C + O + U + N + T + D + O + W + N T + O ________ ______ __ ____ ___ __ . _ ___ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __| / /\ | | || \| \ /\ \ / |\ || / \| | | | || | \ v v / | __| \__ /__\ | | ||__/| |/__\ v | \||| __|-| | |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| \ \| v | \|__/ \| | || \_|| | | __________________________/..............\........|...|.......|....| with Larry Morton and Victoria Von Edward Friday 5 December 1997 [The shot opens with the beautiful hostess sitting by the awkward looking host behind a large news-style desk.] LM: Good evening ladies and gentlemen and welcome to Countdown to IIWF Saturday Night! VVE: I'm Victoria Von Edward and this is my partner, Larry Morton! LM: What a week! We've come off of the most successful IIWF pay per view in history and followed it up with a great edition of IIWF Saturday Night! VVE: It certainly was great! There were some definite surprises and loads of action! LM: Let's get on with the results from Wednesday's War Room and...uh... where are the results? VVE: Larry... you're the host of War Room. Didn't anyone tell you that it had been delayed? LM: Oh, right. I, uh, forgot. That's strange that it wouldn't be on Wednesday. VVE: No stranger than Monday Musings coming out in the middle of the week. LM: It did? Where was I? VVE: I shudder to think. Can we just get on with this show? Do to unavoidable technical problems earlier in the week the other shows were delayed... but we persevered and Countdown will be on time! LM: No wonder I missed my dentist appointment! It was actually Tuesday! VVE: While Larry is trying to figure this out... let's show this recent clip before we move on to discussing tomorrow's card. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Showstopper" Simon Lebec ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Camera opens to the scene of a sign reading "Leaky Beaver Asylum for the Criminally Insane". Overlooking the sign is the dismal portrait of a large, grey brick institution. Tim Dross' voice-over begins:] It is here... a sanctuary for the cirminal element... where the mind of a madman rests uneasily each night. [Clip of "The Showstopper" Simon Lebec posing to the crowd] It is here, deep within its walls... where a once great superstar confines alone... by himself... in the attempt to regain what little sanity exists. [Camera cuts to an inside shot of the facility. The camera zooms down the halls until reaching a far-out corner at the end. The camera stops at the foot of a locked cell, with the nameplate "SIMON LEBEC" hanging above the door] And it is here... where the iron fist of liberty and justice found fit for him to remain. [Clips of Lebec dancing in the ring, smiling at the crowd] What happens when a man with nothing left to lose goes over the edge? What happens... when fate... deals a hand unacceptable to the players of the game? [Clip of Lebec crying as he blithers on during his court sentence] The game ends. The man loses. Dignity... isn't even spared. [Clip back to the asylum door] And unlike losing money, a car, or any other material possession, the man loses the one thing that should be sacred. The man loses his mind... his sense of being in an uncaring world. [Clip of Lebec smiling as the enters the ring] Whether or not this once charasmatic superstar will recover remains unseen. But what is certain... is the fact that he will never be the same. [Camera fades back to the set] VVE: It's amazing how for a once great wrestler can fall. Isn't that right, Larry? LM: Maybe he's just lost track of what day it is? That could happen to anybody! It doens't mean you're crazy! VVE: Don't worry, Larry. I'm sure no one thinks any less of you than they already do. LM: But will they tomorrow, which might actually be yesterday? VVE: Before we waste any more time trying to figure out the way Larry's mind works, let's look at tomorrow's card. It is headlined by a match between someone who claims that Brody Thunder is wearing his belt and someone who is wearing someone else's belt...at least in the eyes of many fans. LM: Maybe they only think they are champions the same way I only think it's Thursday. VVE: It's Friday you idiot. I'm beginning to see why you go through so many co-hosts. Anyway, Chris Quigley will defend the Intercontinental Championship against Steve "The Fury" Kowalski. The champion had this to say... ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [SCENE: A small, hardly furnished room. Chris Quigley, wearing jeans and a #19 Yzerman Team Canada hockey jersey, sits on a metal chair, propped in front of a small monitor, which is showing the ending of the Ring Wars IV Quigley/Macbeth match, over and over again on loop. Quigley appears in deep, intense thought as he stares at the screen. He winces everytime he sees the Claymore frankensteiner applied on him, not out of physical pain, but out of the mental pain of failing to avoid the move, failing to see it coming. Quigley is critiquing his work against Macbeth, and it's obvious he's given it "two thumbs down." He finally turns the monitor off, just as Steve Manning runs into the ring. The Intercontinental Champion looks up at the camera.] CQ: You had me. [Quigley shrugs.] CQ: There's nothing I can do or say to change the fact that, for all intents and purposes, Duncan Macbeth should have defeated me at Ring Wars. I won't cry about the kneebrace, I _do_ believe it was a rotten thing to do, but it was a part of the No Disqualification game. The problem I have is this, Macbeth. Despite my personal feelings toward Steve Manning, and you can question _them_ all you want, I can't stand the lying little punk, what he did in a _No Holds Barred_ match was _also_ perfectly legal. It was cheap, and if I had control over the situation, I wouldn't have wanted it to end that way. Maybe I would've kicked out of that frankensteiner. God knows I've gotten out of worse situations before... [Quigley looks down, slowly nodding his head.] CQ: It took me a long time to break through all the injustice and red tape to become a champion in the IIWF, and this whole "paper champion" garbage is like a nightmare. All I've ever demanded from anyone was that they respect me for my ability. I don't care if you have a problem with my attitude. I don't care if you have a problem with where I come from. I'm the best wrestler in the IIWF today, God dammit, and nobody can convince me otherwise. [Quigley shrugs again.] CQ: I requested a match against you, Macbeth. I requested it for _last_ week, and then when they wouldn't let me do that, I requested it for _this_ week. I don't have the backstage power that everyone seems to believe I have, and the IIWF felt for one reason or another that Steve Kowalski deserved the title shot. I can't argue with that. Steve Kowalski is the anti-hero, he and I couldn't be anymore different, and it's funny that he's the recognized "man" of the IIWF. [Brushes hair out of his eyes.] CQ: For all of Kowalski's mic work and his ability to execute his one move through a bunch of furniture, comparing me to him is a joke. I beat him once, and there's no way I won't beat him again. He told me not to get in the way when two "men" were settling their differences. I'll get in anyone's face whenever I want, and you can just try and stop me! [Quigley gestures to the Intercontinental Title belt, laying on a table to his right.] CQ: I proved I was the real champion of the IIWF, despite Tim Turner's _pathetic_ claims that he is. Tim Turner is an over-rated piece of garbage that not only lost to me, but he submitted in the centre of the ring. There's a reason I selected a submission manuver as my finishing hold. I've never submitted in my entire career. I've said before that I would sooner see my career be ended before giving up a match on my own will. When I defeat someone with the Quickstriker, it lets me know that my opponent isn't worthy of any respect, whether they gave me a good fight or not. You don't get my respect because you gave up, because you're a joke, and because you have an overwhelming lack of respect _and_ ability. And I _will_ deal with you again in due time, but I just wanted to mention someone else, that fits in the same boat as you. [Quigley almost gives a faint smirk.] CQ: Marty Warnett. When you beat me, you say cleanly, I say thanks to a fragile referee, I guess you reached your peak, huh? You've gone on a downward spiral since then. You're like Mark Messier. You made a name for yourself, and then maybe expected your name to get you places. Messier never made the Olympic team, and you never followed up on your momentum. I'm glad you're gone, I hope you never come back. Wrestling isn't your sport, and I guess I can just look back at your career and say that my favorite moments are probably the three times I proved I could beat _you_ cleanly. I don't know where you're gonna go, but I've got an idea. Go to hell, and stay there. [Quigley glares into the camera for a second, his hatred evident for Warnett, as he turns around in his chair, and turns his TV monitor back on. Except, as he expects to see the ending to the match with Macbeth, he sees the face of Steve Manning, wearing an ear to ear grin. Quigley gives the TV a strange look as Manning actually begins to talk, somehow "taking over" the broadcast, as only Steve Manning would know how.] SM: [over monitor] Hiya, pal o' mine! Ya got a rough match on your hands tonight, don'tcha? You want a hand? [Manning shakes his head, and then applauds, then begins laughing hysterically. His face straigtens up quickly though, and he continues...] SM: