________ ______ __ ____ ___ __ . _ ___ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __| / /\ | | || \| \ /\ \ / |\ || / \| | | | || | \ v v / | __| \__ /__\ | | ||__/| |/__\ v | \||| __|-| | |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| \ \| v | \|__/ \| | || \_|| | | __________________________/...hour two...\........|...|.......|....| LIVE! IIWF Coliseum, Portland, Oregon 20 December 1997 [Fade through to interior shots of the IIWF Coliseum, fireworks erupting around the ring entrance area and high above the rigging in the rafters of the jam-packed arena. The shot cuts rapidly between various sections of the crowd, fans waving at the cameras, holding aloft their signs and showing off their merchandise. Tim Dross stands in the centre of the ring, an IIWF microphone in his hand.  The fans chant "Strip-Tease!  Strip-Tease!" at the flustered announcer, as Dross attempts to drown them out.] TD: Ladies and gentlemen... the man I'm about to interview has had quite a controversial career here in the IIWF from the very beginning, however, when he won the IIWF Intercontinental Title [crowd gives a mixed pop] the controversy escalated to new highs.  Please welcome the current IIWF Intercontinental Champion... the _legendary_ "QUICKSTRIKE" CHRIS QUIGLEY! [The fans rock the arena with negative response, drowning out the small number of "Quickstrike" fans remaining, as "For Those About to Rock" blasts over the P.A.  Quigley emerges from behind the curtain wearing torn jeans, a black IIWF t-shirt with a large red X painted over the logo, and the Intercontinental Title belt slung over his shoulder.  His eyes are hidden by his silver shades, and a cigarette is hanging from his mouth as he walks down the aisle, largely ignoring the fans.  "Sanguinary" Steve Manning comes from behind the curtain as well, wearing blue jean shorts and a cut-off t-shirt reading, "I Was Screwed by the IIWF... And All I Got Was This Lousy T-Shirt!"  Manning screams at ringside fans, swiping at the ones who attempt to touch him, and actually flicks his own cigarette at an old lady who attempted to rap his fingers with her cane.  Quigley rolls underneath the bottom rope and stands up next to Dross, as Steve Manning climbs the top rope, and executes a backflip into the ring, but unfortunately the fans don't appreciate his aerial skills as much as he does.  The music dies down as Dross begins to speak.] TD: Well, Chris, it seems to me as if you've become terribly delusional and irrational, and your words this past Monday were uncalled for, to say the least.  And put out that damn cigarette, you're supposed to be setting an example for children! [Quigley glares at Dross.] CQ: Setting an example?  Why would I want to lie to the kids out there? I'll tell them the truth, not what their parents want them to hear.  Kids, it doesn't matter how hard you work, how hard you try, or how loyal you are. There's always someone in a higher position of power who can steal your dignity in a blink of an eye! SR: [over headset]  Damn straight, punk.  And you're lookin' at him. [Crowd gives a heel pop as Quigley shakes his head.] CQ: I've been with this organization for a long time, Dross.  When I came in, I think you remember my attitude.  I was the Man of a Thousand Titles. I didn't show much respect towards the IIWF.  Things changed for me in a hurry, I realized how badly I wanted to succeed here, and I realized what it would take.  I had to turn my back on friends, I had to give up everything else I had, and I put it all on the line for the IIWF, because I thought the IIWF deserved at least that much respect.  I've never been wrong about too many things, but that sure as hell was one of them.  [Heel pop!]  While I was putting my blood and sweat on the line night after night in preparation for Ring Wars, Joe Petrow grabbed a parachute and jumped out of the plane in Japan.  That was fine, and I won't even get into the details of _why_ he left, or... was kicked out.  But to come crawling back to the Federation and get a hero's welcome?  I just don't understand.  Nobody told me Petrow would be the one in the Gecko mask.  I didn't even know how I was supposed to react. [Dross is becoming visibly uncomfortable with these remarks.] CQ: Steve Manning, my lifelong friend, Steve Manning.  He thought of this great idea of bringing an old Christmas Tree into the ring to use as a weapon.  I thought it was hilarious.  It'd make a definite statement that Steve meant business, no matter what it took, that's for certain.  Of course, in the end, Petrow took the weapon, the credit, and the cheers. Loyalty gets you nowhere.  Maybe it'd be better if I left the IIWF... [crowd interupts Quigley with a huge positive response, which Quigley ignores] ...and returned to a hero's welcome myself.  But no, I don't work that way. I stick around.  I do what I have to do, when I have to do it.  And I'm looking at the next item on my agenda, and it's kicking Joe Petrow's ass back to Japan. SR: [over headset]  Check again, numbskull.  Your hair appointment and your manicure are next. [Crowd gives a mixed response, as Dross seems a little relieved Quigley has stopped talking.] TD: So, you're saying that you are willing to face Joe Petrow? CQ: I beat Joe Petrow before.  Remember the "Quickstrike Match", Petrow? Remember how I took your own challenge and twisted into a situation where you knew you couldn't _possibly_ win?  So what did you do?  You backed down. Refused to fight.  That's the kinda guy you are.  It's a different story now, I guess.  You've got everything to gain and nothing to lose.  If you beat me, you get the title.  If I beat you, you can just disappear for a few months and make another big return and get another title shot.  And believe me, I'll _still_ be champion, and _believe me_, I'll beat you again, and again, and again, until you've racked up enough frequent flyer miles between here and Japan to go on a _real_ vacation somewhere.  [Quigley shrugs.] CQ: It doesn't matter to me.  Sign the damn match.  I got nailed with his "Asspump", which is a brilliant technical move, by the way.  I got nailed with his "Bullet Train".  And I got back up and punched his head in.  The "Quickstriker" is a different story, Petrow.  I nearly crippled your life-long loser friend, McArthur, with it.  The same thing'll happen to you! SR: [over headset] Only difference is, Joe Petrow is a bad-ass, 3M is just bad. [Crowd gives another mixed pop as Dross turns his attention to Steve Manning, who was busy making obscene gestures to a group of children in the front row.] TD: Mr. Manning, if you can haul yourself away from offending the fans for just a minute.  What was the story with your vicious attack on Derek Mota? Why would you stoop so low?! [Manning cracks a weird smile.] SM: You've gotta stoop that low when you're hitting a man while he's down, Dross.  Jesus, haven't ya ever hit someone with a bat before?  It's all in the leverage! [Crowd "boo"s as Dross sighs.] TD: You know what I mean, Steve.  What did Derek Mota ever do to you? [Manning just laughs.] SM: You wanna know what Derek Mota did to me?!  Do you really wanna know?! Alright then... y'see, what you don't know is that Derek and I... we're brothers.  I'm actually Steve Mota.  [crowd murmers]  Our parents owned a funeral home out in Parts Unknown, which is really a beautiful place, by the way... [the crowd starts to boo as they see where this is going...] but anyway, one day, I saw little Derek playing with a flamethrower, and I said, "Derek, don't aim that flamethrower at the house, you'll burn our parents' wills, and then we'll get nothin'!"  But that damn Derek, he didn't listen, and that night, as I was out having unprotected, teenage sex, Derek burned the house down.  He killed our parents!  He burned the wills!  I was left with nothing!  He ruined my life!  He... he... [Manning drops to his knees and begin to "cry" as Quigley shakes his head, a faint smile almost escaping from the infamous poker face.] TD: Oh for the love of... I'm not wasting my time talking to you any longer, Mr. Manning.  I'm sure we'll be hearing enough out of you when you're forced to back up your words against a real opponent, such as Joe Petrow or Duncan Macbeth. [Quigley grabs the microphone.] CQ: First of all, Joe Petrow doesn't want any of Steve Manning.  Petrow thinks he's a little "crazy"?  Steve Manning is the craziest, evilest, most lovable little psycho the IIWF has ever known.  And Duncan Macbeth.  The "Groundskeeper Willie" of the IIWF.  You said you had to go through red tape to get your first title shot against me?  You ain't seen nothing yet.  But it sure as hell ain't my doing.  I think you saw just how much "backstage power" I have last week.  The IIWF calls my shots just like they call yours, and I mean, I'd feel insulted if I were you.  It's obvious they don't want you as their Intercontinental Champion, making you win battle royals and triangle matches just for one more crack at the gold.  And the saddest thing is, Macbeth, you had _one_ career match, and it happened against me at Ring Wars IV.  The next time we face, and there _will_ be a next time, whether it be in a ring or a parking lot, I'm going to make you wish you never heard my name! [Mixed pop!] SR: [over headset]  He can get in line right behind me and every other self-respectin' person on the planet. TD: Well, you've... [Quigley grabs the microphone again, interupting Dross.] CQ: Whether the IIWF likes it or not, this belt is being defended against whoever I want.  And I want you Joe Petrow.  [Pop!]  CQ: And I want Duncan Macbeth. [Pop!]   CQ: I want Shadoe Rage. [Pop!] CQ: I want Tony Starks. [Heel pop!] CQ: I want Timothy N. Turner. [Heel pop!] CQ: I want Brody Thunder. [BIG pop!] CQ: I want Steve Kowalski! [BIG pop!] CQ: I want Deathbringer!! [BIG pop!] SR: [over headset]  Sheesh... why doesn't he just challenge... [Roberts is cut-off as Quigley speaks again...] CQ: And I want Steve Roberts! [Quigley points down at the announcers' table as Manning breaks out into laughter.  Quigley goes to climb out of the ring as Tim Dross' eyes go wide open and he attempts to hold Quigley back.  Roberts, never one to keep his mouth closed, stands up and begins taunting the Intercontinental Champion. Quigley shoves Dross aside, and the plump announcer is caught by Steve Manning, who holds Dross in a mock sleeperhold, not letting him free, as Quigley exits the ring and saunters over to the broadcast table, going face to face with his main tormenter over the last umpteen months.] SR: C'mon, bitch!  You don't have the cajones to hit the "Soundbite"!  You don't have what it takes, Chrissie! CQ: You washed up mother[BLEEP]er! [Quigley takes a hard swing at Roberts, who immediatly turtles, but Quigley's hand is caught from above by one of the large Soundbite bodyguards.  The bodyguard attempts to restrain Quigley, but Quigley drops down and punches the much larger man in the groin, knocking him down and obviously, out.  Roberts' eyes widen as Quigley heads for him again, but Roberts continues to hurl verbal assaults at the champion. Quigley grabs Roberts by the collar and shakes him, when all of a sudden a hard steel chair cracks him in the back from behind.  The other Soundbite bodyguard stands over a fallen Quigley, who is struggling with rage to get up.] SR: HA!  Get up, bitch!  I thought you were hardcore, Quigley?! [Then out of nowhere, Steve Manning flies awkwardly off the top turnbuckle, crashing down onto the other bodyguard, sending both men flying into a pile of audio equipment and the guardrailing.  The bodyguard is motionless, as Manning rolls around... _LAUGHING_.  By this time, Steve Roberts has left the broadcast table and has moved to the other side of the ring, keeping his distance from Quigley, now that his bodyguards have been eliminated. Quigley gets to his feet, a large welt across his back from the chairshot, and he dives into the ring, and tries to get at Roberts at the other side, and Tim Dross attempts to restrain him again.  Quigley sends Dross to the mat with a shove, and Dross scurries out of the ring.  The Jobber Justice Squad and swarms of IIWF Security, even President Spreadbury, rush down the aisle.  Spreadbury yells at Quigley to control himself, as the jobbers and the security fill the ring.  Manning, who is back on his feet, spies El Super Gecko climbing into the ring and grabs his ankle.] SM: [yells] Ya can't hurt the lizard! [Manning laughs as he grabs Gecko and drives him down on the concrete floor with a "Brainshock".] SM: I think I can!  I think I can!  I think I can!  