C + O + U + N + T + D + O + W + N T + O ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __| | || | \ v v / | __| |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| ______ ______ \ \ / / _______ \ \ ___ /__ / | ____ \ _______ __ \____ \ | | /| | / __ _____ _____ | | \ \/_ _| \ | |/ ___\ \ | | _/ | | / / \ | __ \/ ____| | |___/ / | | | \| | / __ \ | |/ \| |/ / /\ \ | |_> | /____ | ____ < | | | \ \ |/ /_ \ \ | / /\ \ | / ____ \| __ <\____ \ | | \ \_| |_| |\ |\___\ \ \| / \ |/ / \ \ | \ \____\ \ |_| |_|____/|_| \_|______/ |_/ /\_|\/ \/_| |_|______/ \ / \ / \______/ [The shot opens with the usual Countdown set, with a few additions. Rather than than the two chairs there is a full complement of four chairs spread around the low table. The first chair on the left is occupied by Larry Morton, in his usual seat, followed by Steve Roberts, with his trademark leather jacket partially covering a black t-shirt with red letters reading "SLUMMING". The third seat holds Tim Dross with his still as yet unfamiliar bald head glistening in the bright studio lights. The fourth chair is empty.] LM: Welcome to this very special edition of Countdown...this is Countdown to Ring Wars 5! We are a scant twenty-four hours away from the premier event in the wrestling industry! I am joined tonight by the two men who will be at ringside for the entire extravaganza as well as being the hosts of the show that has defined wrestling commentary shows over the last year...the IIWF's own Tim Dross and "Soundbite" Steve Roberts! SR: That's the Black Jesus, Morton, and his sidekick, Pepe! TD: Steve Roberts aside, I'm very glad to join you on this broadcast, Larry. SR: What are you sucking up to him for? Moron is the bottom of the barrel around here and you are sitting beside the cream of the crop...the icing on the cake...the smile on the Mona Lisa...the guy who knows why Ashley Judd turned out so much better than the rest of the family...the messiah of wrestling..."Soundbite" Steve Roberts! TD: In defense of Larry...the bottom of the barrel? What about Steve Summer? Dave Bacon? Victoria Von Edward? SR: Hey, I kind of like Bacon...all fried and crispy. Other than that...you've got a point. Congratulations, Larry! You're my new favorite announcer who I don't have to work with on a regular basis! LM: Um...yes. We have been scheduled to be joined on this broadcast by a former IIWF Champion, Deathbringer, to add his commentary but I don't think that Deathbringer will arrive here, after all he was scheduled to appear right at the beginning of the show and ... [As if to prove Larry wrong, heavy fog emerges from somewhere off the screen, rapidly engulfing everything and everyone who can be seen on the set.] LM: What's going on here? SR: I have a feeling ... TD: [interrupting] Steve, please! SR: What do you want, Dross? I just wanted to say that I've got a feeling that we're going to be joined by the promised co-host in just a few seconds. [Indeed, two piercing red eyes become visible through the fog and as the view clears up, Deathbringer is sitting amongst Dross, Roberts and Morton. He looks around, then focuses on the camera as if to say something, but he's cut short by Morton.] LM: Ladies and gentleman, it seems that our final co-host has finally managed to join us here on "COUNTDOWN TO RINGWARS 5"! Welcome, Deathbringer! [Deathbringer stares at Morton, his eyes saying "Who do you think you are that you dare to cut me off?". The Dark Destroyer remains silent, while Larry looks as if he feels more and more uncomfortable.] SR: Looks as if you offended my big buddy here, Morton. You know, my daddy once said... [Deathbringer turns around to Roberts, who, too, starts to look rather uncomfortable, as the Reaper himself begins to speak in his low, growling voice] DB: Listen up, Roberts, listen up, Morton, and you listen too, Dross: Tonight I am here for one reason and one reason only... because the officials of the IIWF wanted me to be here... So here I am... but get this straight... if I _HAVE_ to be here, then we at least will do it my way, you understand that? [Dross, Morton and Roberts look at each other, then at Deathbringer and nod.] DB: That is nice... You may continue, Morton... LM: Thank you very much indeed, Deathbringer, and thank you for joining us tonight as we prevue the exciting pay-per-view that is coming your way tomorrow night, Ring Wars 5! ------------------------------------------------------------------------ IIWF World Heavyweight Championship Death in Darkness Match: Steve "the Fury" Kowalski vs. "Savage" Shadoe Rage ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: In a night full of exciting matches, none captures the attention more than the one that tops off the card! TD: I would have to agree with you, Larry. Shadoe Rage has been itching to get his hands on the Fury ever since he became the King of the Snow Brawl and earned the right to pick his own opponents in the month of February. DB: [shaking his head] Now just look how far the IIWF has come. Not a year ago no one would have cared about this match, and now it becomes interesting as it is for the title. You know, I think the Fury is an undeserved champion, and the Savage is an undeserved challenger. And perhaps even more undeserving is the title of this match... Death in Darkness... [again shaking his head] SR: Oh, c'mon big man, tell us who you think will win it and ... DB: [staring at Roberts once again] Roberts, maybe it is getting time for you to pray to god for mercy so that I will not take you six feet under right now, right here! SR: [raising his voice] You want to intimidate me? If it wasn't for my bad back... TD: [interrupting] Please... Deathbringer, Steve Roberts... just don't let things escalate here, okay? LM: Yes, I'd appreciate that, too. DB: [turning towards the camera and shaking his head again] Seems as if this is your lucky day, Roberts... Anyway, you want