________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __| |\ /| /\ |\ | | /\ \ / | || | \ v v / | __| | v |/ \| \| __| /__\ \/ |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| | |\ /| |/ |/ \/ | | \/ | |\_// /\ |\ /| | _ | / __ / __ | v | | | / \ . |\ | / \ / \ | | | | \__ | | \| | __ \__ 9 February 1998 | | | | \ | | | \__| \ .....................|..v_____/.|.|..|____|____/ ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Sychosys" Joe Petrow ------------------------------------------------------------------------ ["Sychosys" Joe Petrow sits alone, in a seat on the chartered jet that is speeding him off to Karuizawa, Japan, to be with the United States Mens Olympic Curling team.  Petrow is a mess, dressed only in his Olympic sweats, a pair of Quickstrike sunglasses, and a bandana with the image of the United States flag, tied low over his head to hide the horrible gash he received courtesy of a Marissa chairshot.  He has two piles of paper on his lap, one noticably thicker than the other.  Petrow speaks in a low, drowsy voice:] JP: Hmm.  Maybe I can pass for a hockey player now.  [Petrow rubs his     temples]  I really need to sleep.  But I have a horrible headache,     maybe a concussion, and a can't take a chance taking any medication     now.  My other sports all I gotta be thinking about now.  But when     I get back, things gotta change. [Petrow reaches down and grabs the thick stack of papers] JP: This is my IIWF singles contract.  My bread and butter, what I'm     known for throughout the world.  Recently renegotiated, it has     tons of perks and bonus stipulations.  I'm sure Chris Quigley would     freak out if he saw what was written here. [Petrow puts it down, and grabs the much thinner stack] JP: This is Team Sychosys' tag team contract.  Standard, and paying     the IIWF minimum wage for tag teams.  It actually has one incentive     encouraging me _not_ to wrestle more than a certain amount of tag     team matches in a year.  Because people want to see me in singles     competition. [Petrow puts the tag contract down.  He looks, and lets out a deep sigh] JP: I'm at the crossroads now.  Saturday Night convinced me that I can't     keep going like this.  I can't just straddle the line here, in the     MIGHTY IIWF.  I have to make a choice.  And I think the choice is     pretty clear. [Petrow looks down again, and slowly picks up the singles contract.] JP: Shadoe Rage... Steve Manning... Tim Turner... Steve Kowalski.  You want a piece of me? [Petrow tears the singles contract in half.] JP: Get a partner. [Sychosys reclines back in his chair, and tries to sleep.  Fade out.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Savage" Shadoe Rage ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Shadoe Rage and Marissa Monet stand arm-in-arm in front of the cameras.  Shadoe has a deranged smile across his face and a wild look in his eyes.  Marissa just looks completely disappointed.] MM: Well, I guess we've just seen exactly what kind of man Joe Petrow is.  Without creative control he just turns in bad performances.  Very bad performance.  So bad that Shadoe's just proved one more point about the myth. SR: Petrow, I took your Sychokick, I took your Knightmare, I took your worst performance ever and I still made a fool of you.  I took your best chance at beating anybody for the title that nobody wants to see you have.  And I've taken your number one spot to Kowalski.  I wish you luck at the Olympics, because against an opponent you have no knowledge of and no history with, you can't do the job right, can you.  You just can't do the job right. MM: Well, we'll probably give you one more chance before the month is out.  But right now we're going to show you exactly what's what with our take on your vaunted 'Gauntlet' match.  SR: I'm going to show you how to do it right, Joe.  I'm going to show you how to be a star without flaming a president, without taking your marbles and going home.  I'm going to show you that you're wrong.  My brother has got creativity.  And I've got will.  The will to utterly destroy you. [Fade out.