________ _______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __| |\ /| /\ |\ | | /\ \ / | || | \ v v / | __| | v |/ \| \| __| /__\ \/ |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| | |\ /| |/ |/ \/ | | \/ | |\_// /\ |\ /| | _ | / __ / __ | v | | | / \ . |\ | / \ / \ | | | | \__ | | \| | __ \__ 24 November 1997 | | | | \ | | | \__| \ .....................|..v_____/.|.|..|____|____/ ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Fade in on footage from the final moments of Ring Wars IV. Steve "the Fury" Kowalski stands in the center of the ring over a fallen Brody Thunder.Kowalski grins as "Don't Fear the Reaper" kicks in over the loud speaker. As the crowd of wrestlers around the ring stand stunned, the New Jersey Nightmare, backs up and rolls out of the ring. Kowalski makes his way up the aisle, brandishing a cordless microphone:] SK: Did ya think I was dead? Did ya think Brody was man 'nuff to take me out? I don't [BLEEP]in' think so! I just wanted to tell everyone that I'm back... back fer my belt... back fer some SKULLPUMPIN'... back fer _ya_, Brody! So when ya wake up an' ask what happened to ya... _I_ happened. It's time to pay, Cowpoker. Ya know why? 'Cause hell hath no...*click* [The image disappears as the screen goes black. The camera pans back revealing the screen belongs to a now turned off television. The eerie silence is shattered by a raspy, familiar voice...] VOICE: Well.. ..well.. .._well_. So the prodigal egomaniac returns. Where ya been keepin' yerself, Kowalski? Still tryin' ta live up ta yer daddy, runt? [A pair of hands enter the shot. One hand holds a cigar, the other holds a lit match. The cigar is ignited and as the hands move slowly out of shot the camera follows them. The cigar is placed in the clenched teeth of Brody Thunder. The shot is a sideways view of Thunder's face, the profile almost silouetted against a black backdrop. The swirling cigar smoke creates an almost surreal feel to the scene.] BT: I'll give ya one thing... ya sure know how ta make an entrance, ace. Who taught ya that trick... 'Bringer? Guess yer Spreadbury's latest henchman, huh? How else would yer music jus' _happen_ ta play almost on cue? Hope he's payin' ya well, amigo. What'd he promise _you_... a title shot? A "free reign" ta try'n kick my ass? Mebbe a date with his daughter? Truth is I don't give a damn why yer back. It don't change the fact that ya ain't the hero ya think ya are, hoss. Yer jus' the latest "flavor o'the month". Nuthin' more. [He throws his head back and smiles as if remembering some joke.] Heh heh... hell I useta have _some_ respect fer ya. I thought ya were a stand-up guy, Kowalski. Truth is yer no better than the rest o' the backjumpin' rats. 'Cept _this_ time... [Thunder slowly turns his head to face the camera head on.] ...ya jumped the wrong gent,boy. [Cut to an overhead view. Thunder is standing in the now empty Tarnished Star Bar. The clock on the wall beside the TV shows 4 AM. Thunder walks over to a table where a bottle sits beside an empty glass. He grabs the bottle and looks at the label.] Y'see Kowalski... I ain't one o' these ten cent primadonnas who hit the road after havin' a lil dirt kicked in their face, or some blood in their eyes. Naw... the only place I'm goin' is that ring where I can put this size twelve boot upside yer flamin' squash an' send ya runnin' overseas jus' like yer pappy did when things got tough. [He twists the cover off and takes a whiff of the bottle's contents. Quick cut to a close-up of Thunder's mouth. An eerie grins appears. Cut back to the overhead shot.] An' now... you've taken _yer_ shot. Twice now I've been on the receivin' end o' the Skullpump. Can't say that I'm fond o' that record but that's the truth. But I'm gonna tell ya another truth, pal. An' that truth is the fact that you ain't ever gonna get a third shot with it. 'Cuz I'm plannin' on puttin' the "next big thing" on the next available gurney outta this sport. [Cut back to the sideways shot. Thunder takes a drink from the bottle. He winces as he lowers it.] So... "Fury"... there's only three seconds 'tween you an' the glory yer ol' man never had. Three seconds... that's all. But the journey ta those three seconds is a helluva ride, son... an' yer lookin' at the driver. [Cut back to the overhead shot. Thunder sets the bottle back on the table but doesn't let go of it.] This Saturday night I got me a date with that Canadian polecat Quigley an' that punk Turner. I ain't so niave as ta think ya won't stick yer ugly beak inta my match. But that's fine. C'mon down. It's a short walk ta the ring... [Thunder walks away from the table and out of camera shot. He lets go of the bottle as he does so causing it to tip over and lay on its side with the remaining liquor pouring out over the edge of the table to the floor.] ...but it's a long cold ride ta morgue. [Quick cut to a close-up of the mouth of the bottle from the floor below it. The flow of the liquid begins to slow...] Yer time's jus' about up, fanboy. [The flow is now just a trickle of drops.] Ya came back wantin'a fight,big man. Well _now_... [The trickle dwindles to a few last dropsdripping down towards the camera. One last drop falls in slow motion...] ...yer in the biggest fight o' 'em all. [...and as it hits the lense the screen abruptly goes black. The raspy voice splits the silence once more.] Should be careful what ya wish fer, Stevie-boy... ...heh, heh, heh... [A clap of thunder echoes loudly then fades out. Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [SCENE: IIWF Monday Musing Interview Area. It's just a few moments after the wild brawl of Ring Wars IV has been broken up. "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley is there in his wrestling gear, sweaty, bloody, and looking slightly angered. He is looking down at the ground, not making eye contact with the camera.] CQ: I never did like surprises. [Pause.] CQ: What Steve Manning put his entire family through, what he put his fans through, and what he put me through was more of a living hell than that Manning basement ever could be. Why'd you do it, Steve? Was it the pressure? You've always failed to live up to your expectations... did it just become too much for you to face? Or are you truly a psychopath? [Shakes his head, and finally looks up.] CQ: I've gotten a lot of slack just from my association with you. When they look at you, they see nothing but the wild, unpredictable, despicable, Steve Manning. When I looked at you, I saw the same kid I knew for a good chunk of my life, the one who I taught how to skate, the one I taught how to drive a stick-shift. I saw the same young man who introduced me to his sister, the only person in the world I've ever been able to open up to. [Quigley brushes some hair out of his eyes.] CQ: My entire career, despite what the other wrestlers have thought of me personally, I've always gotten a measure of respect for being a professional through and through. I left the fight in the ring where it belonged. But when I thought your brother Kurt had paralyzed you with that steel chair to the back of your neck, despite the fact that he had shattered my nose and re-injured both my knees, I went after him in the locker room. I completely lost it, with the thought of how this man could turn on his family and didn't seem to give a damn. It was a small consolation that you didn't seem to want to see the spotlight of professional wrestling any more anyway. [Pause.] CQ: When you wanted back in, when you wanted to come to the IIWF and help me out... even me, "Mr. Emotionless", was estatic. Then you had to go pull something like that. What's sadder is that you did it then and there, with your family watching in agonizing shock as they discovered your sick charade. Everytime I think of it I want to throw up. As far as I'm concerned, the kid I knew is dead. Whoever the hell you are now is _not_ welcome anywhere near me. I'm burning the bridge, Steve. And I don't care if you fall, I'm not throwing you a rope this time. Not any more. [Quigley turns and is about to walk off the set, when Steve Manning rushes into the scene, grabbing Quigley from behind and spinning him around, a frantic, panicked expression on his face.] SM: You've got it all wrong, man! I had my reasons! I am what I am, and you know damn well this is the way it's always been. I overcame the drugs, I overcame the alcohol, I overcame... [Manning can't seem to stop himself...] SM: ...paralysis. [Manning breaks out into a grin, which is quickly rubbed out as Quigley lets a right hand fly, smacking the youngest Manning in the jaw, knocking him flat. Quigley looks down at the kid he always considered to be a little brother, and shakes his head, a look of disgust evident on his face. Quigley walks away, as Manning gets to his feet holding his jaw. He regains his composure and yells after Quigley.] SM: You call that gratitude?! Is that how you say thank you?! I know you have a little trouble expressing yourself, man, but that was just uncalled for! [Manning glares into the direction Quigley went for a few moments, then turns back to the camera.] SM: All this runnin' around has me beat... I need to sit down. [With that, he breaks into a fit of laughter, his teeth grotesquely stained red from a cut on his bottom lip, the result of the punch. Then inexplicably, he moves forward and rocks the camera with a hard right hand himself, knocking the scene into static.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Rocket Man" Timothy N. Turner ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [The IIWF interview area sits silently until Tim Turner strides into view. He has the Cruiserweight title around his waist and a big grin on his face.] TT: So it has finally happened. Tim Turner has rocketed to the top and taken over the IIWF. Sure Mota was tough but he is yesterday's news! I am the present and the future! Tim Turner is the number one man in the IIWF! Quigley? He isn't worthy to stand in the same ring as the Rocket Man! Duncan beat him from bell to bell and it was only Manning who saved the title! Thunder? Like some cowboy could hold a candle to the grandeur that is "Rocket Man" Tim Turner! Cold Spell? Harlequins? Put your titles against me and Duncan and we'll see that I am the best tag wrestler as well! [Turner smiles to himself, like he just thought of a private joke] TT: Now is the time where the new champion stands up...claims to be a fighting champion...says he will take on all comers. Not this guy. I have one word for people who are willing to defend the title as much as possible. Stupid. I get big money with this title! Match money, endorsement money, kick backs, whatever. I'm keeping this title and I know how to do it. Dodge everybody. I'm willing to say that because I know how smart that makes me. I wnat matches all right...tag matches...non-title matches...whatever. I only want to defend my title the amount of times required my the rules...that's all. My first amtch after the pay per view is...oh gee. It's non-title. [Turner walks off the set laughing as the screen fades.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Duncan Macbeth ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Duncan Macbeth stands in a pool of light in the otherwise darkened IIWF interview area, several days after his tainted defeat at the hands of "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley and Steve Manning, Jr. at Ring Wars IV. The Scot is dressed in his street clothes, and his long ginger hair is hanging in his face, casting shadowy black lines across his angular face, but his glittering green eyes gleam brightly through his mane and the shadows it casts as he addresses the camera with a grim, foreboding tone.] DM: Ring Wars IV. I reckon we all saw what a real "legend" Chris Quigley is, did we no'? We saw th' "legendary" Chris Quigley get outwrestled time an' again durin' tha' match, by a man 'e dismissed as an untalented, inexperienced thug. We saw th' "legendary" Chris Quigley get outsmarted by a man 'e dismissed as an ignorant sheepherder, a man who had enough brains t' take 'is famous "Quickstriker" away from 'im. We saw th' "legendary" Chris Quigley get beaten within an inch o' 'is miserable life, beaten like 'e's never been beaten before in 'is entire career, by a man 'e actually thought 'e could best in a toe-t'-toe brawl. We saw th' "legendary" Chris Quigley lyin' in th' middle o' th' ring, bloody, battered, an' unconscious, a man who could hae been pinned fer a twenty count after th' punishment 'e'd taken from a man 'e thought was goin' t' be a pushover, an easy win. An' in th' end, we saw th' "legendary" Chris Quigley" go home with th' Intercontinental Title. Why? 