Don't try to ditch me. Don't try to pretend you actually _hate_ me. I'm your little buddy! I'm your Gilligan! I'm your Cheech! I'm your Beavis! I'm your Jughead! If I could afford the operation, I'd glad hack off my body and get my head sewn on to your shoulders! [Manning appears to seriously consider this option for a second, before going on...] SM: C'mon, Quigs! Use some of your power over Spreadbury! Gimmie a contract! I wanna wrestle! Can't ya hear what I'm sayin', dammit?! I wanna compete again! The stain of blood on my hands is wearing thin, I need a new layer! There'll be trepidation and fear, cause baby, the Sanguinary one is gonna wreak a lil' havoc, like only he can! [Manning does his best "evil scientist" laugh, which we do not get to see the end of, as Quigley lets his foot fly, smashing the screen of the monitor and knocking it off the table, sending it crashing to the floor. Quigley mutters some profanity as he grabs his title belt and walks out of the room, obviously off to find out just how Steve Manning rigged the wiring to his monitor. Fade back to VIctoria and a still confused Larry.] LM: What day was that taped? Saturday? VVE: Chris Quigley has a lot on his plate right now as he fields the accusations of vocal fans who demand that Duncan Macbeth is the true champion. Meanwhile he has to face the challenge of Steve Kowalski, who is more than tough enough to beat anyone in the IIWF! The only thing going for Quigley is Brody Thunder. Is there any chance that Thunder _won't_ interfere? I seriously doubt it. LM: Unless Brody misses the show because he forgets what day it is! VVE: Are you back with us yet, Larry? Can you introduce the next match? LM: Sure! That's the one where Otto Verhoeven faces Mark Destructo! VVE: That's good, Larry! Now tell them about the guest commentator. LM: Lord Byron will be there to give some insightful commentary with Tim and Steve. Assuming they are both still ont he show after what happened on Sunday... er Wednesday... er... VVE: Oh great. We've lost him again. We've got footage of the press conference that Mark Destructo recently held. Let's go to the tape. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Mark Destructo ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Scene: Press conference at the Headquarters of Damage Control, Inc. in Atlanta, GA. A man walks out dressed in a black armani suit, white banded collar shirt, and mirrored sunglasses. His brown hair in neatly trimmed and he is carrying a metal briefcase.] Jones: Ladies and Gentlemen of the press, I have an important announcement to make. After almost one full year out of the sport, the man who has held the RSPCW, FWLI, NCW, UCW, and NCWF World Titles in returning to the sport of pro-wrestling. That's right, the hiatus is over, Mark Destructo is returning to the world of professional wrestling. [Flurry of photographs and yelling reporters.] Jones: Please hold all questions for the moment. Admittedly it took quite an opprotunity to lure Mark back into the sport. He's been at the top already, held five world titles, numerous tag team titles, and various other accolades. It took something very impressive to bring Mark back. It took the IIWF. [More photographs and cacophany of yelling reporters.] Jones: All right, I can see you are full of questions tonight. So, let's bring the big man out here. [The flashes of cameras go off at a rapid fire pace as Mark Destructo walks out to the press conference area. Destructo stand's 6'3" and weighs nearly 370 pounds with a tremendous upper body. His hair is close cut and and he has a neatly shaven gotee. He's wearing black jeans, a black t-shirt reading "Stand Back. 200 Feet." in white letters, and IIWF Baseball Cap.] Jones: Alright, the big man is here, fire away. Reporter 1: What about the IIWF has drawn you out of retirement? Destructo: I've always looked for a chance to go toe to toe with the best in world. At times for the money and at times for the fans. Or, as in this case, to simply prove that I can. Reporter 2: You've been in this sport of almost 10 years now, don't you consider yourself out of your prime? Destructo: No, simply put, I don't, and I guarantee neither will any of you once I step into the ring. Reporter 3: There was considerable conterversy surrounding your role in the attempted NCW/NCWF/FoPEW. Rumors ran rampant that you, Mr. Jones, and several others caused the merger to go under as well as the federations involved. Do you have any comment on the matter? Destructo: What happened was a lot of big ego's clashed. I really feel like talking about this too much would just cause problems, but I will say that no I, not Mr. Jones did anything to hurt any of those federations, as for others involved they can defend themselves. Reporter 4: I do think he bring up an important point though, Mr. Destructo. We've heard long and loud about problems your ego has created behind the scenes. Destructo: As you will about anyone who is a winner. When I negotiated my contract with IIWF I asked for nothing more than a chance to compete. No title shots, no special treatment, just a chance to prove myself against some of the best in the world, which is exactly what I intend to do. Jones: Alright, folks that's all the time Mark has for you right now. We've got a tight schedule to keep here. We'll have more time for your questions and comments in the near future. [Destructo and Jones exit with yet another flurry on flashbulbs going off. The shot cuts back to the studio.] VVE: Destructo is sure not someone that Otto should overlook. While Otto has got to be the favourite here, I've got to go with Destructo. He's one heck of a wrestler and Otto will be constantly distracted by the presence of Lord Byron. Mark has a great chance to get a leg up here by beating the Juggernaut. LM: Then comes the Tag Team Title match! VVE: Oh, welcome back! LM: Thanks. We've got the newly crowned, kind of, champions, Cold Spell, facing off against the team that won the rights to face them at last week's Saturday Night, Damage Inc. Let's listen in on comments from both teams. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Cold Spell ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [SCENE: A picnic table on the beach overlooking Lake Superior outside of Cold Spell's training camp. It is a cold, windy, gray day, with heavy waves crashing onto the shore. Tim Dross is bundled up in a down-filled parka, while Edmund Fitzgerald looks comfortable in just a light jacket and jeans.] TD: No wonder Steve used to hate coming up here! Oh, we're ready? OK. Hello, IIWF fans, and welcome to a special interview with one of the quietest stars in our sport, Cold Spell's Edmund Fitzgerald. First, Fitz, I would like to thank you for granting me this interview, and also congratulate you on regaining the IIWF World Tag Team championship. EF: Thank you, Tim. But I'm not sure it is fair to call me one of the quietest stars in the sport - I'm not even sure Chris Quigley could get a word in edgewise when Icehawk gets going. TD: [smiling] Good point. Now, there are several issues that the IIWF fans would like to hear about, and I will start with the one that you and I have disagreed on most in the past - Genesis. It was your idea for Cold Spell to join the group, a move that didn't work out as well as you would have liked. Any regrets? EF: Not at all. Yes, Genesis didn't turn out the way we were told it would, but it did one important thing - it gave us a killer instinct. Before we joined Genesis, we were getting a reputation as a good team that couldn't win the big one. Now we are the two-time IIWF tag champs, and considered one of the top teams in the world. TD: But how do you feel about the various members of the group? Obviously, Icehawk has been pretty scathing in his attacks on the group - do you share those views? EF: The kid is scathing in his attacks on everyone, and even I don't know how serious he is some of the time. But no, I don't. I think Requiem is a fantastic wrestler, and even if I don't always agree with his tactics, I respect him for that. I know Highwayman is angry with the rest of us at the moment, but we used to be friends, and someday I hope we will be again. And while I don't like Serge Annis as a person, he is certainly one of the toughest men in the sport. TD: And Scott Rogers? EF: No comment. TD: OK, the next question. All over the IIWF, tag teams have been splitting, fighting and generally having problems getting along. But you and Icehawk have survived your differences of opinion over Genesis, the whole Cold Quins/Harle-Spell [Fitz mumbles "Potato Famine"] mess and even what started out as a singles match between the two of you at the PPV. And you've never even snapped at each other. How? EF: It's simple. Most tag teams stagnate after a while because they get bored? How could we be bored? For one thing, I never know what mess the kid is going to get us into this week. And while we've held the titles twice together, but we've also had our own adventures. Hawk held the tag belts with Tragedy, and I wrestled singles for a little while. Heck, my first singles match was a double-title match against Casey James. How could that be boring? TD: And you also wrestled Duncan MacBeth on a Wednesday War Room. EF: Yes, and he won by countout after a great match. Duncan is a great wrestler, and a better guy. If ever needs any help with Quigley, he knows where to find me. TD: Well, I have more to ask, but we are out of time. Thank you for the interview. EF: No problem. Now, if you will excuse me, I have several more tapes of Damage, Inc. to study. [Fade] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Damage Inc. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Damage Inc stand in front of a generic backdrop. Jeandra takes the front, sporting a half shirt with "These AREN'T my eyes, moron" on it. Flanking her right and left are Alex Porteaux and Eddy Ramos, both wearing black "DAMAGE INC- We're Gonna Leave a Mark" t-shirts and shades. For the first time in a long time, all three look genuinely excited] AP: Yep yep yep...this is it. Win or lose, IIWF finally gets it right. We had to mow down some fools to get this shot. Believe me, it ain't getting wasted. But you know, I'm almost glad that Cold Spell ain't taking this match seriously. Ain't worried about losing? YEEEAAAAAH?? OOOOh, I'd hate to be one of y'all when Eddy gets you in a powerbomb.... JE: But it's all good, Cold Spell. It's absolutely FINE to overlook us. Most empires, most dominating forces, never see their end coming. They focus on something "greater", something "larger" then what actually takes them down. They're too busy with their back turned and then..... ER: BANG!!! JE: They're on the ground, crumpled, twitcing.....wondering what happened. Then they see it....they see what they ignored before them. They see the FUTURE before them, and it really does suck, becuase they're no longer a part of it. So Cold Spell, by all means, ignore us. Prepare for your NEXT title defense......by all means....but just remember the phrase...."Card Subject to Change".....you'll understand that meaning real soon, guys. Real soon. Ace, I'm done.....are you? AP: Yep.... [Porteaux and Jeandra walk off, but Eddy Ramos remains. Ramos is a lot calmer than usual -- in other words he isn't foaming at the mouth:] ER: I don't think it would be right to just talk only about Cold Spell, though. Cuz I watched the Monday comments, and I listened to what Awesome T said. Yo, T. I listened to you, so you listen this way now. I've been in this business since 1994. When Ace and I started, we didn't ASK for success, just like you guys, the Down Boys, didn't. We showed how talented we could be....how much of an impact we could bring to tag divisions, and people took us up on it. We didn't get handed belts....we EARNED them. And despite what YOU wanna believe, we weren't involved in "miniature" feds, brother. We headlined the GREATEST multi-fed event in RSPWF history, Blue Heaven Open, in 1995. Where were you guys, then? We didn't DEMAND to be in the main event, they WANTED us there. They ASKED us to be there. Why? Because we whumped people....whumped 'em good, and did something interesting while doing it. We could speak, we had personality, all those things. We even got us a smart, sexy, evil manager in Jeandra. I ain't saying that you guys ain't up there. I ain't saying you won't one day BE where we were once too. Becuase in case you noticed, there are twelve better tag teams than us in the world now... hell, we lost to the Prophets, didn't we? But focusing on rankings.... Let me tell you something, Awesome T. If you got a PROBLEM with us being successful, come to us. Challenge us and see, FIRST HAND, where the success came from. FEEL a toprope powerbomb. TRY TO GET UP...after Ace hits you with The End. Then talk. THEN speak your mind. Not before. Yeah, we're 13th in the entire RSPWF. Yeah, we were RSPWF TAG TEAM OF THE ING YEAR IN 1996!!! But we didn't "ask our friends" to vote for us. You know how often I've heard that ? You know how often we've been accused of filling ballot boxes and ? There's something you and every other jealous team can't understand....we DID the same things you're DOING right now. We didn't, and haven't won, every match we're in. We don't have all the fancy moves and devastating double teams. Ace ain't the best wrestler at 250 pounds, and there are guys who weigh less than my 360 who can pin me cleanly one on one. But we bring something to this world of tag team e-wrestling. We bring charisma, we bring a different style...old school, beat-'em-up style....we bring you something you HARDLY see in this ing business, a pair of non-stereotyped minorities trying to make it and make it big. And people realize that, they respect it and when it comes down to voting time, there are people who WEREN'T EVEN IN OUR FEDS who voted for our success. Because they realize who we are. They realize what we've done. We had our rough times....hell, 1997's been one ty year for us. And you think you're the first team that got a raw deal after doing everything right in IIWF? Obviously you weren't listening to us after the last Ring Wars...... Yeah, it's good to ignore us when WE suffer from the same ills you do, but you want to point the finger at US when it happens to YOU? You better put that finger down because NO, it ain't "nice to have a rep". It's nice to try your best and hardest in whatever you do and be grateful to the people who appreciate it and try HARDER to show up the folks who don't. THAT'S what makes US great. Do you wanna get there? That's what you have to do. Don't worry about our "rep", make your own. Saturday night, we got our shot at gold. Our shot at the World Tag Team Titles. Is our "rep" gonna win that match? I don't think so. Our talent, our skills will. And if we ain't got enough skills and talent to beat Cold Spell, then on Saturday night we're just gonna lose to Cold Spell. And you know what'll happen then? We'll just work THAT much harder to get another shot. We're little fish in a big pond here in IIWF. We're up against established teams, teams who DO get the "benefit of the doubt", as you so eloquently stated, over US. But we're done bitching. [Ramos' voice raises] We're going head on into IIWF, showing THEM why we're DESTINED to become World Tag Team Champions....the GREATEST World Tag Team Champions IIWF has ever seen. Or we're gonna die trying. That's how we go into every match, every event, like it's our last. That's what got us HERE and ING NOW!! If you can't deal with that, Awesome T. Tough . If you can't handle the fact that we're successful after THREE YEARS OF LONG HARD WORK, Down Boys, tough . And if IIWF ain't ready for the fact that they're looking at one-half of the next.....and GREATEST World Tag Team Champions ever......tough . Cuz here we come...... [Porteaux and Jeandra walk back into the shot from opposite sides] AP: ....ready or not...it's time...... [Fade back to the studio] VVE: There's a lot of hostility there, and not all of it is aimed at the champions. LM: I don't like Damage Inc. They're just mean. VVE: Like them or not...they are the next IIWF Champions, as long as they don't let their anger at the Down Boys' manager get in the way. LM: I think Cold Spell will keep the titles. VVE: I'm the one whose supposed to think on this show, Larry. Nothing personal but you're kind of stupid. LM: Nothing personal? VVE: On to the next bout! It's a triangle match featuring an interesting mix of combatants. Ronnie Paris, Takezo Musashi, and Christopher Stonebreaker square off. LM: Square off in a triangle match? VVE: Let's hear from two of the competitors. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Enigma" Takezo Musashi ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [SCENE: Close up on the shimmering star painted face of the "Enigma" Takezo Musashi.] TM: Prodigal son? Ronnie Paris, can you truly believe that the Enigma is the IIWF's prodigal son? If the IIWF is my father, it is one who tyrannises and represses. How could it be considered otherwise? - this league has never had enough faith in my ability to thrust me into the spotlight; and you call it... my provider. [The camera slowly pans out, showing a darkened and empty locker room. Light barely filters into the area, casting eerie shadows across the body of the Enigma, who sits on a bench in a cross-legged meditative position. Musashi slowly shakes his head.] Paris, what you fail to realise, is that the Enigma has been working his body to the bone in this league since day one. You think I do not know the meaning of hard work? You think I have not felt the pain when you strive with all of your might for a dream of greatness, and still it eludes you? You think I have not felt the anger and humiliation as your star is held back by a manipulative organisation, and talentless posers grab the spotlight? You see little Ronnie, I was going though all of that while you were still mock wrestling with your older brothers. I was getting my forehead ripped open by the Dark Disciples, while you were trying to find the zipper on Maggie Collin's dress at your high school prom. I was getting kicked off a log scaffold by Hakiro Matsuoko, while you were wrestling some prelim bum down in El Paso. I've been through the ring wars of hell and I've got the scars and the broken bones to prove it. What have you got Ronnie Paris? [Musashi's face grows more grim as he speaks.] When you first walked into this league, Ronnie Paris, I thought you were a man of integrity. Here was a wrestler who dared to set himself against all the gimmicks and the hype. Here was a wrestler with a sense of tradition and honour. Your skills were average, but at least you respected the greatness of our martial art over the greed of the money hoarders. It wasn't long, however, before I recognised the true essence of your spirit... It wasn't when you openly decided to turn your back on the fans. No... it was long before that. To the Enigma, your true colours were all too readilly visible, Ronnie Paris. I always detected a note of scorn in your words, subtle then, maybe, but ever floating beneath the surface. You