbeth. It's Macbeth. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ BRAGGING RIGHTS CAGE MATCH: Prophets of Rage vs. Damage Inc. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Fade in: Highlights flash by of the Prophets of Rage, Shadoe and Derek Rage, during their long and illustrious career.  Shots of Shadoe flying around the ring and Derek's devastating high impact assault are cut in fast pace with them holding up the title belts of numerous federations.  The picture freezes on Shadoe and Derek fighting in the IIWF and the screen explodes, shards falling away to reveal the new Prophets lineup, Derek and Unique Allah.  The two competitors grin, looking hungry, excited and supremely cocky all at the same time.] DR: [clapping Unique on the back] You know, history's got to come to an end sometime.  It's all got to be swept under the carpet for something new to begin.  Well, it's time for something new to begin.  See, I've got me a new partner, a more innovative partner, a more unpredictable partner.  Now, just when you thought you'd seen everything out of the Prophets of Rage we go and change it up, flipping the script to show you just how we can make everything new. DDUA: Only trouble is, Damage Incorporated, you ain't done nothin' new in about two years, have you?  Yeah, y'all thought you was bad.  Y'all thought you was some nasty muhfuhs, but that whole big lucha libre aerial artist ish is done played out.  Everybody knows it was Derek Rage doing that stuff, impressin' people.  Everybody knows the Prophets of Rage took the whole concept of the valet to the next level.  We was the first team to make the valet the real dangerous one.  We was the first ones to innovate having the valet deliver the finish.  And no muhfuh in the IIWF could keep up with that.  I mean, damn, the Prophets of Rage just marched through everybody.  They won both tag-team titles they had to offer here.  They won the awards for best and most dangerous tag-team.  People the world over was asking them to save their promotions.  And that kind of ish just gets in yo head and works, you, you know?  But see, this team is about creativity, and the IIWF wouldn't allow no more creativity.  We done ran through everybody.  And me, I was out in the cruiserweight ranks with nobody who could match me.  So what's a muhfuh to do?  You switch up before you stagnate and die. DR: And Damage Inc., that's exactly what you're doing.  Come Eddy, Alex, Jeandra, this invincible tough guy routine is so old they have to brush the dust off you every time you walk to the ring.  There's no way in hell you're going to get over us.  See, they wanted us to make a whole set of stipulations about this match.  All we wanted was bragging rights.  Know why?  Because that's all that's left.  You were a great team in your day, but you exited the spotlight and we stepped in.  And we aren't ready to give it up yet.  So, you who can take a two-by-four to the head and then get winded throwing punches, let's see what you can do if you're always on offence.  Let's see how much you can take if you're on defence.  Let's see how you play the switches, how you figure all the angles.  Dirt Dog is the most innovative wrestler in the IIWF.  And I'm the smartest.  You think you got the bases covered with us?  You've learned you can hang with us in a brawl. DDUA: I don't know if they did.  I mean.  We ain't hurt, is we?  Mayhap, we didn't get busted up as much as those muhfuhs thought we did.  You know.  They was laughin' and jokin' and stunned that they went toe-to-toe with the Prophets in their first encounter and came out walking after a gang up.  Was that real or was that just a ruse? DR: [shrugging] I guess we'll never know.  How much can we hurt you?  How much can you hurt us? [DDUA claps his hands to his dropped jaw like a black Macauley Culkin.] DDUA: Well, that's a quandary for the ages, ain't it?  I mean, we's in a cage, right.  So how does that affect ish?  Can you have a technical rules match in a cage? DR: If anyone can, it's us.  Damage Inc., contrary to popular belief, we don't hate you.  We don't even think about you that much.  What we are, though, is sick of you.  What we are is out to prove that we are bar none the best tag-team in the IIWF with or without the tag-team titles.  That's what we are.  That's what we always will be.  Now if we have to beat you and you need to beat us.  Tell me, who wants it more? DDUA: That's one of them enigma's wrapped in a riddle and shrouded in taco sauce, ain't it?  Kinda sounds like the ish the bartender tells me when he asks where my car keys are during happy hour.  How the hell am I supposed to know.  I'm happy for a hour, right? DR: See, Damage Inc., can you just jump and switch up like we can?  Can you just shift gears like that and come right back to the point.  Ring Wars IV, inside the steel cage, you've got to prepare for the Dirt Dog and Derek Rage.  And I don't think you can do it. [Fade out as Derek covers the screen with his hand.] DR: [off camera] Hammer Time, babies. [Cut back to the press box. Larry has composed himself once more.] LM: This is simply the biggest tag team match of the year, folks -- and the titles aren't even involved. Four men will step inside a specially constructed "cell" cage, extending all the way over the ring and the ringside area -- the first of its kind in the IIWF -- and they will simply beat the hell out of one another until we have a pinfall or a submission. It's going to be wild. TD: And the four men stepping into that cage have the distinction of being recognised as the two top tag teams in the world today. On the one hand, we have the Prophets of Rage -- admittedly now in a different configuration, with the Dirt Dog Unique Allah replacing Shadoe Rage -- voted this year as the top tag team in the world, and on the other, we have Damage Inc., voted as the top tag team in the world last year. To the victors go the spoils -- and in this match, the spoils are the bragging rights: the right to call yourself the world's best tag team. SS: What a history these two teams have, Mr. Dross. They've feuded across different federations for so long, it seems like forever. And tomorrow night, they're going to settle the score! LM: Let's hear from Alex Porteaux and Eddy Ramos -- Damage Incorporated! [The scene is outdoors somewhere in America. The camera opens up on a large chainlink fence, behind which nothing can be seen. Suddenly Eddy Ramos' hulking figure slowly rises up into view behind the fence. His scowl can't cover the growling and hissing sounds he makes as he grabs the links with his massive hands.] ER: Ring Wars four... you think it's time to brag? What are we going to brag about, beating the FAKE Prophets of Rage? What happened this past Friday... a fight... a suckerpunch FIGHT... is one thing. When this cage goes up... when the lights go out... when the dog gets loose... is another. I got the name "Mad Dog" for a reason. It's how I get when in closed spaces. You want to lock me up... you want to lock US up in a cage like wild animals? Prepare to get bitten by wild animals... [Jeandra slips into the shot, wearing a black bodysuit with gold trim on the sides. She leans into the cage, rubbing her groin into it and lets out a moan that would make any man check his nether-regions for sudden moisture. Suddenly she turns around, gripping the cage with one hand, holding her stomach with the other as she lets out a hearty laugh. Alex Porteaux comes in wearing a black tshirt that simply says "GARUDA"] AP: We ain't got nothing to brag about by whipping that ass from here to Sunday, Prophets. Shoot, I can't even call you that. You're not real. You're a figment... a figment of the imagination of a whole clan of people who THOUGHT that they'd ruin OUR chance at redemption by not even showing up for the big dance. You talk about US not being there in FWLI?! WHERE THE ARE YOU NOW?! You want the answer? Find out this weekend. IIWF, you've seen us tame and calm. Come Ring Wars... come our first Pay-Per-View, we pull out all the stops. We pull out ALL the bag of tricks [Jeandra bends downwards and lets out another moan]... some good ones too... but most importantly, Rage Clowns... you will ONCE AND FOR ALL... TRULY AND VEHEMENTLY UNDERSTAND WHEN I SAY TO _YOU_ THAT WE WILL _GET_ _IT_ _ON_ FOR __REAL__! You brothers can't keep it real and bring the TRUE Prophets to face us... so we'll just expose you as the bitches that you are. We've got a whole bunch of surprises for you two... keep your eyes open... ER: And don't let your momma watch.... she won't like to see you roughed up like this... AP: IIWF... IT'S TIME!! [Fade back to the press box.] LM: Well, the stakes are high in this match. Who do you pick, Becky? BL: It's got to be the Prophets -- their dress sense is far better than Damage Inc.'s. LM: What about their wrestling skill? BL: What about it? LM: Fair enough. Tim? TD: Becky does raise a fair point there, Larry. This _isn't_ your average tag team match. This is four men inside a covered chain link cage, beating the hell out of one another until we have a winner. I have to believe that those circumstances actually favour Damage Inc. -- particularly as they will be going up against the undeniably cohesive but still green partnership of Derek Rage and the Dirt Dog. I pick Damage Inc. SS: You gotta go with the Prophets, Mr. Dross! They're the ones who've worked all year -- and Damage Inc. just expect to walk back out of retirement and straight into the record books? Not gonna happen! BL: Although you'll be walking into retirement pretty soon, kid. SS: What? TD: Never mind. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ BARBED WIRE ELIMINATION MATCH: Creed vs. Serge Annis vs. Subway Psycho ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: Ladies and gentlemen, this match is going to turn the IIWF on its head. We've seen audience participation matches, we've seen Seven Tables of Fear matches, we've seen ladder matches, we've seen log scaffold matches, we've seen cage matches... but we have never seen a barbed wire match in the IIWF. The goalposts are going to be moved tomorrow night, and it is _not_ going to be pretty. TD: That's an understatement, Larry. We're talking two extra "ropes" of barbed wire being placed on the ring between the three existing ropes -- and flesh is going to be torn, blood is going to flow... this is a career-ending match, make no mistake about it. BL: Which is kind of appropriate, since we know it's going to be Creed's last IIWF match anyway. TD: That much we have already heard from the red-gloved wrecking superstar: he will be leaving the IIWF after Ring Wars IV -- and he will not be returning. Let's hear from Creed himself: [SCENE:  The increasingly familiar Vagabond Gym in South Central Los Angeles.  The burned out symbol of yesterday, normally bustling with the turmoil of the inner city now sits unusually quietly less than 24 hours prior to Ring Wars IV. Quiet... but not empty. Working with a mechanical precision inside the gym are eight young African American men, each wearing red and black "Anyone. Anywhere. Anytime" sweatshirts and heavy red gloves... each working precisely to wrap virtually every structure inside the gym in galvanized barbed wire, its barbs noticeably sheared diagonally to provide for a razor sharpness. Not just the ring ropes are covered in barbed wire... but everything... the tables, chairs, heavybags, pulled up floorboards, cinderblocks, a medicine ball, a stationary bike, the ringbell, several baseball bats -- even a tuxedo wearing man in the shadowy corner of the room who looks suspiciously like Sparkplug Lee is covered in the twisted metal. In the center of the maelstrom sits placidly a 276 pound sculpted ebony figure, dressed in heavy, heavy black sweatclothes.  His red left handed glove is oddly balanced by a black right handed glove... matching the paint which uncharacteristically rests on his face.  On the right side of the man's face, carved into the black paint are the letters "TA"... and then on the red painted left, the letters "DOH"... combined making the Japanese word for... evil. As Pearl Jam's "Indifference" begins in the background, the man who we obviously know as the red gloved warrior...the red gloved wrecking machine...the red gloved superstar...the red gloved Intercontinental Champion... ...the red gloved rookie, Creed, begins to speak.] CREED: Pain. Ain't nothin' Creed know better than pain.  The pain of a boy told he had to be the "man of the house"... 'cause his daddy was off in the rings tryin' to make somethin' of hisself... but that one day he win a Championship belt and then he promise to come home... Maybe play catch with you or somethin'.  Maybe just tuck you into bed. Maybe. Pain of a 8 year old... a 8 year old watch his momma torn apart by some punks... [Creed stops... bowing his head momentarily... then feverishly shaking it back and forth.] [BLEEP] THAT! I given this goddamn company enough of my pain... Enough of my life... Enough of who Creed "really" is.... You wanna know who I am?  You wanna know what motivate Creed? Creed is a guy who broke into the IIWF not knowing a damn thing about the wrestling business -- never wrestled anyone... never wrestled anywhere... never wrestled anytime... All I saw was guys at the top... guys like Kauffman and Matsuoko and Shakespeare and James... guys like Deathbringer, Verhoeven and the Psycho... Guys who at the top, at every Main Event... every Pay-Per-View... ain't no way a young guy could make it in the IIWF... a young guy with zero experience... I wasn't a guy like Serge Annis... Yeah... I remember when you got here, Serge.  I remember how you walked onto Saturday Night liked you owned the damn place... the "Epitome of Evil"... talkin' about your big rep. and your other World title belt and how you were gonna come in here and be the man. Know where I was then?  Know where I was Annis when you thought you'd jus' walk up in here and be the man? I at the bottom.  Not the middle.  The bottom. The ass end of the IIWF.  