to hear who I think will win this match? Well, despite the fact that I could not care less about this bout, I guess it is the challenger who will be walking away with the title. You know there will not be any run-ins from other wrestlers, the locked door rules guarantee this. It is something that I had asked for myself in the Death Match against Dan... SR: [talking to himself] Oh, again with those old stories, I think I'm getting sick... DB: [pausing briefly, then continuing as if he didn't understand Roberts, this causing Dross and Morton to heave a sigh of relief] ... against Dan Kauffman and it worked quite well. However, this is always a disadvantage for a champion, who wants to defend the title at all costs, as he cannot have a backup-team waiting to intervene in the locker room area. It gets even worse if you look at the clause stating the title can change hands on disqualifications, too... TD: [slightly irritated] Excuse me, Deathbringer, but what kind of tactics are you proposing there right now? Does not sound like anything we have ever seen of you? DB: [turning towards Dross] Right you are, Dross, those are not my kind of tactics, but ... [turning to Roberts] I have heard of mortals, who tend to use such strategies instead of hard training to become a superior wrestler. SR: [again raising his voice] Would ya tell me just what you're hinting at right now? DB: [unusually reserved] Oh, nothing Roberts, it just that ... TD: Please do not start this again, will you? DB: ...some mortal individuals like Requiem came into my mind. SR: Oh. DB: Yes, oh... So all in all I would pick Shadoe Rage as the winner of the main event. SR: To use your own kind of lingo, Dead Guy, it will be a cold day in hell before Rage can put down the Fury, baby dolls! We're going to see some Skullpumpin' and the Savage one will be but a shadow of his former Shadoe self when all is said and done! TD: I think that our big friend here is in the minority...first in his lack of interest in this big main event and in his opinion that Shadoe can pull it off. This doesn't call down Rage at all it's just that Steve Kowlaski has been unstoppable since getting the title. LM: Of course, every title reign has to end...but not today, I think. Both competitors had things to share with us on the eve of the big match. Let's roll the tape. [The heart-saddening piano sounds of Black Sabbath’s ‘Changes’ starts up. Screen, still black, fades in and out words depicting the scenes following them. The first word is...] FEARLESS [Fade in the famous events that led to the highest point in Genesis’ existence. A bloody Kowalski fights off Cold Spell outside the ring, as a waiting Requiem watches with great interest from the safety of the apron. The fight fades to white, then back to black...] FOOLISH [A blast from the past eases in. A baseball bat carrying Fury, swings wildly at Mr. Damage...missing by a mile! CRACK! Steve is leveled by the Thunder from Down under’s cricket bat. Splinters fly and scatter, as the stunned Fury falls to his knees, then face first. The picture blurs again.] BRASH [Cut to a series of classic Kowalski events: Kowalski sitting on President Spreadbury’s Mercedes, dragging the scale into the IIWF Tower, practicing his golf swing just out of Brody Thunder’s view, spraying WD-40 on the damaged tricycle, badmouthing Steve Owens at the Fury/IIWF scandal trial of ’97, putting ‘Troy’ in the torture rack! Black again.] VILLAIN [A reverse zoom from the bloody IIWF Gauntlet. The camera keeps backing out, showing Kowalski over Joe Petrow, waving the gauntlet over his head. Ending what many have considered what could have been one of the best singles runs that never happened. Fade...] ANTI-HERO [The mass of people is immense. Only opening to make way for the Fury to drag the Sandman over to the keg of Molson Ice. A second later, the most unique ‘tapping’ in history occurs! The New Jersey Nightmare, Skullpump the Sandman onto the keg, exploding into a shower of beer and cheers. Blur out.] HERO [Unlike the rest of the film footage, this grainy black and white clip is obviously from a hand held camera. At a hospital of some sort, Steve Kowalski sits on the bed of a small girl. The lass is clutching a Steve ‘The Furry’ Kowalski teddy bear, while the champ holds her little hand. Noticing that he is being filmed, he just smirks and covers the lens with his hand. Fade...] IT MIGHT BE YOUR FIRST TIME [The old Wednesday War Room entranceway is shown as IIWF newbie Steve Kowalski walks through the curtain. Still an unknown in the big leagues, the young man draws little heat from the crowd...not that he cares. A quick cut to the IIWF’s first Skullpump, shows a much different reaction! The cult legend is born.] IT COULD BE HIS LAST TIME [Once again a series of Kowalski down spots are shown: Marty Warnett pinning the Fury, Santa Thunder clocking him with a giant candy cane, Serge Annis hitting with the Epitomizer, Creed with a spinebuster, Watkins dropping him with Every Dog Has Its Day, sprawled out on the parking lot curb.] IT'S NOW OR NEVER RING WARS 5 THE RAGE... THE FURY... THE LAST GREAT ANTI-HERO WATCH HIM ONE MORE TIME [Fade] [Fade in: The camera studies the old abandoned church that we have seen before as the centre of Shadoe Rage's torments. The snow has piled up high on the barren, deserted landscape. The scene is stark and cold, empty. As the camera pans along the empty, joyless scene Shadoe Rage's voice materialises over the gloom. It is gravelly and cold, empty and hollow.] SR: [voiceover] Steve Kowalksi ... the clock has ticked down to single digits. Tomorrow night I step in the ring with you. They say you are the fiercest competitor in all of the IIWF. They say you are the toughest man in the sport, the most vicious, the most ferocious. They say that I may have finally ... finally ... met that one challenge that I cannot surmount. [bitter laughter] Steve