always had a mocking word for your brothers in war, a lack of respect for a legend, a barbed wire on the point of your tongue... You claimed to be the last bastion of integrity in wrestling, the man of substance over image, yet you spent all of your time playing around with valets and gimmick matches. To the Enigma, you were always suspect... Paris, your stance as the plain man of no image has been revealed to be yet another image - a mask hiding insecurity and a lack of integrity. You were spouting about your wrestling `purity', but all the while your true nature was creeping through the illusory veneer. Finally, it burst forth in a flood of bitterness and despite. And how bitter you are, Ronnie Paris! You claim to have been held back by this organisation, but it is only your lack of talent that has plagued you all along. You demand the spotlight and the gold, but is your strength of body and spirit enough for them? The Enigma too, demands recompence from the powers that be, but my words were bought with flesh and blood. I can see the real source of your bitterness, Ronnie Paris, and it is the jealousy in your heart for the talent greater men than yourself possess. And then you took the flag of my homeland as your badge... Japan has become a nation of decadence, yet you parade its symbol around as if it were one of nobility and honour. This in itself would not raise the ire of the Enigma, not if you truly believed in the worth of Japan... _if_ you were a man of integrity. But in your hands, the flag is nothing but a jibe at the people, the sum of your bitterness, another mask with which to hide your cowardice and mediocrity. To the Enigma, only blood shall offer justice for your despite. On Saturday night, I will have the opportunity to demonstrate my scorn for you, Ronnie Paris, to the full. It shall be a night of great victory at the expense of the small of heart and spirit - the Enigma shall rise in might and find for himself a new path of glory... [Musashi smiles faintly] ...And Christopher Stonebreaker, you and your cohorts really got one over me, didn't you? I bow to your valour, but only this once... At the moment of your triumph, you were lucky to find the mind of the Enigma distracted by other tasks. Tomorrow night, you shall find no such wavering of focus, and I look forward to overcoming you once and for all. Until then... [Musashi bows his head slightly to the camera, and the scene fades.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Christopher Stonebreaker ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Christopher Stonebreaker can be seen sitting on the bank of a river, with an old cane pole holding up the line that stretches out along the current. His trademark sledgehammer lies off to the side leaning up against one of the tree lined dunes. Christopher looks back at the camera, and then turns his attention back to the sport at hand.] CS: Law of nature. Only the strong survive. The little fish eat the bugs. The big fish eat the little fish, and the fishermen eat the big fish. Normal analogy, i suppose. Gentlemen, what you saw last week was a warm up. You saw Christopher Stonebreaker in one environment. An environment where the little fish sort of broke the rules. They took out the big boys, and it wasn't out of an oddity. It's because we came to this sport for one reason. Because we knew that we were part of the best this profession has ever seen. And now. Now it's the little fishes' turn once again. You see, I'm not expected to have anything to say about the outcome of this Saturday's match. Everyone is going into that arena looking to see the outcome of the Paris-Enigma showdown. They're coming to see the big fish fight it out. [Chris reaches over and checks the pole, taking a few seconds before he resumes his monologue.] CS: Boys, I have news for you. This wrestler ain't coming to the arena just to stand by on the sidelines while you two go at each other's throats. This wrestler is coming to that arena for one purpose. [Suddenly, Christopher's fishing pole shoots out from it's stand, and the cajun reaches over and grabs it and starts pulling in the hooked fish in toward the shore.] CS: Gentlemen, I'm coming to that ring to win, and to prove that it won't be the law of Nature? Gentlemen, it will be the law of the jungle, and I will come out not only as a survivor, but the winner. [The camera fades out as Chris finally makes his way down to the river, and pulls in a decent sized fish as he steps into the water. Fade back to the studio.] VVE: What is Stonebreaker doing in this match? LM: Well... he'll probably be fighting somebody. VVE: Musashi and Paris want to face off...I'm sure the fans would love it. Why make it a triangle match? But it is and I think we will see the rookie come out ahead. Musashi and Paris are going to beat the tar out of each other and if Stonebreaker is smart he will pull a Turner and sit back and wait for his opening! LM: Pull a Turner? What does that billionaire have to do with... VVE: That's _Tim_ Turner...the Cruiserweight Champion. LM: Oh...right. VVE: Bringing up Tim helps us segue into a match featuring the only man with an ego comprable to my shopping companion. Rick Williams will take on the Subway Psycho. Let's hear from both of them. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Subway Psycho ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Scene: The interior of an ordinary NYC subway train. The camera weaves up the aisle of the car...passing passengers on the way. The camera centers on a lone figure sitting at the end of the car. He is draped in a long gray trench coat and wide-brimmed hat. The long stringy hair that hides the figure's face make him unmistakeble as the Subway Psycho.] SP: Well, Rick Williams... Saturday is a big day for you. You'll get to face a legend of the IIWF... me... the one they call the Subway Psycho. I don't care what you call me, I've heard them all... Sewer Rat, Subway Stinker, Vigilante, People's Champion, former World Heavyweight Champion... but whatever you call me one thing can not be denied. I am an institution here in IIWF. Just as immovable as the tracks this train travels on... so am I. Wrestlers come and go from the IIWF as frequently as passengers at a stop. After Saturday Rick, one of two things will happen... I'll beat your carcass so horribly that you'll be forced to leave IIWF -- or, if your lucky, you'll realize you're outclassed and leave on your own terms because you'll be too scared to get near me again. I have something special for you, Rick Williams... and you're going to get it on Saturday. And that's a promise from the Institution of the IIWF. [The train has made a stop and the doors slide open. The Psycho slips through the crowd of people and disappears off the train.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "To Excess" Rick Williams ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Scene opens to a small, poorly illuminated basement. The persistent sound of falling raindrops are heard hitting the ground as the camera pans to reveal the unmistakable figure of "To Excess" Rick Williams. Sitting in a wood-colored armchair under the light of a tall lampshade, Williams wears an arrogant grin. Dressed in black jeans, and a black shirt, which hangs loosely open, and chewing the seemingly ever-present stick of gum, Williams appears as relaxed as ever. Putting his arms behind his head, he begins to speak.] RW: What an irony... What an _incredible_ irony. [Smiling, he shakes his head in apparent disbelief.] Everywhere I've been, I've been tested by a genuine superstar in my first real singles match. So how ironic it is that when "To Excess" makes his way to the federation of the year, he's "tested" by a guy who may have been a star at the time of "The Great Train Robbery", but now, can hardly even be described as a _shadow_ of his former self. [Williams once again shakes his head, to seemingly emphasize his sympathy.] Subway Psycho, it's time for you to step aside. And hey, if you're not gonna do it willingly, you'll do it the hard way. Don't think for one second, pal, that you're leaving that ring tomorrow night, with anything less than a pinfall defeat to your name, and don't think for one second that Rick Williams isn't ushering in the start of a new IIWF era. I said it the first day I arrived in Portland... There's excessive punishment in store for every one of my IIWF opponents. Subway Psycho, you may be the first, but you _won't_ be the last. You may have reached the summit of the mountain all those years ago, but now, you're looking at your worst nightmare. So, here's what you'll do, pal... Tell all your pals to set their VCRs for IIWF Saturday Night, because it'll be their last chance to see the ol' Psycho in action. And when you're in some hospital bed, ask 'em to show you what happened... Ask 'em to show you this sport's future... and your very own _eliminator_. [Grinning that evil grin, and winking that arrogant wink, Williams spits the stick of gum to the floor.] I don't take names... To me, everybody's on the same list. But tomorrow night, Psycho, I'm proving to the world why I _do_ make examples of people who don't know when to step aside. This is _my_ time. I don't care if you were some sort of hero before Communism became unfashionable, or if you're just a pebble in my path, tomorrow night, "To Excess" is tearing a hole in your carcass, and sending your hole to hell. Count on it. [Fade back to the studio] LM: He's certainly... VVE: Suave? Talented? Confident? He certainly is! Rick Williams has what it takes to be successful in the IIWF and it looks like the Psycho is in his path! LM: It seems that you are always picking the rookies. VVE: Why not? I like rookies. I'm a rookie. LM: That makes me the veteran. VVE: Actually, that makes you outdated. Moving right along -- we have a match that was requested by Marty Warnett before his friend won the right to face Brody Thunder for the World title. This has got to be a lucky break for Bradley Reed. Let's hear from both men. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Spotlight" Billy Shakespeare ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Billy shakespeare sits in the overly plush but underused library at IIWF Towers. The books are covered with dust save a few comic books and some victorian pornography which have been thumbed to a pulp by the other wrestlers. Billy himself watches a tape of last monday's "Musings" on a small monitor. Visions of Bradley Reed and Rick Williams babble on the screen before Billy turns to the camera.] BS: "Sound and fury signifying nothing." A tale of two wrestlers: both new, both foolish and deluded. On one hand we have Bradley Reed. Young, brash. So delited with the sound of his own voice that he seems to have missed the fact that he and I have a date this saturday. And from him I fully intend to extract my pound of flesh for his part in Marty Warnett's retirement. On the other hand we have "To Excess" Rick Williams. You'll need help booking a match against me? You sure will. You're going to have to prove to me why I should waste my time. Yes, I know and acknowledge your success elsewhere, but other titles are as ethereal as your claim on the spotlight. Old man, am I? It is too laugh. Then again, when you've been doing things as right as I have for so long, why replace it with a cheap imitation? [He slowly reaches over to the switch, clicking it off during the third replay of Brody Thunder's hard edged threats.] "Spotlight" on... lights out everywhere else. [He snaps his fingers and the camera goes black.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "The Brat" Bradley Reed ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Scene: Camera opens up on a nice quiet country road. Nice looking, old style farm homes are seen on either side of the road. Then the sound of squeeling tires are heard as a speeding red Corvette is seen. The camera zooms in to show the driver to be none other then the giantic Stone. In the backseat an eager "The Brat" Bradley Reed is seen. He is wearing his usual grunge clothing with the Superstar Title strapped around his waste. He has a aliminum ball bat in his hand which the purpose is soon found out when he leans out the window and uses the bat to smash mailboxes that he passes.] BR: BAM!!!! That baby is a Grand Slam. [letters fly everywhere as Reed smashes a full mailbox.] Now their is just another things to add to my accomplishments. I've got the best swing in the I - I - W - F which just compliments me as being the best wrestler, the most popular, the greatest brat and of course my pride and joy the best ass in the universe. Check this baby out. [ Reed turn around and bends over allowing the camera to get a view of his buttox.] I'm telling you all, I am on one hot streak. Ever since I stepped foot into this organization I have rolled over all the competition. I've earned all the respect. I've received all the acknowledgement. Heck, some call me a god [gives out a big smile]. Plus....Oh wait , hold on a second. [Reed leans out the window to hit yet another mailbox.] BOOM!!!!! That was my best one yet. Am I great or what?! But I guess that's why they call me the one and only Superstar Champion. The true world champion I might add. Actually the greatest World Champion. I've done the one thing all wrestlers have dreamed of doing. And that's breaking the biggest drug abuser in the sport -- Farty Dumbnuts. [laughs at what he just said] Marty, it's too bad it had to end this way. Well, actually it's pretty cool but while you lay in bed and realize how pathetic your life is just remember -- you were the first stepping stone to my superstardom. Now thats something to be proud of. But now Warnett has sent out one of his thugs to try and accomplish something he wasn't man enough to do. Billy Shakesspeare. Reminds me of my high school days -- back when I was still a good young lad. Even if I was ever able to turn down the challenge of one of the almighty high school preppies they would always have a dumb goon to try and get his revenge. Guys never could get the job done themselves -- they always needed their beer buddies to bail them out. They always travelled in large groups to try and get things done. Well Shakes, you're just another example of bullying. Getting into business that is none of yours just to save the name of your friend. Well, Shakes, you may have been able to mess me up when I was younger but I am a new man. I'm the hottest item in the sport today. And you're in for one hell of a... [Reed leans out the window again to smash yet another mailbox. The box goes flying into the air with letters flying all about. Reed then turns back to the camera and lets out a big huge laugh as the camera fades to black. Cut back to the studio] LM: Reed is a little too full of himself... VVE: Actually, this time you are right. LM: I am?....I mean...of course I am! VVE: A loss in this match would be a big loss of momentum for Shakespeare. He's not going to let that happen right when he is getting his best, and only, shot at the big prize! LM: The next match is between the Machines and the Natural Predators. These two combos are part of the great tag scene here in the IIWF. The participants had this to say... ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The Machines ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [The camera fades in to the Arm Bar. It's about 3 p.m., so the dinner crowd hasn't yet piled in. Paul Wong and Simon O'Neal, each with a platter of extra-hot Hammerlock Wings, sit on some bar stools. Simon finishes his beer and looks into the camera.] SO: Let me give everyone the background of what the Fabulous Ones were talking about. About a year ago, we were dominating the AE... another league. I don't want to bother mentioning their name, because they fired me and are screwing over my partner here. Anyways, I started dating one of the announcers, the Lovely Bertha. [Laughs derisively]. She was sorta cute, in the truckstop whore sense. Anyways. we had some laughs, I showed her some good times... PW: ... she helped us cheat to win. SO: [Defensively] The cameras never proved a thing. The point is, it was nothing but cheap lust on both of our parts, and eventually we split. [Shrugs] What can I say? It was love. [Paul, at this point, does a mild spittake with his beer.] PW: What the hell are you talking about? She caught you with two airline stewardesses at 23,000 feet! SO: [smriking] And I loved every minute of it. [Paul shakes his head] PW: Hey, don't ask me to feel sorry. I told you she was trouble from the word go. SO: Yeah, yeah, whatever. I'll tell you this, I've been through three divorces- really messy stuff involving lawsuits, allegations, and a couple of restraining orders. But Bertha- well, she went beyond that. We're talking Fatal Attraction here. Death threats, bounties, locker room rumors... [shakes his head]. And I'm positive that she gave the commissioner certain favors in return for screwing us over. [Simon orders another beer and continues] SO: So... which one of the Fabulous Ones is she banging now? I'm guessing Sho. That exhausted look in the eyes, the faint ropeburns on the wrists... I've been there, man. Piece of advice- get tested. PW: Well, I'm sure everyone out there was thrilled to hear you talk about your sex life, Simon. I didn't like Bertha, I don't like the Fabulous Ones, and they cost us a shot at the titles. The next time we see each them, they won't have the advantage of surprise, and there's going to be hell to pay. I'm just sick of this garbage. [Simon scratches his face and smirks as he thinks.] SO: Hmmm. You know, I think Ms. Miki wants me. I mean, I'm sure Bertha told her all about us- the long nights in the back seat of my Gremlin, the sexual synergy between us, the fascinating ways cod liver oil can be used. [Paul is rolling his eyes] Sure, I couldn't stand her... but that's never stopped me before. [Nodding his head]. Yeah- Miki definitely wants me. After we get rid of her pretty boys, I'll show her why I am the Machine of her dreams. [He leans back and puts his hands behind his head] PW: You know, we've been yapping so much about the Fabulous Ones that we completely forgot about the Natural Predators, the guys we actually have to face this Saturday. They're a great tag team. So are we. Barring any problems from the outside, it should be a great match. And we'll see who the better team is. [Fade] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The Natural Predators ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Scene opens at the zoo. Clips of Polar Bears in the snow, wrestling with each other. Camera pulls back to show GREY PHOENIX, BEAR, and KUYLER GREYSON standing at the edge of the guardrail] B: Pure strength. [Turning to face the camera] Seems like that's all you truly need to survive in the wild, sometimes. Pure strength. Hell, we've been beaten, tasered, abandoned, and all in all had the struggle of our lives in the wilds of the IIWF. But we've survived. And we're getting stronger. [The three of them walk away from the bear pen, BEAR smiles at a few bundled up children who recognize him, whispering