Creed was ranked dead last in this company. Backjumped by Quigley who didn't even know my name... squashed on a Wednesday... beaten by some punk in a sheet... stuck in some nowhere feud with a cartoon monkey trapeeze boy who couldn't run out o' here fast enough. I didn't know nobody.  I wasn't goin' nowhere. You the "Epitome of Evil", Annis... You the "People's Champion", Psycho.... Creed jus' a guy who couldn't get off Wednesday Night. Know what happened then, Annis?  You know Psycho?  Think I kissed up? Think I complained?  Think I threatened to quit?  To walk out?  Think Creed got ahold of the bookermen and said "You ain't be fair to Creed"? Hell, no.  Hell, no. Creed worked his ass off.  Creed worked on Monday... Creed worked on Wednesday... Creed worked on Friday... Creed worked on Saturday. If there a show -- Creed on it. If there a card and Creed ain't wrestling, Creed find a spot... Creed at ringside... Creed in the stands... Creed sweeping the damn steps if he had to. Ain't no man 'round here worked harder than Creed. No man.  Worked hard then when I didn't have nothin'... Work twice as hard now... now that Creed... Well, you know who Creed be. Got here 'cause I sweated IIWF.  I bled IIWF.  Got here cause I be IIWF down to the bone. Now... I gone. You don't have any idea what it like to be me... either of you.  What it like to break yo' back ev'ryday for this company and have guys lined up 'round the block to take shots at you.  Ev'ry goddamn day... some backroom baby gotta take a run at Creed... take his shot at Creed... No more.  I gone. But I not gone 'til tomorrow.  I not gone 'til you two punks stand and look me in the eye... 'til you two punks give me ev'rything you and this company got for me... 'till you two bring down every ounce of thunder the IIWF got in it at my ass and I ask you for seconds... I ain't gone... 'til you two break me. You understand that, Annis?  Psycho? Tomorrow night.  Ring Wars IV... in front of 100,000 Creed fans you two are gonna have to break me clean off in the ring... you two are gonna have to slice me up into pieces in that ring... you two are gonna have to... You two are gonna have to kill me. 'Less I kill you first. It ain't a game no more, Annis, Psycho. It life and death.  Creed life.... Your death. See you tomorrow, IIWF.  See you tomorrow. [The shot zooms in tightly on the cold, hardened eyes of the red gloved warrior as the voice of Eddie Vedder now soars through the shot.] # I will hold the candle, 'till it burns up my arm. I'll keep takin' punishment until their will grows tired. I will stare the sun down....until my eyes go blind... I won't change direction.  And I won't change my mind. # [The music fades...the shot goes dead black....now replaced by the simple words...] EVERYONE EVERYWHERE EVERYTIME ONE MORE TIME! [Fade. Cut back to the press box.] LM: Creed blaming the backbiting in the locker room for his imminent departure. TD: From what I hear, there has been no small amount of animosity towards Creed and what is perceived as preferential treatment received by the young superstar from the booking staff of the IIWF. In fact, one particularly wild rumour that my sources brought to me was that the departure from the IIWF of the Syndicate was precipitated in some way by Creed's continuing role within the company. SS: Aw, who could hate Creed, Mr. Dross? He's got the look, he's got the skills, he's got the mystery... seems the only thing he hasn't got is friends, Mr. Dross. Seems like he doesn't have the friends in high places everybody thinks he does -- else he wouldn't be leaving the IIWF after tomorrow night. I, for one, will miss him. Who could hate Creed? LM: A good question, Steve -- but I believe I have the answer. Let's hear from one of his opponents in this match: IIWF veteran, the "People's Champion", the Subway Psycho. [Scene: The camera follows a set of subway tracks, starting near a lit platform then continuing foward...pressing into the dark reaches of the subterranean labyrinth.  The loud noise of trains begins to fade off into the distance and is replaced by the defening echoes of water dripping to the cement and the squeeks and squeels of unseen rodents.  The opening riff of Ozzy Osborne's "Crazy Train" begins to become discernable, although strangly different... more industrial sounding and pulsing than normal.  All light is removed now.  From the center of the darkness a voice comes forth.] SP: At this point there is very little left to say.  Three men will step into a barbed wire clad ring on Saturday night.  It is very possible that all three men will leave on stretchers.  Nothing would make me happier... except for being the last man placed on the stretcher... being able to see Annis and Creed carried away like lumps of rotting flesh... the results of my handiwork... that is my goal. Annis you take great pride in claiming you are the "Epitome of Evil."  You know, I don't even know what evil is.  I no longer know the difference between good and evil.  My mind over the last few months has become so clouded with masochistic desires and blind rage that pain, in anyform... either my own or others, has become a drug to me.  I need my pain fix and its coming Saturday night and I cannot wait. Creed, I've had the inexplicable urge to rip that damn glove off your hand and stuff it down your throat to shut your mumble-mouth trap up.  You will bleed, Creed, you will bleed, and I'm going to drown you in your own blood.  [Some light begins to creep into the chamber.  The form of the Subway Psycho can now be distinguished... high above the chamber floor... suspended in an almost crucified pose within a tangled web of barbed wire.  Small streams of blood flow from the Psycho to the floor.] SP: In ancient times the letting of blood was considered an act of purification.  If that is so, purification will come to us all at Ring Wars. [Fade. Cut back to the press box.] BL: If Steve Roberts were here, he'd say, "Is the Subway Psycho still with the promotion?" TD: That, or indeed, "Best weekend of my life." But that's by the by -- it would perhaps be prudent to comment on the health of one Serge Annis at this point, of whom we made mention a little earlier. LM: Serge Annis has been in hospital intermittently since last Friday night, when he was knocked unconscious by a nasty fall at an event in a rival promotion, the promotion in which Annis made his name and earned his reputation as the "Epitome of Evil" -- and it was something of a shock when Serge took that evil fall from the top rope to the concrete floor, landing on his head... and then didn't get up straight away. TD: Serge was knocked unconscious by the fall, and also suffered a wrist injury in the process. Without reporting his condition to the IIWF's medical staff, he wrestled against medical advice last Saturday Night -- but then found himself back in hospital very rapidly. Plastic surgery was necessary to repair tissue damage from the nasty lacerations suffered in his fall, and his wrist has had to be set to avoid further injury. My understanding is that Serge Annis has not been given clearance to wrestle -- and that will not come until tomorrow night, if, indeed, it is given at all. SS: So this match could end up as Subway Psycho vs. Creed in the barbed wire? TD: Indeed it could, young Summer. Either way, it's sure to be one of the most memorable -- and one of the most brutal -- matches in IIWF history. I guarantee, folks, that you will never have seen anything like this before... and you may never see anything similar again. Viewer discretion is heavily advised. LM: However, we do have comments from Serge Annis -- who is determined that he _will_ wrestle this match, despite his injuries: [The camera cuts into a shot of a unique backdrop. Upon the backdrop, is blackness with what looks to be stars in the center, spiraling around at a slow pace. Everything else is black. However, an eye becomes visible, as the red stars slowly become painted with red... the side of a face can be seen, on the right side of the screen. Also, a small part of the neck, and then part of the shoulder. Nothing else catches any light, thus making the figure appear to stand in the shadows as the spiraling slowly begins to quicken pace. The figure speaks with the familiar voice of Serge Annis. He speaks in a quiet, almost disturbing manner:] SA: "The boy that you loved, has become a heartless man. Ignored for far too long, hidden in the dark. The pain that runs deep inside of him, controls his very thoughts. As the isolation has now set in. Alone with all he fears... filled with shattered dreams. That now haunt in nightmares... he was not born like this. Rather raised in an inner darkness. Hurt behind those eyes, he sees through your disguise. Your selfless task of retribution... falls upon deaf ears. Ride on in the sunset, as I rule the night... Abandon your hopes, run while there's light. The man stands in his darkness... finding comfort in the pain. I live my life alone. It will never be the same." A poem. In such a simplistic poem, the message is delivered. Creed. Subway Psycho. This is my darkness. My home. At Ring Wars, you two both, will see how dark... despicable... and how evil I can be. Psycho is dried up. And Creed is on his way home. And from this mass of ashes, Serge Annis will arise above his foes... sitting on his throne of bones and wire... heh heh... in total victory, I shall grasp my future... and pull it close, as Serge Annis shall step into greatness... in the IIWF. The doctors have told me not to wrestle. They told me to rest... be at peace. The only thing I can say, quotes the likes of William Shakespeare... "Peace. Peace? I hate the word. As I hate Hell... and all Montagues... and thee." Creed. Psycho. The time for the nightfall over the IIWF has arrived. And I intend to lead the charge of darkness... and you will not know it... until it is overcome you... and you have become a mere victim at the hands of the Holy Angel of Hell... [The camera fades out.] BL: Annis quoting Shakespeare? Whatever next?! LM: So let's get our picks for this match. Steve Summer? SS: Gotta go with Creed in the likely absence of Serge. Gonna miss you, Creed. BL: Whereas nobody is going to miss you. SS: What? BL: I pick the Psycho. He's been around long enough to taste victory and defeat in equal measure -- and it's about time he propelled himself back into the limelight. How better than with a victory here? LM: Perhaps so -- but I'm also going to fall on the side of Creed. He's seen more ring action recently, and he seems to be at the height of his powers. TD: I'm going to have to sit on the fence with this one. It's a match I'm looking forward to in anticipation and trepidation with equal measure -- it's going to be quite unlike anything I've had to call at any other point in my career, that much is certain. LM: Barbed wire -- only at Ring Wars IV, live tomorrow night! ------------------------------------------------------------------------ TWO OUT OF THREE FALLS MATCH: "Spotlight" Billy Shakespeare vs. Ronnie Paris ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: This rivalry has rumbled on throughout the best part of this year, beginning when Billy Shakespeare suffered numerous head traumas, largely at the hands of Brody Thunder, and assumed the guise of a schizophrenic alter ego, the devilish masked "Spur", who tormented many wrestlers -- but most effectively one Ronnie Paris. When Spur was finally unmasked, Paris was incensed, and it was perhaps this turn of events that set Paris on the course of his stance against the more showy elements of wrestling, a stance that is becoming increasingly militant. Let's hear from the IIWF's only third-generation athlete right now: [Scene: A hallway inside IIWF Towers in one of the few spots with little foot traffic. For those afficianodes who actually bought the official IIWF Towers blueprints, this would be somewhere on the second floor near where the seldom used IIWF Ballroom is located. What was Dan thinking? Ronnie Paris stands, well, leans against a wall, and beside him is intrepid IIWF intern Steve Summer.] SS: I'm here with Ronnie Paris from the IIWF Towers in Portland, where     apparently... actually, I have no idea why you're here. Care to fill     us in? It's Wednesday as we film this, so you only have a couple of days before having to fly down to California. [An obviously exasperated Paris rolls his eyes at the young would-be Cronkite, and answers with a more than a hint of anger in his voice.] RP: Why am I here? Well, to be totally honest, which I always am, I flew     back to this hellhole called Portland to review my contract. I've been considering quitting the IIWF for some time, and the option's     starting to get more attractive. SS: [shocked, and a bit offended] Quit the IIWF? Why on Earth would you     do that? RP: Didn't I go over this a couple of months ago? Are the IIWF fans    _that_ dim-witted that I have to remind them of everything every week? I'm still a heel, everyone, keep that in mind. Just in case you forgot, I know there aren't any brain surgeons watching. The TVs at NASA are probably tuned to another channel. [Summer seems unable to voice his indignation, as he just grows brighter shades of red while spitting out unintelligeable strings of "Well I never"'s and "Oh my"'s. Paris grabs the mic and takes charge, speaking in a very clipped manner.] RP: I'm not going to beat around the bush here, lately I've been getting     screwed harder than the head cheerleader during Homecoming! The IIWF is so full of crap I can barely stand the smell anymore... I mean, look at this Tim Turner idiot that supposedly beat me last weekend. He had me so steamed I couldn't even tape for Monday Musings, the only show so boring heroin users find it slow-paced! SS: [finally recovering enough to talk] I for one love the IIWF, I don't     have to take this kind of abuse! [Paris shrugs his shoulder, and in a swift motion shoves Summer as hard as he can, knocking him to his rear and out of the camera shot. You can hear Steve scrambling away on all fours as Paris chuckles.] RP: You don't wanna take it, then leave! Okay, time get down to     business... Turner, you first. The Rocketeer was a great choice for your new gimmick, no one gave a shit about the movie either! And you want to brag about beating this guy, beating that guy, beating Chris Quigley for instance... why don't you try actually doing it first? I don't need to waste my time on you, though, so why don't you make like a five dollar whore and swallow your... pride. I have bigger fish to fry.     