C + O + U + N + T + D + O + W + N T + O ________ ______ __ ____ ___ __ . _ ___ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __| / /\ | | || \| \ /\ \ / |\ || / \| | | | || | \ v v / | __| \__ /__\ | | ||__/| |/__\ v | \||| __|-| | |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| \ \| v | \|__/ \| | || \_|| | | __________________________/..............\........|...|.......|....| with Larry Morton and Victoria Von Edward 19 December 1997 [The shot opens to show Larry Morton, looking fairly smug, and Victoria Von Edward, looking fairly annoyed, sitting in thier usual places behind the slick looking counter area.] LM: Welcome one and all to another edition of Countdown to IIWF Saturday Night! Featuring my lovely co-host, Victoria Von Edward, and myself, Larry Morton! VVE: Are you done patting yourself on the back, Larry? It is true that you are still on the show, despite threats by good friend Tim Turner. LM: I am Larry and I am invincible! VVE: Hey, aren't those the Lost Boyz? LM: Where?! VVE: Tim is spending the week at his cabin near Ucluelet, on the shores of British Columbia, recovering from the cowardly beating given to him by Scott Rogers. LM: Who then promptly left the promotion. VVE: Typical. ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| REWIND: IIWF Wednesday War Room - [17/Dec/97] |_||_| \_/\_/ |_|.................................................... Otto Verhoeven d. The Smooth by pinfall 0:10 Harlequin Tragedy d. Ned Norton by submission 5:12 Shadoe Rage d. Jumping Jack by dq 7:35 Ronnie Paris d. Barnacle Brother Bluto by submission 5:59 Harlequins d. Licensed For Devastation by forfeit 12:22 The Meatman d. Highwayman by pinfall 11:22 Luke Steele d. Charles Scheffield by pinfall 17:47 Natural Predators d. Machines by pinfall 14:03 LM: Wednesday was chock full of wrestling excitement! VVE: Are you sure that you weren't just exciting about spending time with Becky the Bimbo? LM: The last thing I want to do is get in a fight between you two! I am just talking about LFD attacking the Harlequins and the Machines fighting between themselves and Shadoe Rage getting a dq victory and the emergence of Tragedy as a singles wrestler... VVE: That Tragedy actually thinks he can challenge for Timmy's title? That is just ridiculous! LM: He certainly has the... [Larry stops as he sees Victoria's glare.] VVE: Why don't we talk about tomorrow's card... and then I have a little announcement about next week! LM: Don't think for one minute that I'm not going to be here! VVE: Oh, you'll be here, Larry. I won't. LM: I've finally got the co-host I asked for? Chuck Norris is going to join the team? I may faint! VVE: Not exactly. ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| PREVIEW: IIWF Saturday Night - [20/Dec/97] |_||_| \_/\_/ |_|.................................................... VVE: Tomorrow night brings us a number of very exciting matches featuring both upcoming stars and established phenomenons. The whole thing is topped off with an amazing main event which will mark the end of a superstar in the IIWF! ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Loser Leaves Town Towel Match Otto "The Butcher" Verhoeven vs. Lord Byron ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: Either man will be a big loss to the IIWF. VVE: What loss? Byron has already proven that losing a match like this doesn't mean anything other than an extended vacation. Besides the way Byron has been drifting around here, Otto will polish him off in ten seconds! LM: We have comments from both men pertaining to this match. VVE: Here we learn that Byron just doesn't have his head on straight and that Otto is planning to remove it completely! [SCENE: The IIWF Coliseum. Darkness and silence have turned the legendary arena into an eerie place, more like a tomb than anything else. Then footspes break the silence. Heavy footsteps, echoing through the empty hall. The camera pans through the rows of seats. Suddenly it stops and zooms in on a lone figure, strolling along the upper seating areas of the Coliseum. Although the massive figure is obscured by shadows, his deep voice with the slight German accent easily identifies him as Otto Verhoeven.] OV: One more night, Byron. One more night to put an end to our little war. One more night that I have to endure your miserable presence. One more night for you in the IIWF. I have pondered that thought for weeks. For as much as I hate you, as much as I despise your sight, your back-stabbing attitude, your sinister nature...we _were_ partners at one time, and you _were_ the most advanced technical wrestler in the business. To see you in that condition you are in, to see you on your way straight down to the gutter pains me, sickens me. I am going to to put you out of your misery, give you a reason to stop humiliating yourself and return to England, to start another life, a better life for you. I am going to obliterate you, Byron. In your last fight in the IIWF, you, and everybody that still clings to you, will go down in flames. There is no stopping me. There is no way to resist me. One more night and your fate... is sealed. [Fade to black.] [The camera cuts to footage captioned "Earlier This Week": the scene opens in a quiet hospital corridor. Two doctors are talking in a hushed voice outside a door, occasionally glancing at the camera. The doctors quieten as footsteps and a rhythmic clicking noise can be heard approaching, and the camera angles around, focusing in on the hunched form of Lord Byron, head bowed, as he advances up the corridor. As he nears, he looks up, pausing as he takes in the camera, a look of anger and disbelief crosses his face... he quickly walks across to the doctors, grabbing one of them by the lapels...] LB: What exactly is _he_ doing here? I thought I specifically said: No cameras. DR: I... I mean... Miss DeWinter requested it... [Byron regards the doctor with a look of pure disbelief] LB: I'm sorry? DR: Miss DeWinter asked for the camera crew... LB: She... she's awake? [The doctor nods hurriedly, and Byron loosens his grip, the relief plainly visible as he steps back, eyes closing...] LB: When..? DR: Late last night... not too long after you left... LB: I thought I asked to be told... DR: She... wouldn't... she didn't want us to contact you... [Byron tenses, biting his lip...] LB: What do you mean? DR: She wanted to know everything, Mr. Byron. Everything that's happened. [A shadow passes across Byron's face, and he slowly walks across to the door, knocking quietly... after a few seconds, the door opens, Tim Dross holding it wide with a grave expression...] LB: Mr. Dross. [Byron glares at the doctors icily] Any more surprises for me, doctor? TD: Your ward's waiting, Byron. I believe you two have a lot to talk about. DR: Please... [The doctor takes Byron's arm, shrinking back as he scowls angrily] ...please... she's still very weak... she needs rest... [Byron nods slightly, shrugging the doctor's arm off and slowly stepping into the room, the relief again flashing across his face as he sees the Lady Rebecca DeWinter, sat upright in her bed. Her face is pale, but she forces a faint smile as Byron walks aross to her, dropping down next to her bed, tenderly taking her hand and placing a gentle kiss on her knuckles...] DeW: Hello, B. LB: Milady... [Byron presses his forehead to DeWinter's hand, breathing deeply before looking up at her with a smile...] TD: [coughing] Maybe we should leave... DeW: No... no, Mr. Dross... you've been very helpful... but what I need to say to Byron concerns you as well. [Byron looks up and across at Tim Dross, a frown flickering across his brow... slowly he turns to look back at DeWinter, who is smiling at him sadly...] DeW: I heard about your problems recently, Byron... and I heard all about Otto's challenge to you... [Byron looks away again, biting his lip as a shadow crosses his face. DeWinter stares at him for a second, a look of fear etched into her eyes...] DeW: Please tell me it's not true, B... [Byron stares