I think I can! [Manning drives Gecko to the concrete floor again with another "Brainshock", before security reaches him and manages to hold him back.  Meanwhile, in the ring, Quigley, who is being held back by a half dozen security officers and a handful of jobbers, glares down at "Soundbite" Steve Roberts, and spits at him.  Quigley shakes off his human restraints and walks away, rolling under the ropes at the other side of the ring and walking down the aisle.  Manning sees Quigley leaving, shoves the security officers holding him away, and rushes up behind him.  Quigley disappears behind the curtain to a major mixed pop as Manning holds up a middle finger to the entire ringful of bodies, before dissappearing behind the curtain himself.  Tim Dross regains his spot at the broadcast table.] TD: Oh my heavens, that was a dangerous situation!  Apparently Chris Quigley just doesn't give a damn anymore.  He challenged the _entire_ IIWF!  He tried to physically harm the "Soundbite"!  He... [Roberts gets to the table again and puts his headset on.] SR: That punk doesn't know what he's getting himself into!  Look at Tuff and Biff!  My two bodyguards, battered and broken!  Look at poor Gecko!  Look at the humanity, Dross.  Those two glam-toughs should be thrown out of the building... for _good_! [IIWF Security helps the two Soundbite Bodyguards down the aisle, as the JJS carry El Super Gecko to the back as well.  Daniel Spreadbury follows, shaking his head sadly. Cut back to the broadcast table.] TD: The IIWF is just unhinged tonight, folks -- and there's a lot more to come here tonight in our second hour. That huge Loser Leaves Town Towel Match is our main event, and we'll also see Steve Kowalski and Serge Annis in no disqualification action, plus that Triple Threat match for the shot at the Intercontinental Championship in two weeks from now. But right now do we have a Christmas present for you! Ronnie Paris and Takezo Musashi are     finally going to face off and try to settle that feud. To the best of my knowledge this is the first time these two great competitors have faced! SR: That just proves your knowledge isn't that great. There was a     Paris-Musashi match for the Cruiserweight Title on Saturday Night     leading up to Ring Wars III. The Enigma won by pinfall and Paris had some minor ligament damage in his left knee going into the match. TD: Your memory is admirable... SR: Yeah, you can learn lots of interesting things be delving into the past. TD: Let's not go there. ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| "Enigma" Takezo Musashi vs. Ronnie Paris |_||_| \_/\_/ |_|.................................................... WRITER: JdW [Cut to the ring, where an unusually composed Sparkplug Lee is sorting his cue cards into the right order, well ahead of schedule and ready to go. Maybe the holidays bring out the organized side of him, who knows?] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is a grudge match! [Big     pop!] Well, technically it isn't billed as a grudge match, but the two guys don't like each other! SR: Please, Sparky, don't try to improvise. [Sparky stands grinning goofily in the ring for a moment, pleased at his own "joke", but soon the expectant stares of the Portland regulars are enough to snap him back to reality.] SL: Introducing first, hailing from the Land of the Rising Sun and     weighing in at 210 pounds, he is a former IIWF Cruiserweight Champion... the "Enigma" Takezo Musashi! [John Coltrane's "Stellar Regions" begins to play, and the crowd starts loudly cheering, though the "smart" fans may be cheering for a different reason than most. The Enigma walks into the aisle, showing no evidence of his beating last week save a small scar running over his forehead from where he was cut by the glass bottle. He is adorned as usual with the red and blue stars all over his face and mystic symbols running over his karate-style pants. Musashi walks to the ring with an even more focused look than usual on his face, a slight gleam of a wild look in his eye. In short, his face looks eerily calm and it's tough to discern just how in control he is.] TD: There is a man who is incensed, and with good reason. Last week     Ronnie Paris duped him with four paid off security guards, bashed his head in with a trash can, smashed a glass bottle over his skull, and now the Enigma finally gets to have some measure of revenge. SR: Hey, Paris was just following standard Soundbite procedure... if you     can't beat 'em, cheat. TD: What on earth is the story with you two? I seem to recall Paris     challenging you to a match at one time. SR: Well, he'll tell you he used to be naive. He didn't know how to "play the game", as it were, but now he realizes what an endorsement from the Soundbite is worth. [Sparky is still clipping along without any problems, somehow picking out the right cue card yet again and not dropping his mic as he finishes the announcements.] SL: And his opponent, hailing from the Lone Star State and weighing in at 210 pounds also... the self-professed member of the "Soundbite     Special Forces"... Ronnie Paris! [Tina Turner's "Simply the Best" begins, and along with it begin a loud round of boos. However, the boos aren't directed at anyone because there doesn't seem to be any movement from behind the curtains. From his spot in the ring, Musashi looks on at the curtain quite impatiently, not wanting to play any more of Paris' games.] TD: If Ronnie Paris does indeed show up here, he'll be in somewhat of an     unusual situation for this match. Both he and Musashi are equal in     weight, but he holds a 3 inch height advantage, so for once he'll be     the larger of the two men in the ring. SR: I wouldn't worry about it, Maggie tells me her husband is big where     it counts. TD: When were you talking to Mrs. Paris? And more importantly, will     Ronnie show for his match? SR: I can't answer either of those questions. It's classified. Nailed     down tighter than that ferret on your head. ["Simply the Best" continues to play, but the fans are growing quite restless as there's still no sign of Ronnie Paris. Finally, the curtains move a bit, and indeed it is Paris emerging. However, he carries with him a folding chair in one hand and a mic in the other. From the ring, Takezo Musashi looks on almost in disbelief, wanting to get down to the wrestling and forego all this preamble. Paris takes his time in opening the chair and setting it up, finally beginning to speak as he settles down to have a seat.] RP: Hold your horses, everyone, I have a little announcement. As a member of the Soundbite Special Forces and, quite frankly, a wrestler of my calibre, I don't have a lot of time to waste on people beneath me. The bottom line... [Ronnie is cut off by loud chants of "Ronnie sucks!", which are being prompted by the Enigma from the ring. An angry Paris glares at several "offending" fans, but ultimately waits for the noise to die down a bit before continuing.] RP: The bottom line is that Takezo Musashi still hasn't earned his way up to my level yet. Don't worry though, folks, I have found an opponent that's more up the Enigma's alley, more his speed if you know what I'm saying. [Turning his head back towards the entrance] Boys, let's go! [With that, Paris' four security guards walk out into the aisle, and one is dressed in a pair of wrestling tights and a sleeveless t-shirt. He leads the way as the other three follow behind and Paris sets up his chair near the top of the entrance ramp. Musashi can barely believe what he's seeing and is yelling at Paris, calling him a coward. This starts up the "Paris fears Musashi" chants, but the Texan ignores them as he sets up his chair to his liking.] TD: This is just pathetic... Ronnie Paris is sending in one of his goons     to wrestle for him. SR: I like it, get the cadets some field training. Look at this guy,     Dross, he's like 6'5", maybe 260 pounds. He's pretty damn big. TD: He may be big, but is he a wrestler? [Musashi intended to find out the hard way, as he runs back off the ropes to build momentum as the guards chat with each other, not seeing what's going on. Musashi snaps back quickly and flies over the ropes with a suicide dive, flying right towards all four men. Paris yells out a warning from his seat, and the men do turn to see what's going on, but... but it's too late! Musashi is already connecting, scattering the guards all over the floor!] TD: This match hasn't even started yet and already the Enigma is     asserting himself! This is not a man you want to tick off! SR: Disqualify him right there, ref. He's attacked innocent bystanders. [Musashi easily recognizes the guard he's wrestling, as he's the only one not wearing street clothes. He's quickly grabbed by the hair and tossed under the bottom rope into the ring, with Musashi following soon behind. The diminutive Asian hops to the mat and then catapults himself via the top rope into a guillotine legdrop. Instead of staying down to cover as some might, he picks up the guard and sends him hard to the ropes. As the burly man is rebounding back, Paris yells out from his seat "Watch out for a suplex, Lew!". It's tough to tell if Lew heard this, as he makes no indication of it while running back off the ropes into an Enigma belly-to-belly suplex. Without even pausing, Musashi runs towards the adjacent set of ropes, leaping up as he's getting close... doing a mid-air leg splits just before hitting the ropes... and smashing down onto Lew with a legsplit moonsault. Again, he gets up immediately instead of covering.] TD: Takezo Musashi is just too much for this Lew character... he's too     fast for the guard to even put up a defense! SR: Well of course he looks good, he's fighting a cadet! Get Lt. Paris in there and you'd see a totally different result. Still, I think we can turn things around. [Musashi walks towards a corner, keeping an eye on Lew in a catlike fashion as he sets up in a crouch, poised to strike. Lew slowly gets up despite warnings from Paris on the outside to "Stay down, you idiot!". As he does so, slowly getting closer to vertical, Musashi flies out of his crouch, part running and part jumping forward until he gets to the centre of the ring and fires a savate kick right at Lew's jaw. The guard goes down in a heap, a crack of bone being heard that runs a shiver down many fans' spines.] SR: Don't worry, Dross, this guy has a jaw of granite. TD: Jaw of graphite is more like it. [Lew is collapsed on the mat, holding his chin and letting out a low moan, but still the Enigma shows no mercy for one of his enemy's goons. Musashi hauls the guard to his feet, pointing to Paris in his perch, and then latches on a sleeperhold. The guard is unused to resisting such a move, and starts going out almost immediately. He drops to one knee, pumping his arm in futility to try and fight back. He then falls to his knees, almost ready to collapse totally, until suddenly the rookie Christopher Stonebreaker walks out of the entranceway into the aisle, staring right at the ring. Musashi doesn't notice him right away, continuing to apply presure to Lew, but Paris sees him. The Cajun passes Paris with barely a glance and continues to the ring, and finally Musashi sees him coming. The unconcious Lew is dropped and Musashi walks a few steps towards Stonebreaker, glaring at him as if to tell him to mind his own business. The Cajun holds his ground.] TD: What does Stonebreaker want out here? It's well documented that he's     been looking for a match with Takezo Musashi, but this is not the     time to force the issue young man! SR: Are those two having a battle of wits? I can see the smoke coming out of their ears. TD: The two just continue to stare at each other and... oh my, I didn't     notice that before. Stonebreaker is carrying a sledgehammer! SR: Now that could get interesting. Wait a minute, Lew is back! [Indeed he is, as the security guard hammers Musashi from behind with a club-like blow. As he falls to the mat, the guard hammers away with kicks to the chest and ribs, but somehow his motions look a little different, and he somehow seems an inch shorter.] TD: That's not the same guy! Somehow they switched places while Musashi     was distracted! SR: I love it! They must all be wearing the same wrestling gear under     their jackets... classic! [Loud heel pop as the crowd begins to realize a switch has been made, and Paris laughs his head off that the ploy worked. Stonebreaker for his part isn't really amused, as he slowly advances closer to the ring while the new guard continues to kick Musashi while he's down. Finally, the guard