________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __| |\ /| /\ |\ | | /\ \ / | || | \ v v / | __| | v |/ \| \| __| /__\ \/ |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| | |\ /| |/ |/ \/ | | \/ | |\_// /\ |\ /| | _ | / __ / __ | v | | | / \ . |\ | / \ / \ | | | | \__ | | \| | __ \__ 16 March 1998 | | | | \ | | | \__| \ .....................|..v_____/.|.|..|____|____/ ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Steve "the Fury" Kowalski ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Torrential rains. A downpour like no other. The sound of thunder claps, shake the camera and spark the screen in and out. The chaotic scene unfolds as people spill out into view. Congo natives, out of country visitors and IIWF staff are caught up in a wild riot. The events of IIWF Saturday Night have gone awry and fans, wrestlers alike are going ballistic! Our fearless cameraman sits in the back of rented pickup truck, taking in the maelstrom of weather and bodies. The cameraman and his production assistants argue over the situation...] PA: David, we gotta get the hell out of here! The satellite link is down... no more air time! Jeez! Half of the roster has been taken in by the local police and Prez Dan is at the station trying to bail them out! [Thunder clap!] [BLEEP]damn! That was loud! Look man, it's crazy out there. We got staff in the hospital... They can't find Danny Oliver!... I think Hawk's still got the belt!... Mad Dog stole one of the jeeps! It's too dangerous! [Thunder clap!] CM: Where is he? Where's the man!?! PA: I don't [BLEEP]ing know! All I know is him and Rage were wrecking each other when the crowds hit the ring! I gone! CM: Fine! I'll get the story myself! [Another thunderous boom as the production assistant heads for a nearby van!] A good cameraman sticks around and gets it done! [Thunder!] I'm staying right here, 'til I get to see... [A flash of light and thunder!] SK: Ya lookin' fer me? CM: What the? Oh [BLEEP]! [He is there! In all his drenched glory, Steve "The Fury" Kowalski is there. The champ's jacket is torn and there is still a small spittle of blood coursing down his cheek. Like a soaked rat straight from the river, the New Jersey Nightmare shakes the rain water from his head.] SK: What are ya waitin' around here fer, kid? CM: I'm trying to see if you made it out. What happened to Rage!?! [Thunder clap!] SK: Who knows...who cares? All I know is he's got six days to get ready. Then he's mine! [Kowalski walks away from the cameraman off into the rain.] CM: Where are you going?! Kowalski! [His image is almost out of view, just calling back to say...] SK: I'm goin' to Ring Wars! I gotta date wit' destiny! [Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Duncan Macbeth ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Fade up on the training room backstage at the stadium in Kinshasa, Democratic Republic of Congo, where IIWF Intercontinental Champion Duncan Macbeth is seated on a table, receiving somewhat less than competant medical attention from the Congolese medics on call for the IIWF Saturday Might show. Macbeth has a dark purple bruise running diagonally across his back from his right shoulder to his left dorsal lat muscle where he was struck by a chair by Simon Lebec earlier, and the medics are trying to strap an ice pack to the champion's back with long strips of adhesive tape. The pack is covered in condensation from the incredible humidity in the stadium, and the waterlogged tape keeps sliding off of the Scot's broad back, to the dismay of the medics and the building frustration of Macbeth. Finally, with a frightening bellow, Macbeth leaps off the table and rips the ice pack, tape and all, from his body as the medics scatter like sheep and bolt towards the door in fear.] DM: Fer th' love o' Jaysis! Where th' hell did yis gut yuir diplomas, yis useless sods? Out o' a bleedin' Crackerjack box? [The Intercontinental Champion balls the pack and the tape up in his hands and flings it angrily at the last medic, bouncing it of of the back of his head as he scoots out the door.] DM: GET OUT O' 'ERE, YIS BASTARDS!!! [Macbeth visibly winces as he throws the ice pack, the mobility in his right arm clearly affected by the damage to his shoulder muscle, but the pain just seems to fire his