C + O + U + N + T + D + O + W + N T + O ________ ______ __ ____ ___ __ . _ ___ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __| / /\ | | || \| \ /\ \ / |\ || / \| | | | || | \ v v / | __| \__ /__\ | | ||__/| |/__\ v | \||| __|-| | |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| \ \| v | \|__/ \| | || \_|| | | __________________________/..............\........|...|.......|....| with Larry Morton & Victoria Von Edward Friday 12 December 1997 [As the shot opens there seems to be some confusion at the desk. Victoria Von Edward sits in her usual spot, but instead of Larry Morton she is joined by "Rocket Man" Tim Turner. Morton is standing in front of the desk, complaining.] LM: That's my seat! You can't just take it! TT: I was invited by a lady. You wouldn't stand in the way of such an invitation... would you, Larry? VVE: Sorry Larry. It's in my contract. I get to designate guest commentators. I've designated Tim. Go talk to the producer. We'll wait. LM: Don't think I won't! [Larry storms off the set.] TT: Now that he's out of here, why don't we get on with the show? VVE: Capital idea. This is the week that IIWF fans have been waiting for. We get to see three title matches on Saturday! First though, let's look at what happened on Wednesday. ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| REWIND: IIWF Wednesday War Room - 17 December '97 |_||_| \_/\_/ |_|.................................................... TT: It was a great card, only to be marred by a heinous main event. VVE: Let's look at the results. Steve Kowalski d. The Smooth by pinfall 0:08 Christopher Stonebreaker d. Ned Norton by pinfall 13:32 Charles Scheffield d. Jumping Jack by submission 8:22 Mark Destructo d. Scott Bloom by submission 5:27 The Natural Predators d. High Plains Drifters by pinfall 14:47 The Down Boys d. The Fabulous Ones by pinfall 12:57 Steve Manning d. El Super Gecko by pinfall 10:22 Scott Rogers and d. Tim Turner and Richard Blue Derek Mota by pinfall 12:33 TT: That last match ruined an otherwise good card. VVE: It's true that you were robbed of a victory by the very man you will face on Saturday... TT: Not so. It was Rogers who robbed me of my victory. But let's not dwell on that. Let's discuss the other things that happened. That idiot Manning got a win. The Down Boys got one despite themselves and there were a bunch of debuts. Anything else? Oh yes. The unveieling of the new friendship between Derek Mota and myself. Isn't the world a great place? VVE: I know you would like to discuss your match on Saturday so let's move on to that show. ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| PREVIEW: IIWF Saturday Night - 20 December 1997 |_||_| \_/\_/ |_|.................................................... [Just then Larry Morton bursts back into the shot, with a bespectacled, suited man in tow.] LM: Tell them! Tell them! RP: In case you were unaware, I'm the new producer of this show and I'm afraid that this just isn't going to fly. VVE: Hold on, Rusty! I can read my contract as well as anybody and.. RP: It says that you can pick your guest commentator if Larry is unable to perform those duties. Larry is here so Turner is out. Period. LM: Move it, Turner! TT: So if I wanted to be on the show next week I could only do it if, say, Larry were in the hospital? RP: Exactly! TT: O'kay. See you later, Vic. I'll see you sometime during the week, Lar. [Rusty and Tim both leave and a somewhat nervous looking Larry Morton takes his usual spot.] VVE: Can we get on with the matches now? ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Intercontinental Championship Match Chris "Quickstrike" Quigley vs. Majestic Maurice McArthur ------------------------------------------------------------------------ VVE: This is a rematch from last Saturday when McArthur won the IC strap... LM: Oh no. That was reversed... VVE: I saw it with my own two eyes, Larry! Triple M won the belt! Let's hear from the competitors. [SCENE: An empty, dark wrestling ring. A single spotlight suddenly shines from above, revealing a figure sitting on the mat, staring into space. As the camera draws closer, the identity of the figure becomes known... "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley sits, in the exact spot he was pinned by "Majestic" Maurice McArthur on the last IIWF Saturday Night. "His" Intercontinental Title belt is nowhere in sight.] CQ: I'd call you a son of a bitch, Steve Manning, but the only thing I have against your mother is that she brought _you_ into this world. [Pause.] CQ: I don't know what your game is. I don't know if you truly want to be a friend of mine, or if you've carefully plotted my complete destruction. You're one of the few people who have a clue as to what makes me tick. I can talk about my desire to be the best, my yearning for respect, or my one true love, for championships and prestige. [Quigley looks up into the camera.] CQ: My parents don't know me. My two brothers, my sister, I haven't allowed any of them to see why I do the things I do. I haven't let your father, your mother, your sister Diane, and especially your [BLEEP]in' brother Kurt in on any of that either. Only you... you and your sister, Steph. The girl you gave me permission to take out, I wouldn't have had anything to do with it if it meant you'd feel strange about it, but you said it was fine with you, so I thanked you and the rest is history. [Shakes his head.] CQ: When you faked paralysis, you showed absolutely no consideration for other people, you took their sympathy, you allowed them to do simple tasks for you, while you sat your lazy ass back in that chair, smoking and drinking. Yeah, you're a real athlete. You think you can waltz back into wrestling, nearly break a prelimanaries neck, and consider yourself to be in _my_ category? You're a disgrace to The Living Hell, and until you prove otherwise, stay out of my face. [Quigley looks back down at the mat, as if flashing back to last Saturday Night.] CQ: I mentioned a preliminary bum, in El Super Gecko, how ironic that you were the one who caused me one of the biggest humiliations of my career. When I lost to Casey James, I considered that to be an upset and a dissapointment. When I lost to Marty Warnett, I was _this_ close to retiring. I think Steve Kowalski was the one who called me the youngest has-been in wrestling. [Quickstrike shrugs.] CQ: I'm 32 years old, I've been wrestling since I was 19 years old, my knees were beat up, my back was sore, all _before_ I even began to wrestle. I've fought with more pain, fought through more adversity, overcame all odds... to lose to a MOTHER[BLEEP]IN' JOBBER?! [Takes a deep breath.] CQ: You cost me so much, not a title, not a win, you cost me the respect that I've been building for 13 years, and the only way to get it back is to _erase_ "Majestic" Maurice McArthur. I'm going to absolutely _annhiliate_ him. But what I want you to do, Steve Manning, is stay the hell away from ringside. El Super Gecko can be in triple M's corner, I don't give a damn, but if you get anywhere near the ring, I'll put you right back in that wheelchair, for _good_! [Quigley nods.] CQ: And Macbeth, Groundskeeper Willie, whatever you wanna call yourself, you can continue to get in my face, and _beg_ for a title shot, and like I said, I wanted to give you one right away. The IIWF wouldn't allow it. You go ask Spreadbury for your shot, you talk about my kneeprints in the front of his desk? Why do you wear that kilt? Does it make for easier access when you.... [Pauses, and shakes his head.] CQ: No, I'm not going to stoop to your pathetic level. You can have your title shot, when I'm good and ready. Until I say you're worthy to get in the same ring as me... [BLEEP] off! [Quigley, who looks determined, yet almost saddened he's had to dish out such strong, vulgar words to so many people, stares back up into space, as the spotlight dims and the scene goes black.] ----------------------------------------------------------------------- [IIWF broadcaster Larry Morton stands outside the wrestlers locker room in the IIWF Arena.] LM: Ladies and gentlemen, I am here to get some words from perhaps, the most unlikely contender to the Intercontinental Championship in the history of the IIWF, "Majestic" Maurice McArthur. [As if on cue, Triple M walks out of the locker room...and right past Morton. A stunned Morton turns to call out to him] LM: Hey, Maurice, over here! I want to talk to you about this Saturday Night! [Maurice stops, and turns around] 3M: You want to talk to me? LM: Well, of course, you have the big rematch with Chris Quigley for the Intercontinental title coming up. You're one of the biggest stories in the IIWF right now! [McArthur looks for a few seconds, then slowly walks over to Morton] 3M: Do you have any idea how many times I've walked out of that door, with reporters hanging around looking for a scoop? Do you know how many times one of them has stopped me? LM: Well, I... 3M: This is the first time, Larry. Oh sure, I've tasted fame before. I was part of that circus known as Team Sychosys. Not once, but twice. Each time, I wondered whether the glory and cheers were really worth what I put up with. But when it stopped, there was never any doubt. And now...now it's all me. Triple M, Majestic [3M puffs out his chest in pride] Maurice McArthur! Headlining as the main event on Saturday Night, in a *title* match...for a title I once held in my hands and thought was my own! Well I'm ready, Larry Morton! Let's hear your questions! LM: Um...well, let's start right off the bat and try to get to the bottom of the rumors going on back at the office. Saturday night, in your re-match with Chris Quigley, you will be accompanied to ringside by El Super Gecko... 