I'm going to come right out and say it... Billy Shakespeare is queer. He's a fruit. Whatever you wanna call it folks... he is it. I've hinted for months, now I say it. I don't like him because, while I earn my wins and my reputation in the ring, he gets his wins in special meetings with President Dan. Like I said, I'm gonna be blunt... I mean he performs sexual favours for the IIWF booking staff. I'm not sure what, I don't know about any of those homo-erotic things those guys'd be doing, but I do know Billy's personally keeping the Portland petroleum jelly industry in business.     So know I have to face this clown, and yes, he is a clown, in a two     out of three falls match. The guy isn't fit to lace my jockstrap,     although he desperately wants to... and now I have to waste five     minutes of my time to pin him twice? Please, I've had bowel movements with more charisma and talent than Shakespeare, yet     somehow this idiot manages not only to cost me MY Cruiserweight     Title shot, but also ropes me into indulging one of his homo     fantasies by kicking his ass yet again. Little Willie, and I use the     term in every sense possible, if I didn't think you'd enjoy it I'd     snap you in half! And after we're done, if you promise to be a good     little boy and not bother me anymore, maybe I'll allow you to     continue to exist. Notice I said maybe. See you at Ring Wars IV,     Little Willie... [Paris lets out a somewhat twisted grin, pleased in the way that angry people who just got to vent are pleased, as he spits out the final words.] RP: If you've got the... guts. [Fade. Cut back to the press box.] TD: Frankly, I must admit that I'm surprised Ronnie Paris would resort to flinging insults at Shakespeare in quite such a blatantly... sexual fashion. It seems quite at variance with the young man who entered the IIWF a year or so ago, glad to have divested himself of the gimmicks laden on him by other promotions, and given the chance to prove himself _as_ himself, to prove himself as Ronnie Paris, not as some "Golden Boy". BL: But it didn't work, did it, Timmy? For the pure reason that Paris has all the charisma of a particularly dull brick. TD: Certainly Paris is of the belief that an athlete should succeed on the merits of his athletic ability rather than his costume, his character and how many fireworks accompany his entrance. To some degree, it is an opinion which I share -- but I believe that there is ample room for the showy and the more stoic wrestlers to coexist in the IIWF. SS: I think what it boils down to is jealousy, Mr. Dross. I've been waiting to say this for a while. You know I like Ronnie -- have done since we both arrived here at more or less the same time. He used to be really cool to me... but lately, he's seemed really angry. Even Maggie seems to find it hard to calm him down. I don't think all the "Ronnie Sucks!" chants from the fans are helping him any -- but I think when it comes down to it, Ronnie's jealous of the success Billy Shakespeare has achieved here in the IIWF. He's jealous that he's not held the Cruiserweight Championship, or the Intercontinental Championship. He simply doesn't see how the fans could prefer a showman like Billy to a pure wrestler like himself. TD: A very good point, young Summer. I'm not sure to what extent it holds true -- but this bitter, personal rivalry will come to a head tomorrow night. Let's hear from the man who was "Born to Perform", Billy Shakespeare: [An empty stage.  It sits quiet and silent for agonizing minutes.  A blast of chemical smoke blows accross the vacant floor.  It clears to reveal a determined Billy Shakespeare.] BS: One of my favorite quotes is from Romeo and Juliet "One, two and a     third..."   However, come Saturday, only two will do.  Two falls will win the bout.  It drips with irony.  Twice you have, through no skill of your own, beaten me.  I will be revenged for both in one eve. Like the ghost of Hamlet's father you have haunted me these last months, watching, learning, hoping that one day you too could     command the masses such as myself.  As writ in Troilus and Cressida,     "You smile and mock me, as if I meant naughtily... Is there no respect of place persons, nor time in you?" [The stage lights begin to dim, save one, which begins to silhouette Shakespeare]     The names we give ourselves are mute without anyone else calling them. You can drape yourself in the regalia of a champion... but you are still Little Ronnie to me.  I gave you the chance to win the     Cruiserweight Title, but like the impetulant child you are, you knew     better than I.  You thought you could beat Turner YOUR way.  You     were wrong.  You think you'll beat me at Ring Wars... you're still     wrong.  There is no title in your immediate future, nor one in your     distant future.  You are an upstart who needs a dose of humility.     I will break you in the ring, "I must be cruel to be kind".  You'll     thank me at a later date. [The lights have faded entirely to black save for the one making the silhouette.]     Said Henry IV "Greatness knows itself", and I am "Spotlight" Billy     Shakespeare... "Born to Perform".  "Come..." said Hamlet, "come..."     Ronnie Paris, "come, give us a taste of your quality." [The single light winks out, leaving all in black. Cut back to the press box.] LM: Okay, then -- picks for this match? SS: I'm going to go with Shakespeare. I think Ronnie's going to be too angry to wrestle his best match tomorrow night -- and you can't make mistakes against a guy as quick as Billy Shakespeare. I say it's Billy, two falls to one. BL: Paris over Shakespeare, two falls to none. TD: Tough call -- but I think we could see Paris step out of Shakespeare's shadow tomorrow night. It'll be close, but I see Paris edging Shakespeare in this one. LM: I'm going to go with Shakespeare, like young Steve Summer. I can't see Paris managing to keep his composure against Billy Shakespeare, who is a master at winding up his opponents. He'll get angry, get sloppy... and Billy will take him. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ IIWF WORLD TAG TEAM CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH: Cold Quins [c] vs. Harle-Spell ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: One of the most bizarre tag team matches of all time will go down tomorrow night, when two teams, long-time rivals turned friends turned champions turned enemies but still champions, will battle one another in a most unusual combination: it will be the World Tag Team Champions, Tragedy of the Harlequins and Icehawk of Cold Spell, known as the Cold Quins, going up against their opposite numbers, Harlequin Chaos and Edmund Fitzgerald, now known as Harle-Spell. TD: This match just exploded last weekend when the Harlequins attacked Cold Spell when the two teams were partners in an eight-man match. I never saw the Cold Quins as long-lived champions -- but I did expect them to make it to the PPV intact to face their partners in what would be more of a novelty match than a serious defence. However, it's all got rather serious now -- Tragedy and Chaos of the Harlequins simply won't face one another, and so attacked Cold Spell last week, stealing Icehawk's title belt, apparently in the hopes that simply by having both belts in the possession of the Harlequins, that would somehow make them official champions, thus changing this match to a more traditional Harlequins vs. Cold Spell affair. But the front office has remained resolute that this match will go ahead -- although the Harlequins have refused to comment, I went to speak to Cold Spell earlier this week: [SCENE: The video lounge at Cold Spell's training session. Tapes of matches involving the Harlequins play on the 50" TV, but no one is paying much attention. Icehawk is sprawled on the couch, wearing jeans and a Chicago White Sox jersey, while Edmund Fitzgerald is sitting in a folding chair with a notepad on his lap. The dean of wrestling announcers, Tim Dross, is sitting on a bar stool.]   TD: First of all, I'd like to thank you for inviting me up here for this interview. I know things haven't always gone well between you two and I, but I think we can get all of that behind us now.   EF: [shrugging] All we ever asked was for a fair deal. I still think you were unfair to us about Genesis, but we can live with it.   TD: I'm glad to hear it. And since you brought up Genesis, let me start by asking you about that. Obviously, you must consider that one of the biggest mistakes of your career.   [Icehawk nods vigourously and starts to say something, but is cut off.]   EF: I don't think so at all. Granted, Genesis didn't turn out to be what it was supposed to be, but I think we got out at the right time. If I regret anything, it is that we never got the credit we deserved for Genesis.   TD: What do you mean?   EF: I know that the history books are all going to record us as a footnote... but if you really think about it, we made Genesis. Before us, they were three mediocre midcard wrestlers looking for someone to care about them. When we joined, it gave them immediate credibility. Granted, we still weren't the tag champs, but we were recognized as one of the two best teams in the IIWF and one of the top teams in the world. Suddenly, people started taking Requiem seriously, because he was the leader of a "real" stable. That's why guys like Scott Rogers and Serge Annis joined. And don't forget, it was Cold Spell who won Genesis' first gold, and we did it without any help. And when we left, you saw how fast Requiem bailed out.   IH: That's right! And look at how they reacted when they realized that we _were_ the dominant force in Genesis! They threw the big Old Gen vs. New Gen match in a desperate attempt to recruit Casey James to their side! Those guys were all losers, and they still are. Hell, Highwayman is still whining about how I cost him the Intercontinental title. Get a grip, you 700-year-old freak. If you want the title, go win it on your own.   TD: Ummm, well, that's another interview. Let's shift to this weekend. How do you prepare for a match against each other?   EF: It's been a bit strange. We always get ready for big matches with the help of some friends from a small promotion that we wrestled in a long time ago. Usually, we use guys who can mimic our opponents, or at least are the right size. So we have different sparring partners for Violence Unlimited than the Prophets of Rage, and a totally different set for the Harlequins. This time, we have split up our psuedo-Harlequins, and wrestled that way.   TD: So you have actually been wrestling against each other? Who has been winning?   IH/EF: [simultaneously] I have!   [laughter]   EF: Actually, just about every match has ended with one of the "Harlequins" getting pinned. But that's not really the point. The point is to anticipate what the other team will do in different situations, not to see who will win the match.   TD: Aren't the two of you worried in the least about wrestling each other? The Harlequins are still saying that they are going to refuse to do it, but you two are acting like it is no big deal at all.   IH: But that's the point, Timbo. It's not a big deal. Like we've been saying, it's only a wrestling match. We aren't going to be killing each other or anything. At the end of the day, one of us will have one of the tag belts, and the other one will be right by his side. And then we can worry about exterminating the Harlequins once and for all.   EF: That's right. I know that tag-team dissension is a big thing right now, and Tragedy and Chaos seem to think that if they step into the ring against each other, they will turn into blood enemies. We aren't that insecure. Maybe that's unusual, but we are an unusual team. Do you realize that this is the _fifth_ straight PPV where we will be wrestling in a title match? Can any other tag team or singles wrestler in IIWF history claim a streak like that?   TD: No, not that I know of.   EF: We are going to be there Saturday, and if the IIWF wants us to wrestle each other, then we will, and it will be one hell of a match.   IH: And when we finish... Harlequins, you are in _big_ trouble. [Fade. Cut back to the press box.] TD: Whether or not the Harlequins will even show up tomorrow night is open to question, folks. We could see the very first one-on-one "tag team" match in wrestling history tomorrow night. LM: It's certainly a bizarre match. Your picks? SS: Aw, it's so tough -- Icehawk and Fitz are the bomb. But I'm going to go with Icehawk's team. I think he and Tragedy will make the more cohesive unit -- if Tragedy even turns up, of course -- and if it's one on one, I think Icehawk has the speed to beat Fitz. LM: So that's one for the Cold Quins. And I'll make that two -- I believe that the recovery from injury of both Chaos, who has an injured knee, and Fitz, who has had a damaged elbow, will hamper their progress as a team. BL: Make it three. That kid Chaos is too unpredictable -- there's no telling whether he'll just start beating up Fitzgerald. By the way, I hear Fitzgerald has superhuman endurance and stamina -- Fitz, that's a claim I'd like to investigate with some scientific research... TD: Enough of that, thanks, Becky. To be honest, the result of this match is somewhat academic: at the end of the night, the titles will still be around the waists of two guys who don't like one another. In the final analysis, I say it doesn't matter who wins this one. LM: Unique tag team action -- only at Ring Wars IV! ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Requiem vs. Blind Guardian ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: Another of the matches announced just last Saturday Night after that wild card in Disneyland, we're going to see Requiem go up against the man who has been a constant thorn in his side for many weeks now, the mysterious Blind Guardian -- who even went as far as costing him his rematch against Brody Thunder for the IIWF World Heavyweight Championship. TD: Of course, after that match, Requiem and the Blind Guardian got into a wild brawl -- resulting in Requiem being injured when the fight strayed onto a nearby roller coaster track. Four cracked ribs and a punctured lung were the result, necessitating emergency surgery -- and clearly Requiem is not going to be fit to wrestle tomorrow night. However, that isn't going to stop him: [SCENE: A darkened room, with light enough to barely make out a lone figure, standing at the back, leaning heavily against the wall. White eyes seem to shine out of the dismal gloom, eyes that pierce the soul, eyes that bore deep within your mind. Eyes that, even now, seem to peer within your spirit. A long pause, and then words come, the voice is soft, and carries with it an undercurrent of pain] RQ: I'm not going to waste my time and yours by pointing out what a subhuman piece of trash this scum who calls himself "Blind Guardian" actually is. I know it, you know it, the entire IIWF knows it, and I kind of think that the man himself knows it. He walks into the IIWF a nobody. Much like I did. Well, I at least bothered to take on a competitor or two before taking my swing at the belt. Not so Blind Guardian. Who has he faced? "Nifty" Ned Norton. Or, to put it more accurately, he has faced nobody of any distinction whatsoever. And yet the IIWF booking committee came to me and said "Hey, Req, we want to put you up against this Blind Guardian fella." And do you know what I said to them? I said "Excuse me, who?" Now, I know a lot of you think that my winning the world belt was a bit unfair. "Hey, Requiem's hardly paid his dues," you all said when I took the belt back at Coronation Clash. Well, I'd been with     the IIWF for well over four months, and during that time I had taken     on people like Creed... Deathbringer... Shinja Chow... Serge Annis... The Hangman _and_ his two cronies... Or, to put it another way, I'd started making a name for myself before I threw my name into the hat for Coronation Clash. Blind Guardian, it seems, isn't willing to start earning his reputation the hard way. I guess he's too impatient. I guess he thinks it's best to start at the top. Well, I kinda disagree with that. When the Booking Committee came to me with that idea, I tossed it out the window. I very _nearly_ tossed one of them out of the window with it. "Hey, let him make his name the right way," I said to the idiots in the suit, "Let him take on a couple of guys I know can wrestle, then we'll see about stepping in the ring with whatsisname..." and then they went away. Well, I don't know if the suits who think they run the show around here didn't have the guts to tell me 'No' to my face, or whether Blind Guardian's senile brain has been playing him up, because he didn't listen. Since then he's been trying to make my life hell, and I've been ignoring him. Until a week ago. A week ago this punk did something I couldn't ignore. [Requiem steps closer, his white eyes seeming to light the room slightly, allowing the camera to make out the faint outline of bandages about his chest...] RQ: Last Saturday, Blind Guardian, you went just a step too far. Brody Thunder -- a man I loathe personally but respect to blazes for what he can do in the ring -- and I were getting it on for the title. Lo and behold, BrailleBoy turns up. And, fool that I am, I turn my back for a split second. Yes, Brody, I'm happy to admit that against you that is very certainly a fatal mistake. It's a mistake I paid for. But what you, Brody, fail to understand with all your "runt" jibes and "Rectum" gags, is that the same can be said for me. Turn your back on me, even for an instant, and you'll be kicking yourself after the match is over too. Assuming that you've got a foot left to kick yourself with. After that match, Blind Guardian and I got to blows, and I have to say, just using an old catchphrase of mine one more time --- I'm not impressed. Blind Guardian, you might be OK taking on Nifty Ned Norton, and you might be okay jumping out from cover and blindsiding people, but in a straight-up fight? Old man, in a straight fight you're just a tired old codger with more muscles than sense. But, unfortunately, on Saturday night a roller-coaster car managed to do what you couldn't. You couldn't put me out for the count, but a damn Disney roller-coaster did the trick. And after that, you miserable sack of cowdung, you were perfectly happy to put the boot in a bit more. Can't blame you for that. I would have done the same. Four broken ribs. A punctured lung. A few other bruises. The Doctors     say I'm lucky to be alive. Guess I've got a couple of paramedics to     thank for that. So, if you guys are watching... Thanks. But it looks unlikely I'll ever wrestle again. What's more, I've not been cleared to wrestle on Saturday. They say it might kill me. So, right here and right now I'm announcing my resignation from the IIWF and the sport of wrestling. Blind Guardian, feel free to crow. Oh, look, I'm the Blind Guardian and I put Requiem out of wrestling. Gosh, I'm such a tough old bird. Fear me, Brody Thunder. Fear me, J W Hardin. I'm the man that Requiem didn't _dare_ step into the ring with. I don't think so. I'm not finished with you yet, you son of a bitch. The Doctors have advised me I shouldn't, but I'm going to. Screw them. [Requiem holds up a piece of paper, only just discernible in the dimness. There is writing on it, but it cannot be seen.] RQ: Know what this is? Hopefully by now Steve Roberts does. It's a waiver. This waiver releases the IIWF from all responsibility for my continual well-being. It absolves the medical team who have been treating me from all blame. Basically it says that if I get hurt it's nobody's fault but my own. Come Saturday, in my last match _ever_ for the IIWF, I'm taking you down, Brailleboy. You see, you've made one _fatal_ mistake. You didn't finish the job. I might be half crippled, but I'm still getting into that ring on Saturday. It wouldn't matter if I was paralyzed from the neck down, I'd still find a way to get into that ring. You're fond of saying you judge people, BG. Guess what? On Saturday... Well, I'm going to be _your_ judge. I'm going to be _your_ jury. I'm going to be your goddamn _Executioner_! There's a saying. There's nothing more dangerous than a wounded animal. It's wrong. There's nothing more dangerous than a wounded Angel of Destruction. I don't care if I win my last match. I don't care if I lose my last match. I don't care if my last match is a draw. The only thing I care about... ...is seeing you in agony, Blind Guardian. The only thing I care about is seeing you scream in pain. The only thing I care about is hearing you begging, crying out for mercy. The only thing I care about is staring into those eyes of yours as you slowly realise that there will be no mercy. The only thing I care about is hearing you whimper as I hurt you some more. Well, let's be truthful here -- the only thing I care about is hearing you whimper as I hurt you a LOT more. I am _still_ the Herald Of Damnation, Blind Guardian, and I _will_ see you cast into the darkest, deepest, hottest pit in Hades, even if it takes my final breath. Because, you see, if it does, I can die happy. Because I know I'll be at your side for all eternity. And you won't like it. I promise you. Because from this day forth, until the end of time, there shall be no mercy for the damned. See you in Hell, Guardian! See you in Hell! [Fade] LM: What a bombshell announcement from Requiem! He's going to wrestle tomorrow night -- but it will be his retirement match! TD: It's quite a shocking announcement from this promising young man, whose career has been brutally cut short by injury. However, I suspect he will be pulling out all the stops tomorrow night for his last hurrah... let's just hope he doesn't reinjure himself seriously in the process. LM: One man who would like nothing more than to see Requiem permanently out of the rings is his opponent tomorrow night, who has apparently accomplished his mission before the two have even stepped into the ring. Let's hear from the mysterious Blind Guardian: [SCENE: The IIWF interview area, where the Blind Guardian is standing in front of the camera, as always wearing his cloak and a white piece of cloth above his eyes] BG: Things are getting better and better. First I get a match signed     against Rectum himself - and then the moron hurts himself while     taking a ride on that rollercoaster.     Not that I'm sorry for you, brat. Au contraire, I'm just sorry that     the carriage just broke four of your ribs, and not your head. But     then again, I'm certainly not the only one who believes that you     suffered a serious head injury somewhen during your childhood, or     to be more precise somewhen during the last two years. [The Blind Guardian smiles for a second, before he continues to speak] BG: Currently I'm wondering whether you'll take that injury as an     excuse to not step into the ring against me. Let's just say that it     wouldn't be the first time that doctors tell lies if they are paid     well enough, right? On the other hand, a tough guy like yourself     [cackles] wouldn't allow anyone to believe that he's hurt, or am I     wrong? So I think that you're indeed hurt, Rectum. And if that     aren't good news, what should _then_ be good news?     That's already all that I wanted to say tonight. "What?", you'll wonder, "He doesn't try to intimidate me?" Well, Rectum, I don't have to. After all I think I showed quite well what I am capable of, when I kicked you all around the park and right in front of that carriage last Saturday, right?     Now it's all up to you. Will you join me in the ring tomorrow night,     or not? [The Blind Guardian removes the white piece of cloth that covers his eyes] BG: Yes, Rectum, if you don't appear for the match tomorrow night, then     everyone will know just what kind of a coward you are.     And _if_ you should indeed dare to come to the ring in order to     fight me -- well, then I, no matter whether you're really hurt or     not, will finally show the world how easy it is to destroy an idol,     to destroy a myth. Yes, Rectum, tomorrow night I will sentence you     to death, because... [The camera zooms in to his eerie white eyes.] BG: I am the Blind Guardian. [Fade. Cut back to the press box.] LM: It's going to be a night of firsts -- and a night of lasts. The first time we see the Blind Guardian in a competitive match... and apparently the last time we are to see Requiem in a competitive match. Picks, people? SS: Gotta go with Requiem. He's angry -- and he's going to get even. Besides, the Blind Guardian is what, about ninety? No way he can hold his own in the ring against Requiem. TD: I'm inclined to agree, young Summer. I think this one will be over in a hurry -- and Requiem will come out on top. BL: Got to disagree, Timmy. Requiem's such a horrible wrestler, I think even a geriatric like the Blind Guardian could put him out. Chalk this one up for the pensioner. LM: I can't honestly see how Requiem can lose this match, even with his injury. The Blind Guardian is a remarkable, and enigmatic athlete... but he's way past his prime. A Requiem even at fifty per cent should be able to dispose of the Guardian with ease. TD: It's Requiem's final match -- only on pay-per-view tomorrow night! ------------------------------------------------------------------------ IIWF CRUISERWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH: Derek Mota [c] vs. Timothy N. Turner ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: The battle of the tough Canadian Derek Mota and his fellow countryman, and now christened the "Rocketman", Timothy N. Turner, will be quite the spectacle tomorrow night. Two high-flying, fast moving competitors... but only one title. TD: The Cruiserweight Championship has been strongly defended by Derek Mota throughout his impressive tenure -- only the interference of outside parties has damaged his winning streak, with last Saturday's defeat to Chris Quigley being a case in point. I understand that an angry Mota beat a path to the IIWF administration early this week, livid that he had been made to look like a joke on national television by Timothy N. Turner -- and I have to believe that Turner is going to feel that wrath tomorrow night. For a change, Derek Mota will not be the "Heatseeker" -- but he'll be making things pretty hot for Turner. [The interview opens up in a high school gym, where it is located we have no idea.  Kids are playing basketball, a teacher occasionally stopping the play to tell them what they've done wrong.  Eventually we see Derek Mota walking onto the set, wearing a serene look.] DM: Betcha you're wonderin' what I'm doin' here, aren't ya? Betcha you think this is where I got my start, where some teacher showed me the ropes, huh? Maybe you're partially right.  This is where I got my start, but this is where I taught some teacher the ropes. A bunch of years back, one of the teachers noticed some young kid.  He was pretty big for his size, but was a bit of a pushover.  He decided to make this kid a project of his.  That kid was me. [Mota is pacing around the floor, an angry look on his face.  A basketball goes rolling by him and Mota stops to pick it up and throw it right back at some kid.] That project... wasn't quite what I had in mind.  This teacher wanted ta change me into his pet, keepin' me late after class.  He wanted favors.  Things that I just wasn't ready ta do.  But things don't always go the way ya plan them to, do they?  I was stuck there one night, no one around, nowhere ta go.  That night I wasn't gonna get away.  So I just closed my eyes and just hoped it was gonna go away. It didn't.  All I could see was the red in my eyes.  The hate.  