and pointing] You know, the fans here in the IIWF are unlike any I've ever known before. Wolf...I mean, Grey Phoneix and I....we've toured around the world and heard the cheers of the fans and the boos...been hit by paper cups outside the ring and nearly everything you can think of in it. Me? I'm 6'10", 385 lbs...and strength is my forte. You would think that's enough.... [He shakes his head, laughing a little] Never enough. If you don't have the skill, you don't stand a chance. Knew this guy, Crash. He was enormous. Friggin' huge, over 500 lbs., and over Seven feet tall. Never won a match. Never even stood a chance. He was beaten regularly by men three hundred pounds less than him. You saw the match with the Down Boys. I don't claim to be invulnerable. I don't claim to be invincible. [Smiles a wide grin.] Not yet, anyway.... We are the Natural Predators. And we are the future of the IIWF. [looks over at Grey Phoenix, then to Kuyler] GP and I are going to be facing the Machines Saturday Night. Simon O'Neal and Paul Wong. I dunno if Luke Steele is going to be with them. Doesn't really matter one way or the other. People say we're not living up to our potential. That we have so much ahead for us, and what we've done is nowhere near where we should be headed. What matters... GP: [interrupting] What does matter is that we have faced Licensed for Devastation. We've outlasted the Machines and the Down Boys. We beat the High Plains Drifters, former champions of the IIWF tag scene. And Saturday Night, we face the Machines again, days after facing the LFD. B: Potential? We're both young. We know we have potential. We also know that when the time comes, we will be legitimate contenders for the IIWF Tag Team belts. We're on our way already. Number Five in the rankings. Not bad for a couple of youngsters, hmm? GP: The fans know who we are, what our potential is. And Saturday Night, the Machines are going to find out why we are the Natural Predators. And how Natural Selection will prove us worthy. [Kuyler steps into frame.] KG: Cold Spell, Harlequins, you done my boys dirty. See, when we challenged the loser of the Cold Quins/Harle Spell matchup, it wasn't meant to be put on the back burner. Now that those teams are defunct, it stands to reason that the component parts must stand to account. Machines, you stood in our way of making that challenge. You kept us from asserting ourselves in a match we should rightly have had. Instead, my boys brawled with you in the aisle. Saturday night, the Predators will face you, and who knows? Winner might be next in line for a title shot? Any way you look at it, boys, nothing can stop the natural order of things. And we'll make this challenge simple for the sake of remaining in good graces. Harlequins, you do not hold the IIWF belts. Nor are you the Number One contenders for the belts. Now, you got a victory over my boys when Licensed for Degradation walked out on us in the four man match. We lay the challenge to you. B: Cage Match. GP: No interference. B: Winner gets next shot at Cold Spell. KG: If they are or are not champions, doesn't matter. Right of ascension. B: Either way... GP: We get our chance to redeem ourselves... B: For the actions of Starr and Chaos. KG: So just agree to the terms. Otherwise, you know this will never be over. You said yourselves, you have unfinished business. Whether you like it or not, the Predators have been waiting to make sure we have your full attention. [Camera pulls back to include all three men in the picture.] B: Neyho neyehe hiyo. GP: We will triumph. [Scene fades to black and then fades in at the studio] VVE: It seems that no one knows what it means to focus anymore. LM: I do! That's when you squint your eyes... VVE: Morton aside, the Machines want the Fabulous Ones...the Predators want the Harlequins. What about the match? WHy doesn't anyone worry about the guys across the ring. LM: So who do you think will win? VVE: Neither. Both. Who cares? If pushed, I think the Machines are a better team but the Fabs are more likely to cause trouble so...who knows? LM: That brings us to our final match. Another triple threat match featuring Derek Mota, Richard "Moxy" Blue, and Charles Scheffield. All the combatants had comments this week. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Derek Mota ----------------------------------------------------------------------- [The scene fades in from black, and we aren't quite sure where we are at the time. In the background, loud noises begin to form. The heavy repeated thumping of a kick drum resonate, trying, but unable to drown out the loud chugging sounds of a distorted guitar. The poor cameraman has found himself right in the middle of a mosh pit at a local club in Toronto, where the group Testament is playing to a frenzied crowd. Almost immediately, the cameraman attempts to pull back, but is caught in the middle of the sea of crashing bodies. Finally, he manages to get out, obviously the worse for wear, as the camera is not quite as steady as we are used to. He waves the camera around the room, as if looking for something ... anything. After a few moments he apparently finds what he's looking for as we see somebody crashing through the front entrance.] DM: Let go of me, you bastards! [Just outside the club, two bouncers are lying unconscious on the sidewalk, while three others are barely restraining a man who we know as Derek Mota. Mota is barely being held back, held by the arms by two of the men, trying to lunge at the third one.] ... thoughtless, inconsiderate pieces of crap! [At this point, Mota manages to Arm Drag both men over, and before they have a chance to recover, Superkicks the third bouncer in the jaw, knocking him out cold. The two remaining bouncers get back up to their feet, circling Mota very carefully.] All I asked for was one thing, and you couldn't give it ta me. All I wanted was wheelchair access, and you couldn't do it, could ya? [Mota kicks one of the bouncers in the gut, folding him over, and gives him an Inverted Neckbreaker to put him out for good. The next bouncer attacks him from behind, but is rapidly subdued and Snap Suplexed into the brick wall. All three bouncers are now lying out cold around Derek Mota, a small crowd having formed around the carnage. Mota quickly steps over one of them, wrapping on a Scorpion Deathlock on him, keeping it locked on for several minutes, seemingly breaking the bouncer's legs before finally letting go, where he moves off to the side for a minute.] Ya gotta treat the handicapped with some respect. And right now i know a certain person who's gonna need this chair once again ... He's just one move away from it ... [Mota pulls out an empty wheelchair from the shadows, and begins to wheel it into the club. Obviously the place isn't wheelchair accessible, as we see Mota trying to wheel it up a series of stairs, until he finally gets frustrated and tosses it into a wall, putting a huge dent in it.] If I'm gonna be responsible, I'm gonna have ta pay the price ... [Fade] ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Richard "Moxy" Blue ----------------------------------------------------------------------- [SCENE: Scott "The Fop" Rogers and Richard "Moxy" Blue are inside a locker room. Blue is hanging from a pipe on the ceiling while Rogers is powerlifting a bench. Rogers stops to speak to the camera. Blue stays where he is.] SR: You know somethin', Rick...? RMB: Yeah I do. Butterflies never fly into cobwebs. SR: No, not that... they don't? [Rogers drops the bench with a clang] RMB: Nope. SR: Nah, that ain't what I was gonna say. RMB: What do you want to know if I know? SR: Nothing. I don't know. I've forgotten. RMB: Were you going to ask me if I knew Saturday Night was an undoubted success as far as the IIWF's newest double-act are concerned? And how we have beome the best in the league at ticking everyone off? SR: Yeah, that's it. The IIWF saw Saturday why Smith and Bundy _weren't_ disgraced at Ring Wars. Everyone in the IIWF's heading for the same. We're gonna take _everyone_ out. Turner, you're first. Bring Macbeth and all his legions of idiots with him. RMB: Scott? SR: Yeah..? RMB: You lost this week. I won. SR: What you saying? RMB: Nothing more than that. [Moxy coughs the words "They love me, they hate you". Rogers pays no heed.] SR: Yeah, Rick, but you know what that says don't ya? You winnin' and me losin'? RMB: Yeah. SR: You do? RMB: Yes, it shows you're a better manager than me! SR: Yeah! RMB: See, I'm not just a pretty ass after all. [Blue directs his backside in the direction of the camera.He still wears his denim jacket with the downward sequined arrow.] RMB: Coming down! [Blue leaps off the ceiling in the direction of Rogers, who catches him with ease then places him on the bench.] RMB: But the ol' Double eye refuses to acknowledge our greatness. Poor Fop over here doesn't even have a match this week. Everyone is afraid he's gonna destroy something. But he'll just have to resort to his superior managerial skills, right Scotty? SR: You betcha. RMB: While I have to face Mota and the other guy. Charlie something. SR: [Bleep] Field. RMB: Scotty! Watch yer mouth! Anyway, Mota, I'm sorry I attacked you...i was an accident, I was aiming for that old lady in the first row. So let's play clean, eh? And newbie, well, I ain't gonna underestimate you 'cause, hell, even a JJS member can get a win around here. [Blue winks.] RMB: And you don't have the Fop. SR: As for you Turner, Turner, when you meet Moxy Blue for that title, meaningless as it _is_, it's gonna be coming to _us_. And don't think