at the wall silently.] DeW: You're not going to go through with this? [Byron slowly raises his head, eyes closed.] LB: This has to end, Milady. One way or another, this has to end now. [DeWinter shakes her head, gripping Byron's hand tightly...] DeW: But will it? Will it, B? You don't have to do this, B... not for me... not for anyone... you know what the Verhoeven's like, B.. he wants to destroy you! He almost managed it last time... do you think he'll stop this time around? In a brutal match like this? He doesn't just want you out of the federation, B, not this time... LB: I know what he wants, Milady... DeW: Then why, B? Why give it to him? He's leading you into the Slaughterhouse again B... can't you see? [DeWinter looks across at Tim Dross in desperation, who looks lost in thought, while Byron simply stares at their interlocked hands, saying nothing.] DeW: Don't do this, B... LB: [quietly] I have to. DeW: Why B? Please, just tell me why... LB: They're all right, milady... Steele, Roberts, LaRue... even Verhoeven. Every single thing I've done over the last few months - every single thing - it's all been done for the wrong reasons. I'm nothing now, milady. I have nothing... my pride.. my honour... my hopes.. all gone. Taken by Verhoeven... all because of my own arrogance. Unless I end this now, milady... unless I at least try to show that some part of me still cares.... I may as well admit that Otto's won. DeW: No B... no, it's not like that... [DeWinter leans her head forward, clasping Byron's shoulders tightly... Byron holds her for a second, then draws away, standing up and turning away...] DeW: I can't handle this, B... I can't watch you do this to yourself... If you walk away now... if you go through with this... you'll... you'll lose me. [Byron pauses, inches from the door, his back to the camera...] DeW: Don't go, B... [Byron reaches down, taking the door handle... and slowly pushes the door open, stepping through and into the corridor outside, head bowed. DeWinter drops back into her bed, tears flooding her eyes as the footsteps slowly recede into the distance... the scene fades to black.] VVE: This idiot claimed he was fighting for the honour of his Ladyship and now he is turning his back on her! LM: He needs to regain what he once lost, he needs... VVE: He needs to give his head a shake and pick up DeWinter and hightail it out of here before Saturday night! Otto is going to turn Byron into Lord Littlebrook! LM: Fans of true wrestling technique can only hope that Lord Byron is able to snap out of his reverie and give the Butcher a run for his money. VVE: The only running Byron is going to be doing is for his life. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ No Disqualification Match: "Epitome of Evil" Serge Annis vs. Steve "the Fury" Kowalski ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: I don't think I want to see this match. VVE: Be a man, Morton! These are two tough brawlers who are willing to put their bodies on the line! Much like Becky. LM: I just remember the match which left Creed with one less eye and I can only imagine what Annis wants to do to Kowalski. VVE: The reality is Annis has a lot more to gain in this match. The Fury is already guaranteed a shot at Thunder. Annis isn't. Serge could get the ultimate revenge on Kowalski, not by beating him here but by beating Thunder and pulling Kowalski's shot right out from under his nose! LM: Annis had a few comments he wanted to share... [The camera fades in on a rather bleak depressing sight. The scene is a graveyard. It isn't the one that Serge Annis once had frequented in his early IIWF career. Scattered flurries fall from the sky and cover the ground in a pale white sheet of snow. Approximately fifty or sixty graves occuppy the graveyard. They all look beaten and worn with the years, and do not look cared for. In front of one, sits the IIWF's "Epitome of Evil" Serge Annis. Annis is wearing black pants and leather jacket. Annis face displays no emotion as he looks across at the grave. There is not much light, other than the scattered flares that a small fire in a bucket next to Serge gives. On Serge's other side sits a hideous looking Christmas tree. This tree has one star on it and a few bulbs... but no more than a few as it would not hold up with any more weight. Annis lowers his head.] SA: Christmas time, yet again. The snow falls, the shoppers panic and t'is the season to be jolly and joyous. To coin a phrase, "humbug." I never liked Christmas. All the caroling and love and peace... it's enough to drive me mad. All the phoniness of people that don't really care. If it takes a Hallmark card to extend your greetings once a year, then I would hardly consider you a loved one, let alone friend. [Annis looks up at the grave. this time, emotion is set in his eyes as his eyes meet the beat up marble tombstone. A look of sadness is hidden deep in his glare.] SA: I never liked the holidays. I'd tell you if you cared... But I know you... no, actually I think I shall tell you. Take a look at this grave. Look at the name. [The camera zooms into the barely legible chiseled script, from the wear of the years. A name can be faintly made out and says Jennifer D. Annis, Dec 7th, 1951 to Dec 25th, 1976.] SA: Mother always loved Christmas... she died when I was seven years old. Do you know how traumatizing that is? Have you any clue what is like... to lose your mother, and then have to enter down that staircase into the dark basement. To enter that life I called Hell, with my Father? I won't get into that story because I have already told that tale... but my Mother loved Christmas... and I had her taken away from me that very day. I may hate the season... [Annis moves the Christmas tree to be in front of the eerie tombstone.] SA: But I sure as Hell loved my Mom. December 20th, 1997. Serge Annis meets Steve Kowalski for a second go... no disqualifications, and the winner moves on to face the world champion Brody Thunder the next week on the 27th. I can think of no greater gift than to move on to that title shot, and capture the IIWF World title... in memory of my Mom. [Annis hangs his head again.] SA: A valiant cause, but an unsuccessful one at that. In memory lies respect, and with what I have in store for Steve Kowalski should derive nothing but fear and hatred, not respect. [Annis lifts his head up once more and looks at the camera with a cold, intense stare.] SA: Kowalski and Thunder. I know you two have your history. You two hate each other so much. You would love for a chance to rip each other's guts out again. And it's supposed to happen... Snow Brawl. Thunder meets the Fury. What a match... Hmmm... but I think we are forgetting something here. Me. Steve Kowalski's getting his shot in January regardless of this Saturday night. I am the third party here. This isn't my fight. Thunder, Kowalski, you two can point fingers, make threats and go the whole nine yards. I don't give much what you say... The fact is, neither of you want any of the Epitome. Not because you are afraid, but rather because you two want each other that bad! Recently a "legend" in this sport compared me to the likeness of a vulture. Well, that is _exactly_ what I intend to do. Sweep in with a title shot, and sweep out with the IIWF World Heavyweight title around my waist like a bandit in the night. I'm not denying anyone's ability here... I'm just saying that it is _my_ time now. Not Kowalski's. He hasn't earned his yet. Thunder's was up a long time ago... I'm here to wake him up. [Annis slowly rises to his feet and brushes the snow off his hands.] SA: Thunder... we go back a bit, don't we? Do you remember who cost you the IIWF World Title in the first place? No, it wasn't Requiem... it wasn't Kowalski. It was me. That day I joined the most elite group in professional wrestling. Genesis. But now I realize... there is a more elite group I want to be in. I want to hang high with the Outlaws, grind 'em up like the Butchers. I want gold. More specifically, the