decides to try to put him away before he can screw up and lose the momentum, so he picks the battered Enigma up to his feet and whips him to the corner, following in with a stiff elbow. The shot hits, and Musashi is staggered but he does not fall. He stumbles out of the corner and the guard takes the opportunity to snare him in a passable roll-up, moving coinicidentally enough to the side of the ring that Stonebreaker is on. Dave D'Amato goes in for a count: 1 -- 2... And the guard gets levelled with the handle of the sledgehammer!] SR: Disqualify! Disqualify! TD: I don't think D'Amato saw that! I think Stonebreaker got away with it! [Not wanting to press his luck, the Cajun takes off immediately to head for the relative safety of the crowd. Musashi, meanwhile, didn't see anything and just knows he's suddenly able to roll the guard over with surprising ease. An enraged Paris orders his men to "do something!" as the count is made for: 1 -- 2 -- 3! Ding! Ding! Ding!] SL: Here is your winner, by virtue... [Lee is cut off in mid-sentence as the guards hit the ring and, more specifically, Musashi. The swarm towards him, having been to late to break up the cover but not too late to cause some havoc. The three kick away at Musashi, their fallen comrade soon getting up to join in. However, Musashi is throwing punches, kicks, and chops right back, amazingly fighting the four to a standstill. Meanwhile, Paris begins folding up his chair, and turns away from the fight.] TD: Do you believe it, Steve Roberts? Takezo Musashi is fighting his way     through... correction, he just got through those four goons on sheer     willpower! He fought his way out and Paris doesn't know it! SR: Look out, Ronnie! [Paris starts to walk slowly up the aisle, taunting fans and oblivious that Takezo Musashi is breaking past his security forces around the ring. He turns back briefly to see Musashi sprinting full speed ahead, having gotten past his men, and Paris wastes no time in running away, tossing his chair haphazardly off the stage towards an empty equipment area.] TD: The chase is on! Ronnie Paris is running for his life! [Paris storms through the curtains and continues to run, turning down a corridor and bowling over a few of the backstagers. The Enigma is still hot on his heels, bumping one of the remote cameraman by mistake and causing a momentarily out of focus shot. The producer decides to switch to a view of the parking lot outdoors, where a waiting Yellow Cab can be seen. Paris makes a beeline for it, yelling at the driver to "Open the god damn door!". Never one to turn down a fare, the cabbie does and Paris dives in just as the Enigma bursts through the outside doors. The cab begins quickly squeeling away, but before it can make a clean break Musashi has grabbed the first thing he could get his hands on, a garbage can, and is tossing it towards the rear windshield in frustration. The can hits and smashes through the glass, but the cab doesn't even slow down.]    TD: My goodness, Ronnie Paris is deathly afraid of the Enigma. He won't     tell that cabbie to stop until they're over the state line! SR: There's a big difference between a tactical retreat and "running     away", Dross. TD: Yeah, one of them is a term used by people who don't want to admit     they're running away. SR: What's the term for someone who doesn't want to admit he used to work with male strippers? TD: I, uh, wouldn't know. Let's just get to the next match. We have a triple threat match, with the winner getting a shot at Chris Quigley's Intercontinental Title on 3 January! SR: In other words, the winner of this match will be guaranteed the title. TD: Chris Quigley has been an outstanding champion, Steve Roberts. SR: [mimicking Dross] Chris Quigley lost to Three-M, Tim Dross. TD: Let's go to the ring. ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| TRIPLE THREAT MATCH: |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| "Real Deal" Luke Steele vs. Duncan Macbeth vs. "The Brat" Bradley Reed ....................................................................... WRITER: DH [Sparkplug Lee stands in the ring, microphone raised:] SL: The following match is a Triple Threat Match! Only two men can legally be in the ring at one time, and the last man standing gets an Intercontinental Title shot! [Pop!] The first participant, at 270 pounds from Scotland, I give you Duncan Macbeth! ["Scotland The Brave" pipes over the sound system, as the fans come to their feet, waving red tartan swatches. Macbeth comes through the curtains, and heads to the ring, looking remarkably intense. He cautiously looks around as he heads to the ring, but nothing happens.] SL: Next, from Cleveland, the "Real Deal", Luke Steele! [The music changes to "I Am The Man". Steele follows Macbeth to the ring, looking focused, but not nearly as hunted as the big Scot.] SL: And the third participant, along with Stephanie Summer and Stone, this is "The Brat", Bradley Reed! [The fans' booing drowns out Reed's entrance music. Stone and the bizarre Miss Summer take up positions at ringside, while the Brat hops up onto the apron. He doesn't get into the ring, though, and gestures for Macbeth and Steele to start the match. DING! DING! DING!] TD: And we are underway! VOICE: WAIT! [Macbeth and Steele stop, and watch as Timothy Turner comes down the aisle with a microphone in one hand and a green bottle in the other.] TNT: I'd just like to take a moment here, before Duncan destroys these two morons tonight, and goes on to destroy that whining little bitch Chris Quigley _again_ on January 3rd, to make a presentation of this rare, 25-year-old Macallan single-malt Scotch, from the IIWF Champion, Timothy N. Turner, to the _rightful_ IIWF Intercontinental Champion, Duncan Macbeth! Here's to you, my friend... now, TAKE THESE PUNKS APART! [Turner then walks over to the announcers' table, leaving the bottle with Tim and Steve before sitting down nearby on a folding chair.] TNT: Keep an eye on this for me, will you? And Dross... be careful. This ain't Kessler's -- this bottle costs more than you make in a month, so no "baby sips". [Back in the ring, Duncan Macbeth is watching all of this with a grin, but that vanishes from his face as Steele slips behind him for a schoolboy rollup! 1 -- 2 -- kickout! Macbeth gets up grinning and shakes his head at Steele.] TD: Luke Steele almost eliminated the favorite right there! SR: You know, Dross, I spent some time in Macallan once. TD: Best weekend of your life? SR: I have no idea. I can't remember a thing. This stuff is amazing. It's as smooth as Snow White, but has a kick like a Skullpump. [Meanwhile, while Macbeth and Steele lock up, another figure heads down the aisle to a massive heel pop.] SR: Now who? TD: It's Marty Warnett! Apparently, he is coming out here to help "The Brat"! [Indeed, Warnett walks over to Stone and "Stephanie". He claps the massive bodyguard on the back and says something that is apparently a joke, but that gets no reaction from the stone-faced Stone. Reed sees Marty and drops off the apron to chat.] TD: I'm not sure that Bradley Reed has any interest in wrestling in this match. SR: I don't blame him. He should let the other two beat each other up, then pin the tired winner. TD: You know, I just realized what his strategy reminds me of... it's a nineties version of the "Soundbite Stall"! [Steve doesn't say a word, he just stands up and gestures to the Soundbiters behind him. Instantly, a massive chant of "Show Your Toes!" "Show Your Toes!" starts up.] TD: You are a sick and twisted man, Steve. [After a few moments, Reed pats Warnett on the back and hops up to the top turnbuckle, where he takes a seat to watch the match. At the moment, Steele and Macbeth are engaged in a test of strength, with Duncan holding a slight advantage. At that moment, though, there is a huge pop, way too loud for the simple act of forcing a man to his knees.] SR: Now what?! TD: Look! It's Billy Shakespeare! He's coming down from the ceiling! SR: Oh joy. Is he still with the promotion? [The camera pans up to see that Billy is certainly doing just that, zooming down headfirst on a zip line. He is holding a hook in his hands, and quickly attaches it to Bradley Reed's trunks. Before the Brat can react, he is hauled into the air, and finds himself hanging in the air, about 15 feet above the arena floor. While Reed screams for Stone to save him, and Luke Steele hits a dropkick on Duncan Macbeth, Shakespeare is delighting the fans by swinging about on his line, landing kicks to the heads of Marty Warnett and Stone. As he does so, he is loudly reciting passages from "Hamlet".] SR: What the hell is he doing? Shouldn't someone be disqualified for this? TD: Well, actually, I believe this is a no-disqualification match. Besides, who would you disqualify? SR: Well, someone needs to do something! Didn't Stone ever play with a pinata as a kid? Get a stick, break him open, and watch a lot of bad wrestling fall out! TD: Oh my! SR: What? TD: Luke Steele just hit his Thesz Press from the second turnbuckle, and almost got the pin. Duncan barely kicked out! SR: Dross, you might be the only person in the arena that is actually watching the match. No one else cares... YES! [Macbeth has just suplexed Steele, but Steve's reaction was to the fact that Stone had just showed some amazing leaping ability, flying into the air to grab Billy Shakespeare's ankle. He rips the Bard out of his harness and tosses him into the ring steps, where Marty Warnett dives on him, flailing away. Stone then climbs up on a table and starts to unhook Reed. In the ring, Luke Steele has just turned an attempted Claymore into a powerbomb.] TD: You know, Luke Steele and Duncan Macbeth are putting on a fantastic show in the ring! SR: Dross, Billy Shakespeare is about to be killed by three angry men! This is better than any match is ever going to be! [Stone and the newly-freed Brat advance on the heap that is Warnett and Shakespeare battling on the floor, as Stephanie Summer watches. Stone pulls Shakespeare up and into a massive bearhug. Before he can do much damage though, Marty Warnett smashes his over the head with the ringsteps! Huge Face Pop!] SR: I don't believe it! TD: Neither do I, Steve. I thought Luke Steele was about to win the match with the Steele Tower, but the big Scot turned it into a hurricarana and got a near fall! SR: Will you shut up about the damn match?! I'm heartbroken here! Just when I thought I might be able to like Marty Warnett, it turns out that this whole thing was a setup between him and Pukespeare! This is one of the worst moments in IIWF history! What is going on here? TD: I don't know, Steve. I'm watching two of the stars of the IIWF go at it. But you might want to ask the two men who are coming down the aisle. SR: What?! What is this, the IIWF Christmas Party? Now who the hell is coming out here?! [With Stone unconscious, Warnett and Shakespeare are taking a great deal of pleasure in beating Bradley Reed to a pulp. In the meantime, as Tim Dross noticed, Derek Mota, aided with a cane, and Cold Spell's Edmund Fitzgerald have come down to where Timothy N. Turner is sitting. The trio confer briefly, but stay where they are.] SR: What are those two goofs doing out here? TD: Well, they are both friends of Duncan Macbeth's, so I would assume that they are out here to make sure that this brawl at ringside doesn't interfere with his chance at winning this match. SR: I thought you were watching the match! TD: I am. It's been a great one. I just have my monitor set to split-screen so that I can keep an eye on everything else. SR: What? How did you do that? TD: [smugly] Next time, come to the production meeting. [In the meantime, Bradley Reed has been beaten to a pulp, and propped up on the ring apron. Marty Warnett calls out "Duncan", and the big Scot comes over and "tags" Reed by slapping him in the face. He then suplexes Reed into the ring, where he ends up crumpled at Luke Steele's feet. As Macbeth, Warnett and Shakespeare all watch with smiles on their faces, Steele drags the Brat to his feet, then hits a picture-perfect Floating DDT. With the entire crowd counting along, Dave D'Amato delivers the fatal three count.] SL: BRADLEY REED HAS BEEN ELIMINATED! [Steele kicks Reed out to the floor, where he is picked up by Warnett. He carries the Brat out of the arena, while Shakespeare drags Stone out by the feet. The crowd comes to their feet in a standing ovation, including Turner, Fitzgerald and Mota.] TD: And now, everyone can finally concentrate on this outstanding match between Luke Steele and Duncan Macbeth. These two men