will, and he whirls on the camera, his green eyes wild with hatred.] DM: Ye're startin' t' understand jus' wha' ye\ve gotten yuirself into, aren't ye, "Showstopper"? AREN'T YE? Th' day is comin' e'er closer when I'm goin' t' beat ye like th' dog ye are, when I crack yuir skull like a bleedin' chestnut on th' steel deck o' tha' barge, when I smash ye in t' submission an' make ye beg me fer forgiveness like a schoolboy at confession, righ' before I baptize ye in th' Thames! An' ye ken ye're no' guid enough t' DO anythin' about it, don't ye? Sae yuir wee "guerilla war" 'gainst me in th' last month -- tryin' t' blind me, damn near knockin' me brains out o' me heid on th' "Countdown" show, an' now tonigh's spineless bollocks -- THIS is yuir pathetic way o' evenin' th' odds? [Macbeth rubs at his sore shoulder, levelling the camera with a smouldering jade stare that threatens to freeze the jungle air around him.] 'Tis NO' goin' t' be GUID enough, tosser. Y'see, wi' every cowardly, lily-livered stunt like this ye pull, every wee cheap shot ye get in tha' goes unanswered due t' tha' yellow streak down yuir back, every whingin' wee sookie-baby comment ye make about how ye "deserve" t' be th' champ, MY determination, my DESIRE, t' tear ye limb from bleedin' LIMB once ye're on tha' barge wi' me, when ye cannae run from me anymore, just grows all th' STRONGER! [Macbeth's face suddenly splits into a thin, toothy smile, and his eyes gleam brightly with his next comments.] DM: "For a fire is kindled in mine anger, an' shall burn unto th' lowest Hell, an' shall consume th' earth with 'er increase, an' set on fire th' foundations o' th' mountains." Deuteronomy, chapter 32, verse 22, tosser. Y'see, ye an' I actually DO have somethin' in common, Lebec. I'VE been "born again" as well. An' I've YE t' thank fer tha'. 'Twas YE who rekindled me anger, by showin' me how t' HATE again. An' concussions, bone bruises, vision problems, or even bleedin' PARALYSIS will no' keep me from takin' ye apart on board tha' barge an' exposin' ye fer th' hypocritical, Scripture-quotin' fraud tha' ye ARE. This Saturday nigh', at Ring Wars 5, 'twill be YE who shall burn unto th' lowest Hell, Simon Lebec. An' even th' Thames 'erself will no' be able t' put out th' flames! [Macbeth's countenance hardens into a stony, chilling expression of pure malice, and his voice drops to a low, sinister whisper as the camera zooms to a tight close-up of the Intercontinental Champion's sharp features, framed by his lion's mane of ruddy-blond hair.] Vengeance is mine, Lebec. Vengeance is MINE. Shall we gather at th' river? [Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The Down Boys ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Camera shot of the generic IIWF backdrop...in front of which nobody is standing. The camera remains there for a few seconds, until shouts can be heard from off camera. The camera then jerks right and goes forward, where the Down Boys can be heard, actually yelling at Awesome T, who's sat himself down on a stack of folded-up tables, listening patiently with a smirk on his face] AP: What the hell is that [BLEEP]? You keep telling us over and over again that we have to keep reaching for the brass ring. Once we have it, you're gonna leave us now? DO: Adam, maybe we should let him exp... AP: Bull[BLEEP]! I've been in this business too damn long not to know what's going on here. What's up with you T? Are you bored? Are you pissed off that we don't have that friggin' "bad heel" attitude that you tried to make us put across? Is it us helping out Moxy? What the hell? [T, still with the smirk on his face, shakes his head, then looks up at the DB's] AT: It's all going to come together. You watch. [Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Team Sychosys ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [It is very, very late in the night, after the debacle that was IIWF Saturday Night. And it is a very, very disorganized scene that the camera focuses upon, the faces of "Mr. Majestyk" Maurice McArthur and "Sychosys" Joe Petrow, blanketed by a flock of the enraged Congo Sychopath contingent. Despite a continuing driving rain, the blood on their faces has dried, but their anger has not abated, as Petrow speaks, or rather, screams:] JP: This is the way it is! This