3M: Yes, a great man indeed, who'll be standing by my side. And Manning, you try to get in our way again, then you're gonna pay for what you did to... LM: Wait, what I mean is...well, El Super Gecko being a masked wrestler, and similiar build to the man who many think you *owe* all this... [Like a punctured balloon, Maurice becomes visibly deflated, as he senses the direction this conversation is taking.] 3M: Ooohhh, okay, okay. Now I see why you want to talk to me. [Let's out a large sigh] You think this is some scam, huh? You think somehow, Joe Petrow is gonna hide in an El Super Gecko costume and come down to ringside, huh? LM: Well... that's certainly not something I would put past Joe Petrow, and you know, with whatever connection you two have, that people are thinking about it. 3M: Just this one time...just this one time, it was supposed to be about me! You don't have any idea, do you? None of you do! You all thought that Team Sychosys was just Joe Petrow dragging some jobber around, making fun of other teams, and of me! And yeah, I once thought that too. But Joe Petrow taught me something. It doesn't matter where you've been, it doesn't even matter where you're going. All that really matters, is how you make the journey. And as the months went by, I could see we weren't a joke. As we trained together, as we travelled together, as we got to know each other, whatever the hell this was, it was for real. And I forgot that I wasn't "supposed to be" a winner... I just thought about doing my part for Team Sychosys. But after what happened in Tokyo, the look in his eyes...it was just the look of defeat. Whatever true fire he had left was gone. And he told me it was over, and I knew that it really was. When I saw him on TV some weeks later, it didn't look anything like the guy I knew. Maybe he thought he could pull himself back, maybe he just needed the money, but I knew that wasn't him. The last I saw of him was right after we left the stage at the Grapples. We went outside, and he hailed a cab, just like that. He told me, "I'm going now," and I knew I wasn't supposed to follow. Just as the cab pulled away, I heard him say his last words I think I'll ever hear. "Follow your dreams." Somehow, it didn't seem right. But I remembered those words. Saturday night is the biggest night in my career. It's the night of my dreams. It might also be the last time I ever see the spotlight. And I wanted Joe to be with me, one more time. I tried calling him in Portland, I tried calling him in Tokyo, I even tried calling him in Toronto. Nobody was home. But hey, life goes on. I got the Gecko, the real Gecko, in my corner this Saturday Night. And if I'm real lucky, maybe a piece of Joe Petrow will be watching over me as well. I'd like to be the Intercontinental Champion. Hell yeah I would. But all I really want is what Joe wanted, a fair shot at the belt. Just Chris Quigley and me. Let's be honest, Larry. This is the last chance I'm going to have. And I'm going to make a promise right now. Saturday night, I'm either gonna do Joe proud...or I will retire from professional wrestling. Because I've been through too much to go back to enforcing "Jobber Justice" any longer. [A somber "Majestic" Maurice McArthur walks away, while Larry Morton stands speechless, as the picture cuts back to the studio.] VVE: Unfortunately I can't put a lot of stock in McArthur's ability to repreat last week's performance. LM: Why not? With both Manning and Gecko at ringside, Quigley could be in a lot of trouble. VVE: I don't think you ever said anything that made so much sense, Larry. Are you worried about your job? LM: Steve Manning had some words before this match as well. [SCENE: A fitting scene for Steve Manning, a small square room, padded with rubber walls. Manning sits at a bench, writing something or other on a Christmas card. Manning dictates what he is writing aloud.] SM: ...and don't consider me a stalker... consider me your "Secret Santa". [Manning tosses the pen over his shoulder, laughs like a sonuva bitch, and sticks the card in an envelope marked in red: "Mrs. Brody Thunder -- 469 Some Run-Down Trailer Park Somewhere in the Asshole of Texas". Manning then looks up at the camera, and shoves the envelope behind his back.] SM: What'dya doing here?! I'm just spreadin' the Christmas cheer. And that's not all that's being spread... [Manning erupts into laughter again, before straigtening his face.] SM: I've got to address some more... serious matters. Last week, I made a small miscalculation. But it wasn't my fault, dammit! The _wind_! The _wind_ shifted, the picture _blew_ right outta my hands, and cracked ol' Chris in the head. I didn't _try_ it! It _wasn't_ _my_ _fault_! [Manning rolls his eyes.] SM: I mean, c'mon, do you actually think I'd work _against_ Quigley. Do you think I'd want a "Living Hell-Spawn" to lose to a guy like McArthur, a guy who doesn't have the skill necessary to pass the random drug tests, let alone win a wrestling match! I mean, really! I could cut off my [CENSORED] and let it wrestle... under the name "King Kong Baldy" of course... and it could kick McArthur all over the ring. [The camera starts shaking a little, as if the cameraman himself is trying to contain his laughter.] SM: Quickstrike, my pal, my chum, my amigo, I'm gonna be in your corner and if that Ol' Super Geeko tries to interfer, I'll hurt the lizard! I promise, as... God... as my witness.. I _will_ hurt the lizard! [Manning roars with laughter, as he gets up and kicks the door of the room down, off to mail his letter. Fade.] VVE: Which side will Manning be on? LM: And will we see the end of a career as storied and memorable as Maurice McArthur's? VVE: Who? ------------------------------------------------------------------------ World Championship Match "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder vs. "Spotlight" Billy Shakespeare ------------------------------------------------------------------------ VVE: Shakespeare earned this match by beating some notable opposition a couple of weeks ago, including Duncan Macbeth, the real Intercontinental Champion. LM: I thought you said that Maurice was the real champ? VVE: Oh, shut up. Let's go to the tape. [Fade from black to a lone spotlight shining down from overhead. In the spotlight is a three to four foot marble pillar with an object sitting on it. The camera pans in slowly as a drumbeat can be heard pulsing through the background. THUD...THUD...THUD. A cold raspy voice splits the eerie silence...] October 26, 1881. [A few muffled gunshots can be heard in the distance. THUD...THUD..] Twenty-seven seconds. [The gunshots are getting louder as the camera pans in closer. Screams can now be faintly heard. THUD...THUD...] Twenty seconds that defined a man an' created... a legend. [As the camera pans closer,the object is revealed to be an old fashioned hourglass,it's sands pouring from top to bottom. THUD...THUD...THUD...] Some simply call it the Gunfight at the O.K. Corral. Another story of the Old West. Of Wyatt Earp and his brothers defending themselves against the odds. Some call it a tall tale. But those that know the truth... _they_ call it... [The gunshots and screams reach a loud pitch and then with one last loud gunburst..fall silent. The drumbeat remains steady. THUD... THUD... THUD...] Payback. [The camera now focuses on the hourglass,circling it slowly as the sands shift through. Footsteps are heard approaching and a black shirt comes into view behind the hourglass. The camera slowly pans up. THUD...THUD.] Billy Shakespeare... [The surreal visage of Brody Thunder's face,lit from overhead,strikes a haunting image. With one final THUD the drumbeat stops sharply.] ...it's payback time. [The camera begins circling Thunder's head.] Time an' time again it seems, that yer a thorn in my side. I tired ta help ya. Ya wouldn't listen. I beat ya up one side an' down th'other. Ya wouldn't listen. I told ya not ta get in the ring with me again. _Ever_. But ya _jus'_... _wouldn't_... _listen_. So Saturday night,yer facin' me fer the world strap. One shot. One night only. The last time hooked'em up ya were the sole beneficiary o' a fast count courtesy o'yer friends in the suits. Lemme jus' assure ya right now, ace... [The camera completes the circle,focusing on Thunder's stoic stare.] ...it ain't goin' down like that _this_ time. Y'see _this_ time I'm callin' the shots. Oh it _is_ fer the strap alright, but this time... I'm finishin' what I started lo those many months ago. _This_ time it ain't gonna be yer title hopes driftin'away. It's gonna be yer career. Tomorrow night,Shakespeare... I'm facin' my personal OK Corral. An' while I may not be able ta _change_ history, son, ya can bet yer bottom dollah... [Thunder picks up the hourglass, admiring it. He then looks past it into the camera with an evil gaze.] ...I can _damn_ sure _create_ it. [Thunder tips over the hourglass off the pillar.The camera follows it as it tumbles in slow- motion downwards.] As of tomorrow night, yer time's up. Don't believe me? [The hourglass hits the floor, shattering in a slow motion symphony of windchime-like sound.] Jus' show up. [As a fragment of the broken timepiece slowly rocks to a rest on the floor, one final drumbeat is heard as the screen cuts to total black.