[The shot opens in a aerial view of snow covered mountains at dusk. There is nothing but snow and trees for as far as the eye can see until a single column of smoke is seen making its way into the darkening sky. The camera closes in until a fair sized chalet is seen, perched on the side of a mountain and peeking out through the trees. The camera pulls even closer until the fine house can be seen to be trimmed with a very tasteful level of Christmas lights. Finally the camera swoops through the window and focuses in on a wonderfully arrayed Christmas tree, surrounded by unwrapped packages. The camera closes in so much that the lights become one big blur until they refocus into... C + O + U + N + T + D + O + W + N T + O ________ ______ __ ____ ___ __ . _ ___ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __| / /\ | | || \| \ /\ \ / |\ || / \| | | | || | \ v v / | __| \__ /__\ | | ||__/| |/__\ v | \||| __|-| | |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| \ \| v | \|__/ \| | || \_|| | | __________________________/..............\........|...|.......|....| with Larry Morton and Victoria Von Edward Special Boxing Day Edition [The camera refocuses onto Victoria Von Edward standing resplendant in a gorgeous green gown.] VVE: Welcome to this special edition of Countdown to Saturday Night! I am at Timothy Turner's private chalet, nestled in the heart of British Columbia's Rocky Mountains. We have had a simply wonderful Christmas season and we are still enjoying the company of friends through Boxing Day! Tim has graciously allowed our cameras to enter his chalet in order to film this special edition of Countdown. We are also being joined by Larry Morton in the IIWF studios in Portland but... [Timothy N. Turner walks into the shot, wearing a fabulous red and white Christmas motif Shetland Wool sweater.] TNT: There is a small problem with the feed. I have been told that it will be fixed any moment, so why doesn't the cameraman show the fans our party while we get things in order? [As Victoria and Tim continue to converse, the camera follows the hulking presence of the eldest of the Macbeth clan, Andrew, who passes by with a hot rum toddy in each hand. Behind the massive Scot, his kinsmen Malcolm and Angus are chatting it up with the rest of the Von Edward sisters, the wiry, wacky Malcolm giving Candace an impromptu lesson in Scottish country dancing, all the while trying to manoeuvre her under the mistletoe as the coal-black haired Angus and the girls looking on with barely-contained glee. As this scene passes out of frame, we hear a loud shriek, followed by the sound of a slap and peals of hearty laughter from the Von Edwards and "Black" Angus. Meanwhile, Andrew makes his way over to the huge fireplace to one side of the chalet, where his youngest cousin Duncan Macbeth, his ginger hair tied back in a thick braid and clad in jeans and a blue and white Descente ski jacket, is sitting in an easy chair, staring into the blazing hearth. Despite the merriment all around him, Duncan seems to be miles away, and he does not even seem to notice the presence of his kinsman and mentor. Andrew's steel-gray eyes narrow with concern, but a broad smile crosses his red-bearded face as he lays a massive hand on Duncan's shoulder, causing the young Scot to start in surprise.] AM: Doin' a bit o' wool-gatherin', were ye? DM: Huh? Oh... aye, sorry, Andrew. I've got a few things on me mind these days, ye ken? [Andrew nods, and offers the hot drink to Duncan.] AM: Well, first off, take this. Puts hairs on yuir chest, wha'. [Duncan takes a tentative sniff at the toddy, raising his eyebrows at the prodigious amount of rum that Andrew has added to the concoction, and takes a sip. He seems to mellow almost immediately, sinking back into the chair.] DM: Cheers, coz. I reckon I'll have hairs on me tongue tomorrow mornin' after tha'. An' second? Am: Second of all, it's Christmas, and ye've been fortunate enough t' have th' week off. Enjoy it, will ye? Whatever's gnawin' at ye, it can bloody well wait fer th' time bein'. Have ye been bangin' away at tha' Intercontinental Title fer sae long, night an' day, tha' ye've forgotten how t' have a good time? DM: Nay, Andrew, I'm havin' a great time. I guess... I reckon I just need some air, tha's all. I'm jus' goin' t' step outside fer a bit. AM: Aye, well, dinnae be thinkin' about strappin' on those new skis o' yuirs out there, an' breakin' yuir legs, or there'll be no more title shots fer ye 'till next Christmas, wha'. Ye really do amaze me sometimes, Duncan - ye can do backflips an' moonsaults, ye drive tha' motorbike o' yuirs like ye've got a death wish, but stick a couple o' planks o' wood on yuir feet, an' ye're jus' bleedin' woeful... [Andrew wanders back to the party, shaking his head and muttering something about "bunny hills", and "th' tosser can't even snowplough". Duncan watches him go with some amusement, then turns and slides open the glass door to the upper balcony of the chalet. Outside, the moon is shining especially brightly in the cold, clear night, and the gray, monolithic outlines of the surrounding Rockies can be clearly seen in the glow. The mountain sky is black as pitch, and it seems like one can see every single star in the heavens, the white band of the Milky Way arcing across the firmament like a river of white silk. Duncan gathers his jacket around his neck and takes another sip of his drink, staring with wide-eyed wonder at his unfamiliar but breathtaking surroundings. To the north, flowing ribbons of ethereal colour dance across the stony horizon, constantly changing from red to green to indigo, and the Scot watches the auroras for long moments, entranced, before he finally begins to speak.] DM: Magnificent. [Duncan looks back into the chalet through the sliding glass doors, and watches Tom Turner and Akira Saito swappings tales of past matches with Malcolm and Angus, as the Von Edward sisters listen with rapt attention. Turner moves away from Victoria and takes a seat next to Ruthanne on an antique love seat before he starts spinning a ring yarn of his own, mainly for the comely Ruthanne's benefit, as Victoria laughs and crosses her arms, rolling her eyes with mock contempt. Duncan chuckles, and turns his attention back to the auroras.] Andrew's right - it's Christmastime. How can anythin' tha' happens in th' IIWF compare wi' this? I'm spendin' th' holidays 'ere in this incredible place, surrounded by all this natural beauty, an' I'm with me family an' friends... ye cannae ask fer much more than tha'. Except maybe skiin' lessons... An' when th' holidays are over, I get t' go back t' me job in th' greatest wrestlin' promotion in th' world, one step away from th' glory tha' I've been sweatin' an' bleedin' fer since th' moment I set foot in th' IIWF. Aye, Duncan Alaisdair Macbeth, ye've got it pretty good righ' now, ye tosser ye. I cannae help wonderin' how Chris Quigley's been spendin' 'is Christmas. 