The fact that my life wasn't in my control anymore.  An' I didn't like it.  So I pushed back. He didn't like that.  I got slapped around, threatened.  A punch to the jaw. A promise of more.  But this time I was leadin' it.  Somehow the roles were reversed.  He was hittin' me, but I was likin' it.  This time, I was in control.  I just grabbed him by the waist, and threw him over my shoulder. He must've been 60lbs heavier than me, but I somehow did it.  He got up and threatened me again, but when I looked him in the eyes, I saw one thing: Fear. Fear of me.  That night I learned ta hate.  And I haven't stopped.  But it was one main thing.  Takin' all those hits.  And not flinchin'.  Gettin' right back up. It wasn't my attacks that did him in.  It was the fact that he knew he couldn't beat me.  When I finally knocked him down, he was a beaten man. I wanna feel the power again. Timothy N. Turner, I'm gonna show you the fear.  You think you can just laugh your way to the title, huh?  Well, Mota don't work that way.  It took humanity to make me what I am today, and it'll take humanity to bring me back. Turner, I like what I am right now.  You ain't gonna change it.  And you're not humanity.  As a matter of fact, you're just a little toad who's riding the coat-tails of a man with real talent.  Turner ... you wanna bring him in as well, feel free.  I thought I could trust you.  I guess I learned the hard way again... Never trust anybody.  'Cause then you'll be forced ta break their backs. [Mota looks at the basketball players in the background who are laughing and playing.  He grabs a basketball which is lying around on the floor and goes to shoot it into a basket.  Mota aims the throw... aims... and puts the ball down to the floor again, where he shows a frustrated look on his face.  Slowly fade out. Cut back to the press box.] LM: A very angry young man there in Derek Mota. But while Mota has been doing his talking in the ring, his opponent for tomorrow night, Tim Turner, has been sending out a message loud and clear to the wrestlers and fans of the IIWF -- that he does things on a whole new scale. BL: A jetpack. Sounds like that's the only way these Canadians can get it up. TD: That was crass, crude and wholly unnecessary, Becky. BL: Which is why I'm here. TD: Perhaps so. Timothy N. Turner has certainly been winning many fans with his antics as the "Rocketman" of the IIWF -- although the manner in which he earned this title match is somewhat questionable, having been knocked out of the tournament to determine a challenger in the first round but weaseling his way back into the final through a bizarre set of circumstances which saw two semi-finalists withdraw. Nonetheless, one victory over Ronnie Paris later, and Timothy N. Turner is poised to capture the Cruiserweight Championship. I went to visit him in his apartment: [Timothy N. Turner is sitting in his lavish penthouse apartment, sorting through his mail. Tim Dross sits nearby.] TNT: I know that you want to get lots of material for the upcoming documentary, but do you need to watch me go through the mail that's accumulated while I was on the road? TD: Actually, I'm here to get comments about your Ring Wars Title shot against Derek Mota. TNT: What is there to say? I'm going to beat him. Period. I'm not trying to call down Mota... it's just that he's never faced someone the caliber of the Rocket Man. They don't just call me TNT because of my initials you know. TD: Derek Mota is a very accomplished... [Turner waves him silent.] TNT: It's the nominations for the Golden Grapple Awards. [He opens one of the envelopes] I wonder how many statues Timothy N. Turner will be taking home! [Dross looks a little nervous, knowing full well how many nominations Turner has picked up. Turner drops the envelope on the table and turns to Dross with a look of shock on his face.] TNT: That's it. Interview's over. Get out. [Dross starts to usher the cameraman out when Turner stops him] TNT: I don't know if the IIWF knows what they have just unleashed. Be sorry for Mota. This Saturday I am on a mission. I will win the Cruiserweight Title and I will show who the number one force in the sport today really is! The Rocket Man, Timothy N. Turner! [Fade. Cut back to the press box.] LM: Well, we simply don't know what to expect in this match. Can we even predict a winner? SS: Sure we can -- it's going to be Turner! Got to love that guy, with his jetpack, zooming all over the place. Sure, Derek Mota's one of the best cruisers to come down the pike -- but the fans want Turner now, and I think they're going to get him! LM: I have to disagree, Steve. I think we're going to see Mota retain his title tomorrow night. Turner can only take shortcuts for so long, and I think his luck is going to run out when he faces Mota. TD: I'm inclined to agree, Larry. Mota has been a strong champion -- and all we've seen from Turner is his ability to weasel himself into opportune places, and out of sticky scenarios. I'm sure we can expect more chicanery... but I think Turner's shown off too much these past few weeks, and Mota knows his antics too well. BL: Perhaps I sum up everybody's feelings best when I say, "Who cares?" LM: That's hardly the case, Becky. It's the Cruiserweight Championship -- tomorrow night, live on pay-per-view! ------------------------------------------------------------------------ SUBMISSION SHOWDOWN: Tony Starks vs. Ike Sampson ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [SCENE: "This Ain't Livin'" by G Love and Special Sauce is heard softly in the background as we fade into some dark, non-descript city street. Underneath a dim streetlight, a small fire burns in a rusted-out trash can.  From the combined light of the fire and the streetlight, we can make out a lone figure standing by the fire.  The man raises his head slowly into the dim light, and we see that the man is Ike Sampson.] IKE: Well, this is it.  It's time.  Twenty-four short hours.  You ready, Starkey?!  Ready to face the beast -- the beast that you've unleashed?!      You wanna talk sufferin', Starkey?!  You wanna say that I ain't suffered any?!  Well, that's bullsh#!.  There's all kinds of suffering in this world.  All kinds.  Just because I didn't grow up battling the roaches for some cereal -- just because I got a little education -- just because I haven't spent any time in jail -- that don't mean I ain't suffered.       Let me tell you about suffering.  Gettin' jumped from behind, knocked senseless -- handcuffed to a prison cell -- that's suffering. Gettin' betrayed -- again and again, by people you thought you could call family -- that's damn sure sufferin'.  Every knife Mad Dog stuck in my back -- every knife _you_ stuck in my back -- now that's suffering.  Don't come to me with your "life on the street is hard" stories, and then tell me I ain't suffered...       And that don't make me any less black than you, neither... Don't lump me together with that damn Steve Roberts.  I ain't never had anything for him since day one.  All that crap about the "Black  Pack"... I ain't no less black than you, Starkey.  And don't you forget it...      But this ain't about bein' black.  This ain't about bein' "hard". This is about bein' a _MAN_.      Time's up.      No more time for talkin'... no more promises... no more threats... I got nothing left to say... nothing left to prove... not to you... not to anybody -- 'cept myself.  Tomorrow night, I'm gonna prove to myself I'm a better _man_ than you.      And there ain't a damn thing you can do about it.      And that's the truth... [Ike turns and walks down the street, into the darkness.  Fade. Cut back to the press box.] LM: What a bitter feud it has been between Tony Starks and Ike Sampson. From their alliance as part of the "Black Pack" to their betrayal by Mad Dog Watkins which spurred Starks on to joining the Age of the Rage, to Starks' ruthless and vicious use of that Katha Jime chokehold -- and, of course, the match which Ike says opened up whole new vistas before him, the classic Behind Bars match at Leavenworth several weeks ago. Ike says that match introduced him to Starks' world -- and he's going to give him a taste of his own medicine tomorrow night. TD: It's another huge match, make no mistake about it. We've seen several classic confrontations between these two, but I believe the critical factor here will be the Submission Match stipulation. Sampson is a great wrestler, developing fast and just starting to come into his own -- but his forte is in the power moves, the high-impact offense, not in bone-bending mat wrestling, which is Starks' speciality. I find it hard to imagine that Sampson, no matter how hard he's been training recently, will be able to match up to Stark's submission arsenal. SS: The "Big Dog" is coming through, Mr. Dross. Starks has had his fun -- he's put just about everybody in that chokehold -- but it's time for Sampson to start staking his claim to a piece of the pie in the IIWF... and what better way than to beat Tony Starks at his own game tomorrow night? LM: Let's take our picks then, folks. I'm picking Starks. TD: I'm with you, Larry. BL: Figures. SS: I'm with Sampson all the way! BL: All the way out the door. SS: What? BL: I pick Starks. I prefer the strong, silent type. LM: Starks vs. Sampson -- the Submission Showdown... live tomorrow night, only on pay-per-view! ------------------------------------------------------------------------ GENESIS EXPLODES: Highwayman & Richard "Moxy" Blue vs. Scott Rogers & Dakota Bundy ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: The fortunes of ex-Genesis members, Highwayman and Scott Rogers, have been somewhat less in the ascendant than those of their former colleague, Serge Annis, who went on to his first IIWF title shot since the disbanding of the stable. Perhaps this is because he managed to circumvent the bitter in-fighting that has been engendered between Scott Rogers and the Highwayman, who have enlisted the help of two of the newest wrestlers to join the IIWF, Richard "Moxy" Blue and "One Man Army" Dakota Bundy, to even up the score between the two. TD: It's certainly going to be an interesting combination -- on both teams, we have both a powerhouse and a smaller, faster athlete. These two teams are surprisingly evenly-matched... and it's going to be a close match. Although not if you listen to Scott Rogers, whom I had the, uh, pleasure to interview earlier today: [SCENE: Tim Dross before an IIWF logo in the interview area. The camera pans out to reveal the 6'7" frame of Scott "The Fop" Rogers, wearing a black suit, white shirt and red bow-tie.] TD: Ladies and gentlemen, as you can see, I'm joined, the day before this special Ring Wars IV weekend, by Scott "The Fop" Rogers, former White Flight and Genesis member, now aligning himself with "One Man Army" Dakota Bundy and the loudmouth manager Matt Malone. Scott, you've been here such a short period of time, and already your IIWF resume is as varied, and full, as any other athlete. SR: Yeah, Dross. Well-spotted. TD: Well, frankly, _why_? SR: The reason, Dross, as is plain as the wig on your head. [Dross adjusts his hairpiece.] SR: Okay, maybe no _that_ plain, but it ain't a difficult one to work out. So do it. TD: What? SR: Work it out. If you wanna know the answer, I ain't tellin' you! TD: That's not very co-operative. SR: Hey, only jokin' Dross. It's pay-per-view time... and that means double pay for anyone not on the Free For All. Did ya know that Steele?! [Dross looks at Rogers, aghast.] TD: What brought about _that_ comment?! SR: Oh I get it. It's alright for Steele to badmouth me every time he gets that god-damn awful face of his on the TV, but the moment, I mention _his_ name, it's as big a shock as what Thunder pulled whenever it was.... was it even Thunder? You know, the guy who took the belt off Annis' shower-mate. TD: Scott, we're digressing... please! SR: You win, Dross. You wanna know why I keep formin' alliances then turnin' me back on the guys who think they're me friends? Yeah? [Dross nods.] SR: Simple answer -- 'cause I don't wanna confuse anyone -- is that these guys beg me to help 'em out. So I do. I'm like that you know, Dross.... TD: Indeed. SR: Don't go funny on me, Drossy. I know it's been a long time, and you've missed me, but don't spoil it now. Not now you're sittin' with me again... [Rogers grins as Dross shakes his head at the camera.] SR: You mentioned this White Flight business, Dross. Now that was a _big_ mistake. And I mean _really_ big. [Rogers smirks as he speaks.] SR: Yeah, the fans were cheerin' for me, but I got put in the same bracket as Steele. And he's never got over it. You know what, Dross? TD: [sighing] What's that, Scott? SR: I think Steele misses me company. Ronnie.. I dunno. He's doin' alright without me, and he ain't fixated with me like Steele. TD: I'm not sure fixated's the right word. It's more like he just wants to settle the scores between the two of you. SR: [surprised] What scores?! TD: Well, you left him in the lurch, didn't you..? You viciously turned on him when everyone least expected it.. SR: Yeah... so? [Rogers grins cannily.] TD: Well, in the minds of most people, those actions are not acceptable. SR: Well, I ain't most people. And the same goes for Smith. He just doesn't live up to me standards, Drosso. But no-one does... TD: What about Malone and Bundy? You seem to be getting on quite well with them. SR: Oh yeah, apart from them. TD: I'm very surprised you say that. Especially after all Malone's said about you in the past. SR: The past's gone, Dross. No point even thinkin' about it. [Dross looks surprised at that statement.] SR: Dross, the past of the IIWF ain't been very me-oriented. But the future's gonna be.... get it yet? TD: Not really, but I'll go along with it. Can I just why you're wearing a suit as well? SR: Yeah, Dross. I look good in a suit. So I'm lettin' me people see me in one. TD: Oh... so should we expect this to be a regular thing? SR: No. Don't wanna give people too much of a good thing, Drossy. Apart from me wrestlin' talent... and tomorrow night that's exactly what everyone's gonna see. And