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [A desolate prairie hours after night fall. There is heard the familiar whistle of Hugo Mentenegro's theme from "The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly". A solitary figure walks the wasteland, dust kicking from his heels, a weathered stetson cloaking his face, a faded duster covering his body. He bends to one knee to examine something in the caked dirt, the glowing ember of a cheroot obscuring his face in smoke. He speaks:] There is an old saying in the west that goes something like this: If you want to catch a man, first you must walk a mile in his boots. [The camera pans down to a fresh bootprint in the forsaken soil] Brody Thunder, from the size of this print, I'd say I've got some pretty small shoes to fill. [The figure spits out the cigar and tilts back the hat to reveal a grinning Billy Shakespeare.] BS: Damn, I should have been a cowboy. Shame the Bard never wrote about the old west. Louis Lamour is close... but he ain't Shakespeare. Brody, it looks like I get my long awaited shot at the World Title, and you get your long awaited shot at me. A lot has happened in the last year since I signed you up as my bodyguard. Maybe you're thinking that the pupil has become the master. Think again. I'm not deluding myself, you don't have to use the Curtain Call to put me away this time. Doewsn't mean you can either. There's many a slip twixt the cup and the lip. Said Antony "I have immortal longings in me." And lest you feel that the loutish tricks of Marty Warnett have given you the advantage that you need, let me remind you of another folk wisdom from your idiom: "A snake's not dead til nightfall". I'm Born to Perform... and this is the big show. [He stands. A tumbleweed slowly rolls across the frame as it fades back to the studio.] VVE: I really like Billy Shakespeare...really I do. But he's facing one tough hombre in Brody Thunder. LM: Do you really think Turner will put me in the hospital? VVE: Yes. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Steve "the Fury" Kowalski vs. "The Epitome of Evil" Serge Annis ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: Here we've got two guys who have really been on a tear as of late. VVE: This is going to be the best match of the night, mark my words. LM: With what? [Serge Annis’ image fades into view, arms raised in victory. The crowd nearby the ring is going wild. The Epitome of Evil struts around the ring yelling "Who’s the man?" Normally the crowd would yell back "You da man!", but you don’t hear that, all you hear is the voiceover.] VO: He has ran roughshod across every second hand wrestling federation from here to the Orient. Quickly amassing accolades and praise for his accomplishments, while never really beating anyone worth mentioning. Yet, like all ruffians that secretly envy the New Jersey Nightmare, he aspires to confront the Rampaging Icon... and beat him! Was he dropped on his head as a child, was he molested, was he neglected? No one will ever know what stupidity crept into the feebleminded Annis, but one thing is sure! He is over-rated. He is over-blown! And he is in _over_ his head! That being said, Serge Annis will reach the high point of his career on Saturday Night, December 13th 1997. That is the night "The Next Big Thing" -- "The New Jersey Nightmare" -- "The Urban Tyrant" -- "The Rampaging Icon" -- "The Meanest S.O.B. Walkin’ the Face of the Earth" -- Steve “The Fury” Kowalski brings himself, his truck load of nicknames, his fans and his SKULLPUMP to the head of Annis! [The scene has Annis yelling something to the camera, but you can’t hear him. There are graphics coming out of his mouth that just keep repeating "B.S." over and over. Suddenly, there is a shrill sound of a bomb falling! The camera looks up and a giant bottle of Mooselips is falling towards the ring, where Annis is standing. The ring EXPLODES! Fire, scrap and smoke shower the camera! When the smoke finally clears, Kowalski is standing amid the wreckage.] SK: I’m gonna drop a bomb on yer ass, Anus. Ya, my envious friend, are to be my first example... to the IIWF... to the world... and to Brody, my fun luvin’ punchin’ bag! Hell hath no Fury...like ME! [Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [The scene fades in to the back seat of a car. The camera is in the front, passenger side. Outside, the weather is snowing, and the sides of the road are covered a white blanket of snow. Sitting in the backseat is The Epitome of Evil Serge Annis, whom sits quietly looking out the window of the car. Annis has a suitcase next to him. Annis looks at the camera now, and runs a hand through his short brown hair.] SA: Have you ever wondered about the snow? How it covers up everything, hiding things from view? Hiding the disgusting truths like how we pollute and destroy the planet each day. Hiding the ugliness of the outside world, in a giant blanket of peaceful white snow. Sometimes, I used to wish that it could snow on my life. Cover up my past. Hide the truth about my father, and about the basement. I never did see snow down there. And even if I could... it was too dark to tell. But soon, the snow all melts and the mess of a life is all too visible to the eye. Don't ask me why the IIWF wanted me to talk when I'm on my way to the airport in a taxi. I've learned not to question the IIWF officials that way. Who am I to tell them how to do their job? It's not like they get into the ring every night, risking your very life for some suit in the back... no way, they have the hard life... Anyway... [Annis looks out into the snow. Annis self conciously rubs the three inch scar running over his neck. The cab driver notices it in the mirror (or so we assume) and makes a comment.] Taxi Driver: Wowee! That musta been one helluva fight ya got in! SA: You could say that.... Taxi Driver: I don't know why ya got a camera in muh taxi, and I don't know why ya yapping about the snow, but lemme tell ya something, this snow is damn hard to get to the air port in. You'll be lucky if the plane even takes off! SA: Look, you aren't being paid to talk. Your being paid to drive. So why don't you just shut up and watch the road you moron. God I hate New York. Now. Saturday Night, Steve Kowalski... Taxi Driver: [Interupting] Kowalski? Mang, he's one bad ass'd mother [bleep]'er! SA: Oh is he? Taxi Driver: Oh yeah man, he's one hardcore guy! He represents us. The working class. That boy's worked for everything he's got in that wrasslin' place of his. SA: Has he ever lost an eye? Taxi Driver: Don't think so. SA: Has he ever cut himself with a knife? Taxi Driver: No way man. That's just dumb! SA: Tell me... has he ever slit his throat in a match? Taxi Driver: I don't know what kinda drugs you're on boy, but only a psychopath would be that dumb. SA: DO YOU HAVE ANY [Bleep]ING IDEA WHO THE HELL I AM?!? Taxi Driver: Man, chill! You ain't need to yell! I'm just saying... SA: Shut up. Shut up and drive. I don't want to hear you talk until you say we are at the air port. Got that? Just shut up and drive! [The poor confused taxi driver shakes his head in agreement.] SA: Yeah... Serge Annis has made it big in the IIWF. I ask you this; If this is big, then what is Brody Thunder and Steve Kowalski? Gods? I've done more for the federation than Kowalski. I've gotten hurt more times than most, and I get up each and every day to face more. More pain. Why? I've lived my entire life through pain... sometimes, pain enough to make me collapse every few steps. But I got up, and I kept walking. It's a lot like IIWF. You can knock me down. You can pin my shoulders. You can beat me up. But I will get up. I will keep knocking at death's door, and running away. I'm not afraid of pain. A little pain makes it sweet... a lot of pain makes it home. And nothing is like home sweet home. Kowalski, on Saturday you and I lock up in the ring. I doubt it will be much of a match. But Kowalski, I ask you this. Are you really ready? When you look into my baby blue's, do you really see me? Or are you looking at Brody Thunder? 'Empty eyes see through your disguise'. And Kowalski, I'll be dressed as the grim reaper as I knock you down, and I drag you through the deepest caverns of Hell. And trust me Fury, they don't have any Mooselips down there... Taxi Driver: Hmm.... Mooselips... SA: SHUT UP AND DRIVE! Lousy Americans... anyway, Kowalski, this match is on so many different levels. A win for you, you surely will be in contention for Brody Thunder. A win for me, I silence the critics and seal Serge Annis' fate in the IIWF. Sound exciting? Perhaps... but I assure you Fury taht what you are in for is the most intense battle of your life. So remember, when you look in my eyes... you are looking down into the souls burning in Hell. The pain, the torture and above all else... the hatred. And trust me Steve... that hatred all goes out... to you. Heh heh... [Annis flickers his custom five inch flame Zippo lighter. The cabbie gets upset at this.] Taxi Driver: Hey man! No smoking in my car! Put that damn thing out! [Annis releases his hold on the lighter and the flame dies down.] Taxi Driver: Yeah, that's more like it. SA: Oh shut up, I didn't do it for you... I need to save the fluid... for a certain "Fury." Heh heh... [Fade to black as Annis stares back out the window into the snowy setting.] VVE: Two men with a lot to prove...one to the world and one to Brody Thunder. LM: Which one is which? VVE: How did you keep this job for so long? LM: I work cheap. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Lord Byron vs "Real Deal" Luke Steele ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: Now here is a match that probably won't happen. VVE: It won't if Steele gets his way. [Fade up from black, to a bright room filled with people. As the camera pans back some, we can see that it's the lobby of an airport, and judging by the way the people are dressed, it's somewhere in Texas. People rush by, trying to catch their planes as announcements are spoken over a crackly PA system. The camera spins around, and we can see Luke Steele, standing at a desk picking up his tickets.] LS: Well, looks like the Double Eye has cameras everywhere. Here I am, the hardest working wrestler in the world, picking up a ticket to get back to Portland. Wondering why I'm here in Texas, are you? It's simple. I'm in such demand that I have obligations with not only the IIWF, but another company down here in South Laredo. Tony Starks, how's the head? [Luke takes the ticket and thanks the attendant, then picks up a duffel bag and walks to a row of seats. He sits down, and again looks at the camera.] LS: My toughest challenge to date, agains the technical master, Lord Byron. Byron, I realize you've got more on your mind than this match on Saturday, so I'll give you the opportunity to bow out, and spend as much time with "milady" as possible. I'll be in the Coliseum Saturday Night, but don't worry, I won't be dissapointed if you don't show up. If you do decide to go through with this little battle, you're only going to be dumped on your head with the Floating DDT, the deadliest move in wrestling. Forget the Skullpump, the Slaughterslam, the Epitomizer, even the Quickstrike Deathlock and the Claymore. The Floating DDT can put any man out cold, big or small. And just like all these announcers keep saying, I am the hardest working man in wrestling. [The camera picks up the the announcement of the next flight to Portland, and Luke rises to his feet. He picks the duffel bag up again and slings it over his shoulder, turning towards the camera once again.] Byron, don't ruin your legacy of greatness any more than you have by trying to come back and fight the Real Deal. You had your time in the spotlight, and since you showed back up in Portland you've caused nothing but pain for the woman you supposedly love. Do her a favour and leave your ass at home, don't even bother to show up. I'll see you in Portland, LB... [Luke turns away and starts to walk to the gate, but stops and turns back for a moment.] Or maybe I won't. [Fade down to black.] VVE: Luke Steele is clearly terrified at the prospect of facing a rejuvenated Lord Byron. LM: I wouldn't say terrified is the right word... VVE: Well, he doesn't seem as afraid of Byron as you do of Tim, that's for sure. Luckily for Steele, he's probably right. We won't see Byron and the fans will miss out on seeing the second greatest technical wrestler in the sport. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Cruiserweight Title Match "Rocket Man" Timothy N. Turner vs. Richard "Moxy" Blue ------------------------------------------------------------------------ VVE: We don't do live interviews on this show normally but since the Cruiserweight Champion is here... [Tim Turner strolls back onto the set and Morton dashes off for safety.] TT: Victoria! How could you insult me in that way? VVE: What do you mean? TT: You called me the Cruiserweight Champ. We all know that I am the IIWF Champ after that grueling match against Thunder and Quigley. On to the moment at hand. Tomorrow I face the gnat of the IIWF, Richard "Monkey" Blue, or whatever he calls himself. This little weasel is beneath contempt. Scott Rogers will be around I'm sure, but I've beaten him before and I will do so again if he gets in my way. I've taken some extra precautions as well. I would like to invite my good friends, Duncan Macbeth and Derek Mota, to come down to the ring tomorrow and watch me defend my title. Having the real IC Champ and the second greatest Cruiser in the history of the IIWF watching my back will guarantee me a victory. VVE: Thanks Tim. Meet you after the show? TT: You bet. Now I'm going to go find Larry. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Ike Sampson and "To Excess" Rick Williams vs. Subway Psycho and Tony Starks ------------------------------------------------------------------------ VVE: This should be an interesting match-up. What is the relationship between Psycho and Starks? Add to that the hatred between Sampson and Starks and the animosity between Williams and Starks and we have the makings of either a good match or a good beating with Tony Starks as the recipient. Let's hear from some of the competitors. [Scene opens to an overhead shot of a large deserted beach, where the wind is howling and the rain spills down. Only one isolated figure is visible, sitting in the middle of the beach. As the camera shot switches to a ground view, the figure's identity becomes unmistakable. Dressed in a black jacket, blue jeans and a red baseball cap, "To Excess" Rick Williams wears an almost an almost emotionless expression as he stares out to sea. With water dripping from the peak of the cap, he appears oblivious to the unfavourable weateher conditions. With the ever present stick of gum once again in evidence, Williams begins to speak.] RW: Is it some sort of joke? Am I falling for another one of Spreadbury's little games? First, Shakespeare... Now, Sampson. Give me a _little_ credit, _boss_. Duped by Breathless Billy... Don't think for one second I'm gonna be the pawn in another one of your publicity games. I'm sick and tired of that. [Williams spits the stick of gum to the floor and shakes his head in obvious disgust.] Ike Sampson? Jesus Christ, what the hell are you trying to do to me? I don't need _anybody's_ help to send Subway Psycho back to wherever it is he came from, and sure as hell, not from some sap like _Ike Sampson_. [Placing another stick of gum in his mouth, Williams contemplates his preceeding comments. He shakes his head again before proceeding, in a noticeably calmer tone.] But alas, maybe I'm being too harsh... Maybe I'm not giving _Ike_ enough credit. Ike, don't start believing I trust you... I don't... I know I'm a hated man around here... I've seen the "Wanted: Dead or Alive" signs around the building... but Sampson, I ain't gonna be your Delilah... but I damn sure ain't gonna be your bestest buddy either. When you're opening those presents on the 25th, don't expect one that says, "Dear Ike, Happy Christmas... Hope you like the socks... From Rick". Ain't gonna happen, Jack... but let me down tomorrow night, and I'll give you _several_ presents you weren't expecting. [Grinning that evil grin, Williams confidently continues.] RW: And what of my _scheduled_ opponents of tomorrow night? Starks... Portland, Toronto, Pluto... Makes no difference to me. I couldn't care less about you, but don't think that's saving your carcass tomorrow night. And speaking of carcasses, what of Subway Psycho... the coward... the escape artist... the man who didn't know when to call it quits. You see, Psycho, I've got no interest in Starks... but you... you, on the other hand, fascinate me. I find it fascinating that Spreadbury's still writing pay checks for you, when social welfare should be handling that... and I find it fascinating that you're prepared to step in the ring with "To Excess" again. You know the score by now, bud... Every time you step in the ring with me could be the last time, and this is no different. Psycho against Williams -- It's the perfect example of the past versus the future, and pal, believe me when I tell you... There's not a man alive standing in my way of becoming the present. [Fade] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Scene: An abandoned warehouse in New York. Debris blows through the crumbling walls. A dark figure emerges from the shadows.] SP: New York... for all its crime and decay it is without question the greatest city in the world. It should not be surprising then that two of the greatest wrestlers in the world call this place home. Tony Starks... you and I are once again thrown into the mix with each other. You are now teamed with "the Institution" of the IIWF. I regard myself as the most consistently brutal and honest man in the IIWF. I mean what I say, and several months ago I declared that I would show no respect for any other wrestler in the IIWF, and I mean to stick to that claim. So Tony Starks... I don't respect you... but then again I don't disrespect you either. You walk that fine line in some gray area. You give me any reason to doubt your intentions Saturday Night I'll drop you so hard you they'll need a spatula to get you off the mat. I'll promise you that I'll throw myself totally into the match and fight for a victory. I don't swerve people, Starks... make sure you don't either. So that leaves Rick Williams... you know something, you goddamn idiot, think what you want about how our match last Saturday would have ended if not for all the chaos. One thing you should know about me is that I never need back-up. At some point this Saturday you and I will be in the ring one on one and you'll find out what I'm talking about first hand. [The Subway Psyco turns and exits out through a crack in the wall.