have been giving everything they have, despite everything happening around them. SR: There's still one thing to worry about, Timbo. TD: [sighing] Now what? SR: What do we do with him... err, her? [The camera pans to the bizarre Stephanie Summer, who is sitting in a fetal position against the ringside railing, sobbing.] TD: My god, Steve. I had forgotten about young Summer. Bradley Reed turned him into that... thing, and now has abandoned him. This must be a truly traumatizing moment, but it looks like some of his former "NewGen" friends are going to try to help. [Edmund Fitzgerald and Derek Mota have made their way to ringside, and are talking quietly to Summer. Her sobbing lessens, but she pulls away when they try to help her to her feet. Suddenly, the crowd erupts as yet another figure comes charging out of the back.] SR: Oh, for crying out loud! Is there anyone in the IIWF who isn't going to come to ringside during this match? TD: It's Icehawk! He was always Steve's favorite IIWF star, and it looks like he's getting through to him... or her. Whatever. Whoever Steve is now, he's letting Icehawk escort him out of the arena... and hopefully to somewhere where they can fix him up. [Indeed, Icehawk walks Stephanie back to the locker room, holding her hand and talking quietly to her. Fitz and Mota follow them out, nodding to TNT as they pass.] SR: Gosh, now there's a surprise. TD: What's that, Steve? SR: Icehawk finally shows some interest in a woman, and it is one who is really a guy. TD: Can we watch the match now? Please? SR: I guess so. All the excitement seems to be over. [Back in the ring, Duncan Macbeth has just gotten to the ropes to escape Luke Steele's crossface submission hold. Steele drags Macbeth up, and pulls him over into a slingshot suplex. The "Real Deal" doesn't go for the cover, but waits for Macbeth to rise, setting himself for the Floating DDT. As Macbeth shakily gets to his feet, Steele goes for it...] TD: No! Duncan Macbeth sensed what was happening, and dropped back to the mat before Steele could hit the hottest finisher in the IIWF. SR: Dross, the hottest finisher in the IIWF has been the Skullpump, is the Skullpump and will always be the Skullpump. [Steele drags Macbeth up by his hair, pulls him up by his waist, and drives him into the mat with a vicious piledriver. He covers Macbeth, but the Scot just gets his shoulder up in time. Steele smacks the mat in frustration, then gets up and climbs to the top rope.] TD: Luke Steele is getting very frustrated. He can taste that Intercontinental title shot, but he just can't finish Duncan Macbeth off! [Steele waits on the top turnbuckle, panting from the exertion of the long match. As Macbeth finally arises, Luke leaps into a Thesz press, his frustrations coming out in a wild howl ...] TD: No!! Duncan Macbeth regained his senses and rolled with the move, turning it into a high-impact spinebuster! Dave D'Amato with the count... one... two... THREE! [Huge Pop!] SL: Your winner, and the recipient of an Intercontinental Title shot, DUNCAN MACBETH! [The crowd goes wild, waving their tartan swatches along with "Scotland The Brave". Timothy N. Turner runs down to ringside and embraces Macbeth, then presents him with the bottle of scotch.] TD: There are very few athletes more popular in this building than Duncan Macbeth, and now their hero will got a shot to finally get the Intercontinental title that he feels is rightfully his. SR: Hey, I don't like him much... but I like _anyone_ against Quigley! Go Duncan! [While the celebration has gone on, Luke Steele has been slumped against the turnbuckles, fatigue and frustration etched on his face. After a while, he goes up behind Macbeth and taps him on the shoulder. The Scot whirls around in alarm, but Steele simply offers his hand. After the handshake, and a brief hug, the Cleveland native heads back to the dressing room to a nice ovation from the appreciative crowd. Cut back to the broadcast table.] TD: Tremendous, tremendous victory for Duncan Macbeth -- and he will move on to take on Chris Quigley on January 3. SR: He doesn't have the guts, Dross.  You think Quigley will get in the ring with... [The Scotsman himself then moves over to the announce table, taking a swig from his bottle of scotch and encouraging the crowd as they roar, "I-C Champ!... I-C Champ!... I-C Champ!"] TD: Apparently Mr. Macbeth is going to partake in some... adult libations... and perhaps watch the second of our two huge title-contenders matchups, this time with Steve Kowalski meeting Serge Annis. SR: No DQ.  See, it takes so little to appease Poppa Soundbite, Dross. Just give me a No DQ, a place to rest my head at night, a cube or two of sugar and a two hundred dollar a night hooker named Rita to make all of my showers golden and I'm the picture of modern day contentment. TD: There are, Steve Roberts, some things even you can't say on television. SR: Yeah... boring things, mundane things, things that any other "rasslin'" announcer in the world would say... you know, we call them "Drossisms". TD: Let's get to the ring. ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| NO DISQUALIFICATION MATCH: |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| Steve "the Fury" Kowalski vs. Serge Annis ....................................................................... WRITER: JJ [Sparkplug Lee gives a thumbs up to the fan waving a sign reading, "Why Couldn't It Have Been Sandler?" and then takes the mic.] SL: The following contest is set for one fall and is for a SHOT at the IIWF HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP OF THE WORLD! Introducing first, he weighs 290 pounds and hails from Oakville, Ontario, Canada...he is known as the "Epitome of Evil"....SERGE ANNIS! [Big Heel Pop as a resounding GONG reverberates through the arena and the lights drop.  A red spotlight hits the aisle, followed by the blasting of "Hands of Death" by Alice Cooper and Rob Zombie through the Coliseum. The Epitome of Evil enters the aisle, flames now shooting from the entranceway as Annis walks purposefully to the ring.  Serge is dressed in his customary black tights with red tear drops adorning each leg. Annis' wrists are covered with black electrical tape and the noticeable scars covering his body are evident.] TD: Here comes Serge Annis... and... and... we're gonna see something here!  Duncan Macbeth apparently has some issues from last week to settle with the Epitome of Evil.... [Big Pop as Macbeth, walking around the ring, meets Annis as he reaches the bottom of the aisle.  Serge lays down a barbed wire covered steel chair and reaches into a small pouch to remove his famed Zippo lighter.  Annis and Macbeth exchange curt words as the crowd, to a person on its feet, begins to chant for its respective choice.  Annis, almost absentmindedly begins to flick his lighter on and off... on and off... on and off... while Duncan takes a swig of his Scotch...] TD: Good God!  Good God!  Fire in the eyes!  Fire in the eyes! [Huge Pop as Macbeth spews whiskey into the flame of Annis, creating a ball of blue fire that causes Annis to lerch forward... and then to drop down as he is _nailed_ by the Macbeth scotch bottle!] TD: Annis is down!  Annis is down!  Serge Annis has been blinded by the attack by Duncan Macbeth!  Good God! SR: And it's about to get worse, Dross... here _comes_ the Fury! [Huge Pop as the Fury comes barreling down the aisle, ramming into Macbeth and Annis as Duncan was putting the poor mouth on Serge... Macbeth flies off as Kowalski begins peppering Serge's head with rights and lefts, the fans roaring their appreciation. Kowalski spits at Annis as he drags him to his feet, landing two big right hands as Serge is still trying to clear his face of the glass, whiskey and fire damage.] TD: Kowalski is really battering Annis... Big Joey Patrick is out here, and I guess we're legally underway... Kowalski is set... Oh My! [With the Fury about to unleash roundhouse right, Macbeth steps in and blocks the blow, spinning the Fury around and shoving him directly in the chest.  Big Pop as Macbeth and Kowalski begin to have words... Macbeth and Kowalski going nose to nose... Macbeth and...] TD: Annis!  Annis spins around Kowalski and throws salt in his eyes!  SR: We're on, baby!  Lets get the juice a-flowin'! [Annis sends some stiff European uppercuts to the Fury that rock him back... allowing Serge to set up... and whip Kowalski hard into the steel steps.  Serge turns briefly to Macbeth, favoring him with a choice epithet before resuming his attack on Kowalski.  Duncan claps his hands and exits the area... getting a rousing reception as he walks from ringside. Annis grabs Kowalski by the scruff of the neck _planting_ his head sharply into the guardrail!  Annis blasts away with right hands, driving the Fury further and further back over the rail as Kowalski tries to... Big Pop!] TD: Kowalski backdrops Annis into the crowd!  Kowalski backdrops Annis into the crowd! SR: Woooo!  Welcome to the party, morons!  I knew we would bring back "up close and personal" someday. [The fans are up as the wrestlers tumble over the barrier, each man grabbing a chair as he stands.  Annis and Kowalski swing... CLANG... the chairs rattle together... Annis is the first to fire back -- Kowalski ducks...] TD: Annis levels a fan!  Serge Annis just took a fan out with a chairshot! SR: Hey, you can't fly with the MiG's, Dross... Stay the Hell out of MiG Alley. [Neither Annis or the Fury bother to tend to the fallen fan... the Fury jabbing his chair into the ribs of Annis, Serge doubling over -- and then Kowalski _driving_ him to the ground with a rocker dropper!  Kowalski rams his chair over and over into the back of Serge's head... Annis unable to rise as the Fury dents his chair over his skull!  Kowalski picks Annis to his feet, displaying his utter contempt for the man with a release of his nostril congestion into Serge's face!  Big Revolting Pop!] TD: That is disgusting, Steve Roberts!  The Fury is crossing the line! SR: That's what I like Dross, fireballs -- fine, chairshots -- fine. Snotrockets -- call the damn M.P.'s and take his ass away! [Annis is seemingly jarred out of his stupor, wiping his face... and then begins to rain lightning fast blows to Kowalski's face. Annis peppers the former Intercontinental Champion with shots until hitting him with an enormous uppercut that sends the Fury over the rail and back to the floor! Serge quickly follows Kowalski over the barrier, and then slams him into the apron.  Annis climbing into the ring, and dragging Kowalski with him... Annis diving atop the Fury as the two men hit the ring -- and biting him sharply on the forehead!] TD: There ain't nothing pretty at all about this one, Steve Roberts. These two men went at it hammer and tongs last week -- and we are getting more of the same right here! [Annis tosses Kowalski with impunity over to the ropes, running his neck across the midrope, briefly choking him out until leaping to the far side, hurling himself off the backropes... and leaping atop the Fury in a sit down splash that pounds Kowalski hard to the mat! Annis grabs Kowalski, again by the back of his hair, and just slams him down hard to the canvas.  Annis winding up and dropping a big elbow to the back of the neck and going for a cover... 1 -- 2 -- NO!  Kickout by Kowalski. Annis picks up the Fury again, maneuvering for a waistlock which Kowalski reverses.  The Fury lifts Annis high into the air, looking to dump him to the ground... but Annis is too brutishly powerful, grinding Kowalski down until he is able to pick him up himself... and ram his head into the canvas with a piledriver!] TD: Not a maneuver which is seen very often in the IIWF, the spine compressing piledriver..and right now, you'd have to say that Serge Annis is dominating this matchup. SR: Serge ain't gonna back away from anyone, Dross... but you can't keep the Fury down for long... unlike, say, Icehawk Spice. [Annis gets a second nearfall with the piledriver, then picks the Fury to his feet again... headbutting Kowalski back to the canvas!  Annis picks up -- and Annis headbutts back down!  Annis now toying with the Fury... who seems unable to respond.  The Fury crawling underneath the ropes and out to the apron. Annis, still in the ring, moves the Fury to his feet, battering at Kowalski and then setting up to suplex him back into the ring... Annis attempts the suplex -- blocked. Annis attempts again -- blocked. Annis attempts a third time -- but the Fury has the position, and moves to suplex Annis to the floor... Big Pop!] TD: Annis Reverses!  