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Gunnar "Grizzly" Gaines ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [SCENE: IIWF backdrop. Gunnar "Grizzly" Gaines is standing with his back to the camera. His arms are spread out in a "V" as if to embrace the huge IIWF logo on the backdrop in a big bear hug.] GGG: Ahhhhh ... the Double Eye. My proud new home. [He turns around. Facetious sniff, sniff. He wipes away a tear, shaking his head and smiling.] And that _was_ quite a welcome I gave myself the other night, wasn't it, "Fury" and "Meatman." Hell, I think I could get to like it here after _that_ kind of fun. [Grizzly Grin] Now even though I'm going to OWN this place sooner or later, I'm going to treat it like a _rental_ home and tear everything apart. Next up is The Smooth -- the fattest man I'm ever going to Grizzly Slam. And after that, Battalion. [He glares at the camera with a condescending smile.] Base brat, if you think you can beat the Baddest, I'd ask you, "You and what army?" [laughs] But then I realize you ARE the army, and son... I'm fixing to play taps ALL OVER your carcass. Then you're gonna be dishonorably discharged -- right through the mat. [He shakes his head, mock sadness.]     Frankly... you don't stand a chicken wing's chance on your own plate of beating The Baddest Thang Running, son. Chew on THAT, son... just don't choke on the bones! [Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Duncan Macbeth ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Duncan Macbeth strides into the IIWF interview area, a trickle of blood still flowing freely from the cut on his forehead inflicted by Derek Mota, and sticks his face within inches of the camera.  The Intercontinental Champion's eyes are severely bloodshot from the liquid poured in them by Simon Lebec earlier in the evening, but even this cannot dim the burning glint in his eyes as he begins to speak, his voice a raspy baritone.] DM: Heh heh... well done, Derek. Ye've finally found yuirself some new friends. [Macbeth pauses to rub at his sore eyes, further irritated from the blood running down his forehead, and continues.] Let's jus' take a look at the tossers ye left th' most dominant pair o' wrestlers in th' game fer, shall we? Ye've got tha' Idiotic Opie Howard, who's sae desperate t' kiss yuir arse tha' he'll come out t' save yuir hide even after ye kicked th' piss out o' 'im backstage.  Well, Opie's used t' bein' slapped around, sae ye an' he ought t' be great mates, wha'. Then ye have Dickie "Poxy" Blue, th' circus reject.  No' exactly th' most intimidatin' individual ye've ever seen, is 'e?  No' exactly a world-beater, wha'.  Jus' th' kind o' mate ye like t' have beside ye -- someone who's only purpose is t' make ye look better by comparison. Well, teamin' wi' Blue worked out great fer Scott Rogers, whose last pathetic moments in th' IIWF were spent under th' boot o' Duncan Macbeth.  "Twill be a real shame if keepin' Poxy as yuir pet leads ye t' th' same fate. Ye were righ' about wha' ye said las' Friday, Derek.  Tonigh' was th' end. 'Twas th' end of th' "Heatseeker", th' cocky, tough wee bastard tha' wasn't afraid o' anythin' or anyone, least o' all, himself.  All tha's left now is a poor, sick, insecure shadow o' a man, who need t' be th' best sae desperately tha' he'll no' associate wi' anyone who may be just as good as he, or better.  If ye cannae win, ye don't want t' play, do ye? Well, have fun playin' wi' yuir new mates, Derek.  At least ye'll _always_ be better than them. [Macbeth pauses to clear his bloodshot eyes once again, and squints back into the camera, his expression darkening.] An' as fer ye, Simon Lebec, ye cannae be as crazy as ye're actin'.  I ken wha' ye want, an' this whole "Saviour" bollocks is yuir harebrained idea o' how t' get it.  Well, get this, "Showstopper" - there's no' a man walkin' this earth who took a shot at me an' did no' get somethin' back, sae ye'd best start sayin' yuir Hail Marys, an' pray t' th' Good Lord above t' deliver ye from ME.  By th' time I get through wi' ye, screwloose, th' last preachin' ye'll ever goin' t' hear will be th' Last Rites, as administered by th' Reverend Duncan Macbeth. Ashes t' ashes, dust t' dust, wha'. [Macbeth starts to turn away, but a thought occurs to him, and he turns back to the camera, smirking despite the discomfort in his eyes.] Oh, an' Lebec - nice accent. Tosser. [Fade]     ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Enigma" Takezo Musashi ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [SCENE: A debris littered locker room, backstage at the Delta Centre. Benches are smashed into splinters, training equipment and clothing are tossed all over the floor, and several heavy duty lockers have been overturned. The "Enigma" Takezo Musashi stands in the midst of it all, delivering a high impact shin kick to one of the few lockers to remain standing, making a significent dent in the metal. Abruptly, Musashi whips around to face the camera, an expression of pure psychosis in his eyes.] TM: When you talk about intensity, when you talk about violence, when you talk about chaos unfolding from the actions