Smith and Blue are gonna be the lucky ones who get to experience it first hand. TD: I'm sure everyone's looking forward to it just as much as you are Scott. I know I sure am. Thanks for your time... [Fade back to the press box.] LM: Hang on to your hats, folks, because we are going to hear from the Highwayman's partner, the bizarre Richard "Moxy" Blue. [The camera abruptly turns on in the fashion specific to... the Moxycam (courtesy of IIWF Towers). The small camera appears to be mounted on the dashboard of a car while Richard "Moxy" Blue is driving, very fast by the speed of the objects passing by in the window. The car is flithy, with styrofoam McDonalds containers nearly EVERYWHERE, there's even garbage tucked under the sunflap! He is dressed in his sequined denim jacket, and wears his crescent moon sunglasses with pride. His hair is once again black, freshly dyed. His expression looks like someone just put a can of Raid in his daily Froot Loops.] MB: This is just wrong! Can't they even get me a plane ticket? Is that too much to ask? Where's this luxuorious life of an IIWF superstar I keep hearing about? HEY! DO YOU THINK YOU OWN THE ROAD, BUDDY! [Moxy Blue takes a small black box from his dashboard, and presses a button, aiming the box outside of the car. The box emits a sound like a laser beam, followed by a cheap imitation of a falling and exploding grenade] MB: Bang bang bang! GOTCHA! I am Lactose, the Intolerant! Feel my wrath, mortal! Bwahahhahah! Take that, and that! [Blue throws the box in his "fury" and it bounces off the windsheild, off his head and out the open window.] MB: Awwwwww. Now how am I gonna amuse myself on my 12 FREAKING HOUR CAR RIDE?! [BLue slips into his cajun accent and lisp for the second time in his IIWF career. He has been doing a good job of covering it.] MB: Ah know. Ah'll blessss youse weeth mah weesdom as reegairds t' da Ah Ah Dubya Eef. Mossstly mah maitch at Rang Wairs. Ya sssee, I'm in da ring wid Adam Smeeth, da Highwayman. And I'm against Ssscot Rogairs and Dakota Bundee. Ya know what dat means? Not a helluvalot! I'm tagging with a boreeng old sod, I'm rassling a boreeng young sod whom ah keeked from pillair to toast, and his pal ees da KEENG of boring old sods! Thee onlah way ah can losse ees if I fall asssleep! Eez it a maitchup of mah cailbair? No. Weell I have a blast in dat rang? Yes. 'Cause I am da revolutionary force in da sport todayyyy. OH YEAH RIGHTEOUS! Oh dang... [Blue is embarrassed at his vocal faux pas. He trys to divert by yelling at a car that just cut him off] MB: Hey, buddy, who taught you how to drive, Steve Manning?! [looking at camera with a wink over the edge of his shades] I'm gonna see why dogs like this so much. [Blue sticks his head out the window, while driving! He wails in joy, sticking his tongue out and making strange noises at passing cars! Not seeing himself, he accidently brings his elbow down on the door release, and it flies slightly open, Moxy Blue's head still through the window, legs flailing madly! The car swerves slightly. He quickly pulls his head back into the car, and slams the door shut. His hair is blown into a mess, and his sunglasses are gone] MB: [unfazed, apparantly this sort of thing happens to RMB all the time, strangely enough] Stupid bypass. I'm taking the 311.  Cool, then _I'LL_ be the highwayman! [Blue makes a sharp turn, the wheels screech, garbage flies and the Moxycam (courtesy of IIWF Towers) flies off its perch, right out the OTHER window! After a bit of tumbling it rights itself outside, just in time to see Moxy drive off.  Blue apparantly drives a neon green, purple and yellow El Camino, with a license plate reading "WATCHTHIS". A fluorescent light is underneith the car. We don't get to see much of it, as the Moxycam quickly gets run over by another vehicle. How the tape was recovered is a mystery only Moxy knows. Fade. Cut back to the press box.] SS: Got to love that Moxy, Mr. Dross. What a crazy guy. TD: Indeed, Richard "Moxy" Blue is one of the most unusual competitors we have seen in the IIWF for some time -- and he is sure to make his presence felt in this match. LM: We were unable to get any comments from either the Highwayman or Dakota Bundy, who were said to be keen not to divulge strategy this week. So who do we pick, people? SS: I have to lean on the side of Highwayman and Blue -- not least because Scott Rogers has always been so mean to me when I interview him. BL: I'll side with Highwayman and Blue, but only because that crazy little "Moxy" guy has a modicum of charisma. Rogers is so in love with himself it isn't true -- but if I wanted perfection, I'd simply look in the mirror. LM: Or over here, Becky. BL: Bwahahahaha... snort! LM: We never did make it to that date, you know. BL: Oh, do shut up, you little worm. LM: What about my pick for this match? BL: Does anybody care what you think, Larry? LM: My mother does. Hello, mom! TD: Good grief. I'm picking Rogers and Bundy in this one -- you know what you're going to get from these two athletes: a strong, physical performance from beginning to end. Ultimately, I believe Moxy's unpredictability will prove to be more of a problem than a benefit -- and all it will take is a Firearm from Bundy to put an end to the match. LM: Genesis explodes -- only at Ring Wars IV! Call your cable operator now! BL: Do you still live at home, Larry? ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Marty Warnett vs. "The Brat" Bradley Reed ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: Opening up the big pay-per-view tomorrow night will be a long awaited match between Marty Warnett and his attacker, who was this past weekend revealed to be IIWF newcomer "The Brat" Bradley Reed. Let's get comments from Reed: [Scene: Camera fades into a shot of the blazing Californian sun.  The shot then pans down to what looks like a usual suburban street.  Nice homes with white picket fences, men out mowing their lawns while others are sitting on their lawnchairs drinking lemonade and young children out playing on the quiet streets.  Then a ringing sound is heard as a rather large ice cream truck pulls up on a curb which, of course, causes all the kids to stop their games and head straight for the truck.  The kids yell out their frozen desires with eager anticipation.  Then a figure is seen strutting up the street with a very large individual at his side.  This figure is none other then "The Brat" Bradley Reed along with his bodyguard, Stone.  Reed then makes his way over to the truck and pushes past all the young children to be in front of the line.  The kids show their animosity but after a glare of the large Stone the children back up. Stone is looking his usual self, clad in a leather ensemble with dark shades over his eyes.  Reed is wearing his usual grunge clothing along with the Superstar title draped over his shoulder.  He is wearing a "Nuke Wales" t-shirt.] BR: Hmmmmm... what flavour of ice cream should I get, Stone? [As usual, Stone does not give a reply.] BR: That's what I love about you, Stone.  You don't babble on and on like all those other airbags in this world.  Especially all the big shots in the IIWF.  Sometimes you must think they are just talking to hear themselves. Wasting all the fans' time by trying to tell everybody how great they really are.  While we all know most of them are just over-hyped pieces of walking steriod.  The IIWF. [seems to ponder for a second]  It is kind of like a society in its own way.  A community of wrestlers all trying to live with each other.  All trying to reach success.  [chuckles]  And you all know my thoughts on society. [The ice cream man grows impatient.] ICM: Excuse me?! Are you going to buy some ice cream or are you planning on chatting it up all day? BR: Calm down, big boy.  What's your hurry?  You've got few more hours left in your job before you have to go home and see your fat cow of a wife. Heck, your life is so pathetic you probably contemplate suicide every night when you go home.  You're a loser, buddy, so why such a rush?  You just sit back and wait until I am ready, okay?  Hell, this is your lucky day.  This is the first time you have ever got to serve a celebrity.  A true icon.  The one and only, "The Brat" Bradley Reed.  ICM: That's all great but these kids would really like a chance at buying some ice cream.  Besides... BR: Besides what?  Besides the fact you're so useless that the only job you have ever been able to snag is one where you drive around in a stupid truck and serve ice cream to a bunch a whiny brats?  Besides you're almost forty and you haven't laid a chick in your entire pathetic life except for that fat cow waiting for you at home?  What you trying to tell me, old man? ICM: Please, sir. BR: All right, I'll buy some ice cream.  I'll have me a "Stars & Stripes", [looks over at Stone] might as well be patriotic while I eat my cream. [The emotionally battered ice cream man passes over the snack.  Reed gives it a few licks and decides he doesn't like it and deposits the cone onto the head of one of the nearby kids.] BR: Nah, this isn't any good.  Give me a Chocalate Chip. [The man scoops him some more ice cream and passes it over.] BR: [takes a lick]  Damn, this tastes like crap. [Reed drops this onto the head of a young girl who has her hair in piggy tails.] ICM: Will you please stop doing that to the children? BR: Then will you please stop giving me crap for ice cream! I'll have an Eskimo Pie. [The man regretfully passes one over.  Reed unwraps the dessert and without taking a bite smooshes it into the face of the man.] BR: There, is that better?  I didn't do anything to the kids this time. [looks around]  You know what I think? I would rather have a Drumstick cone instead. [Reed walks over to a very young child and snatches his Drumstick which, of course, causes the kid to cry.] Thanks, kid.  Stone, let's go for a walk. [Reed and Stone make their way down the sidewalk while the camera follows them along.] So, I am guessing you are all rather appalled by what I did back there.  Well, that's how things are.  I tried doing things the civil and right way -- and I ended up being screwed over.  Now it's time I let society realize the type of people they create.  Let them see how very wrong they are.  It's time I make everyone feel the hell I went through as a child.  And you know what? I'm loving every minute of it. And if you think what I am doing now is wrong then just wait until tommorrow. [Reed grows tired of the Drumstick and smears it on a nearby store window.] Today I did whatever it took to get what I wanted.  I did things my way in order to get an ice cream -- as you can see it worked perfectly.  Now this Sauturday at Ring Wars, I will do things my way -- you will see once again that it will work.  I'm going to let Marty feel how much I really care for him.  I'm going to let Farty feel all the pain I felt from jerks like him back in high school. [stops walking and stares directly in the camera]  If you think what I have done to you so far has been fierce then you just wait until we step into the ring this Sauturday.  You haven't seen nothing yet.  I'm going to rock you harder then I did to your little sister.  Of course, she liked how I rocked her -- you aren't going to like what you experience.  It's showtime, Warnett. Be ready for anything. [Reed and Stone then begin to walk off until Reed turns back.] By the way, it will be a non-title contest.  [Reed smiles as the camera fades to black.] LM: Reed may be confident now -- but we heard from the "Superstar" Stud Stetson last Saturday Night that he was less than happy with the way Reed has been claiming to represent him as the second Superstar Champion, and Stetson himself will apparently be at Ring Wars tomorrow night! TD: It's hard to imagine Stud Stetson siding with Marty Warnett, however much he may dislike Reed. I say Warnett is going to have a great deal to look out for in this match -- not only that monstrous Stone on the outside, but also perhaps Stud Stetson. I went to speak to Marty Warnett earlier this week... and he was in high spirits about this match: [SCENE: The apartment of Marty Warnett.  In the lounge, Tim Dross is sat upon the settee, his eye kept upon a bird sat atop a birdstand.  Marty appears from the kitchen, holding a cup of coffee and two cans of Mooselips, the only drink for IIWF superstars.] MW: [hands coffee to Dross] There ya go, Tim, and I'll just stick this can down for you, Gregg. [A raised thumb from Gregg the slow-witted, but eager, cameraman comes into view.] TD: Well, Marty... aarrggh! [Dross' incisive comments are disturbed as the bird gives out a large "Aaawwk" and spreads its wings, whilst hopping up and down on its' perch.] MW: Whoa, easy there, pal. TD: I'll be okay. MW: I meant Polly, here.  I just saw her in the store, and realised every successful athlete needs a Parakeet behind them. TD: Does she talk? MW: Does she ever!  Come on Polly, speak for Papa! [The Parakeet hops from one foot onto the other, before staring, almost evilly, into the camera. ] PK: Aaawwwkkkk... Becky has nice wangers! TD: What?! MW: [slightly blushing] Well, I do watch a lot of IIWF tapes, y'know. TD: Typical... PK: Aaaaawwkkkk... Quigley lives on Quickstrike Island with his man Troy! TD: Good grief. MW: Well, she does like Soundbite, y'know. PK: Awwwwwkkkk... Shoot, Polly, Shoot! [With that, the bored Parakeet flies off her perch, diving at a now cowering Dross.  As Dross tries to cover up, it's all to no avail as Polly lands on top of his hair enhancement product, digging her talons in.] TD: Owwwwwwww! MW: Oh yeah, we watch Frasier too... just try not to get her anxious or excited, she'll move when she's ready. PK: Aaawwwwwwkkkkk... dammit Roz, just because REM have sold a few albums doesn't mean their music is structurally more sound than Puccini! [Marty takes a long sip from his Mooselips.] MW: Hey, Dross, here's a little impersonation for you.  See if you can tell which IIWF wrestler it's meant to be. [Marty re-arranges his long dark hair, placing it over his face.] MW: A young life... wasted. Alone, unloved, except by misery and gloom.  