Annis with the front layout suplex of Kowalski... all the way to the aisle! [Big Pop as Annis grabs the top rope, hurling himself with a slingshot legdrop toward the Fury....] TD: OH MY! [Kowalski grabs the barbed wire chair, brought to ringside by Serge -- and _THWACKS_ the plummeting Annis to the head!  The crowd explodes as Kowalski slices Serge wide open with the barbed wire chair!  The Fury grabs a television cable, whipping Annis into the guardrail -- and then begins to _tie_ Annis to the rail!  Kowalski takes the chair... and batters... batters... batters Annis to the mat until Serge is seemingly spurting blood from every possible orifice!  Annis is bloody, battered, beaten and lying in a pool of his own fluid as the relentless Kowalski begins to punch, kick and bite the totally helpless Serge!] TD: This could not be uglier, Steve Roberts.  No Disqualification should not be an invitation to maim... these two men have been brutalizing each other... and one of them has to fight for the World Title next week! SR: That's the proverbial big winner here, Dross.  Damn Thunder is going to pick the bones of one of these guys next week. [Kowalski rips Annis free from the cable, powerslamming him to the aisle and then dropping down with a fist... slipped! Serge rolls off to the side, allowing the Fury to ram himself into the ramp.  Kowalski rises, pulling Serge up with him... Kowalski swings a right hand -- Annis ducks under, lifting the Fury up... and dumping him to the ground with a sidewalk slam! Big, Big Pop now as each man struggles to get back to his feet... both Kowalski and Annis, now perhaps realizing the imperative of the moment -- a World Heavyweight Title Shot in one week's time... rise... each man standing in the aisle... And each man firing away!  Kowalski and Annis rocking each other backward with right hands... Kowalski seeming to be the quicker of the two, getting the better of the exchange... ...but Annis is not affected!  Annis is not affected!  Annis smiles, sickly, through his crimson mask and kicks the Fury to the midsection... Kowalski folds up -- and Annis hauls him to the air, flipping him over... and driving down... Huge POP!] TD: TIGER DRIVER!!  TIGER DRIVER TO THE BARBED WIRE CHAIR! SR: It's Annis, Dross!  It's gonna be Serge Annis!  Serge Annis is the new baddest man in the IIWF! [Annis lets out a roar, grabbing the Fury _again by the hair_ and dragging him back to the apron.  Serge tosses the steel chair into the ring as he hauls the Fury up to his feet... and then places him in a seated position to the apron.  Annis hops up as the Fury makes his way to his feet.  Annis smirking as Kowalski clothes are shredded, his body battered, Annis clearly has a moment of decision... What to do next? Annis grabs Kowalski's throat. Annis lifts the Fury high in the air. Annis sweeps the Fury's legs out from under him. Big, Big, Big... Big Pop.] TD: CHOKESLAM!  CHOKESLAM!  Serge Annis with the Epitomizer through the TIMEKEEPER'S TABLE! SR: I always liked him, Dross!  I always liked him!  An-nis!  An-nis! An-nis! [The chants of "I-I-W-F... I-I-W-F... I-I-W-F..." resound through the arena as a slow motion instant replay is shown of the Chokeslam...] SR: All, right... Take a look at the Soundbite Slo-Mo, Dross.  There's Annis... Serge is, at this very second, you can see it on the screen, saying to himself... [Roberts begins to scribble, his words appearing on the screen as the graphic "Soundbite Slo-Mo" flashes.] SR: "I'm gonna chokeslam Fury for my good friend _and mentor_ Steve Roberts.  Thank you Soundbite for your support lo these many years." [The shot of Kowalski and Annis slamming through the timekeeper's table is then seen.  Cut back to live action as Serge has just now climbed through the rubble to an enormous pop... and is making his way slowly back to the ring... apparently content with the countout victory.] TD: It is Serge Annis!  Serge Annis is going to win this match!  Serge Annis is going to meet Brody Thunder next week! [Annis turns toward the ring, raising his arms to the sky and yelling out, "Who's The Damn Man, Now?!" The crowd pops hugely... and then squeals with a mixture of shock and delight as from the rubble rises the Fury. Thump. Thump. ThumpThumpThumpThump!!! Big, Big POP!] TD: Kowalski with the table leg!  Kowalski is a mad man!  Kowalski is beating Serge Annis over the head with a table leg!  Good God!  Good God!! SR: Yeah!  Yeah!  It's all about the Fury! [Kowalski batters Annis unmercifully, the table leg breaking clean over the head of Serge.  Kowalski tosses away the shards of splintered wood, reaching over into the crowd to grab a chair... and throwing it directly to the face of Annis! Kowalski grabs a second chair... and throws... and a third... and a fourth... and Steve Kowalski is a man possessed!  The crowd roaring their approval as Steve Kowalski begins peppering Serge Annis with every chair in the building!] TD: This place has gone nuts!  Steve Kowalski has thrown ten, fifteen... look at all those chairs!  Steve Kowalski is burying Serge Annis under every chair in the IIWF Coliseum!  Oh My God it's Annis!! [Serge roars back, literally roars back, diving through the hailstorm of chairs to a crossbody of the Fury... Annis and Kowalski crashing into the retaining barrier... and toppling it over!  The barrier falls over and the IIWF fans crumble to the floor!  The fans begin streaming out to ringside, the chants of "I-I-W-F... I-I-W-F...I-I-W-F..." roaring through the night as security hits ringside. Fans have gotten into the ring... fans are grabbing at the broadcasters...] SR: Hey, Hey, leave my buddy Dross alone!  Hey, Hey... I'll kick your mother... TD: We've got chaos!  We've got absolute, absolute chaos!  Steve Roberts, sit down!  Steve Roberts... is swatting away fans... Where the hell are Annis and Kowalski?! Where the hell are Annis and Kowalski!! [Joey Patrick calls for the bell -- Ding! Ding! Ding! -- brown shirted IIWF security forces stream forward from all four corners of the building, driving the fans back. An enormous roar goes up as Annis and Kowalski are spotted in the second deck, each throwing wild lefts and rights... security now coming to break them up as the bell -- Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! -- continues to ring and Sparkplug Lee takes the mic.] SL: The referee has counted _BOTH MEN_ out the ring. This match is officially ruled... A DRAW!  A DRAW! [The "boos" then begin to fill the Coliseum, both because a number of fans are being led from the building and that the match has been stopped.] TD: We're getting some order, some order restored.  The fans are back in their seats... the wrestlers have apparently been led back to the dressing room... what a wild, wild scene. SR: Drunken fat guys falling over the guardrail... cops crushing head with their clubs... two bloody men fighting with broken off table legs. It really is Christmas, Dross.  I really miss my Daddy.  Good times. TD: Well, the question here will be, what happen next week?  Serge Annis and Fury Kowalski have now fought in each of the last two weeks, awful, brutal, bloody battles and we till don't have a winner.  Which one of these two men will go on to meet Brody Thunder next week?   [Cut to a wide-angle shot of the ringside area as order is slowly restored once more, fans settling back into their seats and the ring cleared of surplus chairs. Cut back to the broadcast table.] TD: What another incredible evening it's been, folks... and we're now a matter of minutes away from the huge main event: the Loser Leaves Town clash between Lord Byron and his nemesis, Otto "The Butcher" Verhoeven. SR: And I can't even get decent odds on Verhoeven winning this time around. TD: Verhoeven has got to be going into this match the clear favourite, Steve, you're right... Byron has hardly been setting the world on fire since his return -- he looks to be completely directionless, while the Butcher... the Butcher has never looked more intent on destroying anyone. SR: Wrong, Dross. From what I saw of Byron this week, he looks as though he's got a clear direction in mind. TD: What do you mean? SR: Moron. It's just so clear. Byron's been cut up about his gal getting knocked into the middle of next year, right? TD: That's one way of putting it, I suppose... SR: He blames himself, Dross. And from what I saw -- the guy's just about ready to give up. But he don't want to admit he's beat -- so he's hoping the Butcher'll do it for him. He wants to lose, Dross. Like he said himself, he wants it to end. TD: Byron's certainly far from focused, Steve... you may be right. SR: Of course I'm right, moron. If Byron turns up, he's going to be walking straight into his own funeral. And the Butcher's going to enjoy every second of it. ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| LOSER LEAVES TOWN TOWEL MATCH: |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| Otto "the Butcher" Verhoeven vs. Lord Byron ....................................................................... WRITER: MP [Sparkplug Lee steps into the ring once more.] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, it is now time for tonight's main event! [The crowd roars in anticipation] The following contest is a special towel match -- no pinfalls, no countouts, no disqualifications -- the participants each have a cornerman, who will be responsible for calling and end to the match should they decide that their man is unable to continue.] [The crowd pops nervously as Sparkplug Lee pauses, a wave of anticipation passing through the arena...] RA: Introducing first... weighing in at 340lbs and hailing from Essen, Germany... accompanied to the ring by his valet, Nurse Heidi... a former IIWF World Heavyweight Champion... the Teutonic Terror... OTTO "THE BUTCHER" VERHOEVEN!! [The crowd falls silent as the bone-chilling theme from "Halloween" starts up over the PA system... and then erupts in a monstrous heel pop as the Butcher throws the curtains aside, storming towards the ring with an expression of pure malevolence crossing his face... Nurse Heidi follows quickly behind him, a black towel over her shoulder, a smile on her face as she glances around at the screaming fans... Verhoeven rolls into the ring, quickly rising to his feet and stalking around like a caged animal, raising one arm in the air, shaking with quiet laughter...] TD: Oh my... this man is a monster. SR: You got that right, Dross. For Lord Byron, read Lord Victim. [Verhoeven continues to pace the ring, eyes almost glowing with a fierce anticipation... he leaps to the second turnbuckle, glaring around at the capacity crowd, a cruel smile creasing his lips... Sparkplug Lee slowly returns to the centre of the ring, casting a nervous glance at the behemoth...] RA: And his opponent... SR: Make that "victim," Sparky. RA: Weighing in at 265lbs, and currently residing in New Orleans, Louisiana... he is a former IIWF Intercontinental Champion and Golden Grapple Award-winner... SR: Like that means anything when you're reduced to a bundle of nerves... RA: ...accompanied to the ring by his cornerman for the evening, Charles Scheffield [surprised crowd pop!]