is the way it always is! The greatest tag-team in the IIWF treated like a bunch of undercard third-class freaks! What the [BLEEP] was that all about!? "Die in Darkness" my ass! The Prostates just proved themselves to be the biggest running joke in the business today! And everyone else who tried to jump us tonight proved something else! [Petrow's eyes open as wide as humanly possible, as he practically lurges towards the camera] YOU CAN'T STAND THE CHAOS! YOU CAN'T TAKE THE MADNESS! [Petrow "settles" back to his prior state of dementia] And this was only a sample of the cyclone of terror to be felt in the Seven Tables of Fear! MAURICE! Get your ass up here and say something! [McArthur, pacing in the background like a madman while waiting for his opportunity, makes the most of it.] 4M: "Get your jobber ass out of here and let the big boys play?" Is that it!? Is that the message? Well [BLEEP] that! Bloom, Gecko, everyone else, consider my bridges burned! Cause *I'M* a big boy now, and I'm ready to play! I've been a human doormat around here for two years, and I've been disrespected my whole damned life! [McArthur bends down, and _pounds_ his hands into the soggy earth] NO MORE! NO MORE! Next week, I'm taking what's mine! We're taking our respect! We're taking everything that's owed to us, and we're collecting interest at loan shark rates! And you goddamned better get used to seeing Mr. Majestyk with a title belt around his waist, because it's going to be that way for a very long time to come! JP: For the first time EVER in the IIWF, Joe Petrow gets a fair shot at a title. How do I know this? Because in the Seven Tables of Fear, EVERYTHING is fair! But there's a hell of a price to pay! The Seven Tables of Fear isn't just a fight. It's a whole lot more. It's a virtual lobotomy. The first one _almost_ drove me insane! But I know better this time, and Maurice will know everything I do. PROSTATES! We ain't done! The unknown symphony of the Apocolypse is playing, and we wanna dance! If you have any balls left after the castration we gave you tonight, C'MON ON DOWN! But maybe Allah don't want no more of this muh'fuh, wuh? Down Boys! Keep sending threatening notes to yourselves, cause kiwi knows that ain't _our_ style! NP's! Spend your last happy week in that fantasy world of yours! Cause you know what's gonna happen!? I'm gonna throw ya outta the ring just like at Snow Brawl, only this time there will be a table to catch ya! This time we and we _alone_ will reap the fruits of our labor! And this time, the prophecy long overdue will finally be fulfilled! [Joe Petrow takes a few seconds to compose himself, before the saturated Petrow, unblinking as rain water runs off his face like a river, calmly offers one final comment to the camera] JP: "The most potent weapon of the oppressor is the mind of the oppresed." Steven Biko. We have learned your lesson. No more...no more. [The Sychopath crowd renews their fervor, Petrow and McArthur stare stone-eyed at the camera, and the picture fades to black...] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Natural Predators ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Lights come up on the IIWF sign, Bear and Grey Pheonix walk in from either side] B: Ring Wars...the Spirits are with us again...a win over the Night Patrol has done nothing but help us regain what momentum we had lost. GP: Team Sychosys, you made a BAD mistake taking Tickle Kootchykootchy under your wing. You may think it "justice", or "madness", or just your random "Sychosis"....what it is is just plain stupid. B: 'Cause see, now, YOU'VE allied yourself with the most hated man in the Double Eye. GP: YOU'VE crossed 4-D and transceded the law. B: YOU will be punished. Petrow and McArthur. GP: And the Down Syndrome. B: Flashback rejects.... GP: ...pop up video wannabe... B: ...Flock of Seagulls worshippin'... GP: ...losers. B: Losers. GP: Awesome T, I tell you this. You come to ringside, you cheer your boys on, that's fine. But you get anywhere near my partner or I, you take one step towards us and your boys aren't the only ones who are going to be going through tables. B: Or concrete. You could have been the Cruiserweight champion? Give me a break. You couldn't have handled Alex Rio, let alone Mushy-Mushy. You want to prove your "Skill" ? Sign a match against Kuyler, right before the card even begins? Hell, I'd like to see you try to handle someone who spent years and years in the ring... GP: Enough. Seven Tables. Four opponents. Maurice, you seem to be the most lucid of the four men...guess we'll only put you through one table. Rest of you get to double up. B: And I'd _LOVE_ to hear which one of you cracks first under the force. GP: Neyho neyehe hiyo. B: We shall triumph. And those belts will be back around our waists, where they belong, for a second reign. The most prestigious tag belts in the world. Back where they belong. GP: And we're not just coming at you....we're coming at you in 4-D. [Camera fades.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Serge Annis ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [The camera fades in to the IIWF logo, on the makeshift IIWF interview set, placed in the Democratic Republic of Congo. The set is open to the outside world, with no roof. Therefore, it is raining rather hard, and the claps of thunder are heard, along with the downpour hitting the microphone. The 6'8" Serge Annis walks in front of the camera, with a small trail of crimson blood dripping from his nose. Annis has a big smile on his face though.] SA: Ha ha. That was perhaps one of the most chaotic scenes in IIWF history. Fights going on everywhere. In the crowd. In the ring. Down the aisle. Total madness. Hell, when the fans get involved, something just ain't right. All in all, Wrestle Clean has long since passed away... well, more like it was murdered by the likes of Takezo Musashi, Steve Manning and myself. I'm proud of you guys... [Annis looks up to the skies and rain pours against his face and washes away the blood.] SA: And the best thing about this chaos is... I can't get in trouble for it! Gregg loves to fine me for anything he can, but tonight, and perhaps only tonight, I did nothing wrong! I was attacked from behind by Mad Dog Watkins on my way to the ring... I was the one that was thrown over the barrier into the crowd. Hell, when we finally reached the ring, I thought the match had already started! I was a tad confused to see Joe Petrow in there, but who am I to ask questions? [Annis looks to the camera with a sickening snear.] SA: But Gregg, save the fines you would have spent on me tonight... save them for Ring Wars, because what I plan to do to Mad Dog Watkins is going to cost me, and you, a lot of money.... and a lot more pain. Heh heh... One week Mad Dog. You'd better start digging your grave, because The Epitome of Evil is about to bury you in it. [Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Eddy "Flap" Jacks ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Eddy Jacks leisurely reclines against the rear wall in the IIWF interviewing area. Attired in his typical street gear [black jeans and an "IIWF" t-shirt], the bored-looking Jacks puts the mic to his lips and begins to speak.] EJ: Let's_just_say_I_proved_what_I'm_about. Ain't a wrestler that didn't get a taste o' the pancaker this Saturday that'll stand up an' swear ta god he didn't get his money's worth. Ain't none o' them nine wannabes is gonna stand up an' say fer sure that Jacks is a Ring Wars target. Not_a_one. Marked man, mebbe, but not a mark. Lestat, Fitzgerald, Sampson....yer all just a buncha pugs, pugs I done went out an' hammered not but one week previous. [Pause.] To be 'zact, I ain't trainin' too_damn_hard for this king o' the hill match. Y'see..... [Jacks taps his cranium.] ...ol' Eddy's got a bit o'....whaddya call it...premonition...yeah, that's the word....that's he gonna draw a real high lot. An', seein' as how I'm the biggest man in the fed, I'm gonna step in an' stomp what's left. [Pause.] An' if I get the title shot? Hell, I ain't greedy. I want whoever's got the cruiserweight belt. Ya say that division's got a weight limit? Well, Spready, ya_can't_go_back...a promise is a promise. Shot at the champ o' my choice. Ya see, my goal's ta be the Double-Eye's heaviest cruiser champ. [Jacks pats his massive gut.] Think I'm jokin'? If I win....when I win...I'm gonna get that oh-so-small strap 'round my bloated goddamn waist. [Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Real Deal" Luke Steele ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Fade