IIWF World Heavyweight title. And especially when it comes from the waist of Brody Thunder. Wolf, I'll spare you the cliches and save them for you when I meet you in the ring next week for the world title. But you, Steve Kowalski... you are the man that Skullpumped me through a table. A goddam table. Almost on top of that loser Dross. That's insulting! That moron isn't good enough to break my fall! Why the Hell couldn't you aim for Roberts? Then again... he's lower than Dross, but I kinda owe Steve for something. Anyway, Kowalski... I am in my element. See, you are a wrestler. I am a fighter. And when there are no DQ's... it makes a world of difference... trust me. Ask that one eyed rookie Creed. He can tell ya. Kowalski, you are tough. But I'm fixing to show you, and the rest of the world that are too ignorant to notice... I am better. [Annis looks down at the grave once again, and closes his eyes.] SA: Merry Christmas, Mom... I'm fixing to make it the best one you'll ever have... [Fade] VVE: A very sentimental Annis... LM: [sniffling] I think I'm going to cry... VVE: Oh, pull yourself together. One man who isn't likely to care in the slightest about Annis' little tale is Steve Kowalski. Let's get comments from the "Fury". [Smoke, flowing like velvet on a dark landscape. The figure comes closer, ignoring the smog around him. The New Jersey Nightmare slides through the smoke, making his way to the camera's view.] SK: Yer almost there, Anus. Almost. Almost to where ya want to be. Don't worry, I ain't gonna talk 'bout Brody. This time... is _our_ time. Now don't ya fell special. Ya go thru this... [Kowalski smiles and thumbs to his chest.] An' ya get a shot at the champ... Tall order fer a man that jus' went thru a table last week. Buddy, short memories tend to lead to short lives. So look back on those good SKULLPUMP times an' watch yerself. Learn from yer mistakes an' hope I come down with a case of the jail bars. If not... Anus Thru the Table Part II! That's right... I do encores, fudge juggler! So if ya want to mix it up with meanest S.O.B. on the third rock.... [Drops his jacket to the ground and lifts the now infamous Tricycle of Fury, high above his head.] Bring yer toys! That's right bring it, [BLEEP]! _I_ am the undisputed BAD GUY! Ya want no DQ... Junior, _every_ match in my life's been no DQ! It's like telling the Devil yer gonna turn up the thermostat in Hell five more degrees... I mean what the [BLEEP] do ya think? He would give a [BLEEP]!?! Hell, no! An' neither do I, Rump Ranger. [At this point Kowalski is worked up into a frenzy and hurls the tricycle off camera. The sounds of crashing and yells can be heard.] People like ya like to use words like "hardcore," "badass," an' "extreme" an' label yerself! People like me live it like a bible! People like ya like to act tuff an' call for no DQ matches, cage matches, ladder matches like it's the be all and end all of the sport! Yer full of it! Cage matches, Texas Death matches are a way of _life_ fer people like me! Ya make me sick! Sick 'nuff to show ya the error of yer ways. When it's all said an' done... Yer blood'll soak the mat! Yer body'll wrench in pain! Yer life line'll be shorter! Yer need to live'll be quenched! I gave ya the facts... only ya got the answers. Don't show up an' nobody gets hurt. [Fade out.] VVE: Bring your golashes for this one because its going to get a little messy. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Triple Threat Match for an Intercontinental Title Shot "Real Deal" Luke Steele vs. Duncan Macbeth vs. "The Brat" Bradley Reed ------------------------------------------------------------------------ VVE: This is the chance Duncan has been waiting for. To prove once again that he is the true champion! LM: Many fans agree with you but Luke Steele has certainly been on a hot streak of late... VVE: Steele? Give me a break! Tim Turner handed him his head on a silver platter! How is he going to now beat Tim's best friend? LM: Well, he's got... VVE: Don't even mention that Floating DDT! LM: [mumbling] The Steele Refinery. VVE: Oh, just shut up. [Fade up from black, to the inside cabin of an airliner. It's the coach section, as evident by the cramped quarters, stewards and stewardesses bustling about with finished food trays, and the sound of small children crying and laughing. The camera pans around, taking in the atmosphere, when it spies the face of a few IIWF personalities. It comes to rest on the "Real Deal" Luke Steele, who is relaxing back in his seat. His eyes are closed, he has on an earpiece to listen to a movie, and his seat is reclined. Suddenly he opens his eyes, and addresses the camera.] LS: This is starting to become an inconvenience, tracking me down in the most unusual places, isn't it? But that kind of thing is easy to get used to when you're in as much demand from two organizations as I am. Add another victim to the hit list of the Floating DDT, IIWF. Charles Scheffield felt his head strike the mat, and then his shoulders went down for the three. The hottest move in the world has claimed another soul. And this Saturday Night, Luke Steele will get his biggest chance at glory yet. Oh sure, I've been in tournaments before. I've been in battle royals before. But come this weekend only two men stand in my way of getting a title match. Duncan Macbeth, and Bradley Reed. Macbeth, I know how everyone is jumping on your bandwagon and how they feel you got screwed at Ring Wars. And before I go any further, I'm included in that. Chrissy and that lowlife piece of crap Manning stole that match, but like it or not, we're on equal ground, you and I. I have just as much right to that shot as you do. Do what you have to, but understand that past repuations don't mean squat to me and the only match that shows how good you are is your next one. And then there's the Brat. Reed, I'll be honest. I don't like you. I don't like anything you stand for, or anything you've done. You took a kid by the name of Steve Summer and turned him into one of your degenerate sideshow freaks. You brainwashed Marty Warnett into joining your crew, and turning on Billy Shakespeare. I'm also not a fan of Big Bill, but you are the lowest form of life this side of Steve Roberts. Reed, I'm gunning for your ass especially. The headline Sunday morning is going to read "The wins keep coming for the Real Deal", because when Saturday Night is over you'll be looking at Luke Steele, the next Intercontinental Champion. And Chrissy, I'll talk to you on Musings. [Fade down to black.] [SCENE: The west coast of Vancouver Island, near the small village of Ucluelet. Thick stands of cedar and redwood seem to stretch to the sky along the craggy shoreline. There is a quiet, tranquil mix of sounds in this untouched environment - the tide lapping up against the hard stone, a brisk sea breeze rustling the high treetops, the distant cry of seagulls wheeling over the ocean, all of which is broken by several loud >>>>>THUNK!<<<<<'s, the sound of an axe blade biting into the thick trunk of a tall cedar somewhere in the background. The shot changes to a close-up of the cedar trunk in question, which has a single deep gash dug into one side. It is only a second or so before the axe swings into the shot, sinking into the wood with another loud >>>>>THUNK!<<<<<. The axe jerks back and forth, as the blade is wrested out of the tree, and a voice-over, strongly resembling the voice of Patrick Stewart, plays over the pictures.] >>>>>THUNK!<<<<< VO: The road has been long... [Flash back to footage from IIWF Saturday Night in the Calgary Saddledome. Duncan Macbeth and Serge Annis, the final two survivors of the twenty-man battle royal for a shot at the IIWF Intercontinental Title, are slugging it out in the middle of the ring. Both men are exhausted, but continue to bang away at each other, Annis once nearly putting Macbeth over the top rope, but the Scot desperately hanging on. Finally, Annis pulls the nearly spent Macbeth up into a gutwrench powerbomb, but with a final burst of energy, Macbeth scissors Annis' head on the way up and snaps the Epitome of Evil over the top rope with a hurricarana. The crowd explodes as the Scot stands in the ring, arms pumped to the sky in victory, then points down to Intercontinental Champion Chris Quigley at ringside and motions around his waist, signalling that the title will soon be his...] >>>>>THUNK!