... please welcome... LORD BYRON!! [The crowd pops nervously as "Moonlight Sonata" by Beethoven starts up over the PA system, all eyes turning expectantly towards the aisle... Scheffield appears, dressed in a sophisticated suit, and carrying a white towel in his hand...] SR: If Byron's got a single scrap of intelligence in his screwed up mind, the emergency exit'll be swinging to a shut behind him right about now... [The crowd pops again... and the curtains part as Byron enters the aisle! Pop! Byron walks out into the aisle, dressed in his simple black trousers and white shirt, head bowed, hand gripping his brass-topped cane tightly... Scheffield claps him on the shoulder, good-naturedly offering him a few words of encouragement... Byron nods slightly, and quietly says something which causes Scheffield to grit his teeth, a worried frown on his face...Byron glances up at the crowd... which bursts into a deafening heel pop as the Butcher rips straight through him!] TD: Oh my!! Verhoeven's wasting no time here at all! Look at him tear away at Byron! [Scheffield pauses, looking on with great concern as Byron futilely tries to cover up, Verhoeven crashing down on top of him, fists flailing... the Butcher hauls the dazed Byron back to his feet, swinging him round... heel pop!] TD: Verhoeven threw Byron straight through the ringside lighting equipment! This one's out of control already! SR: The Butcher's here to finish the job he started at Ring Wars, Dross... and with no DQ - anything's fair game! [Byron lies crumpled against the retaining barriers in a mess of cables and metal, shaking his head and trying to push himself back to his feet as the Butcher stalks across to him...] TD: Oh no... the Butcher... he's got one of those light stands... [The crowd literally explodes as Verhoeven smashes the heavy equipment down across Byron's back, crushing him to the arena floor... Verhoeven reaches out, grabbing Byron's ponytail and dragging him out from under the wreckage... pulling him back to his feet... another huge heel pop!] TD: And Verhoeven catapults Byron straight into the ring apron! This is bad, Steve Roberts... this is dreadful... SR: Wrong and wrong again, Dross... this is Verhoeven doing what he was born to do. [Verhoeven scoops Byron back to his feet, rolling the aristocrat into the ring for the first time with a snort of disdain... Scheffield walks across to Byron's corner, watching on as Byron rolls to his knees, slowly picking himself to his feet as Verhoeven steps through the ropes... Byron stumbles away from him, falling back to one knee as the Butcher stalks towards him...] TD: European uppercut by Byron! SR: No effect! [The fans cheer Byron on as he springs up off his knee again, slamming another hard European uppercut under the Butcher's jaw... Verhoeven's head snaps back from the blow, and he shakes it slowly, looking down as Byron collapses back to one knee, breathing heavily... Verhoeven grabs Byron's ponytail, twisting his head back... and sending closed fist after closed fist crashing down onto the Englishman's skull, hammering him down to the canvas... Verhoeven again grabs a handful of hair, pulling the punch-drunk grappler back to his feet, and sending him flying into the corner with an Irish whip with such force that Byron is pole axed from the impact, flying back out and crumpling to the canvas, clutching his back in obvious pain...] SR: Oh man, this is beautiful... truly beautiful. TD: Verhoeven is just dominating Byron here... the technician simply hasn't had the chance to mount any kind of offence under this barrage. SR: Offence? The only offence here is that Byron actually thinks he's fit to be in the same ring as Verhoeven. [Verhoeven walks back across to Byron with a smile, casually stomping on the Englishman's lower back, smiling to himself as Byron grimaces in pain... Verhoeven hoists Byron to his feet, staring across at Scheffield with a sick smile as he grips Byron's throat, hoisting him into the air...] TD: And Verhoeven now with a blatant choke! What power! SR: And he drops Byron like a rag doll! Where's your fancy skills now, rich boy? What happened to that mean streak? You're nothing Byron... you hear me? You're worth less than that one eyed red gloved momma's boy that kicked your ass out of here the first time! [Byron rolls over, clutching his throat... and Verhoeven drops an elbowdrop across his back, flattening him out again! Heel pop! Verhoeven pulls Byron back to his feet again... scooping him up... lifting him over his head... the crowd screams...] TD: Verhoeven with a military press... what's he going to.... oh no... [The crowd at ringside pops wildly as Verhoeven, with Byron raised above his head, charges towards the ropes... the crowd screams again as Byron flies over the top rope... narrowly missing the announcer's table... crashing down into the retaining barriers and sending the fans scattering.] TD: My God!! Verhoeven... Verhoeven just threw Byron clear out of the ring! SR: Taking out the trash. TD: This, well, this is bad, Steve... Verhoeven doesn't just want to end Byron's IIWF career here tonight... [The crowd around the ringside area roars out a warning as Verhoeven rolls out of the ring, Byron clutching his back with a grimace as he slowly pulls himself up with the help of the retaining barriers... Verhoeven smiles, raising his hands above his head with an axehandle.] TD: Back kick by Byron! Verhoeven's staggered! And a second! And a wild right hand sends the Butcher back! [The crowd pops wildly, urging Byron on... he lets fly with another right hand, dropping to his knee... and the Butcher cuts him off with a punishing clothesline that spins Byron back to the arena floor! Heidi claps with joys as Verhoeven pulls Byron up again, cuffing him across the back of the head, and rolling him back into the ring...] SR: Nothing, Dross... Byron can't hurt this guy. He can't even touch him. And the Butcher's not through with Byron by a long shot... but don't throw the towel in just yet, Scheffield - let the crowd get their money's worth first. TD: You really are a sick man, Steve Roberts... SR: Demographics, Dross. The people want their biscuits. [Verhoeven steps through the ropes as Byron slowly starts to push himself up... and the Butcher drops a legdrop across the back of Byron's neck, flattening him again! Heel pop as Byron clutches at his head, kicking the canvas in pain... Verhoeven again cuffs the back of Byron's head, barking an insult at him in German, then climbing to his feet and turning to the crowd, raising his hands in the air and shaking his head... Byron slowly rolls to his knees, and Scheffield watches him with concern, looking down at the towel in his hands, then around at the baying crowd...] SR: Don't even think it, Scheffield. The Butcher's not done yet. [Verhoeven turns around, pulling Byron back to his feet and whipping him into the ropes, catching him as he returns and whipping him over in an incredible powerslam, crushing him into the canvas! Heel pop! Verhoeven rolls Byron over, and with a sneer at Scheffield, pulls Byron into a camel clutch... Byron's face contorts in agony as Verhoeven brings his weight to bear...] SR: Ouch, man... that's gotta hurt. TD: We've seen Byron in this position before... Verhoeven is starting to pour the pressure on Byron, who has still to show any kind of real fight... you can only wonder what Scheffield must be thinking. SR: He's thinking... "Oh man... I sure picked a howler this time round." [Byron struggles against the hold, but Verhoeven shakes his head, pulling back on Byron's neck with a grin... the referee looks at Byron... then across at Scheffield... asking him what he's going to do... Byron's eyes snap open, and he yells a denial, prompting laughter from Verhoeven, Heidi, and of course, Steve Roberts.] SR: This is tragic, Dross... give it up, Byron. Give it all up as a bad idea, and go home before Verhoeven breaks something important... [Byron struggles against the hold again, and Verhoeven releases it with a smile, cuffing Byron repeatedly across the back of the head, leaning down over his former comrade and laughing... Verhoeven cuff Byron again... huge mixed pop from the crowd around the entrance to the aisle... Verhoeven looks up -- and roars with laughter.] TD: Oh no... SR: Oh, they're all in attendance tonight, aren't they, Dross? [The crowd pops as the Lady DeWinter, pale and drawn, with tears flooding her eyes, rushes down the aisle and across to Scheffield, a pleading look in her eyes... Verhoeven straightens up, shouting across to her... DeWinter spins around.. to see Verhoeven spit on Byron as he tries to struggle back to his feet! The crowd roars out in a deafening heel pop! DeWinter looks on in shock as Verhoeven pulls Byron to his feet, scooping him up and delivering three consecutive backbreakers, before tossing Byron aside and pushing him out onto the arena floor with his foot! DeWinter shrugs a concerned Charles Scheffield's arm off, running across to the fallen athlete and dropping down beside him as he clutches his back, slowly pulling himself to his feet with the help of the ring apron... Verhoeven leans back into his corner as he watches the pair, a sick smile once again crossing his face...] SR: You should've stayed in hospital, hon. TD: This is bad, Steve... DeWinter should still be resting -- I can't believe she took a risk like this. [DeWinter helps Byron up, pleading with him, begging with him to return back to the dressing rooms... to leave the arena with her. Byron looks at her dazedly, eyes unfocused... and suddenly the decision is took from him, ad Verhoeven reaches down, grabbing his ponytail and dragging him up onto the ring apron Heel pop! DeWinter screams, looking on in horror as Verhoeven pulls Byron up, hoisting him onto the ring apron... Byron starts at the scream, eyes snapping wide open as he sees his horrified ward below him, hands on mouth... Verhoeven laughs... huge crowd pop!!] SR: What the...?! TD: Byron... Byron just dropped Verhoeven! Inverted neckbreaker! Off the ring apron! SR: I don't believe it!! [Verhoeven clutches his jaw as Byron scrambles to his feet on the outside, turning to DeWinter and begging her to leave the arena... a tormented look flashes across Byron's face... and he spins around, pulling away the Butcher's leg as he tries to stand, pulling him across to the cornerpost...] SR: What the hell's going on here, Dross? [Huge crowd pop!] TD: Byron just slammed the Butcher's knee into the cornerpost! [The crowd pops wildly as Byron slams the Butcher's knee into the cornerpost again, a mounting look of rage crossing his face... he slams the Butcher's knee into the post again, then twists his foot around it, pulling the Butcher's other leg under it... the crowd roars in encouragement and Heidi watches on in disbelief and horror as... as... ] TD: Byron with the figure four!! Byron with the figure four around the ringpost! He's got it locked on! SR: What's going on?! The Butcher had him beat! What's happening? Somebody get that stupid wench out of here! [Verhoeven clutches his head, slapping the canvas in agony and desperately trying to twist out of the hold as Byron hangs from his legs, the look of fury in his eyes implacable now... Verhoeven sits up slightly, grabbing hold of the turnbuckles and then trying to prise Byron off him... before falling back to the canvas, a grimace on his face... Heidi watches on agape, anxiously looking down at the black towel in her hands... then reaching down, quickly removing her high heeled shoe.] TD: Oh no... look out... [Heidi sprints around the ring as Byron pours the pressure on, raising her shoe above her head and jumping... heel pop!] TD: Heidi just nailed Byron with her high heel! SR: Yes! No disqualification, dammit! [Byron falls from Verhoeven's legs, dropping to the arena floor, a thin line of blood colouring his brow... DeWinter launches herself at Heidi with a look of hate... but is quickly pulled back and out of the danger by Scheffield... Verhoeven drags himself away from the corner, the grimace still on his face as he slowly pulls himself to his feet with the ropes, favouring his right leg... Heidi glares at the furious DeWinter, laughing, as Verhoeven drops to the outside between them, clutching his knee slightly as he lands... Scheffield practically drags DeWinter away from the huge man as he limps across to the prone Lord Byron, pulling him back up.] SR: And Verhoeven with a backhand slap knocks the taste right out of Byron's mouth! [The crowd screams as Verhoeven draws Byron back, slamming him headfirst into the ringsteps with a snarl, before clutching again at his knee... Verhoeven straightens quickly though, pulling the bloodied Lord Byron up and rolling him back into the ring... DeWinter slumps against Scheffield, once again crying as Verhoeven rolls back into the ring...] TD: Verhoeven now, pulling Byron to his feet... he backs him to the ropes... Irish whip coming up... [Verhoeven staggers slightly as he hurls Byron into the far ropes, his knee giving way slightly... then straightens as Byron rebounds, lashing out with a clothesline...] SR: No! TD: Byron ducked it! He rebounds again... Verhoeven turns... [Huge crowd pop!] TD: And Byron clips his knee with a low-flying dropkick! Incredible! [Steve Roberts watches on speechless with shock as Verhoeven rolls over, clutching at his knee, while Byron, too exhausted to take advantage, slowly starts to roll to his knees... the crowd pops apprehensively... Byron pulls himself to his knees... the referee looks across at Nurse Heidi, who is now shaking her own head in horror, clutching at Verhoeven's towel... Byron pulls himself to his feet, turning round slowly and pulling up Verhoeven's injured leg...] TD: Byron, going for the figure four again... SR: But Verhoeven kicks him off! He's too strong, Dross -- too powerful! [Byron drops back against the ropes as Verhoeven pushes himself up, gingerly hobbling to his feet... Byron comes back at him with a European uppercut... Verhoeven rakes his eyes, forcing the Englishman to take a step back... Verhoeven