'Tis th' season t' be jolly, they say, but I doubt poor Quigley's havin' a jolly holiday. No family, no friends, no fans, no respect, no regard... all 'e has this year is a deranged sidekick, an' a title tha', deep down, e' kens 'e doesn't deserve. A title tha', in just one short week from now, I'm goin' t' take away from him. 'Tis funny... tonigh', I actually feel sorry fer ye, Quigley. This is th' time o' year when a man should be content an' happy with 'is lot in life, an' thankful fer th' things that 'e has. What d'ye have t' be thankful fer, Quigley? Tha' ye're still th' Intercontinental champion? Aye, that ye are, but at what cost t' yuir reputation, yuir standin' in th' wrestlin' world, yuir own self-respect? I remember when ye beat Watkins fer tha' strap. A match fer th' ages, tha' one was. Ye had it all then - ability, respect, support from friends an' fans alike, an' finally, a championship t' show fer it. An' somehow, ye pissed it all away. Because ye equate titles wi' respect, an' ye think ye have t' have tha' strap 'round yuir waist t' get it. Manning kens tha'. Tha's why he's saved yuir belt fer ye time an' time again. An' tha's why ye let 'im do it. 'E knew ye were goin' t' lose at Ring Wars. Manning KNEW it. Tha's why 'e had t' save ye. 'Cause ye NEEDED t' be saved - from ME. An' don't ye ever ferget THA', tosser... [Duncan suddenly realises that he's starting to get wound up, and takes a deep breath to calm himself, sipping from the toddy again before continuing.] Aye, well, tha's no matter righ' now. Quigley's made 'is bed, an' Christmas or no', 'e can bloody well lie in it, with 'is one fan an' 'is precious title. Fer a man tha' craves respect sae much, I'm really surprised tha' 'e doesn't ken wha' seems t' be common sense t' everyone else - tha' there's much more respect t' be gained in losin' a title clean, than in winnin' it dirty. I've got sae much t' be thankful for - I've me friends an' family, I've an IIWF contract, I've me health, an' I've th' respect an' support o' me colleagues an' fans. I'm thankful fer havin' another shot at ye, Quigley. No' many people get a second chance in this business. Believe ye me, I'm thankin' me lucky stars fer tha'. An' in one more week, I'll have one more thing t' be thankful for. The Intercontinental Title. I hope ye're countin' yuir blessings as well, Quigley. Come next Saturday, ye're goin' t' be one short. [Just then, Turner bangs on the window, and gestures to Duncan to come inside, as what started as a good-natured tussle between Angus and Malcolm has erupted into a full-tilt brawl, the two hot-headed kinsmen flailing away at each other with wild roundhouses while the girls dash for cover, and Andrew, Tom Turner, and Saito struggle to separate them. Duncan shakes his head, laughing, and takes one last look at the shimmering auroras outside before re-entering the chalet, striding purposefully over to Malcolm and sweeping the legs out from under him, sending him crashing to the floor. Duncan promptly drops and applies an STF to Malcolm, causing him to cry out in pain and embarrassment.] MM: OUCHHH! Get th' Jaysis off o' me, Duncan! Ow! OWWW! Look, I'll bleedin' kill ye, righ'? Ye'd better let me... OWWW! Okay, okay... uncle! UNCLE!" [The camera swings back to where Victoria is waiting patiently. Timothy is talking in the background on a cell phone when he sudden;y gives her a thumbs up sign.] VVE: We're a go? Are you there Larry? [The screen switches to a split shot, with Victoria in her festive surroundings on one side and Larry Morton in the somewhat cold confines of the IIWF studios on the other side.] LM: I'm here! I've enjoyed a great holiday and I'm ready to jump back in the wrestling game with both feet! VVE: How did you spend your Christmas, Larry? LM: First I watched a great Walker, Texas Ranger marathon and then I went down to the local homeless shelter and helped to serve out food. VVE: How... nice of you. I was all ready to mock you Larry, and here you did something that makes me look at you in a whole new light. LM: I realize how lucky I am to work for the IIWF and I like to share my good fortune with others. VVE: In honour of your selflessness, Larry, I am declaring this edition of Countdown dedicated to all of those who give a little bit of themselves in this season of good will! [The shot pulls out to show Victoria leading the rest of Timothy's guests in a toast.] LM: Gee, thanks Vicki. I... VVE: Don't call me Vicki. LM: Sorry. ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| PREVIEW: IIWF Saturday Night - [27/12/97] |_||_| \_/\_/ |_|.................................................... VVE: We've got one heck of a card rounding out his holiday week, with all four titles being defended! LM: Including a triangle match for the World Championship! ------------------------------------------------------------------------ World Championship Triangle Match: "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder vs. Steve "The Fury" Kowalski vs. "The Epitome of Evil" Serge Annis ------------------------------------------------------------------------ VVE: These three are arguably the toughest guys in the sport today. LM: One all is said and done, one of them will be able to claim himself the toughest! As well as holding the most prestigious title in wrestling. VVE: Uh, second most prestigious. Timothy already proved that. LM: Brody Thunder has taken some exception with Timothy Turner's remarks in that regard...but not as much as he has taken offense at the actions of Steve "The Fury" Kowalski! VVE: And that's the real problem with this match. Thunder wants Kowalski. Kowalski wants Thunder. Annis wants the belt. Which of these three is smarter. It's been proven time and time again that the smarter wrestler will inevitably prevail. LM: How can anyone pick a favourite in this match? Any of these three are good enough to hold the top gold! VVE: Second highest, remember? The real winners in this match are the fans of true hardcore action. These three are going to give it their all until only one of them is left standing. LM: We've just received this tape from Steve Kowalski. Let's hear from the Fury. [The screen focuses in on Steve "The Fury" Kowalski getting beaten by Santa Claus -- in fact, a disguised Brody Thunder -- with a candy cane -- in fact, a disguised crowbar. Every bar-bending blow is seen in slow motion cueing in the voice over.] VO: A desperate champion turns, once again, to desperate measures to take care of his business. This isn't simply a man trying to "one up" his future opponent, these are the actions of a scared champion. There is a saying some of the men backstage use when one man can't get it done in the ring. "If you can't beat'em, beat him down." But what do you do when you face a man you can't beat down? [Scene cuts to a bloody Kowalski, fresh from another in a long line of "Lone Wolf" attacks, stagger up from the bloodied mat. The crowd is cheering as the New Jersey Nightmare wipes the crimson fluid from his brow and nods as if to say, "It's only a matter of time." The scene fades