<<<<< VO: The road has been arduous... [Cut to footage from IIWF Saturday Night in Leavenworth Federal Penitentiary, as Duncan Macbeth, clad in a bright orange prison jumpsuit and shackled at the wrists and ankles, is led to the Shower Room Showdown by four armed guards. Macbeth's green eyes burn bright through the long, dishevelled strands of ruddy blond hair hanging in his face despite the two days he has spent locked in Leavenworth after being arrested following a brawl with a local biker gang. The shot changes to the conclusion of that wild match, as Steve Manning somehow eludes the prison guards and careens into the flooded room, crashing into all four combatants and knocking them all under the water. Moments pass, and suddenly a figure rises from the water, covering Intercontinental champ Quigley as the referee counts once, twice, three times. It is Duncan Macbeth who finally stands, victorious, before the room is hastily evacuated as the waterlogged ceiling collapses...] >>>>>THUNK!<<<<< VO: The road has been fraught with obstacles... [Cut to a shot of the massive Hall Of Famer "Outlaw" J.W. Hardin, towering over the taped-fisted young Scot, who stands fearlessly in front of the legendary Texan, meeting Hardin's scathing gaze with a corrosive jade stare of his own, before the bell sounds and the two warriors begin a marathon of brutality, ending only when a severely taxed Hardin catches the equally exhausted Macbeth with the Cattle Buster DDT. Afterward, in the post-show interviews, the IIWF's living legend tips his hat to the fighting spirit of the plucky Highlander...] >>>>>THUNK!<<<<< VO: And the road has been heartbreaking. [Cut to the now-infamous Intercontinental Title match at Ring Wars IV, the bloodied, battered, and unconscious form of Intercontinental Champion Chris Quigley lying spent at the feet of Duncan Macbeth after getting caught with the Claymore. Macbeth falls on Quigley and covers, and is seemingly a split-second away from capturing the Intercontinental title with a clean pin, before he is jumped from behind by a suddenly mobile Steve Manning and knocked cold with a pipe shot from the former paraplegic. Manning drapes Quigley's limp arm across Macbeth's chest, and referee Dave D'Amato reluctantly counts the pin as the crowd erupts in fury at the underhanded tactics of the psychotic Manning...] >>>>>THUNK!<<<<< [Cut back to the shot of the tree, which now has a deep V-shaped groove carved out of its side. Chips of wood lie scattered all around the base of the tree as the axe is wrenched free of the trunk and is pulled out of frame again.] VO: But the road stretches on, with new challenges, new obstacles, and new heartbreaks in every mile, over every hill, around every bend. [Cut to a montage of recent events in the IIWF - Intercontinental Champion Chris Quigley reviewing the footage of Ring Wars IV, and admitting to Duncan Macbeth and the world... "You had me."] >>>>>THUNK!<<<<< [Macbeth and Quigley, standing nose-to-nose in the ring after Macbeth's impromptu introductions, before "Majestic" Maurice McArthur is summoned to the ring to replace the incapacitated Steve Kowalski, and make history...] >>>>>THUNK!<<<<< [Macbeth again, furiously kicking an overwhelmed Scott Rogers from the ring to aid his friend Timothy N. Turner, then turning and seeing Quigley in the ring, the two starting a shouting match that leads to shoving and threatens to lead to an all-out brawl...] >>>>>THUNK!<<<<< [Macbeth charging down to ringside to keep Steve Manning from interfering in the Quigley/McArthur rematch, but being attacked himself from behind by the huge Serge Annis...] >>>>>THUNK!<<<<< [Joe Petrow, dressed as El Super Gecko, battling Quigley in the ring as Annis chokes Macbeth over a guardrail, before the choke is broken by Derek Mota...] >>>>>THUNK!<<<<< [A bitter, jaded Chris Quigley after that match, buddying up to the man he spent weeks trying to distance himself from, the man who has trivialised his reign as Intercontinental Champion, telling Duncan Macbeth "...forget your title shot. You're not getting it."] >>>>>THUNK!<<<< [The scarred, fearsome face of Serge Annis, glowering into the camera, telling Duncan Macbeth "...you lose your shot... well, that's it. You don't deserve a second chance. Earn it again."] >>>>>THUNK!<<<<< [A tight close up of the angular features of Duncan Macbeth, a blazing fireplace highlighting his thick mane of ginger hair, his piercing emerald eyes glinting in the firelight as he vows, "I _will_ have justice!", fading to a recent scene from the IIWF Coliseum, the crowd chanting "RE-MATCH! RE-MATCH! RE-MATCH!" as fans wave homemade signs and swatches of red Macbeth tartan cloth, turning the interior of the huge arena into a sea of flowing crimson...] >>>>>THUNK!<<<<< [Cut to shots of "Real Deal" Luke Steele and "The Brat" Bradley Reed in action, Steele hitting his floating DDT finisher on former IC champ Lord Byron, Reed executing a spectacular high-flying move on Marty Warnett as the hulking, impassive Stone looks on from ringside. Another cut, to Steele and Macbeth in the ring, as the Scot holds the 275 pound Steele high over his head in a tower suplex, then drops him and follows through with his Highland Hammer driver. A close-up captures the steely glint in Macbeth's green eyes as he covers Steele for the three count...] >>>>>THUNK!<<<<< [A shower of splinters explodes from the side of the cedar tree, as the axe rips into the gaping wound again...] VO: And the road, for this man, leads to only one destination... >>>>>THUNK!<<<<< [More splinters fly, as the axe flashes and tears another deep wound into the side of the tree...] VO: ...the IIWF Intercontinental Title. >>>>>THUNK!<<<<< [The axe bites into the side of the tall cedar tree once more, and this time, there is a loud CRACK, followed by a series of groaning and splintering sounds, as the tall tree shudders and leans to one side, the splintering growing in intensity as the trunk gives way and the massive cedar topples to the ground, impacting into the forest floor with a mighty crash. The camera pans along the enormous length of the tree from the top down, and as the camera reaches the trunk, we see Duncan Macbeth, clad in a quilted flannel shirt, his face shining with sweat despite the damp chill, his hair tied back in a ponytail, and the heavy axe resting on his shoulder.] DM: Ye cannae chop down a tree if ye give up halfway in. An' ye cannae win a title if ye give up when th' goin' gets rough. An' Duncan Macbeth NEVER gives up. Annis, ye say I should earn me shot again? I'm goin t' do jus' tha', tomorrow night. An' there's NOTHIN' tha' ye can do about it, sideshow. Poor wee Quigley, sae ye're too pissed, bitter, an' yellow t' fight me again? After tomorrow night, tosser, ye're no' goin' t' have a CHOICE in th' matter, wha'. An' there's NOTHIN' tha' ye or yuir new best friend -- hell, yuir _only_ friend -- can do about it either. Steele, Reed... yuir time will come, lads. But MY time is NOW. An' there's nothin' either o' yis can do about THA'. Yuir reign as Intercontinental Champion's a lot like this auld cedar tree, Quigley. It's rotten t' th' core, dead, worthless, a blight on th' landscape o' th' IIWF. An' on January 3rd, paper champion... [Macbeth lifts the heavy axe off of his shoulder, and bounces the steel blade a few times in a deerskin-gloved hand.] ...I'm comin' t' cut it down. [With that, Macbeth suddenly raises the axe high into the air, and brings it down onto the stump where the mighty cedar once stood, nearly burying the blade into the wood. Macbeth then walks out of the shot, the rustling of his footsteps fading into the distance as the camera stays fixed on the axe, its lacquered maple handle still vibrating from the force of the Scot's blow. Fade.] LM: Both of these men are intent on winning this match-up and I'm sure the same goes for Bradley Reed. VVE: Who? ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Enigma" Takezo Musashi vs Ronnie Paris ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: This is a feud that has been really heating up. VVE: Two men who are mad at each other for no real reason other than a mutual dislike. That's a lot like Tim Turner and you, Larry. LM: What have I ever done to make Timothy Turner not like me? VVE: Your mere presence does that. Let's go to the clip. [The scene opens to a small classroom typical enough that it could be in any school anywhere. Four of the chairs in the room are occupied, each by one of the four security guards we've seen working for Ronnie Paris is the last week. On the blackboard, in big chalky letters, "Lt. Paris- SSF Training Instructor". The four men are chatting, but stop as the door swings wide open and Paris walks in, wearing his Soundbite Special Forces t-shirt and a green beret, a riding crop tucked under one arm. The security guards quickly shift their position to one of perfect posture, all looking attentively at Paris. He paces in front of the "class" for a few moments, and then speaks.] RP: Cadets, today we have a special guest in the classroom, he is an IIWF cameraman. Please ignore him, he's used to it... believe me, I've seen the guy at parties. [The long suffering cameraman can be heard mumbling, but his exact words are unclear and would probably be bleeped out if they were more audible.] RP: Now, the four of you maggots are trying to work for the most elite fighting force in the world, that of course being the Soundbite Special Forces. You've proven your worth as tactical support troops, but in order to be fully effective you must understand the enemy. Your enemy is a vile creature who wants everything handed to him. You should recognize him, as he'll always be whining about something or another, or may throw empty threats at you about his "kanton kami" or his "blue pyjammies" or something like that. I will now show you your enemy. [Paris reaches under the teachers desk to produce a rolled up poster. He unfolds it slowly to increase the dramatic effect until you see an image of... the Backstreet Boys.] RP: Oops, my little sister must have left that there. Well, men, that's not your enemy, but if you see them you should kick the hell out of them just to be on the safe side. SG1: Isn't that aggravated assault? RP: Only if you get caught. [Paris drops the first poster and goes back under the desk to pull out a second... this he unveils quickly to show Takezo Musashi in mid-air, the photo taking during a Starsault Press attempt. Someone, and we wonder who, has penciled in little devil's horns over Musashi's ears.] RP: This, men, is you enemy. Here is performing a move called the Starsault Press, which is a truly unremarkable move. SG2: But didn't it get voted the best move in e-wrestling? [Paris' face turns beet red as he stares at the "cadet", with no attempt to contain his anger.] RP: That's it, cadet, drop and give me 50! That vote was rigged, everyone knows the Paris-Plex is the greatest move in the world! Any objections, maggots? [Paris glares at the other three cadets, who all look briefly at their comrade doing push-ups before replying in unison.] All: SIR, NO SIR! RP: Have you learned anything today, ladies? All: SIR, YES SIR! RP: Alright then, this session is over. [To the cameraman] Cut that thing off. [Fade.] VVE: You should join the Soundbite Special Forces, Larry! LM: Do you think so? VVE: I know that you could use the discipline. That pathetic excuse for a body could use the same tough regime that the Smooth is under! ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Subway Psycho vs. Tony Starks ------------------------------------------------------------------------ VVE: The battle for New York! LM: Actually, the match will be in Portland. VVE: You are too stupid for words. LM: These too men have had a strange relationship, culmination in thier tag team match last week which saw any thoughts of an alliance come to an end. VVE: The mid-card feud to end all mid-card feuds! Psycho wasn't even interested enough to send in a tape! LM: Tony Starks did though! [Scene: IIWF locker room after Starks saturday match teamed with the Psycho. Starks stands looking into a mirror over a sink. He just stares into the mirror...he speaks:] TS: Psycho, we had a good thing going, you know that? We had those clowns right where we wanted them... or I guess I should say that clown, since Ike got the hell outta dodge. But, you, you couldn't do your Derailer fast enough... that jerk Williams moved and you hit me with it... sucker. I have had enough of your foolishness... yeah, we are some of only original IIWF guys still under contract but, SO WHAT? That don't matter to me...all I know is that you hit me. How the hell do I know if you didn't mean to hit me? I don't... I do know one thing though, your career is going to end this Saturday night. All the kiddies better watch the television and catch their jaws when they see you drop from the heavens to the concrete floor via a Starks Tiger Superplex. Get ready Psycho... your life is over. [Suddenly Starks slams his fist into the mirror, shattering it on impact. His fist is partially bloodied. The shot closes in on the broken mirror, blood in its cracks, and the distorted image of Starks staring into it. Fade.] LM: Isn't that seven years bad luck? VVE: This is my fourth straight week of bad luck. LM: What do you mean? VVE: You're still here. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Prophets of Rage vs. Cold Spell ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: Neither of these teams have quite the stature that they have had recently but they can both still put on a great match! VVE: It's embarassing to think that one of these losers once wore the same belt that Timmy Turner now wears. LM: Dirt Dog Unique Allah was a great Cruiserweight Champion and now he is doing quite well in the tag ranks. Both of these teams have a lot to prove tomorrow night and they are looking to steamroller the competition so that they can do that. This match may show the ultimate decline of one of these two teams. VVE: Or, if we're lucky, both! LM: Well, the Prophets won the rights to call themselves the number one tag team in the sport back at Ring Wars IV -- and this is their first live TV match since that huge PPV. Let's get some comments from them: [Fade in: Inside Dirt Dog's apartment.  The place is still bare.  The oven door is open and turned on, heating the house.  Shakeemah Allah is at the stove, fixing up something in a pot.  Dirt Dog is sprawled on the floor, a couple bottles rolling around by his hands.  Derek Rage and Pizzazz are there, too, standing out like a sore thumb.  Derek doesn't seem surprised or perturbed by the threadbare poverty of the place, but Pizzazz is clearly at unease.  This isn't the Left Bank in Paris.] DDUA: [moaning] Oh it's beginning to look at lot like Christmas!  Everywhere I go!  I'm seeing pink reindeer and fat men in red suits! DEREK: That's because you drank both bottles of punch a creme in fifteen minutes.  Unique, that was supposed to last you the holiday season. DDUA: [giggling] Two little ol' bottles?  You don't know me very well, do ya?  Shakeemah!  They thought two bottles would last a weekend!  HAHAHAHA!!!! SHAKEEMAH: [muttering] Unique, get your drunk ass up and get to work.  They ain't here to sightsee.  Y'all got business to handle.  You're never thinking business. DDUA: Business?  I'll give 'em the business.  It's Christmas and the Double Eye is gonna get the right bestest present it can get. DEREK: So we're agreed then. DDUA: Aw hell yeah!  You know, I didn't think you had this kind of crazy ish in you, man?  