'Cause th' "legendary" Chris Quigley couldn't do it alone, tha's why. After all th' put-downs, all th' dismissals, all th' self-praise an' inflated self-opinions, th' so-called "legend" needed th' help o' a lunatic poser wi' a' lead pipe t' beat a man tha' he spent weeks tellin' th' world tha' 'e would beat easily. Th' "legend" needed th' help o' someone who was supposed t' be one o' 'is biggest fans. Y'see, Quigley? Even yuir "fans" didn't believe ye could beat me by yuirself. An' judgin' by th' way yuir fans treated ye after th' final bell went, they STILL don't believe ye can beat me. If ye even have any fans left now, that is. But I'm no' goin' t' stand 'ere an' bitch an' complain about th' result. An' I'm no' goin' t' cry an' whine fer a rematch. 'Cause tha' would be too much like a certain other wrestler we all ken, who I'd be loathe t' emulate. I said, "no excuses". An' I meant it. Despite all tha' happened, I'm satisfied wi' th' final result. How could I possibly be satisfied wi' losing th' Intercontinental Title, ye ask? It's as simple as this - ye have t' have pride t' be a champion, an' ye can no' have pride in yuirself unless ye can back up yuir words wi' deeds. I've done tha' me whole career, an' I've done it ever since I set foot 'ere in th' IIWF. I'm satisfied 'cause everything tha' Chris Quigley said about me was WRONG. I proved tha', an' everybody saw how wrong 'e was. I'm also satisfied 'cause everything tha' _I_ said about _Chris Quigley_ was RIGHT. He proved tha' HIMSELF, an' everybody saw how right I was. Maybe tha' bothers ye, Quigley, maybe not. If it does, well, ye ken wha' to do about it. If not, then enjoy yuir title, paper champion. [Macbeth chuckles ironically to himself, as one would respond to a particularly unfunny joke.] Or should I say... "Legend"? [Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Derek Mota ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Cut to a makeshift version of the IIWF Interview Area, obviously thrown together at the last minute to do some studio interviews. Derek Mota walks in, wearing his leather jacket and a pair of black leather gloves. He removes his jacket and throws it to the ground before speaking.] DM: Losers match? Losers match? Man, what the hell is this? I lose the Cruiserweight Title and now I'm right at the bottom of the pile, huh? Well, I'm ready for it. I never backed down from any challenge, whether it be from Turner, Shakespeare or Spreads, you name it, I was there. It ain't gonna change anytime soon. I gotta say that I'm a little ticked off at losin' the title that way, but ya know, [BLEEP] happens. I defended against St. Croix, Lebec, the Dirt Dog, Shakespeare, and then I lost it ta Turner. Not too bad, I gotta say. And if I'm gonna lose it I might as well lose it to a friend of Macbeth's. And speakin' of Macbeth, let's talk about gettin' ripped off. Quigley, you've been hidin' behind Manning for too damn long. And now that he's standin' on his two feet, I won't have any remorse about puttin' him right back in that DAMN CHAIR OF HIS!!! You know you like it when Manning interferes in your matches, Quigs. You need it. But startin' today ... You ain't gonna get it anymore. I'll make sure of that. Macbeth ... you want another title match with Quigley? You just make sure that Turner stays far away and I'll make sure that the match stays one on one. Deal? [With that, Mota just stares into the camera for a few seconds before grabbing his jacket off the floor, dusting it off and walking off the set, a look of frustration on his face. Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Steve "The Fury" Kowalski ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [The New Jersey Nightmare, Steve “The Fury” Kowalski, sits on a folding chair. He doesn’t seem to notice the camera is rolling, pulling out a stogie. With a sharp _snap_, he light the cigar, puffing with delight. He leans back, lost in thought. Until the cameraman speaks up...] CM: Mr. Kowalski... uh... the camera’s rolling... we’re ready. [Waiting for a momnent] Sir, you’re supposed to... SK: [Smiling] _They_ know I’m back, junior. Let say we jus’ enjoy the moment. CM: Okay... I guess. [Kowalski sits for a few seconds, then blows some smoke. A slick grin curls on his lips.] SK: Yes sir... I’m back. [Fade out] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Lord Byron ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Scene: Los Angeles Memorial Coliseum carpark, 8th November, 12:42p.m. An ambulance, lights flashing, pulls up outside one of the emergency exits to the arena, just as the doors fly open and a gurney is wheeled out by a paramedic team. The gurney is followed out by Lord Byron, who stumbles out of the exit, clutching at his ribs with one hand, while using the other to steady himself against the doorway. He reaches up to the horse collar around his neck and tears it off, before collapsing to his knees, racked by a violent fit of wheezing. Hearing his gasps, two of the paramedic team leave the gurney to their comrades, turn and rush back across to him. Byron tries to brush their attentions away and get back to his feet, but they each quickly take an arm, examining him carefully...] PM1: Whoa there buddy - take it easy, you're hurt. [Byron shakes his head and gasps in pain, pointing across to the ambulance...] LB: No... *gasp*... no.... my.. my ward... [The paramedic looks back across at the gurney being loaded onto the ambulance, frowns, then motions for his partner to help the stricken wrestler to his feet. As they do so, Byron grimaces in pain, and the second paramedic quickly checks his eye dilation...] PM2: He's heavily concussed... look at the swelling around his ribs as well. [His partner glances down] PM1: Cracked ribs? There's swelling to his back as well... but at least it's not the worst we've seen tonight... [The medic glances across at the ambulance with another frown, but his partner shakes his head.] PM2: We'd better send him with them now. Yo... buddy? [The medic gently lifts Byron's head, who struggles to focus on him...] PM2: The girl! Has she got any family? Anyone you want contacting? [Byron slowly shakes his head, lowering his gaze to the floor and smiling bitterly...] LB: No... no family... just me. Just me. [The paramedic nods, and both he and his partner slowly help Byron across and into the ambulance. The camera continues to film as the medics get back out, shut the doors and thump the back of the ambulance, which starts to pull away. The paramedics themselves turn to walk back into the arena, back towards the cheers of the fans. The scene fades out.