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Scene: High atop the city of New York. It is near midnight, the moon shines down on the city. The shot flies overhead of the buildings, eventually coming up a grand cathedral. The shot closes in on the very top of the gothic cathedral. A man can be seen looking out of the lone window, as the shot gets closer that man can be seen to be Tony Starks. He looks down at the city, as the shot nears him he speaks:] TS: I look down at those streets below... the same streets that I came from. Those streets molded me into who I am today. My soul was forged with the lesson of pain and suffering. Those same streets made my tag team partner too: Subway Psycho. [Starks rubs his head slowly with his hands. He lets out a sigh as he resumes looking down.] Psycho, we have traveled the same roads. We have wrestled in the same feds, fought the same men... we share a bond, the respect of the streets. Don't get that confused with the fact that I still don't like you. I don't. What we have is a partnership... if you waiver from that deal... [Starks reaches into his pocket and gets a coin. He looks at it for a second. Then, he flicks it off his fingers out the window. It plummets to the city below.] If you waiver from our deal, your fate will be the same as that coin. The reason I am paired with you is because I like you just a bit better than those other two clowns we will face. Ike Sampson...you are as hardheaded as you are gifted. God smiled on you Ike when you were born. Same as he did me...he gave you the gifts of being a world class athlete. You know what though? He frowned on you at the same time...cause only God knows what I am gonna put you through. You talk big talk about how you like my world. [Starks sneers] You like it? I doubt it...how would like sad eyes and tears every damn day of your life? If you like my world so bad...then...I will just have to give you the whole thing this Saturday Night. Hope you can stomach it... Williams, don't know too much about you and I don't care to either. You can take your Oakley's and chewing gum and go back to your tanning salon. This is a real fight, do you know that? I hope so... no pulling punches and fovors here. I fight to win and I only win when I injure somebody. Get your life in order, you too Ike, you are one match away from eternity. Oh...Steve Roberts. Almost forgot. You can run your mouth all you want little man. You are real tough, aren't you?! You wouldn't know tough if it got you in the shower. Take your retired ass and shut the hell up. But I am only a mid-carder, right? [Starks turns and looks into the camera with some intensity.] This mid-card wrestler was one of the cats who spilled his blood to make this federation what it is today... the best. Same thing with Psycho, 'Bringer and Ol' Shakespeare. Not your grand champion Thunder, or that IC champ or Kowalski. Certainly not these two clowns I am facing this week... the whole IIWF doesn't have to fear me to get their asses whipped remember that... [Starks breathes heavily and stares into the camera. Fade.] VVE: This match will be a real knock down, drag out affair! Oh, Larry! Welcome back. LM: [huff] If you see him [huff] tell me [huff] so I... VVE: There he is! [Morton runs off again] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The Machines vs the Harlequins ------------------------------------------------------------------------ VVE: The Harlequins, with the exception of an appearance by Comedy last week, have been silent since losing the Tag gold. This week is no different. The Machines are never ones to be quiet however, so let's go to the tape. [Paul Wong is seated on the weight bench, doing a series of arm curls. As he continues working out, he begins to speak, only slightly winded from his efforts.] PW: First things first, guys. Simon was the one who showed up at the match last night between the Fabulous Ones and the Down Boys. Not me... Simon. I thought it was hilarious that the guys on the Wednesday show can't tell us apart. {Points to himself} I'm the big, friendly Asian guy. He's the small, uptight, obnoxious Irish fellow. Besides... I'm much better looking. PW: Let's be honest here. The Fabulous Ones are a good team, and Ms. Miki looks like a... fine manager. And if they want to challenge us, all right. But they keep coming down to ringside, claiming to help us, but setting us up instead. PW: And I know that you're probably ticked off at Simon. Hell, everyone's ticked off at Simon most of the time. But Bertha knew what she was getting into when she started seeing him. She ended up playing with fire, and she got burned. But that doesn't give her the right to sick her new toy on us. [He sets the bar down, towels off his forehead, and continues.] PW: Now, we have the Harlequi... [He's interrupted as Simon O'Neal enters through the door, slamming it behind him. He's got a smirk across his face, and is waving a folder.] SO: Got it! You owe me one. PW: Owe you one what? SO: I talked to the officials, some money changed hands, a few threats were made... PW: Get to the point. SO: Simple. Agita Nakijima and Sho Satsuma are hearby banned from ringside this Saturday. PW: You got that in the contract? I thought it was impossible to get that in? How the hell... {he pauses} check that. I really don't want to know. SO: No you don't. So, when Tragedy and Chaos realize that the Japanese equivalent of Scott Rogers won't be around to lend them a helping hand, they'll start shaking in their oversized shoes, and begging us for mercy. {Grins} Which we won't give. PW: It's about time we actually had a fair match. {Checks his watch} I've got to go. I need to take a shower, then get out of here. SO: Big date, huh? {Paul looks a little embarassed as he leaves. Simon laughs, then faces the camera.} SO: Oh, yeah... tell those bozos on Wednesday to check their glasses. I was the one Ms. Miki was checking out last night. We all know she wants me. So then Larry and the new guy say that I'm Paul? It's very easy to tell us apart. I'm the cute one, and Paul's... not. [Fade back to Victoria] VVE: The Machines are once again showing the lack of focus that is rife in the tag ranks today. Why aren't there any teams who can concentrate on the match at hand instead of some other team that they would like to fight? [Larry comes back in.] LM: I'm I too late? Is the show over? VVE: Why don't I do you a favour, Larry. I'll take off with Tim and you can finish the show in relative peace. LM: I hate working alone! VVE: C'est la vie! Bye! [Victoria sashays off the set.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Deathbringer vs the Highwayman ----------------------------------------------------------------------- LM: Battle of the big men... uh, clash of the... uh. Ah hell. Just roll the tape. [SCENE: Deathbringer's graveyard. The mortuary is seen in the background, surrounded by dozens of old, twisted trees. The entrance to the stone- built structure has been opened, and a dim light can be seen shining out of the door. After a few seconds of silence, a voice that sounds as if it belongs to a rather old man is picked up by the camera's microphones] VOICE: There you are! [The camera moves to the right from where the Blind Guardian approaches, who is wearing a long white cloak] BG: I'm really glad that you visit us here in our little realm. Afterall, we've got a few to say - But it's cold out here, let's go over to the mortuary! [The Blind Guardian turns around and moves towards the mortuary. The camera follows him and they finally enter the hall, where Deathbringer is sitting behind the old wooden table which has been set up in the rear left corner of the building. As he notices the camera, the Dark Destroyer stands up, moves around the table and begins to speak in his low, growling voice] DB: Welcome, mortals. Tonight I would like to say a few things about the upcoming encounter against the Highwayman, Adam Smith. But first of all let me remind you of what I said just a few days back: Those who once jumped me from behind, those who once blindsided me during my matches, and especially those, who formed the stable called Genesis, will pay their bills to the Reaper. Yes, they will pay for their deeds, and I proofed already that I am more than capable to collect this toll. Requiem was nothing more than a name on my list, and this list contains quite some more names. Adam Smith, the Highwayman, is found on it, too. And tomorrow night, Adam, will be the night of my revenge. It will be the night, on which the Reaper himself shows the world that no one, _NO ONE_ can stand up against the man, who is the TRUE Master of Darkness. [The Blind Guardian, who meanwhile has taken a seat on top of one the caskets which are spread across the mortuary, begins to speak now. Deathbringer uses the opportunity to sit down behind the table again] BG: The true Master of Darkness. I guess no one doubts this. But there're doubts about what happened last Saturday night, when Deathbringer stepped into the path of Otto Verhoeven. Rumors are, that he didn't just do it because he wants Otto's ... erm, soul. [laughs] No, some say Deathbringer also has something to discuss with Lord Byron and that he didn't want to let someone hurt his prey. I wonder how imaginative some people can be. OK, I've to admit that there are other unbelievable rumors spread within the IIWF locker rooms. For example that Otto Verhoeven is a great wrestler or that Tim Dross doesn't wear a toupee. Last saturday Deathbringer looked over to Byron. He looked at him for the fraction of a second, and still someone interpretes this as an act of aggression. But believe me, it is like Sigmund Freud once said: "Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar". [Deathbringer raises his voice again now] DB: And tomorrow night it might be better for you, Adam, to sit down somewhere and smoke a cigar instead of coming down to the squared circle to face me. But whether it is that cigar of yours or yourself... something is going to burn tomorrow night. Yes, tomorrow night I will welcome you all to my house of horror. Tomorrow night, a new, improved Reaper will set the IIWF on fire. Adam Smith, prepare to meet your maker! [Fade as the camera zooms in to Deathbringer's piercing red eyes] LM: That man is just scary. We're almost out of time with all this running around so let's go to Trash Talk! ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| Trash Talk |_||_| \_/\_/ |_|.................................................... [The camera opens to a brown Corvette. The top is down, and Licensed for Devasation, Reggie Starr and Jonathan Chaos, are seated on the rim of the car. Both men are wearing, "LfD are the !