Kowalksi ... I met and lost that challenge a long time ago. [The camera pans to the broken church, focussing on the shattered stainglass.] SR: Steve Kowalksi ... you're the _man_. Regardless of what happens. Regardless of how badly beaten you are in this fight you will _always_ be the man. But _I_ am a _GOD_. A God on Earth. You have to understand the difference Kowalski if you are ever going to outlast me. If you are ever going to subdue me. You will never beat me, Kowalski. You have to outsmart me. You have to outlast me. You have to wrestle a perfect match and capitalise on all my mistakes. [The camera begins to march inexorably to the church door.] SR: You have marched into a kingsom of my own madness. You have bought yourself into the private hell of a madman. A mad god. Fragmented, deranged, twisted beyond all recognition. How are you going to contend with all the odds being against you. How are you going to cope with the Rage ... the madness of the Gods that thunders from on high. I shall be coming for you, Steve Kowalski. And all your fury will not be enough to save you. [The doors to the church burst open and the camera weaves its way through the rows of pews, past the polluted holy water to the steps to the basement.] SR: You are walking into the private hell of a man. You are looking to enter my world. My world of pain and try to kill the God in the middle of his kingdom. Well, in the Rage and chaos I rule. You saw that in the Republic of the Congo. I cannot be beaten. I will not be beaten. [The camera edges its way down the stairs into the dank, into the dark, into the cold. The rotten steps creak and groan with every fotstep. The basement floor is dank, steaming. No light except for that which comes from the camera. Broken bits of wood line the floor. Junk and garbaage lie in piles. The camera lifts up ... and freezes. Shadoe Rage is strapped to the splinters of a cross. He is dirty, obviously cold. His eyes stare a thousand miles into space, past sanity into the realm of the madness. The eye are eyes which are haunted, eyes which have seen far too much and have imagined even worse. They are insane eyes. Dishevelled, his body streaked with grime, his wrists and ankles chafed, Shadoe, perhaps for the first time, looks like he has completely lost it. The man is gone and what is left in its place is something crazy, something insane and blasphemous. He wrenches at the straps knotting him to the cross, pulling and twisting as his wrists part and begin to bleed. He struggles to his feet under the weight of the cross, dragging the heavy piece of wood towards the camera.] SR: KOWALSKI!!! THIS IS MY LEGACY!!! THIS IS MY GODHOOD! You cannot break me! You cannot beat me! On March 21, 1998 you are going to be stepping into the private hell of a man who has lost everything that has been important to him ... a man who has been broken ... beaten ... violated in every way known to man. So now, now, you have become an obsession, Kowalski. For too long, I've been the also ran. And you are going to see that the RAge will not bend. He will not bow. You saw ... nobody can hold me. The era of WRESTLE CLEAN was destroyed. It was brought down into shambles by the Rages. And you think you ... one mere mortal man. You think you can stop the Enemy of the World? Wembley Stadium shall be the setting for the madness of God. It shall be the day I rewrite the face of the IIWF. And Steve Roberts ... you will finally understand exactly who is the Black Jesus of the IIWF. [The camera hesitantly closes in on the madness in Shadoe Rage's eye stirring like a tempest in a teapot.] SR: Kowalski ... I beg you ... end this Rage if you can. I want to feel the Fury. SKULLPUMP GODDAMMIT!!! I want the SKULLPUMP!!! Because on the seventh day ... Shadoe Rage was born. And that's been the _worst_ day ever since. And on the seventh day ... when you finally come to after having been lost in the Darkness you too will say ... the Shadoe ... HE KILLED ME! Goodbye ... time for you to die. I kiss your ass goodnight! You will Die in _Darkness!!!_ [The camera closes in on Shadoe Rage's right eye. Fire and brimstone burn in his eyes. Lightning flashes. Thunder claps as the camera goes too deep inside the painful and personal hell of a man who has but one goal, one shot at redemption. Pray for him. Pray for all of you. Fade out.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ IIWF Intercontinental Championship Thames Barge Match: Duncan Macbeth vs. "The Savior" Simon Lebec ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: Duncan Macbeth, who has come under fire of late for his lack of title defenses by our very own Tim Dross, faces off against the man who has made his life a nightmare, Simon Lebec. TD: I have received word recently that Macbeth fought many of his recent tag matches at the request of Timothy Turner, but that doesn't change the fact that he didn't put his title on the line. SR: That Cheesecake! He wouldn't defend his title and now he has stopped MacBean from defending his! He takes the Soundbite Stall to all new levels! LM: He is certainly defending his title now as he is facing off with Lebec on a barge on the Thames! To win you have to throw your opponent off the barge and into the water! DB: Whenever I look at matches like this, I begin to wonder what is going on in the minds of the other IIWF wrestlers and officials. A match, taking place on a barge on the River Thames. A match, that may be ended only by pinfall, submission, or by one wrestler being thrown overboard by the other. SR: [clapping his hands] Unbelievable, I had never thought that a dead man was able to remember more than one sentence describing a matchup here in the IIWF... Really unbelievable... DB: [standing up and taking a piece of paper out the cowl] Roberts, it might be by accident, but right here I have a list containing all the items one needs if he plans to be buried