The heart beats, yet there is no life contained within the blood sent through the arteries.     A boy, not a man, persecuted by peers.  For what?  The crime of sensitivity?  Poor eyesight?  Various yeast infections?  Having to wear braces on his nostrils?     The crushing hopes of youth dashed upon the rocks of bitterness, the heart is filled with sadness yet joy at the same time, the joy of despair?     Parental love meant saying no, no, you can't have a Space Hopper...     Who found love, the love of biscuits, only...     Only...     Only...     For the biscuits to leave mockingly as all do...     Wah!  It's not fair, Marty's so popular, that should be me!  Wah! Wah! Nursie, I want my teddy bear! TD: Errr... is it Billy Shakespeare? [Marty sighs.] PK: Aaaawwwwkkk... stupid! TD: No, let me see.  Errm, Duncan Macbeth who was so traumatised he ended up incomprehensible? PK: Aaaawwwwwwkkk... dammit, Polly wants some biscuits, Mooselips and     Chris Quigley an enema season ticket! MW: Nah, Tim.  Bradley Reed. TD: Oh yeah. Hey, I can see it now.  So, what about your bout? PK: Awwwwkk ... the ing . TD: Oh my giddy aunt.  The censors must get that. MW: He he he, oh yeah, he likes Kowalski too.     Dross, you asked me for my comments on the bout, so I'll expand people's knowledge base, right here, right now.     Reed, you may want to be a brat.  You may claim to be THE brat. Ultimately, Bradley, you are the IIWF prat.     You want to play mind games, maybe you should re-take Psychology 101. Didn't anybody tell you not to tip your hand so soon?  I mean, are you so stupid that you didn't realise that by seeing you in action I might just be able to get some idea of your ability in the ring? Sheesh.     And you come out with some sub-Generation X, Pearl Jam inspired insipid pseudo-angst ridden garbage... claiming me to be a bully?!     Reed, here's an important lesson in this tangled web we call life... it's exactly what you make of it.  I was never the biggest person in school, heck I'm small in size here in the world of pro wrestling. My eyesight isn't great, and I wear contact lenses.  Does that mean I should wallow in angst, wringing my hands and playing the role of messed up victim all my life?  You, Reed, are not the only person ever to be bullied, and you won't be the last.     The past is the past, concentrate on your future, as the immediate     present will be very, vary painful for you.     Quoth the Parakeet... PK: Aaawwwwwkkkk... Smith needs a gimmick!     Aaaaaawwwwwkkkkk... Abie want sugar.     Aaaaaawwwwwwwwkkkkkk... no nominations for Marty.     Aaaaaaaawwwwwwwkkkkkkk... Zed wants an Elvis lamp.     Aaaaaaaaaaawwwwwwwwkkkkkkkkk... Spreadbury takes a mean bump.     Aaaaaaaaaaaawwwwwwwwwwkkkkkkkkk... Jividen marks out for Creed. [Fade back to the press box.] TD: [shaking his head] What a crazy animal. LM: So, what are our picks, people? SS: It's Marty! Nobody gets one over on the Party Maniac and gets away with it. BL: Not what I heard. LM: I pick Warnett too -- I believe Reed is an upstart kid who's going to get a sharp lesson about what it takes to succeed in the IIWF tomorrow night. BL: It's Reed. I can't believe that bodyguard isn't going to get involved in this match -- and he could squash Marty like a bug. TD: I have to side with Marty. He's been an outstanding competitor here in the IIWF for a very long time, and he's going to do everything in his power to ensure that a jumped-up bully like Reed isn't going to get the better of him tomorrow night. LM: And with Stud Stetson also scheduled to be in the arena... it's going to be a crazy, crazy match. It's going to open up the biggest pay-per-view of the year -- and it's only in the IIWF tomorrow night! ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [FREE FOR ALL:] FOUR WAY DANCE: Kevin Christiansen vs. Alex Rio vs. Dexter St. Croix vs. Luke Steele ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: Opening up the big three hour pay-per-view will be a thirty minute Free For All show featuring two great matches. In the first, it's four of the IIWF's young guns going at it in an elimination-style Four Way Dance. Let's hear from the competitors, beginning with the "Real Deal" Luke Steele: [Fade up to the Great Western Forum in Los Angeles, California.  The L.A. Lakers are playing the Knicks, and next to the camera we see "The Real Deal" Luke Steele sitting in one of the bleacher seats.  Luke's wearing a Cleveland Cavaliers jersey and ball cap, which gains him some dirty looks.] LS: What's up baby dolls?  The Real Deal is taking in some of the finest NBA action around.  Naturally my first choice would be to see Shawn Kemp and the Cavs, but the Double Eye has booked the pay per view here in L.A.  You see those ten men down there on the court?  That's teamwork right there.  Each squad is working together to win the game.     That is _not_ what you are going to see on the Free For All, although my punch _is_ as mean as Shaq O'Neal's.  Who have I been put up against?  Alex f'n Rio for starters.  The man is a horrible dancer, and he's ten times the dancer than he is as a wrestler.  Then we've got Dexter St. Croix, that happy Hawaiian. [The cameraman whispers to Luke that he's Jamaican, not Hawaiian] Yeah, whatever pal.  Bottom line is this, ol' Dex thought he was in rough shape in his tournament match; well, compared to the hurt I'll be putting on him, that will feel like a walk in the park.  Eh mon?     And Kevin Christiansen.  Now here's a guy I look forward to meeting in the ring.  You've chosen the most noble nickname anyone could have, Cavalier.  Great talent, it's a shame one of us has to lose. Say Kev, what do you say to a little working agreement between you and I?  We fight together to turn those other two back, and one of us gets a much needed win?  Sound good?  I think so.     On the Free For All, baby dolls, Luke Steele's gonna shine.  And then I'll be able to sit back and relax as I watch the Machines and the Down Boys destroy the Natural Predators and LFD, the Little F'n Dumbasses.  I suppose there is an advantage to wrestling first, you get to watch your buddies kill the competition.     Until Ring Wars, baby dolls.  Later. [Fade down to black, but not before we see Patrick Ewing block a Shaquille O'Neal slam dunk, and Luke stands up and cheers like a drunken Celtic fan. The shot spins and reveals Dexter St. Croix walking along a beach, dressed casually in khaki shorts, a tie-dyed t-shirt, and a multi-colored skull cap. He raises his head to speak...] DSC: Alex Rio. Luke Steele. Kevin Christiansen. Dese are de names o' de men I must face dis Saturday night. An' while I don' know what's in it for dem... [Dexter pauses in thought] DSC: ...ol' Dex, 'im know exactly what's in it for 'im. Ya see, ol' Dex, 'im 'asn't made quite de splash in de IIWF 'im wanted to. 'im t'ought 'im could come 'ere, play by de rules, take de unwinnable matches, deal wid de politics, an' take 'im rightful place among de elite. De Motas. De Parises. De Shakespeares. [Dex pauses again, and appears to be getting a little angry.] DSC: De dreams of a fool, mon. Ol' Dex, 'im learn de hard way, dese men o' de IIWF, dey don' play fair. Dey cut corners. Dey take shortcuts. Dey break de rules.      Dey take what dey want.      See, ol' Dex, 'im watch. 'im listen. 'im learn. And now... [Dex pulls the skull cap from his head, revealing longer dreadlocks than before.] DSC: ...'im gonna ta take what 'im want. [Suddenly, Dexter breaks out in song.] DSC: # Don't let 'em change ya! # Or even rearrange ya! Oh, no!      # We've got a life to live # They say only only only the      fittest of the fittest shall survive #      At de Ring Wars, de fittest, 'im shall survive. [Dexter turns and walks away as the scene fades to black. Cut to a cheap, pay by the hour, hotel suit.  Alex Rio lays on a heart-shaped bed with the lights dimmed and the sounds of Kenny G in the background. He's wearing a white robe, with his bleached blonde hair and small beard on his chin.  There's a bottle of champagne, in ice, on a table next to him. He smiles with a sparkle coming off his teeth as he looks into the camera.] AR: Hey there.  [smiles]  IIWF Countdown to Saturday Night and Ring Wars IV... what better time than watching Becky LaRue and those two magnificently round... spotlights.  You know, Becky, I was thinking... I have that big match tomorrow with Luke Steele and... those other two guys.  So, I was thinking maybe you could come down here and help me... warm up for tomorrow's match.  [smiles] They even have room service in this place, and I know how much you'd love to come over here right now and check out my tube steak, but maybe you should finish up the show first, you know... so Larry doesn't get lonely.  [Suddenly, Seadog Barnacle walks onto the scene wearing a white towel around his waist, with wet hair.] SB: Alex, where'd you put my clothes?  All I could find was my Scooby Doo t-shirt, but I wanted to wear that tomorrow, you know... being a pay-per-view and all, wanna look my best. AR: Would you get the hell outta here?!  I'm trying to get Becky LaRue over here!  SB: Oh... sorry. [Seadog walks away.] SB: [off screen] BLUTO!  What are you doing wearing my Turtles t-shirt?! AR: Sorry about that... trust me, Becky, there won't be any more interruptions for us this evening, so just come on over, slip into... or out of... something a little more comfortable and we can, you know... [Bluto Barnacle runs by, chased by Seadog Barnacle.] SB: [off screen] Gimme back my shirt!  AR: Heh... kids. [Bluto runs by the other way, still being chased by Seadog.  Rio follows them with his eyes, then a loud crashing noise is heard from off the screen.] AR: What the... Becky, call me. [Rio gets up and rushes over to the scene of the accident.  The camera follows him but stops when it spots Casey C sitting at the end of the room across the hall, through two open doors.  Casey stares at the camera expressionless. Cut back to the press box to a shot of Becky LaRue, who slams down the nearby phone, which she had picked up.] BL: What?! I was just calling my agent to work out whether I can get paid extra when the wrestlers talk about me in their interviews. LM: Of course, Becky. Well, folks, who do we pick in this match? SS: I'm going with the Cavalier. He's gotten a raw deal in the IIWF to date, and it's about time he started getting the push he deserves. BL: The only kind of push the Cavalier deserves is the kind that ends in a fall of several hundred feet. I'm picking Rio -- just because he's smarter than the other three put together. LM: I don't know about that, Becky. I have to pick Luke Steele. I believe he's really hit his stride recently since his alliance with the Machines. TD: I'm with you, Larry. Steele has been a great deal more confident in recent weeks, and I think that confidence will carry him to victory in tomorrow night's match. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [FREE FOR ALL:] MIXED TAG MASSACRE: Licensed for Devastation & Natural Predators vs. The Down Boys & The Machines ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: The tag team scene in the IIWF is currently stronger than it has ever been -- and four of the teams on the brink of breaking into the upper echelon of partnerships in the league will battle it out in a wild eight man tag team match tomorrow night. There's bad blood between just about every one of these partnerships, but let's hear from the teams themselves about how they believe they will be able to work together tomorrow night: [The lights fade up on the NATURAL PREDATORS, BEAR and GREY PHOENIX, both active. Grey Phoenix is suspended by his feet from the ceiling and doing inverted sit-ups, and Bear is doing reps of the clean jerk, lifting a "lighter weight" of 130 lbs. Both are obviously involved in cool-down exercises, and their manager, KUYLER GREYSON, nods with approval from the middle of the gymnasium. The two native American wrestlers both looking tired. It's late at night, and the moonlight is peering through past the dim lights. Kuyler is wearing, of course, his simple single breasted black suit, his long hair pulled back into a ponytail.] KG: That'll do, boys. Good work. [GREY PHOENIX looks up and sighs a sigh of relief, then pulls himself up in one final sit-up, grabbing the chains and unshackling himself. He drops, feet first, to the ground] GP: About time. [BEAR sets the weight down, removing his baclk gloves with the "Natural Predators symbol" on them. He sighs and sits down on a bench still sticky with sweat from his workout on the bench press] B: You're not kidding there. Kuyler, this is our first pay per view in an established league. Ring Wars IV. Think they'd let me keep a turnbuckle or something? KG: You aren't a kid anymore, Daniel, and this isn't a time to be thinking about souvenirs. You saw what happened Monday night. B: Yeah. You replayed it for us over and over and... KG: You're damn right I did. Do you see what happens when you lose control of a match? You have to press whatever advantage you get, whenever you can. Look at Outlaw JW Hardin. Look at Brody Thunder. GP: Hardly two people to emulate. [Bear shakes his head] B: I'd love to get Hardin in the ring....Snap his spinal column. [Kuyler shoots a look of disapproval to Bear] KG: [flatly] You aren't good enough.  