@#$" t-shirts, Reggie's black, and Jonathan's white. They are also wearing blue jeans. Reggie smiles nervously and looks at the camera.] RS: Fabulous Ones... welcome to the IIWF. You got your welcome courtesy of the LfD express. Every team in the IIWF is going to feel our wrath one by one, right Jon!? JC: Ya know what I was thinkin', Reg? RS: What? JC: We don't need ta' attack ev'rybody, yo. We just gotta get even wit' 'dos two [BLEEP]ers Grey Phoenix 'n Bear. We just gotta lay da' smack down on dat damned managa' of 'ders. RS: O... kay. Wasn't it your idea to just beat the hell out of everybody? JC: Yeah... RS: Didn't you say to me, "Kill 'em all and let God sort 'em out?" JC: Well... yeah. But it'd be mo' fun ta' kill t'ree of 'em. Mo' personal. RS: Ah. JC: Yeah... but those [BLEEP]ers da' Harlequins ain't all rosy neither. RS: They've been talking about the double loose cannon too, Jon. Something about us laying our hands on Melody... _damn_, she's hot. She's kinda intelligent too, she wins more matches for the Harlequins than they do for themselves... I mean, did you see that set of... JC: ... Reg, it ain't no thang. Just be ready, yo. We's gonna break da' Natural Predato's. RS: That's right, Jon. From this point forward, the two of you have hell to pay. We don't mind getting our asses kicked. Hell, it's fun. But when you handcuff us to a guardrail and let us, and four other people beat the [BLEEP] out of us... it kinda hurts. You made Jon lose his mind! JC: Yeah. RS: Now you've gotta pay the piper... and the piper has LfD shirts on. [Fade to black.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Lights come up on Bear and Grey Phoenix, the Natural Predators, who are sitting behind a table at a Tower Records in Seattle, Washington, signing autographs as part of a "promotion". Kuyler Greyson, their manager, stands back by the wall, watching and talking on his cell phone, and is dressed in a black turtleneck, a grey jacket, and his long dark blonde hair pulled back in a pony tail. Both Grey Phoenix and Bear are wearing jeans and "Natural Selection" T-shirts. The line of people is long, and most of them have no qualms about acting silly for the IIWF cameras which have accompanied the popular tag Team and Casey C., well respected member of the Jobber Justice Squad. IIWF freelance reporter Chris Garrison steps in front of the lens, and begins his report] CG: I'm here in Seattle Washington, with the Natural Predators, at Tower Records, for the first in a series of IIWF promotions during the holiday season. Grey Phoenix, Bear, and Casey C. have taken time this week to visit the fans here in Seattle, Washington, on a pre-Saturday Night rest the extremely active Predators have needed, after three straight matches have yielded two wins and a draw against the High Plains Drifters, the Machines, and Licensed for Devastation. [Garrison walks over toward Kuyler, the fans still whooping and hollering in the background as the camera turns to catch the image of the 6'10" 385 lbs Bear with his arms outstretched and four women sitting on his wide shoulders. Grey Phoenix stands in front of Bear as a fifth young lady takes pictures with an array of cameras] Kuyler Greyson, you've done this sort of promotion work before with the Predators. Why aren't you signing autographs with them? [Kuyler smiles a wide smile as he walks over to Garrison, saying an indistinct goodbye to whomever he was speaking to beyond earshot of the boom mike] KG: Simple enough reason. Look at these kids. Look at the fans who have come out to see the Predators to talk wrestling with them. Do you think many of them would be interested in a manager's thoughts on the Ring Wars, or to listen to his stories of the past? My time in the ring is over, best to leave it to the young. [Kuyler points over to the table again, where Grey Phoenix and Casey C. springboard leap onto Bear's shoulders, landing square, and the fans cheers cause a certain amount of feedback on the boom, even this far away] CG: Do you think these appearances damage the tough appearance of your wrestlers by giving them an almost circus-like undertone? [Kuyler shakes his head, turning quickly to sign an autograph from someone who recognized the face, even out of his trademark clothes] KG: When I was a wrestler, it was always about the fans. Nowadays, too many of these superstars think the world would collapse without their presence in the ring. I prefer to teach my charges how to be someone the fans can look up to. CG: There have been a lot of "Where the Wild Things Rule" t-shirts here, momentos of your pre-IIWF success. Do you feel that the Predators will carry their current momentum to the top? KG: I don't feel it, Chris. I know it. Look at the level of competition we have in the IIWF. I don't know about you...but I am more than excited about the Predators' chances. [Casey C. in a side view in an "arm wrestling" match with Bear. Bear looking decidedly bored while Casey gives his all. The fans cheer as Bear, with a faux "sneeze" powers Casey's hand down.] CG: As I understand, you've a number of challenges pending in President Spreadbury's office. KG: That's right. Seems like the Natural Predators are just hovering right now in sort of a limbo. Number 5 contenders, but the top teams refuse to face us. [Hands Garrison a sheet of paper] Read through. These are the challenges pending. CG: Mexican Death Match against Licensed for Devastation? KG: Too much running around, not enough direct conflict. They want to be tough guys, they can face us in the ring. No way out except to be THROWN out. CG: Challenge to Damage Inc. But they're dead, aren't they? KG: Death. Life. I don't mean to be callous, but if they're dead, we don't get the match, and if they aren't, we should. Eddy Ramos brags about being a big man. ell me this. What is he compared to Bear, hmm? Bear is the biggest, strongest man in the IIWF, and with Grey Phoenix, they can beat anyone. Natural Predators. CG: Open challenge to the Harlequins and Cold Spell. KG: Never answered from before. We don't mind losing, but we will not accept something as non-committal as delay tactics. CG: And... what's this last one? Bear challenges... KG: Bear challenges the "strongmen" to "powermatches". Look at him. Young. Strong. Tough. A true giant of the sport. I see no reason on earth why he shouldn't make the challenge. I believe it's necessary for him to step into the spotlight a bit more. CG: It appears you have your proteges in quite an arduous schedule. [Kuyler smiles, as the Predators stand up, concluding the autograph session, with Casey C. receiving fair accolades as well. The flashes from cameras and the smile onthe Predators' faces are evident as the camera swings back around to Kuyler] KG: If a wrestler chooses to be managed by me, I make sure they work to succeed. That's why the Predators are here in the IIWF, instead of in some rival organization where their skills and potential would be wasted. CG: Well, there it is. Kuyler Greyson keeping his team active, and who knows? We can almost be certain that the Predators will not give up or slow their pace until they have what they want. From Seattle, Washington, this is Chris Garrison, back to you in the studio, Victoria and Larry. [Camera fades to the IIWF logo amidst the cheers of the Predators Fans.] ----------NAGOYA SUN---------- G1: Sports section FABULOUS ONES takeover of the IIWF tag team scene! by Hirohashi Honda Two weeks ago, the IIWF tag team scene was surprised by the appearance of the Fabulous Ones. On an edition of IIWF Saturday night, they made their presence felt, by setting up the Machines and causing them to lose their four corners match. Last week on IIWF Saturday night, they did it again. It seems that the Machines have their hands full. Last Wednesday on the War Room, the Fabs collected, yet another victory over the Rotundos. Then, this past Wednesday, they showed their tag team superiority, by systematically destroying the DOWN BOYS. After just three weeks, it looks as though the IIWF is getting a dose of what being “Fabulous” is all about. Their ticket sales at house shows have already increased by ten percent. The demographics show that of that ten percent increase, ninety-one percent of it are female ticket buyers. Mr. NAKAJIMA told this reporter of their contract. Without giving away any figures, they’re the highest paid tag team in the IIWF, and with the ticket sales already increasing it looks to be paying off. Way to go IIWF. For the closing segment of this article, I’d like to express my opinion of the tag team situation. Looking down the roster, I don’t see any teams that can beat the Fabs with any kind of consistency. The IIWF world champions, DAMAGE. INC, are there because of their longevity, rather than their ability. When, the Fabs finally get a shot at the world titles, you can beat your bottom dollar they’ll win it. They’ll take the IIWF to the next level. In the words of “The Universal Heartthrob”, “Take a ride on the Fabulous Express!” ----------------------------------------------------------------------- [Fade to shot of a large building at night. It is quite a magnificent structure in fact. Beautiful white pilliars and a lovely flight of stairs are what frame this eighteenth century style edifice. Parked in front is a double stretched limo... 1998 model... white... and of course with totally black tinted glass. Gathered around the vehicle are many admiring people... many of whom know the man whom the automobile belongs to. The camera can catch some things that are being said in the crowd of people.] M1: My goodness! Mr. Scheffield is around! M2: I wonder if we will get to see him? W1: I wonder if he's as handsome as they say he is! CH: Get the hell away from here! [The large chauffeur steps out of the vehicle. The man must be around the six foot five mark and over two-hundred and sixty pounds. The crowd gathered around step back a ways. Suddenly, a commotion is heard in the direction of the building. It is people clamouring over a man stepping out.] W2: My God! It's Charles Scheffield! M3: Wow! I can't believe it! [About three large body guards are surrounding a man wearing a black suit and bowtie. Evidently this man has just been to some sort of black tie gathering and is attempting to leave. The men and women swarm around him, but the