you're gonna chicken out be hiding behind Macbeth. RMB: Yeah! Hidin' behind a man bigger than you is just plain LAME! [Rogers shoots Moxy a look.] RMB: Well, I have a cruiserweight shot no matter _what_ Turner wants. If he wants to tag with Macbeth and I still beat him, that belt had better be around my waist. Or maybe they can find a way to strap it to my award winning ass. SR: Well, I wouldn't mind getting my hands on that high and mighty MacBeth. He's right about Quigley being a paper champion. He's just got the wrong guy in the favoured position. RMB: If we have to get some of your excess poundage off for Scotty to be in contention, so be it. Hey man, maybe if you pin Macbeth, that'll take him outta contention. See! I am a GREAT manager! Sure we'll take the match... SR: UNDER the stipulation that if either of you gets beaten, the belt or that wonderful little #1 IC contention comes to IIWF's favorite Vagabounds...The Fop and Moxy. Not that I didn't desreve that shot anyway. Quigleys on borrowed time. That's right Quigley. Under this man's management, I cannot fail. I got the looks. I got the muscles. I got the power. And now I got the strategy... and I'm gonna lose some weight like Rick says. RMB: [imitating Richard Simmons far too well] Come on, sweat to the oldies, Scotty! [Blue starts singing Blue Moon at the top of his lungs. Rogers puts his hands over his ears] SR: Saturday was just the _beginning_ of the Fop and Moxy era. And not taking us seriously is the _worst_ mistake you can make. So go right ahead and do it. As for right now...I have some aerobics to do. [Rogers turns away, and then turns back towards the camera.] SR: Don't laugh. [Blue sticks his tongue out at the camera as the shot fades.] ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Charles Scheffield ----------------------------------------------------------------------- [Cut to shot of a fancy restaraunt in Bridgeport Connecticut... not far from Scheffield's home in Lordship. Charles Scheffield has a copy of Thursday's Connecticut Post in hand. He suddenly looks a bit shocked as he reads the paper.] CS: Oh my... someone dove in a pond to evade the cops? How ridiculous! [Obviously, due to the high for the day being only 47° in Connecticut, therefore an act like this would be extremely foolhardy. He continues reading the newspaper, then sets it down. A waiter then walks over with several bottles of wine in a bucket of ice.] WT: Would you care for some wine? CS: Most certainly. [Scheffield does not even bother to choose which bottle of wine to drink, but randomly selects one, opens it, and pours it into his wine glass. He takes a sip and a smile forms across his face.] CS: Ah... Cabernet Sauvignon, Martha's Vineyard, Heitz! Nineteen seventy-four... the year I was born. An excellent wine indeed. WT: You know your wine. [Exit waiter. Scheffield turns to the camera and speaks.] CS: This is how life is in Connecticut... you must know your wines. However, in the IIWF, you must know your wrestling. I am afraid that niether Enigma, Kowalski, nor Deathbringer were able to bring about the defeat of myself, Cristopher Stonebreaker, and the now famed Meatman. Niether of you were able to focus on your match, therefore you lost. The thing is I still respect each and every one of you for your accomplishments here in the IIWF, but I am part of the new breed and I shall not back down for the established wrestlers here. It is my time to show that I can definitely be a contender... and it looks as if I am not remaining behind as I shall be doing my duty once again this Saturday... in a triple threat match. [Charles Scheffield sips on his glass of wine with a content look upon his countenance.] CS: It will be one on one on one. No teams. No honor. Just a plain fight. The only honor is in victory... not in that of a clean fight. This is not necessarily my style of match, but I shall compete at my fullest nonetheless. Moxy Blue, you have not been here for long and you definitely do not look like a winner... yet I must respect you for going out there and giving it a shot. When you fight me, you shall duly note that I will not back away from anything you may attempt in the ring. I will face you like a man. [Again, Scheffield sips at his wine. At this point, his glass is empty, therefore he must refill it which he does, the whole time continuing his speech.] CS: On the other hand, Derek Mota, it seems to me you have had quite a bit more experience in the ring. You have won more than you have lost, yet I must say not much. I still shall not take you lightly. Taking an opponent lightly is a sure way to lose, and I do not intend to lose needlessly. You can expect to be twisted in ways you never thought possible come this Saturday. I shall not hold back. [Scheffield finishes off this final glass of wine, then calls for the waiter.] CS: The tab if you please. WT: Certainly, sir. [The waiter hands him the tab. Scheffield looks it over and appears pleased.] CS: Three-hundred and twenty-five dollars certainly is a bargain on this wine. WT: That is the normal price, sir. CS: Oh... excuse me. You must realise I am not used to dealing with numbers this miniscule... even for wine. Now if you will excuse me, I must be going. [Scheffield leaves a $150 tip on the table for the waiter. The waiter looks quite shocked as Scheffield walks to the register. Fade back to the studio.] VVE: Do Moxy and Rogers actually think they can bait Tim into giving them that kind of match? LM: Well, he offered the tag match. VVE: Only so he didn't have to defend his belt! Everyone knows that! LM: I think that Mota is going to... VVE: Win this match? Of course he is. Scheffield has a good chance though. Don't count out the rookie. LM: If you counted him out he would lose. VVE: Uh, right. A number of other athletes had comments that they wanted to share with the IIWF fans. Including one who wanted to talk... again. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Deathbringer ----------------------------------------------------------------------- [SCENE: Inside the mortuary. Several torches that have been fixed to the walls lighten up the large, stone-built hall, which is, as always filled with several caskets that have been lined up along the walls or simply been spread across the location. In the left rear corner of the building stands an old wooden table, placed upon which is a skull that has been impaled by a torch. Behind the table sits the Blind Guardian, while Deathbringer himself, who's is wearing his known cowl, is standing a few steps away from him, his arms crossed before his chest. The Blind Guardian begins to speak as the camera slowly moves closer to that particular corner] BG: Welcome to the home of Death himself. We're here tonight to proclaim a few things, and we're certainly trying to make it short. First of all a few words about what happened last week on Saturday Night. You newcomers might think that you've been carrying away an enourmous victory over the Returnees. But I'll tell you something, fellows: It was the old generation of IIWF superstars that carried away this victory, ain't that right, Thunder? Now if I were you, and I certainly thank God that I'm not, I'd be kind of cautious from now on, as there's someone out there who has some problems with your face. Let's just say that it makes him sick. [The voice of the Blind Guardian is replaced by that of Deathbringer, who now lowers his arms and takes a few steps towards the camera] DB: Indeed. You, Thunder, might still have lots of fans out there, and you might still be the one who wears the gold around his waist. Maybe you are even the toughest mortal to ever stand in that squared circle. But whatsoever, I never cared about you, I never looked at you with respect or disrespect, I did not even cross your path since I have been here in the IIWF. Still you come out to a match involving me and cause my team to lose. Now I do not care whether you hit Kowalski with that chair or anybody else, but fact is that you _did_ ruin my first match after the PPV. And I do not take that lightly. From now on, Thunder, look behind you, as I will stand behind you all the time. From now Thunder, look beside you, as I will walk beside you all the time. Yes, I will make you understand that the Reaper has returned and that you days of reigning here in the IIWF are about to come to sudden, sudden end. [Deathbringer slowly turns around and takes a few steps towards the rear wall, until he has reached his initial position, where he turns around and crosses his arms before his chest again. After a few seconds of silence, the Blind Guardian begins to speak once more] BG: A second thing I'd like to discuss is the reaction of you, the fans, towards Deathbringer. Many of you wonder whether he has become a soft guy, many of you wonder how on earth some little brat like the Measles Man can come out there and stand up again the Reaper without being wiped out immediately. Well, fans, and especially you, Soldiers of Hell, please listen to me --- no one can stand up against the Reaper without being wiped out in the end. Just look at Rectum, or better watch the tapes as you'll never see that brat again, that brat that used to strike fear into the hearts of every wrestler here in the IIWF for several months. There is no difference between Rectum or the Measles Man, at least not for Death himself. In the end, Deathbringer will be the victor in this battle. Afterall whoever tries to defeat the Reaper is just trying to defeat himself. And whether you win that fight against yourself or not... you lose it. You want