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Damage Inc. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Damage Inc are seen wearing simple black t-shirts and blue jeans.] ER: You know, I'm not one to talk too much. Except for this past year working as a commentator for Wild West Wrestling, I was the psychotic foaming mouthed animal who terrorized tag team wrestlers across the world. But I got a few words to say, and I don't really give a if you don't want to hear them. ER: First off, the Prophets of Rage. By the book, you can now get on your high ass horse and call yourselves the "Best Tag Team in the World". You know what I'll call you guys? The Best Damn SideSteppers in the World. We came here to IIWF to FACE you. To confront you. To go head to head with the REAL Prophets of Rage. To have a feud that would bring back memories of the Express Wars, of the LOD versus the Powers of Pain, to write our own chapters in tag team annals. So what did we get? A ing soap opera that was a whole farce and sham from day one. We called it and no one else seemed to notice because they were too busy ing your . Yeah, like Shadoe was REALLY going to let the good name of the Prophets of Rage get manhandled by Unique Allah. Like he was going to watch PoR2 get bragging rights. There was no way in hell he was going to let that match pass by, right? Yeah, so CONVENIENT he sets up his throne to make the dramatic comeback to right the wrong committed by those DAMN upstarts, Damage Inc. We came in for a fight and what we got from you two and your whole bitch crew was a tear jerker. Did you want to go back and forth with us? No. Did you even want to play mindgames with us? No. Instead you wanted to convince the world, not us, because we have NEVER been convinced, that you were at your weakest. Day in and day out we said it wasn't true and we were right. But you kept the whole charade going to keep all the attention on yourselves, like we were just some tool to boost your stock up a few points with a dramatic comeback. Bull. AP: Let me tell you something. We got called out a few years ago because a lot of people felt we had way too much "creative" help from upstairs and we were all about making ourselves look good. So we dumped that policy. We said, hey... EARN your status where you go, and don't let some booker or suit make you a star overnight. And more importantly, make a feud a FEUD, not a damn Monopoly game where you're the only one playin'. Did this prove that the Prophets were the best team in the world? No, it proved they are the best stall artists in the world. While you and your clan of people, who can't stay out of your ing business, were busy making half of America grab a Kleenex, we're trying to prove that we earned our number 13 ranking in the RSPWF 200 by whumpin' ass...not whuppin'... WHUMPIN' ass and being quite good about it. We didn't need to have 40 minute interviews, just a whole lotta ring time to break a few bones. And we are ALL THAT WE HAVE. We ain't got no DirtDog and some punk who swears he's GhostFace Killa... JE: And you know what? People around the industry will say that DI is bitching, because they can't win. Well look who is. Not just here but all over the e-wrestling world. Suits are stroking their own egos everywhere you go, and we're not the only ones that won't catch a break. Why? Because of the Lankfords, the Knights, the Somersets, the Jammers and the Engels of this damn business that lots of guys are just sent to the back to wonder what the just happened. And if there was one thing that could be sure, the tag divisions were free of that. Now that the Prophets are Number One, they can skirt around the issue and everyone thinks it's "dramatic". Here's your drama [gives the middle finger] and I'll do you one better. What we're talking about is how we feel, and it's gonna piss off quite a few people. I don't give a . If those same people looked up and saw what was going on around them, they might be surprised. People have told us and our friends to leave this business. They've said to pack OUR bags, because we're stale and dry. But those same folks are either copying somebody's routine or just pushing themselves to high hell and swear they did something orginal and ing cute! Well guess what. Damage Inc. is here to stay. Don't like it? Get rid of us. Any way you can. And you know what else? We're gonna grow. Like a fungus. Like a fat at a TastyCakes convention. We keep it real every day of the week and because we stick to what we do, some people are gonna talk and maybe even avoid us all together. Your ing loss. We are Damage Incorporated and whether you like us, don't like us, think we're old, stale, fat, overrated and underdeveloped.....you can count on two things... AP: We'll ALWAYS keep it real til the day we all die and.... ER: WE WILL _ALWAYS_ GET IT ON!!!! JE: .....whether you like it or not....... [Fade] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Savage" Shadoe Rage ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Fade in: Shadoe Rage is set up seated on his throne against a web of steel cables like some demonic spider. He wears a royal robe and a turban for a crown. He waggles the long, clawlike rings on his fingers.] SR: Well, well, they have a series of elimination matchs in the works for me, do they? Shadoe Rage, with an undermanned team against the formidable Mark Destructo and the ever dangerous Tony Starks. They want to set teammate against teammate, brother against brother? Well, I promise you this. I, as sure as I am Shadoe Rage, will dispel and dispose of your pretty little caricatures one by one until there is nobody left standing in the ring and nobody left standing in the IIWF. Brody Thunder, the triple-crosser extraordinaire, needs to be taught a lesson in pain. He needs to be taught the importance of having friends in this world. Because when the Angel of Death comes calling, you need friends. Or you will die in darkness. [Fade out] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Kevin "the Cavalier" Christiansen ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Scene is in the locker area of the Los Angeles Memorial Coliseum. Kevin Christiansen is sitting with an icepack on his forehead, a towel draped around his