three huge bodyguards do an excellent job staving them off. He finally makes it to his large limousine as the chauffeur opens the door for him. He graciously steps inside and the three bodyguards step in on the other side of the car before the chauffer has time to open the door for them. The limousine takes off.] [Cut to shot inside the limousine.] B1: What's with those people, Scheffield? I mean you just barely joined the IIWF and already everyone is all over you! CS: It isn't that, Bradley. See, this is my hometown. Scheffield is quite a name in these parts in case you hadn't known. B2: Oh really? And just what is it they love so much about you, Mr. Scheffield. CS: The wealth of the family, Timothy. And of course the tremendous power. You must understand that wrestling hasn't always been my life. I have learned the arts of grappling since I was a young boy... yet that wasn't intended to be my livelyhood. We are all bankers and big businessmen. B3: It doesn't sound as if wrestling was exactly meant to be your cup of tea, Mr. Scheffield! [All three of the bodyguards laugh at this, meaning it to be a joke. Scheffield, on the other hand, continues to smile quite contently, yet does not react to the joke in any way.] CS: Indeed so, Mr. Teller, yet I do not plan on it being so for long. I am not noted for failure. After all, my family's two-hundred year heritage in these parts was not derived from necessarily playing in accordance with the rules all the time. Wrestling perhaps may not be the greatest choice in my life... yet I do have several assets which can take me to the top. I do have the cunning of a fox, yet above all else, I do have the skill. B1: You may have the skill... but everyone knows that in order to succeed in wrestling... one must have... creativity. [Scheffield sits in silence for a few moments pondering this statement. He looks upon his gold Rolex watch trying to ponder time itself... as a metaphore for his career possibly drifting away before his eyes... due to lack of creativity. Charles suddenly bellows forth with a laugh.] CS: Indeed! That is quite crazy, isn't it? Well, I have news for you, Bradley. If you truly think that the great Scheffield family came to where they are today simply by living off of the previous family wealth, you, my friend, are quite mistaken. In fact so mistaken that I demand that you take that remark back. B1: I didn't mean anything by it. CS: I am quite sure. Well, I can guarantee you that our family had to be very creative to figure out ways to make money in the trying times when jolly old England was holding the colonies back. From the beginning we have been a prosperous family. Avoiding the kings tactics at taxation was quite a story I'm sure you would love to hear at some time. B1: Well, I am sure it would be quite intriguing to hear at some time... especially if I actually cared. Now yes, perhaps your family was quite skilled at avoiding the taxation of _my_ ancestors... the question is are _you_ as creative? [Again, Scheffield ponders the question. Finally, he speaks up.] CS: Only time shall tell. Carry on. [Cut to shot of the limo driving by a fixed positioned camera. Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [The camera opens on a view of a forested area somewhere outside Portland. Christopher Stonebreaker stands on a fairly high cliff in these woods, and looks down at the drop into a river below, before taking a step back. Christopher turns back to his knapsack and pulls out a hard cover copy of some book, and he tosses it over the side of the cliff.] CS: That? That was the rule book. As you all just witnessed Wednesday night, gentlemen, there are no more apparent rules. [Again, Stonebreaker repeats the process with a second book, this time, he leans over to watch as the covers of the book hit a side of the cliff before dropping into the river.[ That was the life story of one Ned Norton. Norton was the first man to go down to the new order of things in the IIWF. But you see this? [Chris picks up the satchel, which is obviously weighted down with further books, as the corners poke against the canvas covering. Chris starts to throw the whole bag over the cliff, but stops, and stares at it for a second, before pulling out one single book.] Musashi, this my friend is you. [The wrestler takes a look down at the cover, and a smile crosses his face, as he suddenly decides to thumb through it.] You, my friend, are the man who created this monster. You, Enigma, are to be the second man to face off against the pure anger of the cajun. [Christopher flashes the book cover at the camera, revealing to be Mary Shelley's "Frankenstein", before tossing it over the cliff.] Only this time, it won't be the monster who suffers from the hands of the mob. This time.... [Chris steps back and launches the entire satchel over the cliff with a huge heave, and the camera follows the pack as far as it can until the river water engulfs it.] [off camera] This time the monster won't go down to the hands of the mob. This time, Musashi, the story has a very different ending. [The camera fades out still centered on the water that swallowed the backpack which is floating somewhere beneath its surface.] ----------------------------------------------------------------------- [SCENE: The camera focuses in on a yellow, flickering tongue of flame. Slowly, it pans out, revealing first a candle placed in an ornately carved holder, twisted into a gargoyle like edifice; then, as the field of vision grows wider, a dark, silhouetted figure, sitting in a meditative position just beyond the glowing sphere of light. The figure's features remain wreathed in shadow...] TM: In the heart of a warrior there dwells two conflicting spirits. First, there is the Kansei Kami: the spirit of order... [Musashi leans forward, so that the candle light flickers over the right side of his face, glittering off the silver and blue star painted around his eye. The left side of his face remains in the shadows.] From my Kansei Kami I draw my focus and control. With it, I am able to forge the raw essences of discordance and aggression flowing through my soul into something of worth - my aerial artistry, my technical expertise, the serenity of mind necessary for strategy. But beneath my Kansei Kami lies something deeper and more feral. It is my Konton Kami: the spirit of chaos... [The Enigma turns his head in the light so that now the left side of his face is revealed, and the right side is wreathed in shadow. A red pentacle is painted around Musashi's left eye, and as the light flickers eerily across his face, it takes on an almost devilish cast.] From my Konton Kami comes my killer instinct and passion for war. It's nature is wild and unbound; dangerous and destructive. It knows nothing of laws or compassion; it seeks only to wreak havoc where order had once imposed itself. The Konton Kami can be of great benefit when kept in check by the Kansei Kami - it is the provider of energy, the flames of desire, the will to triumph in battle. But sometimes... ...sometimes... ...it rages out of control... [Suddenly, the candle's flame sparks and flares, illuminating Musashi's face in a burst of light. Perhaps a trick of the light, or perhaps in reality, the Enigma's expression is momentarily creased in a mad and devilish grin. In less than a instant, however, the candle returns to normal, and once again, Musashi's face is wreathed in shadow.] Two spirits. Two faces. In the Enigma they are as one. Each of my enemies must ponder the question in turn: which side of the Enigma will you have to face? Which side would you rather face? Ronnie Paris, the decision has already been made for you. In choosing the path of cowardice and derision, you have unearthed the element in the Enigma that you most fear... For you, Ronnie Paris, the dance in darkness has only begun... [Abruptly, the flame is extinguished, and the scene is plunged into inky blackness.] ----------------------------------------------------------------------- [SCENE: An exterior shot of a rough-hewn log cabin, nestled into the cedar and fir forests that cover the craggy mountainsides near the small village of Ucluelet, on the west coast of Canada's Vancouver Island. It is late at night, and the silence of these tranquil surroundings is broken only by the lapping of the ocean waves against the rough pebbly stretch of beach. A thick evening fog rolls off the Pacific shore, shrouding the cabin in a sombre white mist, illuminated by the hurricane lamps glowing from within the lodge and the telltale flickering of a television set. A West Coast native totem pole leans in the front yard of the lodge, displaying ornate carvings of a bear, cougar and fox, and topped with a regal image of a thunderbird. At the base of the pole, a familiar blue and silver BMW motorcycle can be seen resting on its stand, glinting in the soft glow from within the cabin beside a mailbox that reads "Turner". Cut to an interior shot of the cabin, which bears all the trappings of a typical Canadian fishing lodge - several mounted salmon and trout adorn the walls, fishing rods and tackle can be seen piled in a corner, and the furnishings seem to be made of the very same cedar that surrounds the outside of the cabin. A hearty blaze is roaring in a fireplace to one side, and several framed photographs can be seen on the mantlepiece. The photos all seem to be of past fishing expeditions, and one in particular stands out - Timothy N. Turner and Duncan Macbeth, clad in oilskins and laughing, each holding up a large coho for the camera. In front of the fireplace, a solitary figure seated in a worn-looking easy chair can be seen, silhouetted against the glow of the hearth, intently watching a television set in the corner. A video player is replaying the final moments of the Chris