of a madman, there is only one name in the IIWF that springs straight to the window of your skull - the name of the Enigma! - Takezo Musashi! I went out there tonight, and I proved that I'm the one! I'm the one they warned you about in wrestling school; the one they said took his bumps too crazilly, too suicidal... to the extreme! I'm the one with the fire burning in my eyes and devilry dancing in my heart; the man who'll dive to his potential doom if it gives me just one chance to take some punk out for good! I'll plunge this whole damn league into anarchy until I get exactly what it is I deserve - the crown of the World Heavyweight champion, and the blood of every wrestler in existence upon my fists. Icehawk... in this game, there is no place for such folly as you displayed tonight. There is no place for a man so fragile and easilly broken into splintered bone fragments as yourself. All the fans out there, you can call me callous and barbaric and whatever the hell you please, but none of your petty moral standards mean a damn to me. I live on my own terms, by my own rules, like a real champion and warrior should! And those rules state, that when somebody steps up to my face and insults my honour, I don't care whether it's Mike Tyson, Gaijin Petrow, or some crippled young punk with his neck snapped in twain, I'm going to kick seven shades of crap out of him and leave him bleeding and broken on the arena floor! So if any of you other fighting men think you've got a chance to take away what's mine [Musashi grabs his Cruiserweight title belt and hoists it up into the air]... Or if any of you guys in the locker room have a problem with the destruction I wraught upon Icehawk, by all means, make a play for the Enigma. I don't care if you come at me from the front, the flank, or from behind. I don't care if you come at me in one's, two's or dozens. I don't care if your name is Gunnar Gaines, Steve Kowalski, Edmund Fitzgerald or Moxy Blue. I am a warrior, and to fight is my calling. I'll put it all on the line: my title, my body, my life... And if you have even just a prayer or a dream of beating me, you'd better hope that you can say the same. Because when you step into the ring with the Enigma, everything is at stake... [Musashi slings the Cruiserweight strap over his shoulder, intensity and madness burning in his gaze, before turning and leaving the scene of carnage behind him. Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Natural Predators ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Scene comes up, hotel room, with Kuyler Greyson, dressed in a single breasted black suit, relaxing on a bed, and Bear, wearing a simple navy blue blazer, black turtleneck, and jeans, sitting by the window, looking out over West Palm Beach] B: Amazing, isn't it, boss? KG: What's that, Bear? B: Well... Petrow. KG: Ah. B: Man's nuts, you know? But he came out there and almost beat us. KG: Hey, it was a weird match. Any match against him will be like that. He said he respected you. That means something in the scheme of things. And you guys beat him fair and square, even as he tried to pull a surprise on you. B: Still, he fought well... especially after what happened against Shadoe Rage. KG: Well, see, there's the problem. You can't ever look past a match. Rage wasn't interested in the win so much as to hurt..and that's what he did... B: Still can't believe that little guy knocked me off balance. KG: No one respects Maurice McArthur. You didn't expect it... he's not as inept in a team as one may think. Something else is on your mind... you've been staring out that window for almost half an hour... B: Well, just think. I mean... we've been here a while, yeah? Short time to become champions...lot of respect. KG: Yeah...the fans have really gotten behind you here in the IIWF. B: So why are we risking it on the Horsemen again? KG: [sighs] Law of Order. Everything has to be in some sense of balance. You saw what Musashi did to Icehawk. Since it was in the confines of a match, the IIWF can rail against him...yell at him...warn him...but it was in the match. So he got no punishment. And when Icehawk confronted him? Look what Musashi did to him. B: I just don't want to end up like in another Genesis...we're doing    the right thing, aren't we? KG: Look...I understand your reticence about this...but look around. Unholy alliances are everywhere. MacBeth and Turner. Blue and Stone. The Harlequins and the Fabs both carry an entourage to the ring... B: I guess you're right...looking forward to shutting their mouths once and for all. You know, Kuyler, Steve Roberts is right. I mean, just