a proof... Well, the proof is on it's way: Together with the man who really strikes fear into the hearts of everyone [the Blind Guardian points over to Deathbringer] I've been going through all the names of this league's roster and we've already chosen whom to take on during the next few weeks and months to come. So, wrestlers of this league, you're all in a big lottery, a lottery where the prizes are agony and death, so just make sure that you're there when we draw the first name out of the hat... and you're sure to have won a prize in this funny game when you hear the announcement... [Deathbringer now raises his head and his piercing red eyes become visible again as he speaks his final sentence] DB: PREPARE TO MEET YOUR MAKER... [Fade] ----------------------------------------------------------------------- The Fabulous Ones ----------------------------------------------------------------------- [Live shot from Gold’s gym, on the beach, in Fort Lauderdale, Florida. “The Universal Heratthrob” Agito Nakajima and “Sweet” Sho Satsuma are in weightlifter trunks, with Ms. Miki in a spandex jogging outfit. A crowd of mostly women have gathered around. Some of the guys in the background are checking out Ms. Miki’s dimensions.] Ms. Miki: We had a taped interview planned for tonights “Countdown” segment, but after seeing the Machines little speech we decided to come to you, the IIWF fans, live with our response. I’d like to address Simon O’Neal’s “Ms. Miki wants you” speech. The truth of the matter is..... (Agito steps in front of Ms. Miki, cutting her off mid-sentence. Ms. Miki gives Agito a harsh look.) AN: Sorry, gorgeous, but I don’t think anybody in their right mind would believe that you want Simon O’Neal. [Agito points to Ms. Miki as the cameraman pans up and down her perfect body, that’s glistening in the sun from the sweat. Afterall, she’s been working out. The men in the crowd noticing the cameraman’s movement with the camera start to ooh and aaahhh!] AN: Now, as for Paul “I’m blinded by Simon’s stupidity” Wong, if you watch the footage of the match you’ll see that Sho and myself were trying to help you guys win. Watch it and see how much time Simon wasted before using that chair I gave him. And, if I’m not mistaken I believe I saved your butt from being pinned earlier in the match with the old foot on the ropes move. SS: You’d think Paul would thank us, but noooo. All he wants to do is kick our butts. Well, that’s fine with us. Just remember that Simon pulled you into what will be the worst beating of your life. [Agito walks over to a few of the women in the crowd and signs a few autographs.] SS: Before I forget, Mr. O’Neal! Bertha told me about your little problem. [Sho holds his hand in the universal sign for small, as he laughs. Agito, who’s signing a females left breast, turns and joins in the laughter. Ms. Miki stands there very stoically.] SS: Now that she’s with me, she’s finally with a real man! [Agito walks back over to the camera.] AN: One last thing! DAMAGE, INC, you guys have one hell of a reputation. Too bad you made it without stepping into the squared circle with us. [Agito points to Sho and himself.] You’ve beaten the rest but never the best. We’ve been asked to come to the IIWF by the board of directors, because your little reputation, doesn’t mean squat with the ratings. You talked about us making the third mistake, which will mean you’ll kill us. Well, think again, little reputation boys. We’re not afraid of you! If you want us, then win those straps on Saturday, and you’ve got us. [Agito and Sho step back and pose for the camera. The women in the crowd huddle around the Fabulous Ones.] Ms. Miki: Hey, what can they say?! They're everything a man wants to be, and everything a woman wants to be with! IIWF, get ready because the eye-candy has just begun. Finally, this league will have somebody to look at! [The camera cuts away to a camera view from a helicopter. It’s above the beach area where the Fabs are. A huge crowd can be seen. Letters appear in the picture; “Fabulous Ones”. Then, fade to black.] ----------------------------------------------------------------------- "Savage" Shadoe Rage ----------------------------------------------------------------------- [Fade in: Shadoe Rage crawls out of the darkness on hands and knees. He pulls himself up into a crouch. he wears an open velvet Renaissance shirt and blousy pants. His hair spills all around his hea in a wild spill. The intensity in his eyes, the wild look on his face speaks volumes. He is truly a savage.] SR: Quigley, you know why I had to wheel myself down there and kick you in the head? Because I wanted to see if you were really stupid enough to fall for the same obvious trick twice! Don't fool yourself into thinking this is some new deed. No, this is judgement on you, Quigley. I've sat back and watched your whining, crybaby antics for too long now. I've watched you whine, complain and politic your way to positions of prominence in the FWLI and now here. But I've never had the opportunity to act upon it until now. And believe me, I will act upon. Quigley, your persecution has become now unbearable at the hands of Savage shadoe Rage. I see a lot of the FWLI's "backroom" boys coming to the IIWF. well, you'll find that the politics here are a lot differemnnt. Damage Inc., Mark Destructo and now you, Chrissie. I make it my business. I make it my vow that you will all .... [extreme close-up] Die in Darkness! [Fade out] ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Scott "The Fop" Rogers ----------------------------------------------------------------------- [SCENE: Tim Dross, veteran broadcaster, is standing before an IIWF backdrop.] TD: Fans, joining me at this time is a man who's seemingly causing quite a stir in the IIWF at the moment with his inside, and outside, the ring antics with Richard "Moxy" Blue. He is, of course, Scott "The Fop" Rogers. [Rogers walks onto the set wearing a bright green polo shirt with a small IIWF Crew logo over his right pec. Rogers shakes the hand of Dross.] SR: Great to be here, Tim. TD: You do surprise me, Scott. Of course, you're not in action this weekend, in fact you've had a week off I believe. Is that your choice, the booking committee's choice, or Richard Blue's choice? SR: I don't like what you're implying here, Dross. TD: What would that be? I simply asked a question. Blue _is_ your manager is he not? SR: Yeah...? TD: So it seems fair to suggest that _he_ decided you weren't to wrestle this week. SR: Yeah, I guess so. But just watch what you "suggest" Timmy. This power of suggestion crap don't cut it against _real_ power, Dross. [Dross looks tentatively and Rogers just grins, posing for the camera.] SR: Only joking, Dross. You know as much as I want to hit ya, Spreadbury won't let me! [Dross goes to speak, but can't find the right words.] SR: Hey, Timmo, ya know I don't _really_ wanna hit ya! TD: I sincerely hope not! But President Spreadbury might if I can't get any answers out of you. We still haven't found out why you've taken this week off! SR: Ask Spreadbury. TD: It was _his_ decision?! SR: Nah. TD: So why ask him? SR: 'Cause I can't be bothered to answer questions like that. I wanna be asked "Scott, how did you get into such great shape, and how have you maintained it?" or "What do you eat for breakfast?" or, or "What's your neck size?" That kinda thing. TD: But with respect, Scott, those questions really aren't important in this sport. This is wrestling, not weightlifting or bodybuilding... [Rogers just stands there and chews a non-existent piece of gum! He nods his head and raises his eyebrows at Dross, signalling him to continue.] TD: Well let's compromise. I won't ask any questions, you just talk. How's that? SR: Oh yeah, Dross, don't do your job. That's right... listen, Drosso. All I gotta say is tomorrow night I'll be guiding Rick to victory over Mota and this Scheffield guy. I don't get it though, Dross. Rick wins the ladder match for his shot at Turner and all he gets is this crap tomorrow night! I gotta say it stinks! Rick's the best flyweight in the world, so why he's gotta wrestle some "me" wannabe and what, a Byron wannabe (?) I don't understand. TD: I'm not sure either of those men would like to think they are what you just insinuated, Scott. SR: Dross, do I give a crap what anyone thinks of me? Yeah, you're right. I do. TD: You were recently described as obnoxious by one wrestling expert, and he went on to say you're nothing more than a talentless muscleman. SR: I know, Drosso. I got Rick to read it to me... [Dross looks stunned.] SR: I'm joking, Dross. Yeah, under Rick's guidance, we'll soon see whether this Robert Davison guy really _does_ talk outta his ass! [Rogers walks off set. Fade back to the studio.] LM: That's all the time we have for... [Tim Turner saunters into the studio, wearing an impeccable Armani suit.] TT: Are you ready to go, Vic? LM: We are trying to do a show here! VVE: Tim and I are going to buy some clothes after the show. Do you want to come? TT: Wait a minute! We were going shopping on Friday? Isn't this Tuesday! [Larry gets this dazed look on his face and wanders off the set, mumbling to himself.] VVE [smiling]: That was mean! TT: Yeah, well. Let's go! VVE: See you next week when my co-host just _might_ be someone better than Larry. Don't forget to watch IIWF Saturday Night! [To Tim] Are you going? TT: I wouldn't miss it for the world! +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= 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 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+