Quigley/Duncan Macbeth match from Ring Wars IV, over and over again in a constant half-speed loop. The seated figure grunts with disgust every time the sequence of events repeats itself... Duncan Macbeth, leaping up and hitting the Claymore from out of nowhere, then falling upon the bloodied, stunned, and spent Chris Quigley... Dave D'Amato, dropping for the cover as the crowd goes wild, his hand slapping the canvas once... twice... Quigley making no move to kick out... a close-up of the triumphant look on the face of Duncan Macbeth, suddenly twisting into a contortion of agony, as a gray blur and a flash of metal appears behind the Scot's head... Macbeth's eyes rolling back in his head, as his consciousness suddenly slips away... Steve Manning, Jr. _standing_ in the ring, draping Chris Quigley's limp arm across the chest of the cold-cocked Highlander... D'Amato again, shaking his head with chagrin, as he counts Macbeth out... the crowd erupting with fury at the result... and over and over again. Finally, the camera moves around the side of the easy chair, and we see the profiled form of Duncan Macbeth himself, dressed in jeans and a thick Cowichan sweater, a topknot pulling his ginger hair out of his green eyes as he stares straight ahead, lazily swirling a tumbler of Lagavulin in his right hand. Macbeth downs the remainder of the whisky in the glass and sets it down, folding his hands in front of his chin as he watches the loop again and again. Finally, in the half-light of the flickering screen and the crackling hearth, the Scot begins to speak.] DM: I _will_ have justice. I've been content t' take th' moral high ground thus far in th' weeks since Ring Wars, Quigley. I proved in front o' a global television audience jus' who was more worthy t' hold th' Intercontinental Title. Ye had th' opportunity time an' again t' prove _yuir_ worth, by puttin' righ' th' wrongs committed by yuir daft wee playmate Manning. An' every time, ye've managed t' avoid th' matter. [Macbeth turns in his chair to face the camera, shadows flickering across his face.] Nae longer, Quigley. Morality is of nae consequence in an amoral world. Ye condemn th' actions o' yuir wee friend, but still ye let 'im follow ye 'round like a pup, don't ye? Ye try t' separate yuirself from Manning, try t' tell everyone how much ye despise 'im, but ye'll STILL take th' win when 'e gift-wraps it fer ye, won't ye? Ye call yuirself a "fightin' champ", but think on it, man, when was th' last time ye pinned a man in this fed without Manning's help? An' now, when th' same thing tha' happened t' ME at Ring Wars happens t' YE, ye run bawlin' up t' Spreadbury's office t' beg an' plead fer yuir title back. An' ye get it. Ye've said tha' all ye "demand" from people is tha' they respect ye fer yuir ability. Well, if ye'd actually USE yuir ability t' win a match now an' again, instead o' relyin' on yuir number-one fan t' save ye, maybe ye'd prove worthy o' some respect. Righ' now, though, ye're in a position t' "demand" NOTHIN'. Ye cannae DEMAND respect from anyone, Quigley. Ye have t' EARN it. An' until ye face me again, my ability against yuirs, without yuir wee pet playin' silly buggers, th' only things ye're goin' t' earn are contempt, disrespect, an' disregard. An' mark me, paper champion... an' ye'd best hear me too, Manning... [Macbeth's eyes narrow, and his voice drops to a raspy baritone as the wood in the fireplace suddenly crackles ominously.] .....until ye dig down an' find th' bottle t' put yuir precious strap on th' line against me again, I'm goin' t' dog ye like a hound on a hare, 'till I take ye t' down. Ye're never goin' t' be rid o' me, y'hear? NEVER. I can't seem t' _shame_ a rematch out o' ye... apparently t' ye, th' _havin'_ o' a title seems t' be more important than th' _gettin'_ o' it. Sae if I have t' BEAT a rematch out o' ye, I'm _more_ than willin' t' do tha' now. I'm FED UP wi' yuir whinin', beggin', duckin', an' self-rightious blatherin', Quigley. An' I WILL have justice. Mark me. [Fade.] ----------------------------------------------------------------------- [Scene: Tim Dross sits at a glass table. The room is an obvious studio. All that is seen is a black background. Sitting on the other side of the small glass table is "The Brat" Bradley Reed. Reed is wearing his usual grunge clothing and is looking his usual bratty self. He is wearing his nosering along with the chain that attaches to his left earring. His t-shirt reads, "Brat - A - Mania".] TD: Welcome everybody to this very special interview exclusive. As here today I interview possibly the most controversial and definitely most enigmatic star in the IIWF. "The Brat" Bradley Reed. I'm shocked to see that you have come here alone without your famed "Brat Pack". BR: Nah Drossy, nothing strange about that. My boys are just having a night painting the ol' town while I get stuck here listening to you asking me lame questions. TD: Well, let's get back to my previous point. You are certainly a very enigmatic individual. You never know what is really going to come out of your mouth or what you're going to do next. We have seen you totally disrespect the fans and wrestlers -- then suddenly change to embracing them and calling them your Bratamanaics. We've seen you claiming victories at the Grapples when you won nothing and claim to have carried your team to victory in a six man when you were the man pinned. You even thanked Ike Sampson for a show of kindness when he actaully turned on you. Or what about... BR: [yawns] Dross, I know all this. I was the one that did it, big guy. TD: I know, I'm just recapping. Like when you brought Ste.... BR: Save it for your petty Tuesday show. [Reed starts to unbuckle his pants.] TD: What the hell are you doing?! BR: Taking off my pants so you can see my ass better. TD: No, thank you. And what is with this obsession about your buttocks? Out of nowhere you start claiming to have the best.... BR: Do you even have to ask? Can't you see with your very own eyes that this is truly "God's Gift To Women". I mean this thing is unbeleivable. You'd think I was the star of that Buns of Steel video. This is Grade prime meat, my brutha. TD: Ahem. Moving on..... BR: Moving on?! What else can we talk about? This ass is all that matters. If you don't have the ass then you mind as well hit the road. How do you think I landed a babe like Stephanie Summer? TD: That brings me to my next question. Why did you do that to Summer? How could you have taken this hard working lad and turned him into a complete freak? BR: I didn't do anything, Dross. That's natrual beauty. No surgery there. She is quite a catch, eh? But we only have a strictly business relationship which means she is single. You should give her a chance -- you look like a guy who hasn't had some for quite some time. TD: You're sickening. I can't beleive you did such a thing. To such an impressionable kid too. BR: Ahhh... you love her, Dross. TD: Reed, Stephanie is Steve Summer. My former colleague, not some beauty queen. And I am very disturbed in the changes I saw last Sauturday. I can't believe that Summer did this on his own. I feel it must have taken your influence. BR: [takes off his pant belt and snaps it across Dross' leg.] TD: OUCH! What was that for?! BR: What was what for? TD: Never mind. Anyway, moving on once again, let's talk about what happened last Saturday night... BR: [deepens his voice] Well you know Mean Ge... I mean Terrible Tim. Last weekend was just another example of what Brat-a-Mania is all about. I once again proved it is the srongest force in the sport today. I proved that all it takes is to follow the three demandments of Brat-a-Mania. Listen to your loud music. Chug back your brewskis. And buy all my merchandise. And with that, you're unstoppable, brother. So what are you going to do when my 18 inch pythons run wild all over you?! TD: [not amused at all] Are you done? BR: Stick a fork in me and find out, babes. TD: Umm... no. Anyway, about the affair with Marrty Warnett last weekend. He turned on his best friends and aided his worst nemesis to victory. He then offered an oppportunity to beat Shakespeare at Snow Brawl. What are your thoughts? BR: Do you even watch the IIWF programming any more, Dross?! I can't blame you if you don't, but I've already discussed this on Monday. Yeah, I'll take up Warnett's offer. I hate the guy more then life but he has offered me a chance to take out a guy I hate even more at a major event. We know my record at PPVs, Dross. Just call me the Hero Killer as I add another to my list on 17 January. And even if Warnett is trying to sucker me in, then I'll pull his crippled ass in the ring along with Stone as my partner in a handicap match. But for now I trust him just 'cause I like his offer. TD: Now what about your recent comments about Ike Sampson? BR: Who?! TD: Ike Sampson, the man who caused you to lose the big six-man a few weeks ago. BR: Oh, you mean Ike the Tyke. I haven't forgotten my good buddy Ikie. Hey, I still owe him a favour. And Ike don't worry I'm just waiting for the right time. Right now I have more important things to worry about. Like letting the world know about my ass. [Reed gets up and drops his pants, turning around to reveal his smiley face boxers -- and, of course, his ass.] TD: Oh my... cut the camera. [The camera quickly goes to black. It fades back up to a shot of Larry Morton in the studio] LM: Don't forget to tune in tomorrow for the best two hours of wrestling on television! For Victoria Von Edward, I'm Larry Morton... good night everybody! [As the camera fades down Morton can be seen looking nervously in every direction before slinking off the set.] +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= 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 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+