Look, forget this Phoenix crap long enough to... [Grey Phoenix stands up, he and Bear speak at the same time] GP: It isn't crap, Kuyler. This league has a tradition.... B:  Not good enough? Come on, I'm more than ready to... [Kuyler interrupts] KG: Don't interrupt me! Daniel, when I say you aren't good enough, it means not yet. He's an old fart, like me, someone who's spent more than a few years in the ring. a lot longer than you. I'm just telling you you are not ready. Michael, you say this league has a tradition? Guess what? So do I, Michael. It's called managing. And I am managing the Natural Predators, not a couple of thugs who want a piece of someone just because he hurt a man. The symbol is here. In you. To hell with Hardin as a person. What I'm talking about is his ethic. [Bear looks at Kuyler, wiping a few strands of his thick hair out of his eyes] B: I don't get it. You want us to cheat? KG: No. You press every advantage, you look for whatever opening you can. You're the good guys here, this league so desperately needs heroes that when you appear... when you give the fans some measure of hope... yeah, you're going to be downtrodden. You're going to be smacked around, you'll be hurt, you'll lose matches. But you find the advantages when you can. Bear, you're 385 lbs. What kind of advantages do you see for yourself? [Bear looks at him confused for a minute] KG: Against Chaos, who is big and strong... and not a small man like the men you face tomorrow night. What kind of advantage can you get? B: He's not going to be as good off his feet...? KG: Not necessarily. Look at how he wrestled. What could you capitalize on? B: The kneebrace... KG: Yes....? [Bear thinks for a moment] B: It's added clothing. Like a shield. He's injured underneath, and it offers some protection. But it's something to grab to knock his legs out from under him. KG: Good. [Grey Phoenix, toweling the sweat from his brow, looks over at Bear and Kuyler] GP: Now, this is all well and good... but tomorrow night? KG: Well, Michael, we have a few surprises in store for the Down Boys and the Machines. And if LFD leaves the ring again, well... so much the better. Why? Because they aren't really that useful anyway. Look, you two have done a great job tonight. You really have. This week was rough on you, I know it. [Bear grabs a bottle of tea and drinks a few gulps of it, looking back to Kuyler and the camera] B: The spirits gave us the strength to do what needed to be done, boss. They will tomorrow night, too. It was worth it if we can get jumpstarted here. KG: Good. This match is the start of the rest of your careers, boys. You have the chance to gain a lot of ground here in the IIWF, or you could have to work that much harder come next weeks' matches just to get back to where you were. [Grey Phoenix and Bear now face the camera, close shot that Kuyler is not in.] GP: Down Boys... Machines. No offense, but the Natural Predators can't be stopped now. It's way too late. B: And as for you, Cold Quins, Harley-Spell, Hardly Cool, Spelling Bee, whatever you call yourselves... you beat us fair and square. Four on two fair and square, but fair and square nonetheless. We want a rematch. Against you both. [Kuyler walks on camera, between the two men. A big smile on his face as he gestures to the camera] KG: That's right. President Spreadbury? If you're listening to this... give me a call. I understand a lot of teams got a challenge for the winner of the tag titles tonight. You sign us a match with the team that loses. And we'll do the rest. The winners will keep long enough for us to put them in Cold Storage. Or make sure "La Commodie et finit" for our pantomime friends. GP: Neyho neyehe hiyo. B: We will triumph. KG: Best of the best, baby. [Kuyler flashes a winning smile to the camera, the Predators crossing their arms and scowling like Sikh guards in the British Empire as the camera fades to black, and then fades through to Hell... Michigan.  A large sign reads "Hell, Michigan", and Reggie Starr and Jonathan Chaos, Licensed for Devastation, are sitting in front of this sign.  There is no noise.  No movement.] RS: I... JC: [interrupting] The time has come.  Luke Steele.  Paul Wong.  Simon O'Neil.  You've entered a hell's fire that you can't get out of.  Ya'll pissed me off to such an extent that no man has eva'... _eva'_ felt the pain I'm gonna dish out to the two of you. [Chaos closes his eyes.] RS: Like I was... JC: [interrupting] Moses said "Do unto otha's as you would have 'dem do unto ya'll." [We await for Jonathan to finish.] JC: What the hell are ya' doin', Reg?!  RS: Oh... um... yeah.  We're gonna kick you guys'... JC: [interrupting] If ya ain't gonna talk, just tell me dat!  Down Boys... ya'll's a formality.  MACHINES.  LUKE STEELE.  YOU'VE [BLEEP]ING MADE ME VERY VERY PISSED OFF, AND I _WILL_... _WILL_ KILL YOU.  YOU WILL DIE ON SATURDAY. [Reggie covers the camera with a blue shawl.  Cut to Paul Wong and Simon O'Neal in their workout area.  On the wall are written the names NATURAL PREDATORS, DOWN BOYS and LFD.  On the opposite side are written ST. CROIX, CHRISTIANSEN, and RIO.  The Machines are watching TV, which shows an advertisement for Ring Wars IV.] SO: Let's see... we're stuck in the Free-For-All because the IIWF would rather see four men that we've beaten fight for the World Tag Team Titles. PW: One thing at a time, Simon.  First on our list is winning our match and taking care of LFD. SO: Before that, we get to watch Luke Steele annihilate three other wrestlers in the first match of Ring Wars IV. PW: I'm not sure about annihilate.  Dexter's not bad, and the Cavalier is a good wrestler. SO: [snorting] You would like him.  Yeah, yeah, they're all right, but Luke is better -- and even you can't claim that Alex Rio is a good wrestler. PW: That annoying runt?  The only way Luke won't wipe the floor with him is if someone else gets to him first. SO: Okay, so Luke's getting his win.   Then we get to our match, tagging with the Down Boys, those little annoying pain... PW: Simon, shut up. SO: [puzzled and annoyed] Excuse me? PW: They want to call a truce, and I'm all for it.  You did throw a fireball at them. SO: Oh, please.  It's not like I could have made him any ugli... PW: Enough!  [faces the camera] Down Boys, we're even.  During Ring Wars, we're all partners, trying to win.  No backstabbing on our part... right, Simon?  [stares at his partner] SO: [rolling his eyes] Fine.  [Holds up his fingers in a Boy Scout Salute] I promise to be a good boy... Okay? PW: Fine.  Natural Predators, you look like a good team, and I know you can't be thrilled teaming with LFD.  We're going to do whatever it takes to win, but we're going to keep it clean -- we don't want YET ANTOHER team wanting our heads on a platter... right, Simon?  [Again, stares at his partner] SO: You know, this is getting boring and annoying.  [Paul doesn't budge] Can't we get Luke here and put it to a vote?  [Paul still stares at his partner.  Finally, Simon shrugs] Fine.  No funny stuff against the Predators for this match. PW: Okay.  Then... SO: BUT... as far as those Baltimore whiners go, here's the story.  Johnny Chaos isn't as strong, isn't as tough, and isn't one-tenth on the wrestler Paul here is.  As for Reggie Starr, I was trouncing punks like him when I was in fifth grade -- which is where Reggie will be if he passes this year.  The fact is, neither man deserve to carry the jockstraps of the Barnacle Brothers.  But because they have a fondness of tasers, fireballs, and chairs, they get to wrestle at Ring Wars IV. [Simon takes a breath before continuing] So here's what I'm promising.  I'm promising to try and hurt them.  I'm promising to get as low down and as dirty as they do -- and then dig even deeper.  In short, I am going to open up every damn dirty trick I know -- and I can teach Steve Roberts a thing or two -- and run those bastards straight into the hospital. [Paul doesn't respond for a moment, then finally nods his head.] PW: Fine. SO: Great.  Now that we're all just peachy about what's going to happen, I've just places to go and people to do.  Later. [The camera fades. Mix through to backstage footing of a WCW taping in Orlando, Florida. Why would the Down Boys and Awesome T be backstage at a WCW show?  An experiment.] AT: Well, guys, you wanted to see where the magic happens... here we are. DO: What the hell are we doing backstage at a WCW show?  We have a match on Saturday, and... and... what's so damn funny? [T and Adam begin to snicker.] DO: I don't get it. AT: Dan Oliver, there's someone I'd like you to meet. [The lightweight tag team are soon engulfed by the enormous shadow put forth by a 6 foot tall man who may very possibly weigh more than the two of them combined.  The man tips his cowboy hat to reveal a pair of dark glasses and a big smile, extending a hand in friendship.] DR: WHOO LAWDY, what it izzz, Gentlemenz? AT: Dan Oliver... Adam Peterson... meet Dusty Rhodes. DO: Wow... it's a pleasure to meet you, sir.  I used to watch you when I was growing up, but I never thought I'd meet you in person. [T and Peterson look at each other, snicker again, deviously.] DO: I hope this isn't too markish, but could I have my picture taken with you?  It would make my career. DR: Not at all, daddy... AT: Adam, [snicker] why don't you get into this picture too?  You know, The Down Boys with Dusty Rhodes? AP: [snicker] Sure, T. (Awesome T pulls out a pocket camera from his baggy jeans and focuses it on the three men.  Right after the flash goes off, Adam slaps Dan in the back of the head.  Now, a childish prank like this might only leave most people with a slight headache... but in the case of Dan Oliver... it's different.] AT: Dusty, thanks so much. DR & DO: My pleasure, if you weeeeel. [Dusty looks over in bewilderment.] DR: What you say, boy? DO: [now in Dusty mode] I sayz it be no problem... look hea, son.  You may be pretty as uh pictua, but why you talkin' like me? DR: [rubbing his hand over his face] What kind o' joke iz dis, Tommy Edwaaaaz?  You trin' to make o' Dusty look like a fool? [Adam Peterson and Awesome T can barely contain laughter at T shrugs his shoulders.] DO: [still Dusty] Boy, you betta quit dat, fo' I put a kick in yo' belly-welly and do some clubberin' on you! DR: [turning bright red] Boy, you needz to stop, o' I gonna tie yo' ass to da tree-o-woe and stomp a mudhole in ya! DO: Bring it on, daddy! [Dan Oliver looks ready to deliver some hand-jive punches until Dusty lunges forward with a bionic elbow, knocking Dan Oliver senceless to the floor.] DR: Come on... what chew got fo' Dusty? [Dan Oliver shakes some of the cobwebs loose from his head and slowly gets to his feet.  Suddenly, he realise the angry man standing above him] DO: [out of Dusty mode] HEY!  You're Dusty Rhodes!  I've always wanted to meet you in person.  Hey, you think I could have my picture taken with you? DR: What da... fo'get it, partna.  I's gettin' da hell away from you... you 'bout three cans short of a six pack... a six pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon that me and Dick Murdock would finish off afta a match back in the dayz.  I was... AT: I think it's best we go. DO: But what about Dusty, and my picture? AT: It's cool... we got it.  Leave him be... [Dusty continues to talk as the Down Boys and Awesome T step quickly out of the studio as the camera fades. Cut back to the press box.] LM: The Down Boys as unorthodox as ever. Well, it seems to me that all these teams are united by one thing -- dislike of Licensed for Devastation. I have a feeling this one could degenerate into a brawl, with LFD on the receiving end. SS: It's gonna be the Down Boys and the Machines, no question. LFD are gonna get beat so badly, it could turn out to be their last night in the IIWF. BL: Rather like you in that respect. TD: Becky, shush. SS: Look, what is all this about? [Morton and Dross look at one another while Becky rubs her hands in glee.] TD: Well, young Summer, we've got a bit of a situation here. You weren't present at the production meeting earlier today... SS: What production meeting? BL: ...because you weren't invited! Bwahahahaa... snort! SS: I don't understand. TD: The executives have been performing market research in the past few weeks, and, well... BL: ...and you're out of here! SS: [blankly] What? LM: Well, Steve, it's the demographic. TD: The demographic. The all-important demographic. LM: The suits have decided that... BL: [clearly enjoying herself] ...you're a stupid, pre-pubescent kid with no brains and even less balls! [Steve Summer is clearly becoming distraught by all this.] TD: Please, Becky. Look, young Summer... the Board has decided not to renew your contract. SS: Not... renew...? TD: The IIWF is cutting back, Steve Summer. BL: And you're fired! SS: Fired? BL: # Na na... na na na na... Hey Sum-mer... Good-bye! # TD: Please, Becky. SS: Fired? TD: We'll go down to the Arm Bar after the show -- talk about it. Talk about your options. SS: I could always go to NLWP. TD: You wouldn't be the first, young Summer. [A door swings open and in walks "Soundbite" Steve Roberts, a broad grin on his face and his customary leather jacket slung over one shoulder.] SR: Hey, morons. Did I miss anything? [Roberts notices Steve Summer looking glum at the table.] SR: [pointing at Summer] Hey, it's Billy Shakespeare! I didn't know he was still with the promotion! [Summer breaks down into tears. Roberts tosses his jacket over the back of his chair, pulls it away from the table and sits down, leaning back, resting his feet on the table. He puts his arms behind his head, and then seems to notice that everybody else, save the sobbing Summer, is looking at him.] SR: What did I say? TD: Ladies and gentlemen... Steve "Soundbite" Roberts. LM: Well, folks, that's just about all the time we have for tonight. Don't forget, we're just twenty-four hours away from one of the biggest pay-per-view spectaculars of all time. It's Cowboy vs. Cowboy -- it's Quigley vs. Macbeth -- it's the Barbed Wire match -- it's partner vs. partner -- it's about titles, pride, betrayal, friendship, surprises... it is the pageantry, the action, the spectacle of professional wrestling brought to you as only the IIWF can! It is Ring Wars IV -- and it is tomorrow night! Don't miss a moment of the action. For Tim Dross, Becky LaRue, poor Steve Summer, and the belated Steve Roberts, this is Larry Morton, saying: so long, and thanks for watching! [Tim Dross appears to be asking Steve Roberts where he has been, and Roberts' face lights up, the "Soundbite" beginning to gesture wildly, while Larry attempts to console Steve Summer, whose face is still buried in his hands. Cut to a wide-angle shot of the floodlit Los Angeles Memorial Coliseum, the ring apparatus now almost complete. 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 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+