shoulders, and a water bottle at his side.] KC: Tony Starks. I have seen thee fight, and I would be a fool to say that thou art not a capable wrestler. However, over thy recent matches, a rather disturbing trend hast emerged. [Christiansen removed his ice pack for a moment, looks at it, and returns it to his forehead.] KC: Thy matches are won, much as thy fight against Ike Sampson was this evening. Thou hadst already been proclaimed the winner, the victory safely thine based on thy skills and nothing else. But thou didst not stop. An attempt was made, not just to win, but to injure Ike Sampson. Such has also been seen in thy previous matches. [The Cavalier looks at the camera, his face intent.] KC: It shall not continue. The wins I care not for... I should take nothing away from thy actions DURING the match. However, shouldst thou continue thy assault afterwards by refusing to release thy opponent, I shall be forced to intervene again. And again. And again. Until the message is finally made clear to thee... [Christiansen tosses the icepack to the floor, a bruise evident on his head.] KC: ...using whatever means necessary. [Fade out.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Ike Sampson ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [SCENE: Ike Sampson walks across an IIWF Soundstage in street clothes, with a large gym bag slung over his shoulder. He stops when he sees the camera focused on him.] IS: I told Jackson to tell you people I don't have time for this. I'm going home for the holidays, back to Minnesota to spend some good old quality time with my family. But don't worry... I'll be back. Saturday night -- big tag action. And I've got something for the Cavalier... And Starks... don't think this is over. It ain't even close... [Ike walks off the set. Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Alex Rio ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [SCENE: Locker room. Alex Rio sits on a bench. He's wearing an "1997 IIWF Golden Grapple Awards" half shirt along with a pair of Army fatigues turned into Daisy Dukes and a pair of combat boots.] AR: I know everyone saw the 1997 Golden Grapple Awards and I know right about now you're thinkin', "Why is he sitting down? We wanna see his ass!" but, I can't go around showing off my ass everywhere because that would be distasteful ... [contemplates] ... [strokes his chin] ... Ah, what the hell. [Rio gets up and shakes his ass in front of the camera as it zooms in for a close-up. Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Richard "Moxy" Blue & Scott "the Fop" Rogers ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [The scene is an elaborately decorated trophy and training room, common to many a "well off" professional athlete. There is a prim and proper blue mat, a few gymnastic rings, and many, many state of the art weight training apparati. The trophy cupboards are however, incredibly bare.] RMB: Wheeeeeeeeeeeee! [The Ritalin-deprived form of everyone's favorite vagabound, Richard "Moxy" Blue, swings on camera from a climbing rope, humming the "Indiana Jones" theme. The camera zooms in on him, hanging his 185 pound frame effortlessly. He is actually dressed in his wrestling attire for once of iridescent blue tights with pink and orange trim, and in the lighting of this room they are even more offensive to the eye. His hair is amazingly still black. Blue grins like a 12 year old boy at a strip show.] RMB: I bet you're all at home screaming to yourselves. You've hidden your children from the horror. You've wrote your local ombusman. You've sacrificed your family pets to a primative pagan god in an attempt to answer one question... the burning question of the day... it ain't "Did O.J. do it?" or "Am I pregnant again?" It's... [Blue gets drops off the rope, and promptly gets down on his knees and raises his arms to the heavens] WHY MOXY? WHY? WHY WOULD YOU ALIGN YOURSELF WITH A SCUZZBAG LIKE... SCOTT ROGERS? I'll tell you why boys and girls, that I will. It's really a question of aerodynamics and cheese, you see, because... [Blue never finishes as the huge stature of Scott "The Fop" Rogers can be seen on camera, giving a hard stare to Blue. He is dressed "to the nines" in the closest thing to casual for him, a dark blue blazer and slacks with a white dress shirt. He seems to be the antithesis of Richard Blue as he stands beside him. He smirks as he speaks, slightly amused and perterbed at the same time] SR: I think you can do without coffee for a few days, little guy. I'll answer our adoring populace for you, we don't want to confuse them now. RMB: Surrrrrrrrrrrrre we do! SR: In time, lil fella. And the question you're all wondering is... [Rogers get down on his knees with Blue, a mockingly crazed look in his eyes] SR: WHY FOP WHY? [Rogers snickers] RMB: Are you making fun of me Scott? SR: No, not at all. To be serious, folks. RMB: Mooooooooooo. SR: There really is a reason I'd align myself with Needs Some Decaf Boy over here. For the longest time here in IIWF, I've been overlooked and underrated. I couldn't understand why. I'm the greatest... RMB: Second greatest... SR: Wrestler in the world today, bar none. What was I missing? I thought Genesis would solve it. Then a strange thing happened. I was in the dressing room and saw this little kid in the worst tights I've ever seen... RMB: Hey! SR: [Oblivious] ...and the first thing he did was put up a high five to Requiem, who was champion at the time. Of course ol' Rectum ignored him, but I thought it showed guts to do that. He insisted on being acknowledged and White Eyes almost slugged him. I thought _that_ showed two things: stupidity and enthusiasum. But the kid managed to escape from being maimed, something 90% of the Double Eye couldn't claim in the same situation. RMB: [Smiling] That kid was Casey C, and I kicked his patoot and now Scotty here is stuck with me! SR: [laughs and shakes his head] You're too much, Rick. Look at this kid, man! He's got so much energy he hasn't blinked since the last lunar eclipse! And I found out that THAT is what Scott Rogers was missing. I'm man enough to admit the little guy is a good influence. And, he's hilarious when he's drunk. RMB: My back still hurts when it rains. [RMB bounces to his feet, leapfrogs over Rogers head and makes his way to one of the weight training machines. He "warms up" with stretches and starts doing reps on the