kicks out with his injured leg...] TD: Caught by Byron! And a legdrag takedown! SR: Where did that come from? No... no, Verhoeven, get up! [Byron pulls up the Butcher's injured leg, dropping an elbow down across the knee joint, prompting a howl of rage and pale from the Butcher... Byron pushes himself up again, snapping the leg back and dropping another elbow across it, before locking Verhoeven into a tight leg grapevine... the referee again looks across at Heidi, who scowls angrily back at him, before slapping the canvas and urging the Butcher on...] TD: Byron's got that hold locked on tight -- and look at him, Roberts.. Byron is hot! He wants revenge -- revenge for all the suffering Verhoeven's heaped upon him these past few weeks! [Verhoeven slaps the canvas again, sitting up and grabbing out at Byron's hair... Byron grits his teeth, pulling the hold in tighter... Verhoeven falls back, chest heaving... then reaches up again, grabbing Byron's hair again and pulling his head back, pulling Byron's head back to the canvas... heel pop!] TD: Verhoeven just smashed Byron in the face with his free heel! SR: Yeah. Damn right. This is just a small setback. The punk got lucky. [Byron rolls on the canvas, clutching the bridge of his nose as Verhoeven drags himself back to the corner, once again pulling himself up to his feet... Byron rolls to his knees, slaps the canvas once then pushes back up, stumbling forward... heel pop!] TD: And the Butcher with a clothesline! SR: It's over, baby dolls. Byron's not gonna pull it back again. [Verhoeven slowly pulls himself back to his feet, staring around at the crowd and drawing his hand across his throat... he pulls Byron back up, hooking him into position for a suplex...] TD: This could be dangerous, Steve... his knee's got to be weak after the punishment it's absorbed. SR: Finish it, Otto... finish this little rich boy off for good. [Verhoeven hoists Byron up, dropping him hard back to the canvas, before rolling to his knees with a snarl! Heel pop! Verhoeven points across at Scheffield, eyes narrowed, and pulls Byron up again, lifting him up and carrying him across to the corner, dropping him down across the top turnbuckle... Byron swings a right hand... Verhoeven blocks it, then smashes into Byron's ribs with three hard body shots, before lashing out with a heavyweight's hook shot that almost knocks Byron down to the arena floor! Heel pop!] SR: Two words, Dross... two words that spell the end of Lord Byron: Meat... Hook. [Verhoeven pulls himself up to the second turnbuckle, grasping Byron around the throat... Verhoeven looks down at Scheffield and the terrified DeWinter with a snort of disdain.] TD: No! Byron's got a facelock! He's trying to block the Meat Hook! SR: Nail him, Verhoeven... come on... finish it! [Verhoeven starts, quickly jabbing in two more body shots as Byron struggles to stand up on the buckle, Verhoeven's head pulled in by his side... the crowd pops in anticipation... and Byron leaps!] SR: Oh... oh dammit. [Byron leaps, twisting around Verhoeven in the air, spinning him around on the turnbuckles... camera flashes go off around the arena as Byron falls back, pulling the Butcher clear off the turnbuckles, both men falling back and down to the canvas... the crowd roars out a deafening pop... Heidi screams...] TD: Swinging DDT!! Byron with a swinging DDT from the turnbuckles! That might do it! SR: Oh man... get up, Otto... get up! [The referee looks across at Heidi, seemingly unaware that she has the Butcher's future in the IIWF in her hands... Heidi watches in horror as Byron reaches back, pulling up Verhoeven's leg and twists it around his own, dropping back to the canvas and reaching behind him...] TD: Aristoclutch! Byron has the Aristoclutch! It's over! SR: No, Dross, dammit! Come on Otto! You can break it! You know how to break it, dammit! [Verhoeven struggles as he feels the hold tightening in on him, and DeWinter's cries of joy turn to cries of horror as she sees Verhoeven's body quickly relax, his head twisting... and he slips the sleeperhold, breaking the pressure and releasing the hold! Disappointed crowd pop!] TD: Incredible! Otto broke the Aristoclutch at Ring Wars... and he breaks it again tonight! SR: Hah! Byron's got nothing left, Dross! He can't do it! He can't finish Verhoeven off! [Byron rolls to his knees, brushing the blood-matted hair back from his forehead, slapping the canvas in frustration as he starts to climb back to his feet... Verhoeven slowly reaches out for the ropes, climbing up to his knees again...Byron leans over him, hammering away with a rapid series of punches to the head, venting his frustration on his nemesis, his face contorting in anger... the crowd pops wildly, as does DeWinter, stood only feet away...] TD: And look at Byron unload! He's throwing everything he's got at the Butcher! This is two months of pain, we're seeing here, Steve Roberts -- two months of pain and anguish Byron's trying to repay the Butcher for... [The crowd screams! Byron is catapulted through the ropes by the Butcher, and goes flying down... straight towards DeWinter! The crowd gasps in horror... and Scheffield steps between them, pushing DeWinter out of the way! Pop!] TD: Oh no!! Verhoeven just threw Byron... Byron and Scheffield just collided! They're both down in a heap out there! Byron and his cornerman are both down, and Scheffield looks t be out cold! SR: Oh... this is good, Dross. Man, is this good... [Byron stumbles over the prone Scheffield on the outside, looking down at his injured cornerman... Byron staggers back to his feet, and turns... awed crowd pop!] TD: Verhoeven... with a plancha dive?? [Verhoeven flies through the ropes, all 340lbs of him coming crashing down onto the figure of Lord Byron below him, and both men go sailing into the retaining barriers! The noise from the fans is deafening, and DeWinter raises a hand to her mouth in horror as she watches Verhoeven pull Byron's head up and slam it into the concrete floor with force... Verhoeven limps back up to his feet, hobbling slightly as he grabs the retaining barriers for support... he kicks at the prone form of Lord Byron, then pulls him to his feet, slapping him across the face and whipping him around...] SR: Man overboard!! TD: No! Verhoeven just threw Lord Byron across the ring announcer's table! Sparkplug barely got out of the way in time! [Byron rolls over in the wreckage of the announcer's table, clutching his back in pain... Verhoeven limps towards him, eyes glowing... Byron pushes back onto his knees, clutching at something amid the wreckage... Verhoeven grabs his hair...] TD: And Byron with a steel chair! He nailed Verhoeven! SR: I don't believe it!! Does this man have no shame?! [Byron drops the buckled metal chair, reaching down and pulling Verhoeven back to his feet... hooking him into position... the referee looks across at Heidi again as Byron readies himself for a piledriver attempt...] TD: Byron... oh no... Byron' going to piledrive the Butcher into the wreckage of the announcer's table... this is bad. SR: You're telling me... nail him Otto -- come on, don't let it slip now! [Byron braces himself... the crowd pops.. Byron lifts... and pauses, clutching his back and grimacing with pain! Otto charges him backwards, slamming him straight back into the ringpost! Byron releases his grip, and Verhoeven hoists him up, slamming him back into the post again... a third time... Verhoeven leans the Englishman against the ringpost, stepping back away...] TD: Look out! [The crowd roars as Verhoeven charges the Englishman, crushing him against the ringpost with a thunderous avalanche clothesline! Heel pop! Verhoeven staggers back, again clutching at his knee, and stumbles over the slowly recovering Charles Scheffield... heel pop!] TD: And Verhoeven... he's kicking Scheffield into the canvas! This man is out of control! SR: No, Dross, he's sending out a message! Look! [Verhoeven reaches down, standing over Scheffield and picking up Byron's white towel with a sneer, before tossing it across to a terrified Lady DeWinter, who stares at it as if it were a snake... Verhoeven laughs and pulls Byron back up by his hair, rolling him back into the ring...] TD: Verhoeven... Scheffield's... DeWinter's got the towel? SR: That's it, Dross... Byron's finished... there's no way DeWinter's going to stand around and watch her man get pummelled into oblivion... it's over... [DeWinter watches horrified as Verhoeven pulls Byron back to his feet, brushing his blood matted hair back with a sneer... then grabbing a double handful and sending Byron flying across his hip and over into the centre of the ring! Byron kicks at the canvas, rolling in pain and clutching his head... Verhoeven walks behind him, arms raised... Byron slowly rolls to his knees...] SR: This is it, Dross -- the beginning of the end! [Byron pushes himself to his feet, slowly turning and stumbling as the Butcher stalks him...] TD: Full nelson! Verhoeven with the full nelson! He's going for the Meat Grinder! SR: It's the move Byron taught him, Dross -- and now he's going to use it to put him out of the IIWF for good! [Verhoeven shakes Byron like a rag doll... DeWinter looks again at the towel in her hand as the referee again asks her what she's going to do... she bites her lip, looking down at the towel... slowly raising it to throw it in the ring... huge crowd pop!] TD: No! SR: I don't believe it! [Byron drops down to the canvas, kicking back and over his head, catching Verhoeven in the face with an overhead kick! Huge pop! Verhoeven staggers backwards, clutching at his face as Byron rolls to his knees, quickly scrambling to his feet... Verhoeven staggers forwards... ] TD: Swinging neckbreaker! Byron with a swinging neckbreaker! And that bought him some time! [The referee spins away from a stunned DeWinter, turning to regard Nurse Heidi again... Heidi looks on as Byron pulls Verhoeven to his feet again, the anger again flashing across his face as he sets him up for a reverse neckbreaker...] TD: Byron nails it! And Heidi almost threw the towel in right there! SR: Don't do it, Heidi, dammit! Otto can take this! [Byron pulls Verhoeven up a third time... and is charged back into the turnbuckles, crushed beneath the weight of Verhoeven again, the breath knocked from his body with a sharp gasp! Heel pop! Verhoeven barges his shoulder into Byron's midsection furiously, almost desperately, and the referee turns back to DeWinter again asking what she's going to do.] TD: Verhoeven now... Irish whip to the far corner... what impact! SR: He just shifted the ring five feet! Take a good look, DeWinter -- your little rich boy's about to get torn apa... YES! [Byron staggers back out of the corner... straight into Verhoeven's waiting arm! Huge heel pop! Verhoeven catches Byron around the throat...] TD: Oh no... oh no... this is bad... SR: SLAUGHTERSLAM!!! He nailed it!! [Verhoeven slumps down, his hand still locked around Byron's throat, the Englishman still lying stretched out across his knee... Verhoeven turns to look at DeWinter, his eyes glittering dangerously as a broad grin spreads across his features...] SR: IT... IS... OVER! Ring that bell, dammit! [DeWinter looks frozen to the spot as Verhoeven raises Byron again, frowning slightly as his knee buckles, Byron's hands desperately raising to his throat, trying to prise the Butcher's implacable grip loose... the crowd screams as Verhoeven sets himself...] SR: TWO!! Had enough yet, DeWinter? Don't let your little boyfriend go through this, honey... give up now, while he can still WALK! [DeWinter still looks frozen with terror as Byron collapses across the Butcher's knee a second time. Verhoeven's leg shakes as he tries to stand again, a flicker of pain crossing his face... but he hauls Byron up again... DeWinter shakes her head desperately... snapping out of her daze and raising the towel, her arm pulling back...] SR: What the...?! TD: Heidi! Nurse Heidi grabbed the towel! She's grabbed the towel from DeWinter! This is sickening! [DeWinter scrambles after Heidi, pleading with her... Heidi raises her hand to strike DeWinter, to a deafening heel pop... and Scheffield steps between them, pulling DeWinter out of harms way! DeWinter turns to look at the ring, and Scheffield looks up with grave concern as Verhoeven, oblivious to events outside, steadies his balance, tightening his grip around the limp Byron's throat a third time...] SR: Here it comes, Dross.. the coup de grace Byron ain't even suitable for making biscuits with now... [Verhoeven hoists Byron up... then drops to his knees! Huge crowd pop!] TD: Byron! Oh