on my very own graveyard. There are some really cheap caskets on it, maybe you can afford one of those. I think it is getting time ... LM: [interrupting] Gentlemen, would you please stop this and join us again in commentating these matches? DB: [sitting down after dropping the piece of paper in front of Roberts, who takes it and tosses it somewhere behind him] What I wanted to say, was that I cannot believe that the IIWF officials really agree to let such matches happen without being bribed or threatened by the participants. TD: Well, I can remember some matches pitting _you_ against former IIWF superstars which were far more dangerous and, if I may say that, unnecessarily brutal than this one, and I can't believe that you bribed or threatened the officials to get those matches? DB: [being silent for a few seconds before continuing to speak] As I said, I can't believe that such matches are agreed to voluntarily. [Dross seems to be astonished about the last few words and Deathbringer notices the look on his face] Well, Dross, let me just say that you always need at least two wrestlers to allow a match to take place. But back to this encounter. I see it ending with Simon Lebec tossing Macbeth overboard after both of them have used dozens of items lying around on the barge. SR: You're thinking about anchors and ropes? DB: And planks and rudders, right... Yes, I have to pick Lebec in this one. SR: I can't believe we actually agree on something big guy! If it's a match between a tough guy and a crazy guy...I've got to go with the nutcase. Maybe we'll get lucky and the Savior will fix it so we don't have to listen to Scotty blather on in that bizarre manner he has. TD: I think that Lebec will be the one to hit the drink. Macbeth is a great athlete and a tough customer. I think I gave him a bit of a wake-up call on Inside...that combined with the elimination of Turner as a factor means we are not only going to see Duncan give it all but this pay-per-view will be followed by a run of greatness equalled only by the likes of Kauffman, Quigley, and Kowalski. I honestly think Duncan has it in him. LM: I have to go with you, Tim. Lebec's best shots on Macbeth have come from behind. There will be no place to hide tomorrow night! Let's hear from the champ. [SCENE: It is late at night in the heart of London, England, and the huge city glows with millions of lights through a thin mist which hangs over the waterfront along the River Thames. From the camera's position on the Westminster Bridge, we see a northward shot up the Thames of Cleopatra's Needle and the Hungerford Bridge in front of it, which then slowly begins to pan down the Victoria Embankment, past Charing Cross and the stately government buildings that line Whitehall, turning westward to reveal the vast expanse of St. James' Park in the distance, and finally coming to rest on two of the most famous buildings in all of civilization - the Houses of Parliament, with its instantly recognizable clock tower rising into the black London night sky, and beyond it, Westminster Abbey, which has seen a thousand years of London's history -- and on Saturday night, will be witness to yet another chapter in the history of this great city. As Big Ben begins to toll eleven o'clock high up in the clock tower of Parliament, joined after a few moments by the bells of the Abbey, the resounding peals are soon superseded by the sputtering roar of a motorcycle, which grows louder and louder until finally, a blue and silver BMW cruiser enters the foreground of the shot, screeching to a halt just a few feet from the camera. The motorcycle's rider, clad in black leather and a matching black helmet with a red lion emblazoned on the front, dismounts and steps over to the guardrail, looking across at the Houses of Parliament, then turning his attention to the Thames itself, staring for long moments into the black waters of the mighty river, and watching boats pass back and forth underneath the bridge. Farther down the river, a large, hulking river barge is at anchor in the middle of the Thames, and several small boats are tied up to it, as IIWF work crews toil away on board under the harsh glare of work lights, preparing the barge to serve as the Ring Wars 5 battleground for Simon Lebec and IIWF Intercontinental Champion Duncan Macbeth. The rider contemplates the scene on the barge, nodding his approval at the crew's progress, then finally pulls off his helmet, revealing a thick mane of ruddy-blond hair, and Duncan Macbeth turns to the camera, his gaze sweeping across the London skyline. The Scot looks extremely confident as his gaze settles on the camera, and the gleam in his green eyes suggests a man who is prepared to win on Saturday night - at any cost.] DM: 'Tis guid t' be back 'ere in London town. Haven't had th' pleasure in a lang, lang time, wha'. An' I can think of no greater pleasure t' bring me back 'ere than th' opportunity t' get me hands around th' neck o' tha' Bible-thumpin' bastard, th' so-called "Savior", Simon Lebec, down there on board th' steel deck o' tha' barge. I've been waitin' fer this, Lebec. I've been bleedin' ACHIN' fer it. When I could barely open me eyes in th' mornin', when e'en th' faintest bit o' light would be like daggers in me eyes after ye poured vinegar in 'em, I thought about this. When I was on th' gurney, bein' stretchered out o' the TV studio after ye backstabbed me on th' "Countdown" show, of all places, I thought about this. Every time th' vertigo, th' dizziness an' th' nausea would hit me, when jus' walkin' a straight line would feel like bein' on a bleedin' carnival ride, I thought about this. An' when I lay on th' concrete in th' Congo after ye brought tha' steel chair down across me back, an' they carried me away from th' ring one more time, I thought about this. [Macbeth brushes a stray lock of rust hair out of his eyes, and he shakes his head, eyes narrowing