machine, breathing heavily] RMB: Man, Scott, whaddaya got this set on? [Rogers bursts out laughing, as the machine continues to go "clink". Blue turns around and realizes there's no weights at all set on the machine!] SR: That's a pretty heavy bar, ain't it, Rick? RMB: [Blue mumbles under his breath] Now, for the real story, why would _I_ , the greatest cruiserweight in the world, team with a Super Heavyweight monster like Scott Rogers? I'll tell you why. Cause his mom makes good cookies. SR: And your mom gives good.... RMB: Whoa! Censors goin' CRRRRRRRRRRAZY! Oh yeah, RIGHTEOUS! And if we're throwing your momma jokes around... SR: We're not. RMB: Awww, I gotta good one. SR: Not right now. [Blue sulks off camera. Rogers continues to talk, rising to his feet] SR: He's probably off to short out the motion detectors in my house. Any way, the kid comes up to me and says "You're too cool for Genesis, man." Anyone else woulda thought it was the ramblings of an idiot, but hell, I knew this kid had class. So old Smith comes up to me... [Blue comes back with a piece of loose leaf, written on it in magic marker is "HIS MOM IS SO HARRY HIS GRANDMA DIED OF RUGBURN". Rogers takes no notice.] SR: And says, "Let's set everyone up and bring the Culture Club back". And I had one thought on my....HEY! [Rogers takes the sign from Blue's hand, who giggles hysterically.] RMB: And that thought was... "Gad, this is BORING! Let's spice things up a little." SR: Close enough. I had to pick on having to depend on Culture Club or having someone who actually believed in me. RMB: [To camera, in a Walter Cronkite like voice] But why do I need Rogers? SR: Because, well, you're gonna get yourself in trouble and you know it. Tough and funky as you may be, you know NOTHING about what it takes to get by in IIWF, Blue. You need me like Rosanne needs Jenny Craig. RMB: And [sobbing] I never learned to read. SR: Good lord. RMB: [serious] I teamed with Scott Rogers cause Big Fopsie has forgotten more than I'll ever know. I needed someone who knew how to handle the crooked ways of this here league. I need his guidance, especially with Spreadbury's goons trying to attack me at every turn. Did you see it at Ring Wars? They tried to put me out AGAIN!! Can you believe it? SR: [Shaking his head] Sure Rick. And Spreads wants to send you to Roswell too. RMB: I KNEW IT! SR: Face it, this kid is gonna get himself killed without me. And look at the size of him. 185lbs ain't gonna cut against guys even the size of Mota or Turner! And look at his clothes? No WONDER he's getting treated poorly, he's disgrace for any of the IIWF to be seen with! [Blue has now been reduced to a sobbing mass from this remarks, but it looks far from genuine.] SR: Scott Rogers is gonna teach Moxy some class. He's gonna teach him how to how to present himself. And most importantly, he's gonna teach him to DESTROY when he gets in that ring, and if I have to inflate him with a tire hose, so be it. RMB: Uh... a tire hose won't fit up my butt. Don't ask me how I know that. But I will destroy... [Sticks out his tongue] Destroy... destroy.... SR: You do that, Galvatron. The Autobots must not live. [Blue gets a little TOO into the Transformers references and starts climbing on to the pullweights, screaming "I AM STARSCREAM!". Rogers yells a few "Get down from there"s and "yer gonna get yourself killed" remarks but Blue pays no heed. He leaps to the climbing rope and continues to swing. Rogers climbs up after him, slightly pissed, but Blue leaps away in monkeylike fashion... not exactly thinking where he intended to land. Gravity decides to make Blue and Mr. Concrete close friends. Blue moans "mein leben" and moves little in a little heap of himself.] SR: So let's recap so Adam can understand: from now on, I manage Blue to keep him from getting himself killed and release the killer instinct that has made me a superstar. Blue from now on manages me... RMB: Ooooaaaaahhhh..... SR: As inspiration for me to do what I haven't done in a LONG LONG time... have a little fun. RMB: Mommmmmmmy....my penis hurts.... [Rogers takes out something from his pocket, apparantly a spray can of somesort, resembling Mace. He aims it about a foot away from Moxys head. Moxy looks on...] RMB: No! Not again! I'll be good! [Rogers sprays the can, covering Blue in ruthless... Silly string. Blue's face is covered but underneath is a smile] RMB: I knew I'd like this guy. [Fade] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Dexter St.Croix ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Dexter St. Croix sits alone on a stool in a darkened gym. He is dressed in khaki shorts and a tie-dyed Peter Tosh t-shirt. He addresses the camera with a solemn look...] DSC: Sometimes, a man will look in de mirror and not recognize de person 'im sees. Dis can be good, and dis can be bad. In de case of Dexter St. Croix, 'im don' like what 'im seein'. Ya see, ol' Dex, 'im not t'inkin' straight dese days. Somet'in' 'as 'appened to 'im soul... somet'in' 'im don' like. So, ol' Dex is leavin' de IIWF. Dis was a hard decision t' make, but it 'ad t' be made. I belive it's what's best for de IIWF and Dexter St. Croix. I wanna t'ank de IIWF for givin' me de chance to shine, and I will miss de friends I've made. Maybe someday, ol' Dex'll be back. Maybe 'im won'. But wherever 'im end up, 'im gonna be de best 'im can be. Peace out. [Dexter lowers his head as the scene fades to black] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "To Excess" Rick Williams ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Scene opens to the IIWF interview area. The sight of the dark blue background is broken by the figure of "To Excess" Rick Williams, whose confident stride is accompanied by his familiar gum-chewing habit. A composed Williams takes a look at his surroundings, before he begins to speak.] RW: Who woulda thought it? Who would've _ever_ thought it? "To Excess" in Portland, Oregan to sign an IIWF contract... It just doesn't bear thinking about. I mean, how could _the_ man force himself to follow in the painfully overrated footsteps of so-called "superstars", such as Hardin, James, Petrow and Kauffman? How could _the_ man force himself to surpass standards set by men, who, put simply, aren't fit to shine his boots? And how could _the_ man force himself to grapple on the "hallowed canvas", once occupied by men, who, on his worst day, he'd beat in ten