who have the Fabulous Ones beaten lately? KG: Don't underestimate them....you've seen what they're capable of... they're a solid team...and they've had some hard breaks. Doesn't mean they're any less capable of facing you than the Prophets of Rage or the Down Boys. B: [laughs] Prophets got to them good though... KG: Well, I don't think the IIWF will be using them as spokesmodels anytime soon....though they look like they have more character now with a few scars... [Enter GREY PHOENIX, dressed to kill... looking damn fine in a well cut double breasted suit.] KG: Besides... in the ring, it's skill that matters... [Reaches over to a large suitcase, which he lays on the bed. Grey Phoenix and Bear walk over to it, open it and take out their Tag Team Championship belts, GP sliging it over his shoulder and Bear putting his around his waist] ...and you two most definitely have what it takes. [Grey Phoenix smiles, then sets the belt back in the suitcase at the same time as Bear.] GP: Come on, guys. Karen and Tonya are waiting...gonna take this lummox to see the sites... B: [laughs] You guys go ahead...Don't like intruding on dates. [Kuyler and Grey Phoenix smile and start to push Bear out of the room as the camera fades while GP speaks] GP: Uh-uh, Danny boy....gonna find you a woman that makes Ms. Miki look like a cheap tramp...OH WAIT! She is! Seriously, Danny, I know this place where the ladies could make the Soundbite speechless.... [Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The Down Boys ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Awesome T stands in front of the IIWF backdrop.  The Down Boys, their hair slightly unkempt, stand behind T with their hair tucked into baseball caps.  T wears a black t-shirt which reads "Role Model." in white letters on the front.  T shows us his trademark smirk and holds up four fingers.] AT: You know [T looks at his hand], people used to believe this to be a sign of power.  Four.  But the only thing it stands for now is the amount of times the Fabulous Ones have tried to defeat the Down Boys, and how many times they've failed to do so.  [T puts down his hand and looks away from the camera.] But that's not the point I make here, gentlemen.  We never wanted to wrestle you again, Chip and Dale, but see, you broke rules.  You didn't "wrestle clean", and that breaks not only my heart, but breaks the rules set forth by the bastions of justice, the Down Boys.  [T look toward the camera again, with a look of anger.] How DARE you interrupt our IIWF World Tag Team Champions, the Natural Predators?  These men had a lot to say, and I could tell... your type is the type that makes trouble.  So what happened?  We beat you to the punch.  We stopped you before you could do anything to those super champions, the Natural Predators.  Nothing...NOTHING, I tell you, should keep the Natural Predators and Kuyler Grayson from saying whatever they want to say.  They stand for what's right in the IIWF, and you stand for what's wrong, so consider yourself warned, Chip and Dale.  You are part of the problem with the IIWF... not the solution. [T looks down, then looks up again, this time with his trademark smirk returning to his face.] And hey, Preds.  You owe us, skip.  We saved your ass tonight, but mind you... that's our job.  We'd do it again in a second.  I mean, because we are the bastions of justice... we do what's right. [Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Richard "Moxy" Blue ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [The dank and musty hallways of the Delta Centre dressing room area. The camera is grainy, with bad reception to the back editing area. The sounds of the crowd can still be heard, indicating this was filmed during Saturday Night. A rustling sound can be heard off camera as Richard "Moxy" Blue makes his way onto the scene. He is the happiest we have ever seen him, and despite two gruelling matches in one night, he is as chipper and boisterous as ever, perhaps even more so, if that's possible. He clicks his heels together in the air as he walks by the camera. He is still dressed in the remnants of his Technicolor attire, now battered, ripped and tinged with blood. In truth, it looks a little more appealing to the eye this way. He looks at the camera, eyes wide open:] RMB: I feel like a 14 year old in a whore house! Oh yeah RIGHTEOUS! [Blue bounces off camera with glee, but returns for one last comment.] RMB: You always knew I could beat ya, Turner! [Blue gives the camera as raspberry and bounces off for good this time. A crash is heard off camera as the scene fades to blue.