into the intense visage of Serge Annis.] VO: A man on a mission. A man that strives to be that "Next Big Thing". A man, whose opportunity in the past has been balked by the unstoppable Fury, gets ONE... LAST... CHANCE! One chance to silence the critics... to stomp the man that's been stomping him... to set aflame to a paper champion all in one night! [A quick cut to the locker room, where Kowalski staggers in, refusing the help of various IIWF wrestlers. Never acknowledging anyone, until he passes a poster for Otto Verhoven. Taking a second to stop and nodding his head at the now ousted superstar's picture, Steve makes his way into his locker room. Camera, still in tow behind the bloodied superstar, follows him into the shower. Not bothering to take off his wrestling attire, he turns on the water. Blood. It runs from his head and face to the drain below. In a sick "Psycho"-esque scene, the red fluid swirls into the center, cascading around his boots.] VO: After all the cheers are done and all the accolades are handed out, this man just wipes the blood away and moves on. He is not the most eloquent man, not the most beloved. Nor does he choose to be. Brody Thunder's need to be known as the #1 wrestler in the world, is obviously taking its toll. While he likes to gives the impression of a cold, calculating, intelligent man, it's clear that the champion's fear of the Fury has forced him into his back water ways. Mr. Thunder, your need to employ Southern justice has shown your lack of self-confidence... you lack of self-character... you lack a long life line. Mr. Annis, it seems you are nothing but a side story... once again. Your championship shot is now _his_ shot... your time in the spotlight has been out shined by _his_ light... your weak attempts at paralleling the Fury have fallen short... again! It's a new year... time for a new regime. [Fade. The shot fades into an outside shot of a cheap hotel. The date, "24 December 1997", is seen at the bottom of the screen. There is a light, delicate snow fall and the ground is covered in a few inches of snow. A flashing blue and red sign saying "HOTEL" is seen, along with a sign saying "VACANT". There are only three cars parked in the parking lot. The camera begins to pan into one of the hotels as a diesel truck roars by, presumably on his way home for the holidays. As the camera zooms into the window with the flashing "HOTEL" neon sign... The camera then fades into the inside of a cheap hotel room. The accommodations seem to be very small and dreary. There is a bed in the corner, a desk, chair and a television set all accompany the bed jam-packed in the room. A flashing light can be seen from outside the window, the one that says "HOTEL" on it. A mirror is seen on the wall, with a Christmas card on it that says "Merry Christmas". A lone figure is laying down on the bed. His feet stretch over the end of the bed, as the 6'8" man is obviously too big for the bed. Serge Annis sits with a morbid look on his face, staring at the ceiling.] SA: Merry Christmas. Tonight is Christmas Eve, and the IIWF decided to give all of their employees the night off the road, to spend with their families. To enjoy the holidays. Spend Christmas at home. Well, I am not home. I am here in Portland. Waiting. Waiting for Saturday night to come around. I am waiting to get my hands on Steve Kowalski, Brody Thunder and most importantly, the IIWF World Heavyweight championship. I've never cared for Christmas as I said last week. I have no family to share it with... so I have no reason to go home. There are no chestnuts roasting on my fireplace. There is no loving wife at home with the kids waiting for their Daddy to come home. There are no presents under my tree... Hell, I don't even have a tree. [Annis sits up and looks into the camera.] I hate Christmas. As I hate life... as I hate Steve Kowalski... as I hate heaven, Hell and thee. See, evil and Christmas just don't mix well. That's why I am in here. There is no Christmas in this room. That card? Well, that is the only one I got, and it is the one from the IIWF suits that everyone got. Anyway. I just don't like all this peace and goodwill, ya know? It clashes badly with my attitude and my presence. So while all the other IIWF wrestlers are at home celebrating this awful holiday with their loved ones and families... Serge Annis is alone... plotting the destruction of his opponents... and all other superstars in the IIWF. [Annis leans back down on the bed with his hands behind his head.] More or less... The IIWF World Champion, the "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder, And Steve "The Fury" Kowalski. You two mortals are the one and only thing on my mind. Kowalski, you are the number one contender for the World title... Brody's World title. But just how much of a contender are you? You haven't proven to me that you've done anything... well, you did come back. I guess that must count for something, otherwise you wouldn't be where you are. Two draws, Steve. No winner. And now we go at it once again, throw in Brody Thunder and you have one hell of a match. This is the big one, boys... Kowalski, if you can't beat me in tailor made matches for you... what makes you think you can beat me when you throw your worst enemy into the picture? Kowalski... you seem to think you are the man instead of myself... well damn the man. Kowalski... damn you. Damn your arrogance. Damn your attitude. Heh heh... damn every thing about you. And damn that Skullpump of yours, 'cause I am one to admit, it hurts. But see Kowalski, it won't hurt anymore, simply because you are not going to simply slap it on me. I am going to do _everything_ in my power to keep you from putting it on me. I still have a few splinters from that Skullpump through the table... my turn, Fury. Now, it's my turn. And then, on the other side of fire is the "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder. The IIWF's World Champion. Brody, I do not have much against you... I mean, you seem to work for what you get, unlike others... ahem Fury... But Brody, I want  you to remember just who cost you the IIWF World championship title back at Corronation Clash... do you remember? Do you remember the chokeslam? Do you remember Requiem moving onto the World title instead of the Wolf? All because of me... I screwed you over, Thunder... and come Saturday, that shall look like child's play. I'm going to cut into you harder than Creed was cut with the barb wire. I shall come at you faster than a hundred Mexican luchadors all performing hurricaranas. Brody Thunder, I am coming at you with the intensity of a raging bull, a freight train... and a pissed-off psycho man... heh heh... I want the World title. It's the only thing on my Christmas list. And to get that, I have to go through you... Thunder, prepare for a trip to Hell, at the most Holiest time of the year... heh heh... and trust me, they don't like red suits, jingle bells and sleighs where you are going... And in passing, I just