seconds flat? [Williams spits the gum to the floor, before quickly replacing it with another stick.] RW: So, maybe the question needs to be asked... What reason could "To Excess" _possibly_ have for accepting an IIWF contract offer? Thunder? Nah... can't stand the guy, but I had my chance around here. I'll take Brody out elsewhere. Respect? Nah... of that, I honestly couldn't care less. So, here's the deal... I'm for one very simple reason. The spotlight... Ever since I realized it, I've referred to myself as the greatest talent in this business, bar none. Yet, for some reason, Hardin and Kauffman were called "legends"... James and Petrow were thought of as superstars. But what about "To Excess"? Twice the talent... less than half the spotlight. People would say, "Yeah, great wrestler... that kid's got talent... shame he's not taking Spreadbury's dollar". Well now, things are different. I'm taking Spreadbury's almighty dollar... and when I prove to the world that I'm the Main Event of _every_ evening, I'll shove it right back down his throat. [Now, almost visibly radiating in sheer arrogance, Williams proceeds.] RW: But alas, Rick Williams has never been governed by a greed for money. Nah, I'm here to fulfill the prophecy. You see, many leading religions speak of one true savior, whose arrival has been foretold for centuries. Well, in the "promised land" of the IIWF, _I'm_ the Messiah. I ain't gonna save anybody -- quite the opposite -- but I'm no false prophet. I don't care if your name's Quigley, Annis, Turner, Gecko or whatever... If you're on the list, I'm tearing a hole in your carcass, and sending your soul to hell. Take it from the man... There's excessive punishment in store for every one of Rick Williams' IIWF opponents. They say that throwing the Christians to the lions is impossible... They say the "Guillotine" died soon after the French monarchy... They say that public hangings are outdated... Well, one thing's for sure... Step in the ring with "To Excess" and in this day and age, it doesn't come any worse. [Fade] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Christopher Stonebreaker ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [The camera opens on the IIWF interview stage, and the gentleman standing on the stage, is leaning on one of the side walls, staring up at the IIWF banner before he turns his attention to the camera and picks up the sledgehammer which rests at his feet. ] CS: The "pinnacle" of professional wrestling. That's what _everyone_ says about the IIWF. Now a few of you know who I am; you, gentlemen, are well aware of what I am capable of. [Chris lays the hammer down head first on the floor, and rests his hands on the long extended handle.] CS: Saturday night, gentlemen, five men, two on my side, and three across from me will find out for the first time what this Cajun can do in the ring. Ask, Mr. Thunder, ask Verhoeven. Ask them what the boy from western Louisiana brings to the ring. And then ask yourself what he is doing here in the IIWF. Gentlemen, there is one objective for myself. And that is to be known as the best in this sport. And it starts in a little less than one week. It starts in a "returnees vs. newcomers" match. Kowalski, Musashi, and Deathbringer, I want you to think real hard about what you are returning to. If it's up to me, boys, it will be a very short return for all three of you. Because there are two things I am very good at. The first of those is surviving. The second of those things is winning. And I will survive and will be part of the winning combination at the IIWF Coliseum, and you gentlemen, will find out that I will do whatever it takes to walk out of Portland, Oregon with a win. [Chris lifts the sledgehammer back up over his shoulder, and glances back at the banner one last time.] CS: IIWF, the Raging Cajun is coming, and he starts this Saturday Night! J'vais te briser! [Fade] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Charles Scheffield ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Cut to shot of the standard interview area. A man wearing a blue suit with blond hair in a pony tail tied with a black ribbon is standing with his back toward the camera. He slowly turns around and gazes into the camera. This man is handsomely featured and looks to be definitely a man of class. The look in his eyes shows that he is the embodiment of supreme confidence, yet he has a calm look about him as well. A slight smile forms on his lips... though not much. Finally, the man is recognized as the newcomer, Charles Scheffield] CS: It has been settled. I, Charles Scheffield am now here to make my mark upon the wrestling world. I am not here to claim that I am the greatest wrestler to ever step foot into a ring. I am only here to do my utmost to be recognized as one of the best. There is a long journey ahead of me which I am sure I shall make numerous friends and foes. To those who should choose to befriend me, I can merely assure you of my greatest loyalty. To my future enemies... I can only tell you that you have chosen a man who will not back down from your challenges... no matter how futile or forceful they may be. I am willing to accept the consequenses of my actions, yet I shall surely make my enemies pay for theirs. [Scheffield pauses for a bit, then continues.] CS: Now I must say that coming this Saturday, I shall have the chance to make or break my career from the beginning. I will be involved in a match with some of the greatest wrestlers to ever set foot into this great organization. To aid me, I shall have on my side the top new-comers to the sport. I am one of them as well. To my allies, I tell you now not to be intimidated. I ask you simply to take the challenge as it comes. There is no need to rush into this. Defeat at the hands of these wrestlers is very possible... yet we must look away from this possibility and keep in mind that we should try our utmost to overcome this great challenge ahead of us. Should we fail, well, do not be discouraged. Yet if we are victorious we should not become careless. We must use that as our stepping stone to even greater things. Let me warn you, Deathbringer, Kowalski, and "Enigma"... I shall not back down from your threats. I am here to bring my family honor and it seems as if I and two other men have been given the task to use yourselves as our stepping stones. Keep that in mind as our match draws