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Damien "The Demon" Lestat ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [The camera rises to the colorful IIWF banners in the renowned "Interview Area". From the left, gagging and coughing are heard followed by a mucussy spitting sound... ...in slowly walks "The Demon" Damien Lestat. Inhaling deeply on a cigarette and with Mr. Coolie tucked safely under his arm, Lestat exhales the menthol smoke and manages a cavity-filled smile as he flicks the cigarette away and sticks a forefinger into the gaping hole in his abdomen caused by the devil sticks of Richard "Moxy" Blue a few minutes earlier.] DL: [with a quick nod and an ugly smile]  Hot damn! That lil' piece of s nubbed me real good... [Lestat looks down at the bloodied wound.] DL: It's too bad "skin-'n-bones-Blue" didn't finish the f job, though.  Ya' see, Blue-boy, if you're gonna do s like this, ya' gotta make sure you do it _correctly_, god-damnit. [Lestat opens Mr. Coolie up and pulls out a wooden stick and hold it in view.] DL: _Here's_ what ya' shoulda done, Blue-boy! [Cackling in anticipation, Lestat holds the stick in front of his body preparing to plunge it into himself. Off camera, a shriek of "Hey!" is heard of to the left of the camera. Onto the scene bolts Richard Blue, his outfit sparking and sizzling, and a small trickle of blood coming from his right arm, the wound has already began to clot. He snatches the stick from Lestats hand, and after a small struggle to do so, he flies back and lands on his posterior, shaking his head.] RMB: [in his almost recovered Cajun lisp] Dat'sss MAH toy. Mondieu, yer mere didain't duh a gud job raisssain' yah, deed she? Shar yer toys, oui? [Lestat snarls and clenches Mr. Coolie with contempt -- and a mucus filled snort:] RMB: Mondieu, dat WASSS a gud rassle, weren't eet? Ah ain't had DAT much foon een ah dunno 'ow longa! [Lestat smiles with a disgusting cavity filled grin. He snarls once more and Blue scampers off in fear of an appointment between his head and Mr. Coolie.] DL: ["thoughtfully" running his forefinger down his bloodied and acne scarred face] If they're all gonna be like that in the Double Eye... I'm gonna like it here. [Lestat cackle maniacally as he shambles out of the interview area, leaving us only to see the drips of blood rom both himself and Blue as the camera fades to black.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Harlequin Tragedy ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Tragedy, flanked bythe other four Harlequins, stands in front of the familiar IIWF banner. In his hand is the mask of Deathbringer.] HT: Missing something dead man? [Tragedy holds the mask out in front of him, studying it.] HT: It's amazing, in all the time you've been in the IIWF, no one has been able to do what I did last week. Verhoeven, Requiem, Tonnage, none of the big men were able to claim the mask of Deathbringer.     But I did.     It shouldn't come as any surprise though, a man as limited as you are in your scope of things is no match for someone like me.     You are the embodiment of Death. The end, The Grim Reaper, the Taker of Souls. I'll admit that you are impressive in that. And true, Death is tragic.     But it's not the only thing that is.     I am Tragedy, I embody everything that goes wrong with your life. My world includes, sickness, pain, heartbreak... [Tragedy holds up the mask.] Loss. [Comedy laughs.] HT: And yes Bringer, even Death. All the "bad things" that happen to people is in my domain. I am the one that bears that weight on his shoulders, and unlike you, I'm doing a better job of it.     And I see more bad things coming.     And there is nothing you can do about it.     I heard your cry for vengance. Futile, for vengance leads to more tragedy, which only increases my power.     You can't win.     You won't win.     You'll never win, I'll see to that.     True, your about a foot taller than me, and a hundred or so pounds heavier than me. But from where I stand right now... [Tragedy puts on Deathbringer's mask.] You, are a very, very small man. [Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Rocket Man" Timothy N. Turner ------------------------------------------------------------------------ ["Rocket Man" Timothy Turner walks into the interview area, looking a little dejected.] TNT: You all know we didn't really lose that match. Derek has finally gone crazy. I don't mean Richard "Moxy" Blue crazy or Joe Petrow crazy... I mean actually institutionizable crazy. None of this changes the fact that Ryan Howard was the one who hit me with that chair. Your time will come, Howard. You