up to the IIWF interview area. "The Real Deal" Luke Steele stands in front of the camera, a pair of bluejeans and a sweatshirt with the IIWF logo on. His face, a mixture of happiness and despair, looks right into the lense.] LS: Mixed feelings, baby dolls. Mixed feelings. For starters, Stone, you better make a decision quickly, it's either me or the troll doll. And that said, why would you even want to associate yourself with a midget-sized little punk, running around with blue hair and yelling "Oh yeah righteous" all day long? I have a feeling that ol' Moxy Blue has attention deficit disorder, and was subjected to random nap time as a child. Then there's my old friend Christopher Stonebreaker. Stoney, you got a sampling of what it's going to be like next weekend at Ring Wars V. A bucket over the head and a few tap, tap taps with a hammer is a foreshadowing of what I'll do to you with the waterbucket. Then maybe I'll find a use for that pole too. Now Damien Lestat, I'm not sure what exactly your problem is with me, but you and I are going to have to settle this, fast. Here's what I'm proposing -- you and I, in the ring, the first show after Ring Wars. Take your time to think about it, talk it over with Mr. Coolie. I'm sure he knows just how hot Luke Steele is, worldwide and locally. Make sure Mr. Coolie has a front row seat, cover him in plastic. Because when I'm done with you, your face is going to be oozing more than usual. I'm outta here, baby dolls. See you at the big show in England. [Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "To Excess" Rick Williams ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Scene opens to the IIWF interview area, where the gum-chewing "To Excess" Rick Williams stands, waiting to speak. Still dressed in his ring attire, he appears extremely pleased with himself. Spitting the stick of gum to the floor, he stares directly at the camera as he begins to speak.] RW: Have you heard? Have you heard the one about the Scotsman and the Welshman? Macbeth and Warnett... the greatest jokes the IIWF's produced since good ol' Highwayman, himself. Now, we all know about Marty's resident court jester abilities, but Dunc, I'd never have picked you for the village idiot role. You see, _Dunc_, I really enjoyed your comments last week, regarding "To Excess"... remember Dunc, when you amusingly claimed that Rick Williams is a "former number one contender" to your IC Title, because good ol' Spreads couldn't sell the match. [Williams shakes his head in amusement as he contemplates his preceding comments.] Who're you trying to fool, Dunc? Me? The fans? Dross? Or is it yourself? Your claim to be a fighting champion is as idiotic as Spreadbury saying Lebec is the number one contender to that belt. Make all the excuses you want, Dunc, but you and I both know that Rick Williams is the number one contender in everything but name. So why don't we put everything in perspective here, _Dunc_. You call me out not during all those weeks you have the belt, but when you're accused of not being a fighting champ, and when you've already got your soft defense lined up, trying to push Reverend Crackpot off a barge. Well, I'll be cheering you on, _Dunc_... and waiting for you to defend against the number one contender... the _real_ one, that is. [Shrugging his shoulders in an apparent mixture of amusement and disgust, Williams proceeds.] And then there's the other Celt, my tag team _partner_, the ever gullible Marty Warnett. So tell me, Marty, are _you_ the one who's afraid of the darkness? How did it feel inside that blindfold, not knowing what I was gonna do next? I hope you enjoyed it, Marty, because that was just for starters. I could have finished you there and then, but I'm saving the main course for next week... and I gotta tell you... I'm feeling pretty damn hungry. [Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "The Demon" Damien Lestat ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [From the left, the familiar cackling and slobbering sounds of "The Demon" Damien Lestat are heard. A moment later, a now-naked Lestat prances into sight and, thankfully, holding Mr. Coolie in front of his privates. The maniacal one still giggles from the matches events and looks down at his kinda-ugly nude body] DL: Awwwwwww s