as behind them, a long-simmering rage begins to boil.] No more, Lebec. No more. Ye've had a pretty guid run 'gainst me, tosser. Ye've managed t' get away wi' more silly buggers, get in more unanswered cheap shots, than a lot o' men whose boots ye're no' worthy t' carry. Ye've done everythin' ye can t' bang me up in th' weeks leadin' up t' this Saturday, thinkin' tha' ye could soften me up fer th' big day. Now, 'gainst any other man, tha' might o' been a smart idea. In this case, though, ye've pretty much BUGGERED yuirself, "Showstopper". Ye tipped yuir hand far too soon, Lebec. If ye'd hae been a guid boy, an' saved yuir cowardly ways fer Ring Wars, ye may have been facing th' auld Duncan Macbeth on Saturday. Th' Macbeth who would hae tried t' fight by th' rules, who would hae been worried about 'is standin' wi' th' fans, an' settin' a guid example. Th' Macbeth tha' used t' "Wrestle Clean". Th' Macbeth ye might have been able t' beat. Maybe. But ye did a VERY stupid thing, Lebec. Ye woke me up. An' now, tosser, ye haven't a hope in HELL 'gainst me! 'Cause where I once would hae held back, now I'll no' stop until I see ye BLEED, until I hear yuir bones CRACK like matchsticks, until I choke th' wind out o' ye an' watch yuir broken, bloody body sink 'neath th' waves o' the Thames! Fer weeks, ye've been pokin' an' proddin' an' tormentin' me like a caged lion, Lebec. On Saturday nigh', ye're goin' t' be locked in th' cage wi' tha' very same lion. Ye ken, me cousin Andrew was righ' when 'e said I'd gone soft, tha' I'd lost me focus, tha' I wasn't th' wrestler I once was anymore. But it was YE, Lebec, tha' proved 'e was righ'. More's th' pity fer YE. 'Tis funny, is it no'... in a way, ye're MY "Savior". [Macbeth walks over to his motorcycle and reaches into one of the saddlebags, pulling out the glistening IIWF Intercontinental Title, and holds the ornate strap up un front of him as his voice drops to a threatening baritone and he spits his words at the camera.] Take a guid, lang look at this belt, "Showstopper". 'Cause I promise ye, this is th' LAST look ye're goin' t' get at it fer a very lang time. Ye ken, there are still those out there tha' think tha' I don't have wha' it takes t' keep this title. It's jus' too bad tha' sae very few o' them are actually ranked contenders, although 'twas guid t' see las' Monday tha' Rick Williams, who was euchred by Lebec fer th' number-one spot, is actually still alive. I heard tha' Spreadbury was goin' t' send a crew over t' 'is apartment t' check fer bad smells under th' door, wha'. But this Saturday nigh', I'm goin' t' demonstrate jus' WHY I'm th' Intercontinental Champion. An' Simon Lebec... ye're goin' t' get a first-hand demonstration. Still readin' yuir Scriptures, "Showstopper"? Or have ye tired o' tha' lame attempt at revivin' yuir fortunes yet? Well, jus' in case ye're still readin' th' Guid Book, let me throw one more bit o' learnin' at ye: [Macbeth's eyes seem to glow of their own accord under the glare of the streetlights on the Westminster Bridge, as he recites the following passage with the fervour of an Episcopalian minister.] "To me belongeth vengeance, an' recompense; their foot shall slide in due time: for th' day o' their calamity is at hand, an' th' things tha' shall come upon them make haste." Tha' was Deuteronomy again, chapter 32, verse 35. Ol' Deuteronomy was my kind o' man, wha'. 'E was writin' in tha' bit about th' wrath o' God 'imself. [A chilling smile spreads across Macbeth's face, and he leans into the camera, jade eyes blazing.] But when I get through wi' ye on th' deck o' tha' barge on Saturday nigh', Lebec, ye'll no' be able t' tell th' difference between God's wrath... ...an' MINE. [With that, Macbeth pulls the helmet back over his head, and looks back over the bridge once more at the anchored barge in the middle of the Thames before climbing back on board the big BMW. The Scot kicks the bike into life and guns the throttle with a roar, launching the motorcycle across the bridge towards Parliament Square and St. James' Park. The rumbling of the engine grows fainter, and his taillights slowly fade into the mist as the scene fades out on the image of the illuminated Houses of Parliament.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ IIWF Cruiserweight Championship Cage Match: "Enigma" Takezo Musashi vs. Icehawk ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: A match that could spell the end of one man's career. Icehawk, still recovering from the horrible injuries suffered at the hands of the Cruiserweight Champion, is back for another shot at Musashi. SR: Icehawk is flirting with disaster. He is going to end as a little Finnish smear somewhere in a cage in Wembley. DB: I really do not want to say too much about this bout. The Cruiserweight champion title here in the IIWF is of no importance to me, whatsoever. SR: Yeah, because you could never mess with the likes of Icehawk or Musashi, isn't that right? DB: [sounding evily] Is it not enough if I am able to finish you off, Roberts? What do you think, how would it feel if I did take a close look at your _BAD_ back and ... TD & LM: PLEASE! DB: As I said, not too much comments about this one. Just this: I am going with the "Enigma" as the winner. Icehawk simply is not the right man to defeat Musashi. TD: At one hundred percent I would disagree with you, but as is...I don't think any man who is not at the top of his game could beat the Engima. LM: I think I can sum up the feeling sof many of Icehawk's fans who are hoping more that he leaves the cage under his own power rather than actually hoping that he wins. SR: The hell with that! Soundbite wants to see Cold Boy snap like a twig! It would be almost as much fun as watching Ms. Miki in a co-ed jello wrestling bout! LM: Against whom? SR: That would be the Black Jesus, baby dolls. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ IIWF World Tag Team Championship Seven Tables of Fear Match: Down Boys vs. Natural Predators vs. Team Sychosys ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: The tag champs face the former champs and the team that has been becoming a major force in the tag division! DB: Now this is an interesting one. And I guess it will be a close one, too. Do not even believe that this match will be dominated by any team. Afterall, we will be seeing three of the greatest tag teams ever in the IIWF in action against each other... and against those seven tables. SR: Yeah, those seven tables would really scare you, if _you_ had to face them, right? [laughs] DB: You will be at ringside during that match, Roberts, will you not? Maybe I come down there, too, and then I could introduce you to each and every one of those tables, what do you think? I wonder whether I would become tag team champion then... TD: Now that is something I doubt. SR: And I... DB: [interrupting] ... better remain silent now... [Roberts takes this as an offence and turns away from Deathbringer, who continues to talk] A pick... Hard to say, but I would go with the Natural Predators. After all they have shown their talent here in the IIWF more than once, and I really cannot see the Team Sychosys nor the Down Boys defeating them in this one. But it will be a close outcome, anyway. TD: Deathbringer, I wonder whether you will ever join the tag team ranks here in the IIWF? Rumors have that you thought about something like that. DB: Now that are definitely just rumors, Dross. Sure, I currently have some problems with the Harlequins, but this will not cause me to become a tag team wrestler, although I was quite successful in tag team contests in other leagues... But that was several years ago. Hope the answer satisfies you, Dross. TD: It sure does. LM: I'm sure it satisfies the other teams in the tag division as well! TD: While I agree that these are three great teams, I think that the roll Team Sychosys has been on puts them at the top of the heap. SR: Who cares? The Predators are boring and the Down Boys are fruitcakes. Crazy Joe has some talent but he's wasting it with the little general. Once a jobber, always a jobber. End of story. LM: So who do you pick to win? SR: Well, I guess Petrow could beat up both other teams by himself so he's the man! LM: I have to disagree with all of you. I think that despite holding the belts, the Down Boys are still the most under-rated team in the league. They dress strange and act likewise but underneath they have a lot of skills to spring on adversaries. All three teams were ready for comments this week. [The screen turns into a shot of Wembley Stadium in London, England. A deep, evil sounding voiceover starts, not unlike the guy who does the NFL Films voiceovers:] VO: London, England. For thousands of years, London has withstood invasions of all kinds. From Napoleon to Hitler, through it all, London has managed to withstand it all. [Camera shot of explosions, then rubble, with the Big Ben clock tower still standing] VO: But when the IIWF invades London, there may be one thing that London can't withstand... [Adam Peterson and Dan Oliver burst through the camera shot, Dan wearing platform sneakers that have "DANI" written on the side, while Adam wears very short and tight camouflage shorts and top.] AP: Ya bloody hell got us, sunshine! DO: YEAH!!! ["Wannabe" by the Spice Girls begins to play as the Down Boys skip (with Dani tripping a few times due to the platforms) away from the camera and outside, where they climb into a red double decker bus with a Union Jack painted on the top of it. Before they climb in, Adam stops Dan] AP: Hey Danny, how does my ass look in these shorts? DO: I don't know...Soundbite? [Camera shot of a cardboard cutout of Steve Roberts, with a voice balloon coming from him that reads "A-OK", with him giving the "thumbs up" sign] AP: ALRIGHT! Let's go! [Adam Peterson jumps behind the wheel of the bus and begins to drive at high speed. Running stop signs and red lights, Adam continues to drive the bus on the right hand side of the road, hitting small dogs and sending them flying through the air] DO: Bloody hell, Adam, I'm hungry! AP: Bloody really? Let's eat! [Adam and Dan pull over the bus and run into a pub, then bring out bags and get back into the bus, where you can hear the squeal of a cat] AP: Whaddya get, Danny? DO: I got a deep fried Mars Bar! Ummmmm-hmmmmm! You? AP: I just got some mayonnaise...hey, wanna share? [Danny jams the Mars Bar in the mayo and bites a chunk off, then gives it to Adam, who does the same] DO & AP: MMMMMMMMMMMMM! That's good!!! DO: Ain't nothing like English cuisine!!! [The bus suddenly grinds to a screeching halt, and the Down Boys get a very serious look on their face.] AT: WHAT in the HELL...do you think you're doing? [Dan and Adam get off of the bus and look down at the ground, not making eye contact with Awesome T, who stands in front of the bus, hands on his hips] AT: Cut the crap. You have a very, friggin' important match on Saturday, and your eatin' friggin deep fried candy bars and mayonnaise. Just...go. [T shakes his head and walks away from the DB's, who just look at each other. Fade.] [The screen flashes chaotically as the intro for "Was Geht Ab?" on VIVA! begins. German VJ Stefan Raab stands in front of Wembley Stadium, where the IIWF is in preparations for Ring Wars V.] SR: Hallo, wie geht's? Heiss ich Stefan Raab, und heute haben wir mit uns, leib von England, dem Amerikanisher "Tag Team", Bär und Grau Phoenix , Der "Naturlicher Räubern !" [Kuyler and his team come on screen, smiling, as Stefan shakes each one's hand in turn] KG: I hope you don't mind if we do the interview in English. Mein Deutsch-sprachen sind ein bißchen rostig. [Stefan smiles] SR: Not at all. It's good you know at least a little German, though. KG: I spent several years wrestling in Europe myself before I became