will feel the wrath of the Rocket Man and I will blast you right back out of the IIWF! This brings me back to last week's point. Once again the fans have refused to embrace me. I have always ignored what they thought but now I see what this leads to. I don't want to become like Musashi and break a man's neck just because he got in the way. I'm beginning to think that our new VP has the right idea. Sure I've used that metal bar...but no longer. Unless, of course, I'm provoked. I am a great technical wrestler. Maybe the best. Grey Phoenix has disagreed with that and challenged me to a match. Bring the big guy...I'll do the same...and we'll see who really deserves that gold. [Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Charles Scheffield ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [The scene is Charles Scheffield standing outside upon a green lawn with an overcast sky up above.  The camera is looking up at the wealthy man from a vantage point seemingly upon the ground.  Scheffield's hair is hanging fairly freely at this time for a change.  He is wearing a simple black three piece suit which must be worth some money along with a gold pocket watch chain hanging from the middle button of his fine white shirt to presumably his inner coat pocket.  The look upon his face cannot be described as amused in the least bit... in fact for a man who was once thought of by many as a limp wristed wrestler... he has quite a terrifying look upon his face... though it is simply a look of deep anger.] CS: Serge Annis... the name nearly leaves a bad taste in my mouth when     I say it.  It fills me with rage when I think about how a man can     justify doing such a hideous crime... with no remorse whatsoever. [Scheffield pauses on that thought momentarily.] However, for some strange reason... I can understand where you are coming from... though I must say I condone it in no way.  I can understand how you must have felt with society closing in on you feeling there is no way out.  I can understand how ridicule and always being compared to those touted as your superiors must feel. I myself went through that in my younger years simply being a member of the Sheffield family.  I was expected to be just like everyone else.  I was always compared to my father... but rather than sulk in sadness... and let that overcome my mind... I simply broke free.  I have never committed an ultra-violent act in my life... I have never mangled another living being.  Yes... I have broken bones of other people... but I have _never_ made an attempt on the life of another.  That is _unthinkable_. [The look on Scheffield's face intensifies.] I do not care what you went through... I do not even care that Mad Dog Watkins was able to exact revenge on you Saturday.  What he did was still child's play compared to your savage attack.  You do not frighten me, Annis.  You strike me as a man who has lost his direction.  In fact, I doubt even you can see it... but you seem like a frightened little man grasping at whatever is left for him. Evil or not... this Wednesday I will show you just what I am capable of.  I am leaving my riches and wealth behind.  I'm leaving my manners behind.  This Wednesday... I intend to show you how a gentleman deals with scum such as yourself... and it isn't going to be very pretty. I agree that life isn't fair... but combat inside a ring there are rules.  Those rules should be followed.  Bending them is also part of the game... but I don't remember setting fire to the ring being part of it.  Wednesday... you will experience a match that will be more painful than fire... and the best part is it shall be well within the rules at _all_times_.  Carry on. [Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "The Intrepid" Ryan Howard ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [The door leading to the IIWF interview area it belted open, the fully extended leg and heel of Ryan Howard's boot protruding forth from the space. He steps in, his brows furrowed with a deep welled anger, his eyes stern, and a small amount of blood still coating his face. The time is apparently after his match on Saturday Night, for as he pulls off the tight, sleeveless black leather shirt he wears in the ring, the glinting of sweat is still evident. Angrily tossing it aside, he raises his sternful eyes to camera, placing his hands on his leathered hips.] RH: I bet I look pretty Goddam angry, don't I? Well it's for good reason! Before my match, as you're all probably Goddam well know, I got wacked over the head by a steel folding-chair. Yeah, by Derek Mota, right? [He turns around, scowling as he