want to send a message out to the freak in a skirt... sorry, kilt, Mr. Duncan Macbeth. Congratulations buddy, because last Saturday, you finally earned a title shot... I never said you are good enough to be Quigley, but at least this time ya earned it. [Annis looks at the camera.] All in all... come Saturday, I am going to get my very first world title shot ever in the IIWF. And that's all I need. Because when you gaze deep down into the eyes of this madman, you see the window to my soul... black, dark and scary... heh heh. Believe me, the thoughts that run through my mind are outlawed in so many States... but good thing I'm Canadian... heh heh. Brody, Steve, I shall meet you two this Saturday. So hang up your mistletoe, clean up the wrapping paper, and throw out that tree... and when you arrive in Portland... remember this... I've been here for days now preparing for you two... believe me, I have something ready for you... Merry Christmas? Humbug I say... heh heh. [The camera slowly zooms back and fades to black as Annis closes his eyes for a rest.] LM: And that's only one of the four championship matches tomorrow night! ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Intercontinental Championship Match "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley vs. Derek Mota ------------------------------------------------------------------------ VVE: Let me start off by saying that I like Derek Mota. He's a great guy and a friend of Tim and Duncan's...but he hasn't got a chance. LM: It's true that Steve Manning did some severe damage to Mota's ankle but he is one of the scrappiest wrestlers in the IIWF and... VVE: So what? Manning will be there. Quigley will be there. Mota could probably take on both of them at once if he were healthy...but hurt? I don't think so. LM: Don't forget Steve Roberts' vow that Chris Quigley wouldn't make it to Snow Brawl. VVE: What's he going to do, sick the Smooth on him? Or Paris? If the best Roberts can do is drag out jobbers like these two, Quigley has nothing to worry about...until Snow Brawl and Duncan Macbeth. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Sychosys" Joe Petrow vs. Mark Destructo ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: These two have an animosity stretching back to a time when they weren't in the IIWF. VVE: Old feuds. Don't live in the past. You don't see my friends Tom and Akira in there yelling about a chance to get the Down Boys, do you? LM: Well, neither Tom or Akira are in the IIWF so... VVE: That's too bad. They could probably take the tag titles in their sleep. LM: Joe Petrow has some very pointed comments about this match. [Cut to... somewhere. The camera pans in darkness, while, over the strains of Peter Gabriel's "Digging In The Dirt", the consistant sounds of "chook...shii...chook...shii" are heard in the background. Finally, the camera finds a light source, and "Sychosys" Joe Petrow is seen, digging. Petrow is in a chest-deep hole, the tombstone already in place suggesting that this is a grave that has already been filled. Despite the cold, Petrow is stripped to the waist and sweating. As if only now noticing the presence of the camera, he stops and turns to speak] JP: The graveyard. You can cut the symbolism with a knife, especially if you're talking about one Chris Quigley. This grave could well represent your career, Quigs. You say you want to wrestle me now? I'd like to believe that. I really would. But you see, [Petrow raises the shovel and plants it in the ground above him, using the leverage to climb out of the hole], I know you Chris. You fear change. You fear surprises. This isn't Dan Kauffman you're talking to here. We ain't gonna get together and carve out cute little scenarios, pretend to hate and disrespect each other, and perform Shakespeare for the audience. This is the real deal. I'm coming at you, in ways your little mind cannot even begin to comprehend. I'm not playing your games; you are just a helpless witness to mine. And if you are every bit the coward I believe you are, every bit the shaking little man, crying in fear, wailing in anguish as your oh-so-carefully erected fascade is being reclaimed by the tides of truth even as we speak, here's what will happen. You'll talk, you'll talk, cuz hey, let's face it, you're good at that. A shame they had to give you the "Best Bullsh!tter" Grapple off-camera, you deserve the accolades. Anyway, one day, one day very soon, something will happen. You'll be surprised yet again. And you'll know, that there's no way in hell you can ever begin to compete with me. So you'll put your tail between your legs, cry one last time about being screwed, and run away from the IIWF, and run away from Joe Petrow. And that would suit me just fine, because I really don't want any part of you if there's no manhood left in Chris Quigley for me to take. But you know, [Petrow turns, and jumps back into the hole] contrary to Quigleyan belief, the world does not revolve around Chris Quigley. This grave isn't for you, Chris. It's for me. It _was_ for me. And as of right now, unlike the Quiglinator, this interview isn't for you either, Quigs. It seems that the IIWF has decided that the best way for Sychosys to end 1997, and bring in 1998, is to celebrate 1995! Mark Destructo, in that year do you realize what kind of draw Destructo vs Petrow would have been? Do you know of a single arena in the world that wouldn't have killed to have put that banner on their marquee? And look at us now...we can't even headline a Saturday Night TV show. But whose fault is that, Mark? Joe Petrow is a superstar, but what the hell is Mark Destructo? What have you done in 1997 to make anybody give a damn about you? The only way I can commend you is if you've come to me to recreate one last moment of glory, one last glimpse at the spotlight...and for a thorough beating, so that you can finally take your well-deserved retirement in peace. In that case [Petrow reaches up to grab his shovel again] you've come to the right guy. I'll work my ass off...I'll work MANY asses off...to make sure I leave no doubt in your mind that your days as a bad ass in this sport are long gone. Bring your friends...hell, bring your whole FAMILY...to watch the end of Mark Destructo. Then you can help me fill this grave again. [Petrow returns to digging...chook...shii...chook...shii...CHUNK! Petrow has hit something, a gleam passes over his eyes, and a smile over his face. With a slight cackle, Petrow gives a parting message] JP: Destructo... yer outta here! [Petrow's laughter does not abate, as the screen fades to black] VVE: It looks like everyone is after Chris Quigley! LM: Maybe so, but Joe Petrow is too cagey an athlete to overlook someone as tough as Destructo. VVE: I have been impressed by Destructo...but not as much as I have been impressed by Joe Petrow. Sychosys will come out on top here and will pick up the pieces of Quigley when Macbeth is done with him! ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Deathbringer vs. Meatman ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: Two of the IIWF's most popular figures go head to head this Saturday! VVE: The real question here will be, why do the fans enjoy watching guys who can't wrestle? They are just wlking gimmicks who couldn't hold a candle to wrestling technicians like Byron, Turner, or Scheffield. LM: These men can certainly hold their own in any wrestling ring and I'm sure that they would not be afraid to face any of the men that you mentioned. VVE: Of course not. You have to have a brain to be afraid. Tomorrow night expect a lot of cheers, very little skill, and a whole lot of grunting and gasping for breath! LM: Well, your opinions on the big men aside, let's get comments from the participants in this match-up: first, Deathbringer. [SCENE: The IIWF interview area. Deathbringer and the Blind Guardian are standing in front of the camera, both dressed in their usual attire. The Blind Guardian is the first to raise his voice] BG: Well, well, well... What a pleasant night, last Saturday Night. Yet     another of Deathbringer's former, or should I say current, foes     leaves the IIWF for good. I wonder how long it'll take until the     officials come over to the mortuary and ask the Dark Destroyer to     stop forcing other competitors out of the IIWF.     Yes, Otto Verhoeven lost that Bye-Bye-Match against Lord Byron, but     let's be quite honest, boys and girls: That Byron guy would not have     been able to defeat the Butcher if Otto had been unable to     concentrate on that particular match.     But tell me, _WHO_ is capable of concentrating on _ANYTHING_ if he     knows that the Reaper might be lurking underneath the ring or behind     the curtain? _WHO_ is capable of concentrating on _ANYTHING_, knowing that there's no place to hide and no place to run to? Otto wasn't, obviously...     And thus he's just another name on the list of Deathbringer's victims. Dan Kauffman, Requiem, now Otto Verhoeven... and we don't want to forget about all those no-good losers like Haley, or Flare or whatever their names were. All driven out of this league, just because the 'Bringer was there and just because they tried to step into his path. [Deathbringer takes a quick step forward, while the Blind Guardian retreats to the background. Deathbringer begins to speak in his low, growling voice] DB: But still there seem to be those, who claim to be not afraid of me or Death himself. Kauffman did so... In the end he fell pray to the Reaper. Requiem did so... And where is he now? Verhoeven did so... And after Hardin wasn't there to help him anymore, he chose to flee from here.     Big names... Big wrestlers, each and everyone of them. But no one,     _NO ONE_ was able to deal with me. And _NO ONE_ WILL ever be able to     deal with me.     However, you do not seem to be interested in the history of this league, MEATMAN! You think that I am just another easy opponent, just because I just returned to this league, and just because you managed to defeat my team a few weeks back.     So you started to beg the officials to grant you a match against the     man that uses to strike fear into the hearts of every mortal soul. And now a match is signed between the two of us. Is this really what you want, MEATMAN? Are you longing to end your existence? I once had a few words about this topic with Dan Kauffman, and he told me that living is the only thing mortals are longing for. So maybe you are _NOT_ mortal?     Get real, MEATMAN. Someone who compares himself with _ME_ has got to be a greater god... or he has to be insane. Either way, no god and no mad man can command me to lose that match, and no god and no mad man has the power to batter me down on his own.     Tomorrow night, MEATMAN, I will take you out. I will take you six feet under... And I will take your soul...     Tomorrow night, MEATMAN, the capacity crowd will be able to stare into your eyes, your eyes which will be gazing towards the ceiling by then, your eyes, which will still be in your head, in that head belonging to your dead and twisted body that I left on the canvas.     Tomorrow night, MEATMAN, I will end you existence... So...     PREPARE TO MEET YOUR MAKER! [Fade through to Jimmy "the Meatman" Steele standing in front of an IIWF backdrop, sausages slung over one shoulder and a meat cleaver in his brawny hand.] MM: Dead meat! Yeah, that's you, Deathbringer! You want a piece of the meat? You want a piece of the Meatman? You remember this fist, don't you? You remember my ham fist in your face? You recall how I sent you to the floor? Yeah, I bet you do. I remember you, alright. You hit me hard. Hard enough that I knew the day would come we would meet without those pigf%^$rs Kowalski and Musashi clutterin' up the ring. Foul, rotten, meat. Infested with maggots and strinkin' up my shop; that's what you are to me. Do you know how I despise you, maggot meat? The meat industry is the largest food supplier in the U.S. In my business, I cut and process dead meat. I am responsible, Deathbringer. You ain't gonna make me look bad. So, to all my little cutlets out there shouting "Meat, Meat, Meat," week after week. I promise you as sure as my name is Jumbo Jimmy the Meat -- Deathbringer will be chopped, diced, shrinkwrapped and stored in the meat locker. I promise you will feast on his tongue, his heart, his liver, and his brain. Wait, better not hold me to the brain part. [Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Cruiserweight Championship Match "Rocket Man" Timothy N. Turner vs. Icehawk ------------------------------------------------------------------------ VVE: Now this is the main event of the card! [Timothy N. Turner wanders into the shot.] TNT: You know it darling! Timothy Turner can pack any arena, even if he is fighting a relatively talentless buffoon like Icehawk! LM: Icehawk is a technically superior athlete! TNT: There is no way he can hold a candle to the true IIWF Champion! I am the Rocket Man, and htat just says it all! LM: The challenger, oddly enough, didn't dispute that! [The shot starts with footage of Cold Spell beating the Prophets of Rage to win the tag belts at Coronation Clash. Cut to Leavenworth, and Icehawk pinning Eddy Ramos to give the Cold Quins an unlikely title reign. Cut to the IIWF Coliseum, and Icehawk pinning Tragedy to give Cold Spell their second championship. Cut to a triple split-screen of all three post-match celebrations, as Tim Dross' voice comes on in narration,] TD: He is the only man to hold the IIWF tag-team titles on three occasions ... but now, he's heading for bigger things. [The screen freezes with three shots of Icehawk celebrating ... then fades on to the now-familiar tape room at Cold Spell's training center. Icehawk, wearing jeans and a #59 Detroit Lions jersey, is sitting in a recliner, while Tim is seated on the couch. Icehawk also has a bandage on the broken nose he suffered at the hands of the Prophets of Rage, and winces slightly from time to time. ] TD: One of the most common