It's a good damn thing you left that overserious brotha of yours out in the cold and ish.  'Cause he's just way too serious.  Way too serious.  I mean, he ain't even about no jokes, is he? DEREK: Don't mind about him.  [Derek reaches into his pocket and pulls out a roll of bills.] DEREK: That should cover it.  Take care of the details. DDUA: Don't worry brotha man.  Cold Spell won't know what hit 'em!  Ha, we gonna fuh 'em up!  Yeah, the Prophets ain't no joke.  We gonna do like a porn movie star and rise again!  I'm a nasty muhfuh. DEREK: Just make sure you get the stuff.  Shakeemah, make sure he gets the stuff. SHAKEEMAH: Y'all know nobody can control his drunk ass.  I 'on't know why you even bother. DEREK: Because Unique is just brilliant. SHAKEEMAH: If you say so.  I say he's a drunk. DDUA: [singing] Daddy's home!  Yo daddy's hooooome ... to stay!! [Fade out] LM: Edmund Fitzgerald had some rare comments. [SCENE: A suite at the Palace of Auburn Hills. Edmund Fitzgerald are seated on a couch, while Tim Dross is on a bar stool. When the camera pans to Tim, viewers can see bits of the basketball game taking place between the Detroit Pistons and Chicago Bulls. Both Cold Spell members are dressed casually, but Fitz is holding something in his hand.] TD: I'd like to welcome the former tag-team champions to the show. This is your first interview since losing the belts to Damage, Inc., and I would just like to get your comments on that match. IH: It was a joke! Those guys are a bunch of losers, and now they have turned into ...mmmph! [Fitz has now revealed that what he was holding in his hand was a piece of duct tape. He revealed this by putting it over Icehawk's mouth.] EF: What Icehawk was saying was that we made a mistake. We got all caught up in the hype of the IIWF calling the Prophets the "best tag team in the world", and forgot that we had to wrestle one of the greatest teams in the history of the sport. You can't do that, and expect to beat a team like DI. TD: You keep saying "we", but I don't remember you being the one calling out the Prophets. And I can't even imagine you looking past an opponent. EF: Tim, what you don't understand is the concept of a team. If one of us does something, we both did it. When 'Hawk held the tag titles with Tragedy, that was _our_ accomplishment, not just his. That's why the Cold Quins-Potato Famine match never bothered us. One way or the other, we would still have the belts. We don't always agree, but we _always_ back each other up. TD: Okay, I can understand that. This week, of course, you finally get your shot at the Prophets. Are you worried about a letdown after losing the belts? [Icehawk starts making noises as he tries to talk through the duct tape, but he goes silent at a glare from Fitz.] EF: Not a bit. This is now a must-win match for us. There are more good tag teams in the IIWF than there ever have been before, and if we lose this match, we are going to have a horrible time getting back into title contention. TD: And if you do win, who is next? [Icehawk is now bouncing up and down on the sofa, eyes wide with frustration at not being able to answer this question.] EF: Anyone who wants a piece of us - the Machines, the Natural Predators, the Fabs... and hopefully, DI again. TD: [gestures toward Icehawk] Can I ask him a question about Tragedy? [Icehawk comes right off the couch with excitement, and rips the duct tape off his mouth.] IH: OWWW! EF: Next week, Tim. After we beat the Prophets, he can talk about anything he wants. [Fade on Icehawk, who is simultaneously pouting about not getting to answer, and trying to reattach his lips to his face.] LM: Cold Spell is certainly geared up for this match! VVE: For the first time since I started on this show... a team who is focused on its opponents! Will wonders never cease? The next thing you know, Larry will get a date and the Highwayman will win a match! ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Strongman Match Eddy Ramos of the Lost Boyz vs. Bear of the Natural Predators ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: Who is the strongest wrestler in the IIWF today? VVE: Otto Verhoeven. LM: Ur... uh... who is the strongest wrestler in the tag team ranks? VVE: Dirt Dog Unique Allah. LM: Oh, come on now! VVE: Doesn't smell count? I was going to vote for you next! LM: Roll the tape... [The scene is within a gym somewhere in America. It is not a "secret training location" or "hideout". But the only occupants there are the trio of Alex Porteaux, Eddy Ramos and Jeandra. Ramos is seen lying on a bench, ready to bench press a HUGE amount of weight. Seconds before his lift, Jeandra sits on his stomach, legs crossed. Jeandra weighs a good 180+ pounds considering her status as a female wrestler, but Ramos doesn't seem to notice her as he starts to pump the reps. Alex Porteaux walks up to the camera.] AP: See that there? Eddy Ramos ain't exactly the strongest hombre in the world. He ain't the most popular and [looks back towards Ramos and whispers] he sure as hell ain't the smartest. But he double-tough. Punch him, and you're the one that says "Ow". Kick him and your foot's gonna curse at ya for becomin too detached. Challenge him, wrestle him... yeah, ya might beat him... ya might not... but fo' true... you ain't gonna walk away with no smile. You ain't gonna walk away laughing. Chances are, you can consider it a longshot to walk away. So the challenge is made. Bear, Natural Predators, we don't duck. We step up. This Saturday, you get to see what the IIWF is jealous of right in person. Don't get caught up in the hype... don't get caught up in the nonsense.... [Jeandra gets up and so does Ramos, who lets out a beastly "AAAAAAAAARGH!!" as he dumps down the weight and grabs a water bottle. Jeandra walks up to the camera and past it, and can be seen giving a kiss to the cameraman.] JE: Let's not forget the bitches of the week, Alex. The Fabulous Ones... AP: [giggles] Oh boy... fruity and fruitier? JE: Yep, those two. Those faggots... yeah, I said the word again... faggots... get a bunch of titillating bikini-clad bimbos, flash their wallet and tell them to say what the Fabs.... AP: Fags..... JE: ...get them to say what they want and that's proof? We don't even care. The fact that you have to PROVE something like that to us tells us enough. Tells us that there's something behind the smiles and pretty women.... AP: Something that would be horrible if caught on camera.... JE: But get a notepad and pen, bitches... because like everyone else in this damn fed, your chance is coming soon. We've already accepted Bear's challenge. The Natural Predators didn't use any bull[BLEEP], they just stepped up to bat. We respect that, so we promise to only use a chair on you once if any of your crew gets out of line. Fabulous Ones? Your chance comes soon. Real soon. But believe me, I don't need to look better than you, and neither do they. [Points to Porteaux and Ramos, who is slowly lurching up to the camera] We just need to make you permanent floor mats, and I think that suits us just fine. ER: I hate bitches... don't care where they're from... JE: Yep, Fabulous Ones...you've got a fan in Eddy [laughs] Whether you can handle it or not, Fabs.... AP: ...Fags... JE: ...we're the Lost Boyz... you're just lost, boys... now get out of here. [The cameraman can be heard saying "what?" At which point Jeandra's smile turns into a scowl.] JE: Mutha[BLEEP], did I stutter?? Damnit, get rid of this prick... [Jeandra snaps her fingers and Ramos and Porteaux spring on the cameraman. The camera drops and one can hear a great pummelling be administered. The cameraman lets out a grunt and shout and his feet can be seen leaving the ground. Something crashes into the camera and it blacks out.] [Lights come up on an empty arena, the ring being the only thing lit....a barbell sits in the middle of the ring, the same barbell to be used in the strongman match this weekend. BEAR enters the ring, quietly, stoically...as he walks over to the barbell, silently rubbing