my! Byron countered it! A bit desperately, maybe... but he countered the Slaughterslam! SR: Countered? COUNTERED? Are you blind, Dross?! He kicked him in the nuts, dammit! [Heidi looks on in shock as Verhoeven wheezes, doubled up with pain... Byron clutches at his back on the canvas... and then both men start to push themselves to their feet... Byron staggers back as Verhoeven climbs to his feet... Verhoeven looks up... and the crowd explodes into a united pop!] TD: Spinning enzuigiri kick!! Byron with that patented spinning enzuigiri! How did he find the strength to do that?! [Heidi drops Byron's towel in horror, rushing across to the ring apron and pounding on it, trying to rally her man... Byron stumbles up, pulling up Verhoeven's injured leg... hooking it around his own... DeWinter snatches up Byron's towel...] SR: No... no... Verhoeven... you can break this... wait a minute... what the hell?! [Byron reaches down again, pulling Verhoeven's uninjured leg under both, twisting all three together... and throwing himself back to the canvas... the crowd pops as Verhoeven's face contorts in pain...] SR: That's not how the Aristoclutch goes, dammit! [Byron kicks up into a back bridge, reaching back and pulling Verhoeven's head up... locking on a crossface sleeperhold... Verhoeven struggles wildly...] SR: That's not the Aristoclutch!! TD: Byron's re-tooled it! Byron's re-tooled the Aristoclutch in the ring! Indian Deathlock and crossface sleeper! Incredible! [The referee spins, looking across at Heidi... asking her what she's going to do... Verhoeven's body flails... then goes limp... the arena pauses in anticipation... Verhoeven tilts his head to the side... and Byron continues to pour the pressure on! The crowd erupts into deafening cheers! Verhoeven struggles frantically, his movements slowly becoming weaker... Heidi looks on in horror... Verhoeven's arms starts to sag... DING! DING! DING!] SR: NO! TD: She did it!! Heidi threw in the towel!! [Byron releases the hold, his own face twisted in pain as he rolls away from Verhoeven, slowly climbing to his feet and clutching at his back... Heidi rolls into the ring, rushing across to where Otto lies, clutching his knee...] SR: I don't believe it!! RA: Here is your winner... LORD BYRON!! [The crowd's cheers echo around the arena as Byron falls back against the turnbuckles, arm raised in the air... DeWinter and Scheffield rush into the ring, and Byron catches DeWinter in his arms, hugging her tightly as 'Intermezzo' from Karelia Suite starts up over the p.a. system.. Verhoeven rolls into a sitting position, still clutching at his knee as Heidi tends to him...] TD: Byron did it! He pulled it off, with a modified Aristoclutch! Outstanding! [Scheffield and DeWinter help Byron from the ring, supporting the exhausted superstar as they start to move towards the aisle... DeWinter leans into Byron, kissing him on the cheek, a look of pure relief and joy on her face... and Byron catches her in his arms again, holding her tightly and burying his head in her shoulder... the crowd pops... and Byron returns the kiss! Deafening cheers echo around the arena!] TD: Incredible scenes here tonight! SR: I... don't... believe it. [Back inside the ring, the Butcher shakes his head in disbelief... looking up at Heidi as though just beginning to comprehend the enormity of the loss... he vacantly but softly brushes Heidi's hands away, pushing himself back to his feet under his own power... to a rousing cheer from the crowd...] TD: What a terrific, climatic battle... and what a sad loss to the federation... Verhoeven has always been one of the IIWF's premier athletes... a former World Champion... he's earned his place in the IIWF history books time and time again... his memorable battles with Dan Kauffman... Tony Starks... Deathbringer... Requiem... [The crowd pops as a figure appears at the top of the aisle. The camera focuses in, revealing it to be that of Steve "the Fury" Kowalski! Fresh from the showers, and bandaged from his brutal match with Serge Annis, he regards the Butcher in the ring intently for a minute... and then slowly starts to clap! Huge pop from the crowd! The cheers echo throughout the arena as Chris Quigley appears at the entrance, joining in the applause... then the Subway Psycho... and the Enigma... Serge Annis... Luke Steele... the cheers from the crowd continue to increase as the aisle fills up with the IIWF superstars...] TD: What an incredible scene, folks -- the superstars of the IIWF paying their respects to one of its greatest ever competitors. [Verhoeven slowly rolls out of the ring, limping back up the aisle, past the ranks of applauding superstars... past the Enigma... past a clapping Chris Quigley... and up to the top of the aisle... as the curtains part.] TD: It's Deathbringer! Oh my! Deathbringer and the Blind Guardian are blocking the aisle! [The crowd is silenced as both men slowly eye each other... and then the crowd bursts into more applause as Deathbringer steps aside, and Verhoeven nods slightly, slowly limping to the end of the aisle.. passing through the entrance curtains... and into IIWF history.] TD: Well, folks, what an absolutely incredible match. We're nearly out of time here tonight -- and after the two matches we have just seen, what could possibly follow? [Suddenly, the sound of sleigh bells begins to jingle out across the PA, and artificial snow begins to drift down from the rafters over the ringside fans and into the ring. A spotlight flicks on and highlights a rotund figure clad in red and white fur making his way through the crowd, fans gathering around him as he comes, sack slung over his shoulder.] TD: Here comes jolly old Saint Nick, folks! Here comes Santa Claus! SR: Aw, gimme a break, Dross. [Santa reaches the crowd barrier, and hops over, climbing the ringsteps and into the ring, where a small stool has been deposited by ring staff. Santa lays down his sack, and takes a seat on the stool, producing a microphone from his ample finery. The IIWF superstars gathered in the aisle regard the scene with amusement.] SANTA: Ho, ho, ho! Merry Christmas, everybody! [Big pop from the fans!] SANTA: Jolly ol' Sanna Claus jus' visitin' to give a whole buncha special gifts to the IIWF superstars. Come on down here, ya l'il scallywags. Come on now, come to Sanna! [The IIWF superstars look to one another with bemused grins on their faces, and then make a move towards the ring, Luke Steele and Timothy N. Turner leading the way, followed by Chris Quigley, the "Enigma" Takezo Musashi, the Subway Psycho... all clambering up into the ring and standing around the rotund red-clad Santa. Only Steve Kowalski remains at the head of the aisle, towel draped around his neck, arms folded across his chest.] SANTA: Now, I know y'all been real good this year. And I got somethin' special for each an' ev'ry one o'ya. TD: [over the headset] Funny, Steve Roberts, I always thought Santa Claus would have a more refined speaking voice. SR: [over the headset] Aw, that's all just one big shill, Dross. Santa Claus drinks Kessler's just like the next guy. SANTA: All right, then. Who's first? [Timothy N. Turner jumps up and down, imitating a small child, and waves his hand in the air. The other athletes surrounding him smirk at his antics.] SANTA: Ah, l'il Timmy, of course. [Santa reaches into his sack, and produces a candy cane and a small box. Turner immediately sticks the candy cane in his mouth, and rips the wrapping paper away from the small box -- to reveal a video cassette. He looks at it for the moment, and a close-up shows it to be an IIWF Video title, "The Best of the Syndicate". Turner yells out, "Whoo-hoo!" and retires to one corner of the ring to examine his gift more closely.] SANTA: How's about you, l'il Enigma? [Musashi steps up to Santa and receives a candy cane and a video cassette of his own. Ripping off the paper, it is revealed to be... another copy of the same tape. He grins, and also steps away.] SANTA: Now my l'il buddy, the Subway Psycho. [The Psycho accepts a candy cane and a video -- once again of the same tape -- of his own.] SANTA: L'il Anthony Starks. My, how you've grown, son! [Starks looks unimpressed as he receives a candy cane and a video. Starks yells at Santa, and the microphone picks up his comments:] TS: Hey, what's with all these damned identical presents? SANTA: Times are hard, l'il Anthony, and ol' Sanna picked 'em up real cheap. Now, who's left... ah yes, my l'il pal, Chrissy Quigley. [Chris Quigley raises an eyebrow and shifts himself from the corner of the ring, where he has been leaning throughout this little display, and approaches Santa. He receives a candy cane -- and a video. Unwrapping it, the camera shows the title to be "The Best of Chris Quigley". Quigley looks surprised -- and then opens the box, to find there is no cassette inside! Big pop from the crowd as an annoyed Quigley confronts Santa.] CQ: What the hell's up with this, you freak?! [Santa merely shrugs, and Quigley ducks out of the ring and heads up the aisle, hands on his hips, tossing the empty box and candy cane into the crowd.] SANTA: Truth be known, there ain't enough "Best of..." bits of ol' Chrissy ta make a whole video. Ah well. Now, who's left? I've still got one gift left. [Santa looks around the ring -- and then to the head of the aisle, where Kowalsii still stands, watching the entire scene with disinterest.] SANTA: Stevey! L'il Stevey Kowalski! Ya l'il tyke, come down here and git ya gift from ol' Sanna! [The crowd begins a "Skull-pump! Skull-pump!" chant as the Fury remains at the top of the aisle. As the chant grows in volume, a glint appears in Kowalski's eyes, and he slowly walks down the aisle to a huge pop.] TD: [over the headset] Are you thinking what I'm thinking, Steve Roberts? SR: [over the headset] Damned right, Dross. Skullpump ol' Santa's ass back to the stone age, Fury! Whoo-hoo! [Kowalski enters the ring, the other IIWF superstars ducking out of the squared circle and congregating around ringside, and steps up to Santa, who stands from his stool. He places his sack on the canvas between the two men, and produces a huge candy cane from behind his back.] SANTA: My fav'rite l'il terror, Stevey Kowalski. You've been real good this year, Stevey, so ya get a special gift from ol' Sanna. Ya get this super giant candy cane -- and your other gift's in that there sack. [Kowalski eyes Santa suspiciously, but eventually curiosity gets the better of him, and after much prompting, he tries to lift the sack, and finds it to be quite heavy, so instead bends over to peer into it -- at which point Santa smashes the candy cane over Kowalski's head! Kowalski drops like a ton of bricks! Huge, huge heel pop!] TD: Oh my! Santa just nailed Kowalski with that candy cane -- hang on, the cane's shattered -- and there was a crowbar inside! There was an iron crowbar inside that crowbar! Kowalski is out! SR: Hang on, Dross -- no wonder Santa had an accent like that... ["Santa" yanks off his beard and pulls off his red and white robe -- to reveal none other than the "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder! Thunder yanks the sack over Kowalski's head, and continues to beat the Fury with the crowbar! The IIWF superstars on the outside of the ring move to enter and come to Kowalski's aid, but the IIWF Champion keeps them at bay by swiping at them with the crowbar. Thunder grabs the microphone from the apron, and yells:] BT: Merry flamin' Christmas, Fury! I see yer half-in-the-bag again! Didn't yer momma ever tell ya... that's bad fer yer health, son! [Huge heel pop as Thunder drives his boots into the ribs of the sack-covered Kowalski once more. Security arrives on the scene, and together with the ringside wrestlers, the ring is stormed and Thunder yanked away from the fallen Kowalski.] TD: Folks, we're right out of time here tonight! Be sure to tune into "Inside the IIWF" on Tuesday night for an update on this situation and everything else we've seen go down here tonight -- until then, this is Tim Dross, for "Soundbite" Steve Roberts, saying: so long, everybody! [The ring is filled with wrestlers and security as the crowd goes wild. Cut to a wide-angle shot of the ringside area. Fade.] +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= I * I * W * F =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-+ | President: Daniel Spreadbury | Vice-President: Jim Jividen | | univ0322@sable.ox.ac.uk | brokeback@webtv.net | | iiwf@sisko.demon.co.uk | | +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- http://www.sisko.demon.co.uk -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+