cliches in the world is "What a difference a day/week/month/whatever makes", but I guess this is one of those cases where cliches come true. A week ago, you were one-half of one of the top tag teams in the world, and now you are a singles wrestler who is about to challenge Timothy Turner for the Cruiserweight championship. IH: [somberly] Yeah. It's been an amazing few days. TD: How did the decision to split up Cold Spell come about? IH: Well, Fitz has always been angry with the IIWF about how lax the officiating is, especially in tag-team matches. If you remember, the whole reason he has us join Genesis in the first place was so that we would have some backup against all of the outside interference that was costing us so many matches. This fall, it seemed like things were getting better, but lately, it is been just as bad as ever. And he's worried that I'm going to get seriously hurt when I'm trying to take on a 300-pound guy who can do anything he wants. TD: How do you feel about it? IH: I have mixed emotions. I wish I could talk to Fitz about it, but I haven't seen him since Saturday night when we got back to our hotel from the hospital. I guess I see his point, though. I don't much want a repeat of this summer, where I could barely move most of the time. But I'll miss the excitement of title matches. TD: But you have a title match this Saturday against the "Rocket Man". IH: Well, yeah. But that doesn't really count, does it? TD: It doesn't? Why? IH: Because with Cold Spell, when we wrestled for the title, it was because we were considered a serious threat to win it. This match on Saturday is just a tune-up for TNT. TD: So you don't think you have a chance of winning? You've pinned guys like Casey James and Mad Dog Watkins, so why don't you think you could pin Timothy Turner? IH: Oh, if I didn't think I had any chance, I wouldn't even bother showing up. It's just ... [shakes head] ... I'm a tag-team wrestler who has never even had a singles match in the IIWF, and he's ... well, he's TNT. He's a superstar. Hell, I don't even have Fitz to train with, or show me tapes, or anything. And I've got this damn broken nose. I'll be there Saturday, and I'll do my best. I just hope I don't disappoint everyone too badly. [Fade] TNT: Listen to the guy! Like I don't think for a second that Fitzgerald will come out and try to help Ice Hockey win my belt! LM: Actually, Edmund Fitzgerald hasn't been seen all week. There are rumours that he has left the IIWF for good! VVE: That will leave Icehawk alone at the hands of Timmy here. He doesn't have a chance! [Turner gives Victoria a peck on the cheek and walks out of the shot.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ World Tag Title Championship Match: The Lost Boyz vs. Licensed For Devastation ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: We round out our four championship matches with one for the Tag gold! VVE: This one could get ugly. Neither of these teams will pull any punches when it comes to using every trick in the book to beat their opponents. LM: Let's see what LFD had to say ubout this opportunity. [The camera opens to a swinging lightbulb. The lightbulb is illuminated brightly, amidst darkness. It continues its perpetual swing, until... ] {{{BANG}}} [...it is shattered by a gunshot. Complete darkness. The darkness is broken, as the camera fades to white.] VO: Saturday. IIWF Saturday Night. The clock... is ticking. In a very short time... our second chance... becomes our first. [The camera fades to black, and the darkness resumes.] VO: Ya'll've watched us be hassled and threatened and busted on by da' man since we got here... it ain't goin' down like 'dat again, holmes. 'Dis is ou' turn to shahn in the sun. [Lights flicker... and finally turn on. We are in an office, with papers strewn about, and leather chairs galore. Wearing a suit, and seated in one of these chairs, is Jonathan Chaos. The chair opposite him spins around, and with it comes Reggie Starr, also in a suit. His hands are placed in a steeple, and he is glowing with happiness.] RS: _Finally_! It's been a month since we got our first shot at stardom... since the IIWF wised up and stuck us against those Johnny-come-lately's, the Cold Quins. We came within _inches_ of winning the IIWF Tag Team Titles that night... now, we have another shot. JC: Reg... lemme ask you a little sumtin. We've been in da' IIWF fo' about seven month now, correct? RS: Correct. JC: ... and 'dese Lost Boyz... da' Damage Inc.... dey've been here about two months, correct? RS: Correct. JC: So... lemme just phil-o-so-phize wit'chu here... who da' _hell_ died and made 'dos wannabe's worthy of a World Tag Team Title shot?! We've been loyal to 'dis company from da' beginning... hell, we sacrificed our lives to the IIWF... we knew the rep that the IIWF had, and we still went for it, 'cause we didn't believe the hype... now... ya'll've screwed us time and time again... 'n' I'm sick of it. So, come Saturday... this isn't for anything but pleasure... sure, we can walk away with the damned tag team straps... but we could also walk away wit' da' asses of da' Lost Boyz... sumtin 'dat I can hang on a mantle. RS: Jon, it's been well-documented that we've been screwed time in and time out... we've busted our asses, we've provided blood, sweat, and tears for this place... we've given the IIWF everything we _have_... we've done it all to rake in the dough... we're the _real_ talent in the IIWF... not those punks that get the "main event"... they're just there for show. They can do a good job, but they're there for a reason... a reason that I've yet to find, but that's why I'm here... cameraman, could you please pan to the outside of the door to this room? [The cameraman walks out of the room. He pans to the door, which reads "IIWF Front Office." He walks back into the room.] JC: 'Sright... we in da' front office of 'da IIWF... but it's about two in da' A.M., so ain't nobody gonna find ou' asses. RS: Like I was saying, the system has screwed us time in and time out... Jon and I came from the streets. We lived, we thrived, we _died_ for the streets of Baltimore. How did it repay us? We got our asses kicked out! So we thought we found a home here in the IIWF... we thought that you would be loyal to us... what do we here?! The _boos_! The crowd _boos_ at us... JC: The announcers make fun of us! We're the IIWF's Martin [BLEEP]in' Lawrence! We're the comedy routine! We're what the IIWF sticks on a card for a humor interruption! RS: But we didn't make us that way... the _IIWF_ made us that way. _They_ know what they're doing! They knew from the beginning that LfD were gonna be a joke! Ever since I got my foot caught in a damned wire in our first match, and I got counted out... the IIWF planned it! [Reggie holds various pieces of paper to the camera and flings them about.] RS: The IIWF planned it all from the get-go! Well now, we're not doing things the way that _they_ want us to. JC: We aren't da' system's bitch anymore. We doin' tings