his hands, a pre-recorded set of his own comments are superimposed, like his thoughts.] B: I know am I am powerful. [looks down at the barbell] B: There are many in this league who would claim to be the strongest or fastest or smartest... [zoom in on his face, sweat and determination echoing in his features] B: I know I have less experience in the ring than many. [zoom in on his hands, large and strong, in weightlifting gloves] B: I have seen champions made and broken. [zoom in on the barbell as his hands wrap around it] B: I have seen legends die. And new legends being born. [zoom on the mat, which is covered with dust, just under the barbell, as the barbell is lifted the dust begins to move to fill the vaccuum of air] B: New legends being born from the old. Power incarnate. I can achieve whatever I set my mind to. The spirits guide me in the paths of the ancient warriors, stronger than the rest. [zoom out to a full shot as Bear lifts the barbell over his head. As he does so, he issues a gutteral growl that echoes through the empty building] B: Eddie Ramos... somehow you got lucky with your partner and won what will one day belong to the Natural Predators. Saturday night, let the strong survive. And I... am the strongest. [Bear hurls the barbell back down, with a roar, and the camera zooms in on his face, ending the voiceover] B: Neyho neyehe hiyo. We will triumph. [zoom out as Grey Phoenix and Kuyler enter the ring, and stand behind Bear in a triangle.] KG: Watch out, Lost Boyz. The Natural Predators are ready for you. And Saturday night will be the first taste you get of my boys. First battle of many, and we will win the battle...and the war. Legends begin at any time, Lost Boyz. Ours begins with you. [Fade to black] LM: So who do you really think is going to win this match? VVE: No one important. WHy is it always strength that gets the glory? Why not a Quick Man match or a Smart Man match? Of course Timothy would win both of those... ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Christoper Stonebreaker vs. Charles Scheffield ----------------------------------------------------------------------- VVE: The rookies battle... LM: These guys should team up against Cold Spell and then it would be C.S. and C.S. against C.S. VVE: They pay you how much? LM: Who? VVE: The producers. LM: Well, nothing. VVE: They're getting ripped off. Man, are they ever lucky they have me. Roll the tape. [The camera opens on Christopher Stonebreaker, who is seated in his rocking chair, which is located on the porch of his log cabin home. Chris is looking out over the yard, and he turns to spy the cameraman approaching, and immediately gets up to his feet, and walks out to the grass.] CS: It seems that Mr. Musashi just doesn't want to pay any attention to the cajun.  Does he?  That's fine for now, Enigma.  You've got your hands full with Mr. Paris.   For now.... [Chris bends down to pick up a small stick, and he launches it in the direction of the woods.] That's fine Musashi, but I want you to pay real close attention to what happens in the ring.   And that video library of yours grows this Saturday night.  Scheffield, you and I came into this federation as allies.  But that was the past. And a lot of things have changed since then.  You see, I've worked and clawed my way to the top to be recognized, and I didn't do it by letting the world pass me by while I stopped to smell the roses, or to get jumped by a former friend, or to have someone "school" me in Dirty Tricks 101. Basically when times change, I change with them.  And that means that you're going to be looking at the newest version of this cajun.  You'll be looking at the "modern day" Stonebreaker.  You're looking at the man who has been climbing that mountain, and I will keep climbing until I do make the top of the wrestling world. Scheff.  You were an ally of the old Stonebreaker.  When we climb in the ring Saturday night.  You will be the opponent.  And after it's all said and done, you will be the defeated.... [Chris starts to walk away, but stops and looks over the swamp river that runs past his yard.] And Musashi, I am a patient man..... [The camera fades out as Stonebreaker makes his way back up to the porch and resumes his place in the rocking chair. Fade.] [Charles Scheffield can be seen sitting on the shore of a beach. From the looks of the clouds passing over the area, it must be quite a cold day. At one corner of the view, Scheffield's double stretched limousine can be seen. Scheffield himself is sitting on a finely woven royal purple cloth which actually has a place setting for Scheffield which has several gold knives, forks, spoons, and whatnot all layed out in the proper fashion around a plate. Upon closer examination, a gold butter tray, a water glass, a red wineglass, and a large icebox are plainly visible. Scheffield himself is holding a white wine glass in his right hand, sipping at it occasionally. None of it contains anything... save for Scheffields wineglass of course. He is even wearing a suit on this "casual" occasion. It seems as if this man cannot leave elegance behind for one second... even if he is simply on a picnic of sorts. One thing which is not in perfect condition is his hair which he is actually allowing to hang freely for once rather than tying it up with a ribbon.] CS: Ah... the virtues of wealth! As one may plainly see, _I_, Charles P. Scheffield, am the epitome of all that is success in this world. The fancy cars... the fancy foods... luxury... power. What can possibly compare? [Scheffield laughs a contented laugh.] CS: Poverty... a word which describes the lack of something. Some people are in poverty when it comes to power... strength... mental capacity... success. I know naught of poverty in any regard. After all, I am Charles Scheffield. [Scheffield ponders this for a bit, then looks toward the protrusion of land some distance out to sea. He sips on his wine.] CS: That is Sheffield Island, Connecticut. It was an island named after my family, of course. I decided to break away from all that tradition... that nonsense. I broke the family rules by no longer calling myself by the family name Sheffield... but I added that one "c" which makes all the difference in the world. It is amazing how quickly some people forget... and cannot link to what is so obvious. You would be amazed at how much less I am recognized in my hometown after signing my name to a check or something. Before the "c", I could hardly leave my home without starting some sort of commotion. After adding that little, tiny letter... everything changed... temporarily... [A devious smirk crosses over Scheffield's face.] CS: You see, I am not poverty stricken in any sense of the word. I do have my own power. I do have my own wealth. I have been successful as well. I proved to everyone in Connecticut that even though I had turned my back on my own family... I could still be a success. After my success, word caught on about my family heritage and quite frankly I am back at square one... but it was a ride that I shall never forget. A young man such as myself should have been tossed about in the cruel world of reality... but in reality I tossed the cruel world about. [The smirk grows into an almost chilling grin.] CS: Christopher Stonebreaker. You are a man who is wealthy in many respects as well... except for two. That is power... and money. I can more than _promise_ that there will be a Cajun disaster this Saturday. We started off in this federation in the same corner... now one of us shall have to prove himself against the other. I look for an excellent fight... but I am used to success. I am used to being on top of anything I do. Stonebreaker, you are going up against a successful line of men who have never been thoroughly destroyed in the past two-hundred years. This is what you are up against... so you should think about it. I myself tested the family lines by discarding my heritage. I found out that the lines _never_ lie. My roots are as strong as ever, else I would not have been successful this early in my life. It is time you step up to the challenge... the success... the wealth that is Charles Scheffield. I flaunt my wealth. Carry on. [The screen fades as Scheffield continues to sip on his wine.] VVE: This guy has nearly as much class as Timothy N. Turner! LM: Can't we go one match without a reference to the Cruiserweight Champ? VVE: Wait until my big announcement. First we have to wrap up our Saturday night run-down. We've got a contract signing between Brody Thunder and Steve Kowalski. LM: I wonder if they'll end up fighting? [Victoria stares at him incredulously.] VVE: Go to Trash Talk before I say something you may regret. ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| Trash Talk |_||_| \_/\_/ |_|.................................................... [Awesome T is slumped over at the Arm Bar in Portland. Numerous empty bottles of Killian's Red stand by T's head. T squints up at the bright camera light, slurring his words.] AT: I hope yer happy now. Whether it be Marty Warnett bein' the [BLEEP]hole that he is, or Damage Inco...Damage Inca...whaddva da hell their names are duckin' them fer title shots, or the (BLEEP)in' double eye double you (BLEEP)in' F championship committee droppin' them down to FIFTH while takin' the piece of frickin' crap Natural Predators, WHO THEY BEAT, BY THE WAY, an' puttin' dem as the number one condenders...hell, even the (BLEEP)in' Machines, who lose every (BLEEP)in' week, are ranked number three. I dunno what the hell it was, but whatever it was, the Down Boys ain't here no more. Nope. I don't know WHERE da hell they are. Now wha' da hell am I supposed ta do? HUH? [T's head slams back into the bar as the picture fades] [Shot opens in an industrial meat locker where a 12 pt. buck hangs by its forelegs. The Meatman, replete in his butcher attire, draws a knife along the buck's exposed underbelly.] MEATMAN: This buck is a lot like your average IIWF wrassler. Note the "deer caught in the headlights" look in its eye [pokes eyeball], and just like an IIWF superstar, he is proud and strong, and has a lot of guts -- that is, until [slits underbelly, entrails spill to floor] the Meatman guts him! There! Now, you got yer IIWF wrassler. No heart, no guts, and a severely damaged liver! Now, you wrasslers might say, "But Mr. Steele, I aint no deer! I'm a human being! I'm Kowalski! I'm the Highwayman! I'm Deathbringer! Well, you stepped into the sights of Jumbo Jimmy and now you ain't the Highwayman. You're road kill. You ain't Kowalski. You're polish sausage. You ain't Deathbringer. You're dead meat. You're all dead meat! [The Meatman sticks his head into the open torso, takes a deep whiff, then withdraws his head in disgust.] MEATMAN: Meatboy! Throw this carcass in the dumper. Just like I thought, it's been shot through the [BLEEP]-sack. All that good venison spoiled -- tainted. Just like IIWF wrestlers, stinkin' tainted meat! Makes me sick! Fillin' up yer bodies with drugs and steroids. Sickens me. Makes me... [Meatman vomits as the picture fades]. [Cut to the IIWF Towers. We see Derek Mota for the first time since IIWF Saturday Night since the vicious attack by Steve Manning. Mota is wearing all black, including ... the cast on his right foot. Although he looks extremely angry, Mota is still surprisingly composed. After staring in the camera for several seconds, a look of complete focus on his face, Mota finally begins to speak.] DM: I quit. Yeah Manning, you won. See this? [Mota points to his ankle, wrapped up in a cast. It is signed with only one word, written in red: HATE.] Broken. Torn ligaments, they said. They said I ain't ever gonna be the same. Six months off, and then I'm still gonna have ta stick to the ground. Well we all know what happened to that doctor, don't we? [Derek lifts up one of his crutches... we see that there's a big gouge taken out of it. Mota just stares at it for a few seconds and finally cracks a smile...] Yeah, I still got it. Heh heh. So for now, Manning ... you live. But know that I'm not stayin' away for six months ... and that when I'm comin' back, I'm comin' for ya. And I ain't gonna end 'til you're back in the wheelchair. You can laugh now ... but watch your back. You never know when I'll be standin' behind ya. Sweet dreams, Manning ... [As Derek slowly makes his way off the camera shot, the camera begins panning in to the damaged crutch, and fades out... For now.] [Billy Shakespeare sits backstage reading "IIWF Magazine's Special Edition: RSPW-F 200"] BS: Number 78! Down 26 points? What do I have to do to make you people happy? I'll do it. If you want to see Billy Shakespeare plancha onto a bed of nails, I'll do it. If you want to see Billy Shakespeare wrestle on a bed of hot coals, I'll do it. You seem to like cowboys. If you want Billy Shakespeare to become a foreboding cowboy, I'll do it. Wait, check that, I won't do that. I'll do everything else if that's what it takes. [He closes the magazine, slowly knotting and strangling it.] But before I do any of that, I've got a little score to settle. Marty Warnett, I see you hiding behind Bradley Reed and Stone, and it's obvious that you aren't coming out... so I guess I'm going to have to fight my way in and pull you out screaming. What's the matter Marty, stagefright? So it comes down to you and I, Reed. I, the consummate performer, you, the warm-up act. You are naught more than a bad comedian. And you know what they do to bad comedians? Anyone? VOICE FROM OFF-CAMERA: Give them the hook? BS: Yes, give them the hook. I'm coming to give you the hook, "Brat" Reed and send you back into the oblivion in which you belong. Another ignorable footnote in an otherwise brilliant Shakespearian epic. Said Hamlet, "Foul deeds will rise, though all the earth o'erwhelms them to men's eyes." [He turns back to the magazine, now strangled into shreds. He gingerly peels apart the pages. His voice can be heard as the camera fades to black "Number one! Next thing you know the Bosox will win the series!"] LM: Now will you tell us what the big announcement is? VVE: We've got one more tape to roll which will help me segue into so... [The interior of the same small cabin seen in Duncan Macbeth's flashes can be seen. Timothy N. Turner is sitting in front of a raging fire, wrapped in a comfortable looking Hudson's Bay blanket.] TNT: I should have known. What happened when I turned my eye towards Ryan Howard? He ran...no, make that limped...from the federation. Duncan and I showed him that he wasn't ready for the big time. Now I turn my attention towards Scott Rogers and what happens? You guessed it. He ran. He didn't even have the guts to wait until I beat him senseless. I offered the IIWF an open contract for tomorrow night to face any worthy contender. They didn't fill it because there aren't any worthy contenders so I'm staying in Ucluelet. The company is better here. Speaking of company...Christmas is upon us and what better way to spend the holidays than surrounded by friends and family. I'm spending my Christmas season in my ski chalet outside of Kimberly, B.C., in the Rockies. My brother Tom and my soul brother Akira will be there, after we finish with our matches for the day. The Von Edward family will be there...Brittany, Constance, Candace, Ruthanne, and of course Victoria. The Clan Macbeth will be there... Andrew, Angus, Malcolm, Duncan. What a better way to spend the holidays! [Fade] VVE: Now it's time for the big announcement! Next week, when Countdown comes your way on Boxing Day, it will be broadcast live from Timothy Turner's ski chalet high in the Rocky Mountains! LM: That's great! I didn't even know I was invited! VVE: You're not. LM: How will I do the show? VVE: Your problem. See you next week and have a great Christmas! I know I will! [Fade as Larry looks pleadingly at Victoria.] +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= 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 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+