near. That is all I have to say. [Fade] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The Machines ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [The Machines stand in front of the IIWF interview area.] PW: Well, Ring Wars was very successful for us. We won our match, LFD learned a lesson on how to handle thugs, Luke Steele won a four-man elimination match... SO: Although Alex Rio ruined a great match between him and Dexter St. Croix. PW: Uh-huh. [rolls his eyes] Right. And our challenge to the tag team champions was accepted. SO: Come again? Hold up there. Cold Spell and the Harlequins did NOT accept our challenge. Instead, they ran and hid, and will force us to wrestle three other teams at once first. I'm telling you, we should have just attacked both teams in the locker room. Then we'd be getting a title shot. PW: That's not the way we do things. SO: [in a high, squeaky voice] That's not the way we do things. [Back to a normal voice] Grow up, Paulie! Haven't you learned anything from this place? The ONLY way to get ahead is to use dirty underhanded tactics. Geez, what color is the sky in your world? PW: Look, let's just concentrate on winning the title shot. SO: All right. [Muttering] A locker room attack would have been a hell of a lot easier.... [Fade] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Down Boys ------------------------------------------------------------------------ ["Superstud" Adam Peterson and "Dazzling" Dan Oliver stand in front of an IIWF Ring Wars IV backdrop. Beads of sweat drip down their faces, and their hair does not have the body it once had earlier in the evening. Awesome T stands along side of them, talking with Warrant front man, Jani Lane. On cue, T drops his conversation with Lane and looks toward the camera.] AT: As expected, the Down Boys came out victorious. The Machines are a talented team, and our partnership could only lead to victory. Mind you, I feel bad for the Natural Predators. They were forced to tag with a team that knows very little about wres... [Jani taps T on the shoulder] JL: Can I just say something? AT: Uh... sure. What was it like being out there at one of the best Pay-Per-Views you'll ever see, Ring Wars IV? JL: I'd just like to say that me and the rest of the guys from Warrant will be doing a show at Diana's Bar and Grill in Wantagh, New York, December 1st, and then we'll be at Chelsea Street in Uniondale, New York, December 3rd for 80's night. There'll be dollar drink specials all night and only _five_ bucks to get in. Proper attire please, so be sure to get extra hair spr... AT: Excuse me? JL: I just figured I'd throw in a plug for our upcoming shows... AT: We bring you out to your biggest audience ever, and this is how you repay us? You owe me big time, son. And I think I know just how you can pay me. JL: How's that? AT: Oh... you'll see. [Fade] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Enigma" Takezo Musashi ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [SCENE: A long concrete corridor leading down through the bowels of the Los Angeles Memorial Colisseum. The roar from the 109,000 strong Ring Wars crowd rumbles away in the distance, muffled by the concrete walls into a soft, insect like drone. The "Enigma" Takezo Musashi, sweat beading on his forehead and torso, is making his way down to the locker room area, an expression of elation marking his face. The shot wavers as the camera's operator runs up to the "Enigma", prompting him for a few comments on the night's events. Musashi turns around and faces the camera directly.] TM: Ring Wars IV, a battle ground of epic proportions! What a grand event for the IIWF's most courageous warrior to make his return! The thrill of combat; the surge of adrenaline rushing through the bloodstream; the roar of the fans as they revel in the spectacle of violence - these are senses and feelings that have eluded the "Enigma" for too long now! Three months: It is almost as if several life times have been lived in my absence. The IIWF has grown mightier and more wicked while the "Enigma" convalesced and nurtured his withering spirit; today, it is overflowing with conflict and the glory such conflict breeds. The battle between good and evil no longer gives rise to the eternal striving us warriors have made our calling; now, the ruthless man sets himself against the still more ruthless man, and calls it his right and honour. It is an environment that suits the tastes of the returning "Enigma" well - I have arisen from my inferno of madnesswith a new heart of steel. I can contain my anticipation no longer - to charge back into the midst of the fray, to embrace the blood and the sweat, the joy and the pain of battle - that is what I long for. Ronnie Paris, our brief skirmish was but a taste of things to come... a little spirited action for the "Enigma", and a little portion of punishment for a wayward spirit... Next Saturday night, I shall have the opportunity to test my new strength its fullest - how it will cleanse my mind to step back into the ring! But first - the "Enigma" has been absent for a long time, and mystery surrounds his name. The time has come for me to offer you all an explanation, to shine a brief ray of enlightenment over the man who is called the "Enigma". Pay special attention to "Inside the IIWF" on Tuesday night - for I have much on my mind, and many questions to answer... [Fade] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Outlaw" J.W. Hardin ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [SCENE: The IIWF interview area soon after Ring Wars IV. "Outlaw" J.W. Hardin staggers into the picture. He is bare-chested and drying blood covers his face. He holds a framed plaque.] JWH: With every risin' star comes the passin' of another night. I reckon this night just died. Thunder, the IIWF is now yours. When we both stepped in that ring tonight, we knew it wasn't just another match. We knew... one of us wasn't comin' back. [Hardin holds up the framed plaque. It is the award he received the night he was inducted into the IIWF Hall of Fame. Hardin looks at it for a moment then rams his fist into the glass, shattering it. He lets the plaque fall to the ground and looks down at his bleeding fingers.] Yeah, this night just died. [He turns and walks off the set. 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 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+