plasters one of the seats that adorn the right wall, knocking it up into the air and back down, tumbling due to it's triangular/tripodical nature. Turning, he points a finger into the depths of the camera.] RH: Mota! You're _damn_ lucky I didn't know it was you that cracked me over the head backstage, or not only would I have plastered Turner, but I woulda took that same chair and shoved it _so_ far up your ass, you're kids would have Laz-e-boy tattered across their foreheads, and the word "enema" would sound pleasant. ...but for now, you can wait. I got bigger fish to fry, and that ugly catfish Turner tops the list. Turner, its only a matter of time before I climb the ladder that is the IIWF, and reach your "prestigious" level.. [He is then cut off by the progamming directorm who steps onto the scene, hands him a sheet of paper, and then walks off the set. Howard's eyes fall, examining the sheet for a few moments, before a sly grin creeps upon his snakish lips. Crumpling up the paper, he tosses it side, taking a rather philisophical pose, folding his arms and drawing his right forefinger and thumb to his chin, as if contemplating.] RH: Apparently, this Saturday Night I am set to square off against Ike Sampson, who from what I've seen, is quite.. _large_. Now, I'm not a quantum physics professor, but he's about fifty pounds heavier and six inches taller than me, putting me at quite a disadvantage. Heh. As if I care. Ikey, you've just become my next victim. You may be bigger, you may be stronger, but I'm smarter, faster, better, and a whole hell of a lot bigger bad-ass than Ma Sampson's entire litter of sows. Come Saturday, you're going to learn why I'm one of the most feared in the biz... ...oh, and Timmy? [He winks and blows a smooch to the camera.] Don't worry, I haven't forgot you. You still own the top spot in my heart. [Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Sanguinary" Steve Manning ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [SCENE: Backstage of the IIWF arena.  The scene is buzzing with several IIWF suits all sporting large "Wrestle Clean!" buttons.  Steve Manning bursts through the scene, the electric cattle prod still in his hand.  As the suits attempt to stop him, he wields the shockstick at them, and they back off. Manning heads for the large brown door leading to the parking lot.  As he pushes the door open, he turns back towards the camera with a large grin on his face.  His t-shirt reading, "I'm Not The Mountie!" is visible as his face turns sombre.  He breathes some very simple words...] SM: Why do they come to me to die?  [He chuckles.] SM: _Why_ do they come to me to die?! [Manning dashes out the door, letting it slam behind him, as the IIWF suits he had held at bay all look around at each other, wondering exactly what the young man has going on in his head.  Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Real Deal" Luke Steele ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [SCENE: The IIWF interview area, following the conclusion of Saturday Night.  Casually, "Real Deal" Luke Steele saunters into view of the camera, dressed in a pair of red and black plaid flannel sweatpants, a red sweatshirt with the "Wrestle Clean" logo featured on it, and a pair of black sunglasses.  Steele stops as he enters the area, and pulls the glasses off to talk to the camera.] LS: Hey baby dolls, the Real Deal is on the scene again.  True, I wasn't on the show tonight, but the ratings should suffice as punishment for the suits.  Isn't it typical, they spot a god-damned jabroni in the stands like 4M, and yet don't give me the time of day.  Yes, I was in the stands too.  I bought a ticket like everyone else. Next week, the Real Deal's got a full schedule, baby dolls.  But that will be dealt with in due time.  I saw some interesting things tonight.  I saw Gunnar Gaines bring his big ass to the big time.  Gaines, you shoulda stayed back in the indy leagues for a while longer, you don't have what it takes just yet.  I saw Takezo Musashi just about break the neck of Icehawk.  I may not be a fan of Cold Spell, but Musashi, if nobody else will step up to you and slap that look off your face, you can bet the Real Deal will.  Bank on it, cruiserweight. Next Saturday the hottest wrestler in the world will be on hand to showcase his talents once more.  Later. [Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Simon O'Neal ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Simon O'Neal smirks as he begins speaking:] SO: It's about damn time!  Three weeks after I first siad that I wanted to wrestle as a cruiserweight, the IIWF higher-ups FINALLY give me an opponent!  