ou' way! Da' first ting dat goes... is my accent. Just because I'm black doesn't make me someone who can't speak English properly! [Reggie pounds the table.] RS: That's right! They _forced_ him to use that accent, fans... we are a product of what you have made... well, it isn't like that anymore... we're doing what we want, when we want, where we want, and the IIWF can't stop us. Not Spreadbury, not Janois... _nobody_. JC: ...and if you don't like it, that's too damn bad, son. That's how it's gonna be. You all think we're gonna lose on Saturday. It's expected. Well, allow me to change your notions, folks... it ain't happenin' like that. That's what would've happened... but the _new_ Licensed for Devastation are here. There's three things that we care about from this point forward. RS: Beating the [BLEEP] out of everybody. JC: Winning every match that Spreadbury throws at us. RS: ...and selling the new LfD t-shirts! So if you want to be cool like the LfD, buy the [BLEEP]in' shirt! Then, when you watch us kick the Lost Boyz's asses... you can say to your friends, "I HAVE THEIR DAMNED T-SHIRT! THEY'RE THE WORLD TAG TEAM CHAMPIONS!" JC: If ya'll're wearing an LfD t-shirt... you're with us. Otherwise, you're against us... and you're getting your ass kicked. It's the LfD's new motto. [Reggie and Jonathan get out of their seats. Reggie holds up a t-shirt. On the front it reads "LfD" in black letters on a white backdrop. He turns the shirt around, and it reads "You're gonna die."] RS: Just one of many! Buy a t-shirt today! JC: 'Cept you, Lost Boyz... we don't want to hurt ya'll if you're wearing our t-shirts. You can buy some _after_ we kick your asses... out of respect, I suppose. [Suddenly, a siren goes off. Reggie and Jonathan scurry for the door. Fade to black.] VVE: I hope you've got one of those shirts, Larry. You wouldn't want to get on the bad side of these guys. LM: I don't think that anyone would, though it seems like just about everyone has! VVE: With all the enemies that these two teams have, it's going to come down to interference. No clear winner here. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Savage" Shadoe Rage vs. Harlequin Tragedy ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: A couple of former tag team greats are meeting in singles competition... VVE: What is it with these guys? All of the old tag teams are splitting up. Are they afraid of the Machines or something? LM: Shadoe Rage seems to think he is much more dangerous as a singles wrestler. He said as much in recent comments. [Fade in: The room is semi-dark, lit only by a naked lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. The throne sits empty except for a fish lying across the cushion. Shadoe Rage sits next to it, draped in a big purple cloak, his hair covering his face, oval-shaped sunglasses slid halfway down his nose. He half-looks at the camera, a grim smile across his face.] SR: Tragedy ... the sad event, the great catastrophe brought about by one's owwn fatal flaw. Tragedy, your fatal flaw was ever stepping into the ring with the Savage, shadoe Rage. If you didn't know, you shoud have asked. This isn't one half of the Prophets of Rage. This isn't a team concept you're dealing with here. This is Shadoe Rage. This is the bedrock upon which the age of the Rage was founded, the first one to break out of the shadows, to break past the steretypes. This isn't it. I am not the one who needs to be played around with. You come into the ring with me and there is going to be a fight. A fight the likes of which you haven't seen before. Because there is something you don't know. And that's the motivation that urges me to step into the ring each and every time and wreak havoc. There is no Pizzazz there to steal my spotlight. There is no Derek to insert a "technical" feel into the match. It's all about me. It's all about my Rage, my frustration, my ten years in the sport, fightinh every step of the way, struggling to get out of the shadows and out from under the influence of the so-called guys with "stroke." And see, the IIWF is rife with a lot of those people, the overflow from the RSPCW, the FWLI now named the IFWF. Joe Petrow, Mark Destructo ... their battle should be interesting. Two mortal enemies, both wrestlers who sold out the promotion, who made their names and their reputations and disappeared because things didn't go their way. [Rage shakes his head. He stares at the ground.] SR: But I digress. Because they are not my prey on that first Saturday after Christmas. It's a shame that you won't be making it to the New Year in one night. It must be a shame that you are going to become just another victim of the Rage, another tragic addition to the fight, another victim of the slaughter. Tragedy, bring Melody, bring Comedy, bring Chaos and whoeever else is on your side to protect you. Bring them all because you will need it. I pomise you. I will kill you. [The camera zooms in on Shadoe's eyes, half-visible over his sunglasses.] SR: I'm serious. [Fade out.] VVE: I guess the way this former tag wrestler thinks he can get respect in the singles ranks is to beat another former tag wrestler. Go figure. LM: It should be an interesting match. It may show us who is going to step forward and join the elite ranks of the IIWF. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The Machines vs. the Mystery Opponents ------------------------------------------------------------------------ VVE: The Machines have to try to calm down their own squabbles before they can face this team...who could be anyone from the Fabulous Ones to the sudden return of the Syndicate! LM: I thought it was going to be a new team. VVE: They could be that as well. LM: No. I thought it was a new team called the Mystery Opponents. VVE: I think we better go the Trash Talk before I say something I might regret. ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|................................................... | || | \ v v / | __| Trash Talk |_||_| \_/\_/ |_|..................................................... [Scene opens in an open field, covered with a light dusting of snow. Sitting on the hillside watching the sun rise is GREY PHOENIX, legs crossed in the lotus position, arms outstretched. BEAR stands off ot the side, dressed in a blue jogging suit, hood up, doing calisthenics. Kuyler, wearing a fashionable black trenchcoat over his trademark singlebreasted black suit, is on the cell phone again] KG: That's right, President. You heard me, I want this challenge broadcast for Snow Brawl, regardless. My boys have proven themselves a sight more than Licensed for Devaluation...all right, thank you. This is proper procedure, I assume. Yes, good. Good bye. B: What's the word, boss man? KG: Well, President Spreadbury has us in consideration. Given the outcome of this past week's event, I think we stand a hell of a chance at earning that tag team title match at Snow Brawl. GP: (not moving from his spot) Good. Then we can pay back Porteaux-potty and Igno-Ramos for this