Sure, he ain't much, and I'll wipe the mat with him. But Rome wasn't built in a day, and neither is my career.  I'm a very patient man. [He starts to leave, but then some mutterings are heard behind the camera.  You can't make out much, but the words "Fabulous" and "Wong" are heard.  O'Neal rolls his eyes.] SO: Stop bothering me with past history.  I've got my future to think about. [Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The American Dragons ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Saturday night in the Delta Center.  The last few fans trickle out of the arena, shocked at all that has taken place this evening.  The technicians wrap up the last of the cable wire, the roadies begin to fold the chairs...] VOICE1: Jami Farrell! VOICE2: Kelly Monaco! [We being to pan around... taking in the arena in full... the announcer's table... the Furies' section... the spot where the Sychopaths cared for their fallen hero...] VOICE1: Jami Farrell! VOICE2: Kelly Monaco! [And we come to the entrance way... where we spy two young men... stars of the IIWF... who had just taken part in this evening's events... not talking about their victory... not planning strategy... not reviewing their moves.] VOICE1: Jami Farrell! VOICE2: Kelly Monaco! [...but arguing over women.  It's Joe Scalercio and Bob Ivey, the American Dragons.  Both men are wearing blue jeans and their respective leather jackets.  They have their gym bags slung over their shoulders...and both are nose-to-nose.] JS: I'm telling you, Jami Farrell! BI: No friggin' way!  Kelly Monaco is a BABE! JS: You see Jami lately?  With her hair dyed blonde? BI: Ah, give me an old fashioned mountain chick any day! SL: Uh.... [Joe and Bob turn, to see Sparkplug Lee standing nearby.  He's still in his suit, complete with BBQ stain, holding a Gigantic-Sized Slurpee from a 7-11.] SL: ...I don't want to interrupt, but what are you two arguing about? JS: Ah, Bob here thinks Kelly Monaco is better looking then Jami Farrell. BI: Partner, she is! SL: Who's Jami and Kelly? JS: Jami's Miss January 1997, and Kelly's Miss April 1997. BI: We're arguing over who should be Playmate of the Year. SL: What about Ms. Miki? [Joe and Bob had turned to begin arguing again, but turn back to Sparky.] JS: Nope. BI: No way. JS: We'd have to invoke the Jenny McCarthy Rule on her. SL: Uh... McCarthy Rule? [Joe walks up and puts his arm around Sparkplug.] JS: Okay, Sparky... you know who Jenny is, right?  Long legs, blonde hair, nice body... BI: Big boobs... JS: Ahem.  Anyway, she's a good looking girl, right?  You'd like to date     her, right? [Sparkplug nods.] JS: You see, though, she's not all that bright. BI: I've seen brick walls smarter then her. SL: Okay.... JS: The Rule, Sparky, is that if there's one thing that really annoys you about a woman, just ONE thing... it's okay to say you don't find her attractive. SL: But Ms. Miki's not dumb... JS: Oh, far from it. BI: She's good looking, intelligent... JS: And she has a good sense of honor and loyalty. BI: She's an idiot, though. SL: I don't follow. JS: Anyone who manages the Fabulous Ones is an idiot in our books. BI: Miss Miki manages the Fabulous Ones. JS: So therefore.... [Sparkplug twists his face...he's trying....he's trying....] SL: I GET IT!  MS. MIKI'S AN IDIOT! [The statement echoes through the Delta Center, and everyone turns to look at the trio.  Joe and Bob have huge grins on their faces.] JS: Hey, you said it, not us. [Bob and Joe turn and leave, while Leestands, a big grin on his face for getting it... until he realizes what he said.] SL: Oh, NO!  GUYS!  GUYS!  I DIDN'T MEAN IT THAT WAY! [Lee runs backstage as we fade out.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Paul Wong ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Paul Wong is sitting on the floor of the IIWF Interview area.  The bruises on his body and the large bandage over his head indicate the beating he took from the Fabulous Ones.  In his hands, he is holding the Rock'em Sock'em Robot.  He stares straight at the floor as he begins to speak:] PW: I... I... I don't kn.... what.... [He shakes his head from side to side, gets up, and leaves the interview area. Fade.] +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= I * I * W * F =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-+ | President: Daniel Spreadbury | Vice-President: Gregg Osterhout | | univ0322@sable.ox.ac.uk | ghost@frii.com | | iiwf@sisko.demon.co.uk | | +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- http://www.sisko.demon.co.uk -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+