past week. KG: And with Otto Verhoeven having departed the IIWF, there is no question who the strongest man is. Saves you the trouble of facing him, Bear. B: I wouldn't think he's any stronger than me... KG: No, but he is more experienced. He's been around a lot longer than you,Daniel. And I'd really rather your career not end so soon after it's begun. GP: So what do we do on Saturday night? KG: Same thing the others do. Relax. Put on IIWF Main Event in our homes, and enjoy the action. GP: Actually, why not make the challenge in person? After all... B: Title shot at Ring Wars. I think the point is made here, Michael. GP: With The Lost Boyz and LFD, one can never be sure... KG: We don't have to sway them...just remember, we're the #1 contenders now, boys. You two are on the hottest streak of your lives, and 1998 is going to be the year of the Wild Things. B: (laughing) So we'll have new "IIWF: Where the Wild Things RULE" T-shirts? KG: I don't see why not. Seems like everyone has t-shirts out there now. B: Is it just me, or does it seem like the tag team scene is shrinking? KG: Looks that way. Icehawk, Fitzgerald, you've resigned from tag competition after saying you would face anyone who stepped up. Don't quit quite yet, boys. The Natural Predators are going to take you up on your offer. No cheats, no foreign objects. The two most popular tag teams in the IIWF facing each other before the team of Cold Spell is no more. We got you on verbal contract. We got the tape. (Kuyler smiles widely, Grey Phoenix rising to his feet and walking beside him, as does Bear) And now for something you've all been waiting for...especially you, Soundbite, since you say we tag teams are all scatterbrained and have no focus...Our goals for 1998. GP: First and foremost, we set our sights on the Lost Boyz or LFD and winning the tag titles at Snow Brawl. We'll get the papers, you two just have to sign. B: Licensed for Devestation has earmarked themselves for extinction. Since they seem to be in a feud with another team who has ducked and dodged us, the Harlequins, they can be put on the back burner until they actually agree to face us. And believe me, it won't be suitable for Children when it comes. KG: My boys are intent on winning the tag team championship in the early part of 1998. Before that, however, Icehawk, Edmund, one last match, one last wild challenge for Cold Spell before Icehawk moves into Cruiserweight contention. Come on, guys...we may be big, but we play fair. And you'll lose, or win, in a match that will end with respect. You ducked us before, but at least you acknowledged the challenge. And for THAT, you get respect. GP: Tim Turner wants to show off in a brain vs. brain match, Ms. Von Edwards? Don't want his title, just give me the contract. _All_ DQ, no standing five count before on chokes, corner blocks, etc. Match of technique against technique, skill against skill. I know you're listening to this tonight, TNT....or should I say Timmy No Talent? Forget the belt in this one, Turner. Brains against brains. If you're up to it, after Icehawk on Saturday. B: I will continue to live up to the name of the IIWF's Strongman. KG: And last but not least, Fabulous Ones. Well, I must say _I'm_ impressed that you command a salary and have articles written about you in international news. Guess what, boys, this isn't a beauty pageant, and we don't much care what you look like. You have skill, you have a background, we can respect that. What say you face the #1 contenders, the Natural Predators, and see if you're worth your hefty contract? I've never been one to spout off numbers, but the IIWF is the best in terms of its wrestlers. And NO ONE in this league is poorly paid. Save some of that cash up, AbFabs...you may need it for retirement. B: But most of all.... GP: We'll remain a symbol to the fans of fair play. B: And justice. GP: Heroes are hard to come by. B: Which is why we try all the harder. GP: This isn't a situation of non-focus. What this is, is a set of goals. Things to see in the year to come. B: Legends are born every day. Neyho neyehe hiyo. GP: In 1998, we will triumph. KG: Best of the best, and the future will be ours. [Scene fades to black.] [SCENE: A small, old-fashioned looking dojo, decorated in a lacquered Japanese fashion. Most prominently, stands a tall metal ladder in the centre of the room. The "Enigma" Takezo Musashi, attired in plain white training pants, stands and regards the ladder with an expression of calm focus. A rare smile faintly creases his face.] TM: This ladder certainly brings back old memories. It was from these steps that I leaped outside of the ring to hit Shinja Chow with a Starsault Press, all those months ago at Ring Wars III... It seems like a decade ago now. He was a tough one alright, one of the toughest I ever faced. I pounded him with the best moves in my arsenal, flew across the ring like a comet, hurled body against body like a wave crashing rocks into broken shards... and still he managed to take the Cruiserweight title away from me that night... [Musashi pauses for several moments, his eyes glittering with far away revery.] The White Pheonix had some courage in his heart. Real courage. Real strength in his bones. Not like you, Ronnie Paris. [Musashi's eyes flash with anger for a moment, and his expression becomes more intense and direct.] The hour has been etched in stone. Snow Brawl 98. Musashi versus. Paris. Warrior versus coward. I have you on the run, Paris. Your steps are fleet, and you think you have the cunning to escape me... but I'm gaining on you at a pace you cannot even begin to perceive. I come closer with every moment you stall, with each beat of fear in your heart... The Konton na tamashii is clawing at your back, his demon breath is on your neck... sooner or later you must stand up to him like a man. You will have respect and courage beaten into you, or you will no longer stain this hallowed fighting ground with your craven cowardice. Ronnie Paris, our ladder match will be set for the highest of stakes: choose atonement... or choose the end of your career. [Musashi stares at the camera for several seconds, his expression indicating a wave of aggression on the point of outbursting, but, abruptly, he turns and regards the ladder again, calmness returning, lost in revery. Fade.] VVE: I've just got one last thing, Larry. LM: What's that? VVE: Look under the table. [Morton reaches under the counter he is sitting at and pulls out a long, wrapped box.] VVE: Merry Christmas, Larry. LM: Oh, you shouldn't have... a signed Chuck Norris poster! Thankyouthankyouthankyou! [The shot pulls back at the chalet to show all of the guests: the five Von Edward sisters, the Turner brothers, the four members of the Macbeth clan, and Akira Saito. Tim Turner steps forward.] TNT: Thanks for coming... and see you at the matches! +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= 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 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+