a manager. SR: Tomorrow night, you and your boys will once again have the chance to earn the tag team championship of the IIWF. The IIWF is very well received in Germany, and the Naturlicher Räubern are one of the most popular teams. GP: [smiles] Nice to know we have international appeal... SR: We'll begin our interview with the Räubern...the Predators... in just a moment. Kuyler, would you do the honor of introducing our next video? KG: Of course. Ladies and Gentlemen, up next, a Swedish group who's earned everyone's attention throughout the world with perky songs like "Barbie Girl" and "Candyman". Here's Aqua with "Dr. Jones". Enjoy! [Fade to the Aqua video, terminally happy music in a jungle setting. As the song ends, fade back to Stefan and the Predators] SR: Welcome back, I'm here with the Natural Predators. So, exactly who is it you're facing tomorrow night? GP: Team Sychosys and the Down Boys in a Seven Tables of Fear match. SR: And whoever breaks the most tables with their opponents' bodies wins, yes? GP: Basically. SR: Bear, you're close to four hundred pounds and almost seven feet. I would imagine you're fairly confident about this match. B: It's a big match. I'm a big man. It's a match about being the strongest man, and I am the IIWF's strongman. SR: After your victory over Eddy Ramos, there is no doubt of that. Why would you sign such a dangerous match though? KG: The Predators are about survival, Stefan. Life itself is a challenge, and if you back down from everything that's dangerous, you never succeed. The Tag Team Championship is something worth risking your career for. SR: I understand you were a champion yourself when you were a wrestler. KG: That's right. SR: How does it feel to manage champions as opposed to being one? KG: When Bear and Grey Phoenix put the pin on Alex Porteaux, it ensured their spot in history. As well as my own. If a team really matters, you try to guide them and you share a little in the reflective glory. So when they won, it was like me winning all over again. Only less individual, and more like family. SR: Grey Phoenix, You've been wrestling for years...and in this team you became a superstar almost instantly. How does that feel? GP: Stefan, some people have asked me why I bother. I'm the small guy, Bear is close to four hundred pounds, a tag team in and of himself. Do I pull my weight? Am I worth the spot I hold on the Predators? Hell yeah. Bear and I are a perfect balance of speed and power, experience and youth. The Tag Team ranks are always hard to succeed in because you _have_ to be a team, and not just two individuals to succeed. And we make a good team. SR: We need to take a commercial break, followed by another video. Grey Phoenix, will you do the honors? GP: Of course. After the break, a battle of American bands that could easily read on any main event card in the Double I. Run DMC vs. Jason Nevins with "It's Like That". ["Werbung" sign comes up, and a series of commercials, followed by the video for "It's like that". Fade up on Stefan and Predators] SR: Welcome back. Bear, I wanted to ask you, when you started, you were an instant fan favorite. Could you ever see yourself as a "heel"? B: I don't think so. See, when we debuted last year, I was officially "Neutral"....didn't care much one way or the other. Kuy told us that we should always be what is needed most. And the fans needed someone to look up to. Even today, other than the American Dragons, and the Sycopath following, are there any real fan favorites in the IIWF's tag team ranks? SR: There are a few in the European division, but what you say is true. I understand you have an animated series coming out in syndication based loosely on you. [Kuyler laughs] KG: Yeah. "Predators 3000". Something taken from the Shirow fans about power suits and alien invaders. SR: I see. Does it have anything to do with wrestling? KG: No. Though there are references to wrestlers in it. SR: Will 4-D make an appearance in it? KG: The first 13 episodes were completed before 4-D was formed. So if and when it gets renewed, 4-D may play a much larger role in it. SR: Which other wrestlers are mentioned? GP: Well, the "Down Children", retro-rebels who are mostly ineffective and lash out at everyone....the "Lost Ones", who have given their forms to be used by the aliens...sort of a "They Walk among us" thing.... B: "Sykotics", test subjects of the aliens who went mad and are unpredictable.... GP: And more than a few characters based on singles wrestlers. You'll have to see it to figure those out, though. Can't give away all our secrets. SR: We have a clip here for the viewers. Let's take a look. [clip of good quality animation, though not anime, of Bear, Wolf, and a beautiful woman running down the streets, strafed from above by "Cycle gliders". They duck into an alley] GP: We're cornered. B: Lucy, we're not going to make it.... L: You two go on ahead...I... [an explosion blows apart part of the wall, collapsing it on her legs] B: Lucy! L: Go on! We can't all be caught..I'll hold them off..... GP: [grabs Bear's arm] Come on....we can't stay. B: I won't leave her! L: You have to! Go! [Bear and Grey Phoenix reluctantly do, as she rips a necklace off, focusing on it, letting it begin to glow] Spirits of the fox, grant me your cunning..... [as the cycles round the corner, she opens fire, clipping areas that are vulnerable. The look of determination on her face belies the knowledge this won't go on forever.] [a door is smashed by bear's boot as he dashes in, followed by Grey Phoenix] B: Dead end.... GP: Hit the lights. If we've gotta fight, we can at least get some cover here... [as the lights are hit, a man who looks amazingly like Kuyler, only with a scar along his left eye, stands with a cane between two power suits, one of an enormous Kodiak, the other of a Phoenix] KG: Welcome. I was expecting you. [cut back to real life] SR: Looks good, ja? KG: It ends up being kind of a cross between Voltron and Robotech, and it's not a bad show.... SR: Well, we're out of time...Kuyler, Bear, Grey Phoenix, thank you so much for allowing us this time, and good luck tomorrow. B: Thank you. SR: When we come back to "Was Geht Ab?" we have an exclusive interview with German dance queen Blümchen. Bear, if you would do us the final honor of introducing the last video. B: Of course. What we have here is one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen singing while some guy gets a haircut. Check out Basic Connection and "Habla Me Luna", coming at you, right now. SR: Thank you all. [As the camera fades into the German Dance group video, with indeed, a beautiful redheaded woman singing, Stefan and the Predators shake hands each in turn.] [Stonehenge. Where the demons dwell, and the banshees live (and they do live well). But tonight, all is quiet on the legendary landmark, save for the wandering footsteps of "Sychosys" Joe Petrow and "Mr. Majestyk" Maurice McArthur, dressed less than conspiculous in typical British early spring style. Team Sychosys seems to be in no hurry to begin speaking, wandering all along and around the famous stone arches. Finally, both men meet in the center. A large spotlight from somewhere or other shines on the men, casting an ominous shadow within the circle they occupy.] JP: When it all comes down to it, what is there really to say? How do trials and tribulations of a month...a year...a lifetime...how can one hope to possibly convey that in a little speech. I'm supposed to be the best there is, but I can't do it. I think...I think this [Petrow stretches his arms out to his surroundings] helps a bit. This gargantuation structure, the product of the blood and sweat of many men. For what reason? For what purpose? The experts have theories, but the fact is, we really don't know what they built it. But you can be sure that if they went through all of this trouble, then they had a damned good reason. Over the past month, I've heard the rumblings. Rumblings of the confused, clueless souls, some of whom call themselves experts. Baffled, as to why the highest ranked wrestler in the IIWF, a man who many say was only a hair's breadth away from taking the IIWF World's Heavyweight Champion, would give up his singles career to compete in full-time tag team competition with the most underrated, underutilized talent in wrestling today. Well, I have a damned good reason. But enough about me. The man wants to talk. [Petrow looks over to his partner, who looks up at the camera] 4M: You know there comes a time in every man's life when he's gotta make a stand. A time when he looks in the mirror and decides he doesn't like what he sees. I've been in the IIWF longer than just about anybody else in the promotion. Came here having never wrestling a match in my life. People tried to tell me to work my way up through the smaller leagues get some experience. But I was young, I was cocky, I thought I'd catch on soon enough. And I was wrong. Week after week, month after month, I'd get beaten. Pounded. Humiliated. No one in the world respected Maurice McArthur. They laughed at him. Everyone laughed. Except for me. And then through...whatever circumstances, I met up with Joe here. And over a year's time, we went through just about everything. Always Joe as the superstar, always me as the flunky. And that was fine by me, hell knows I can't do anything on my own, right? But then, after losing the World Title match with the Natural Predators...I figured that's it. I figured Joe was tired of hanging around somebody so inferior to himself. And then, he gives up singles altogether. To tag with me. To tell you the truth...[McArthur makes a slight glance towards Petrow, before continuing]..._I_ don't know even know why he did that. But for whatever reason...it flipped the switch inside of me. I had no right to ride this man's coattails any longer. It's time for Mr. Majestyk to stand on his own two feet. Well, I'm doing it! I'm here, and I'm here to stay! Soundbite, you want to see the "godawful McArthur" back again? Then you better get your IIWF Classics show back on the air, because that's the only place you're ever gonna see him again! I'm here, I'm for real, we are going to win the World's Tag Team titles, and from this day forth, I am an _asset_, NOT a liability! [McArthur stops. Petrow pauses for a few seconds, before jumping in] JP: A little long, coulda used a stronger finish. But you're getting there. Predators and Down Boys, don't think this is out of the blue, and don't you dare say we don't deserve to be here! We've deserved it ever since we heaved your carcasses out of the ring in the Snow Brawl battle royale. How you guys could possibly bitch about favoritism why we beat you cleanly and you STILL got our title shot will forever remain a mystery to me! The only straws you had to grasp at was our part-time tag team schedule, which was not our fault, by the way. And we fixed that. The Funky Like a Monkey tour had us facing every other worthy team in the league, and we held our own with them all! Your excuses, your stalling, it's all over. All that's left for you to do is step into the maelstorm, The Seven Tables of Fear. I know them well. If you think you will get by just thinking about throwing guys through tables, then you are wrong. You may even be dead wrong. Because this match ain't about breaking tables. It's about survival, much more mental than physical. Guys....[Petrow slowly extends his arms to his sides, and leans his head back far, in a pseudo self-crucifiction pose] I am more mental than physical. Much more. I have maxxed out my potential, and Maurice is only now beginning to realize his. And I am only beginning to realize that the burden of a million tortured souls will be lifted at last, freed by the triumph of two little words. [Petrow looks up, and Team Sychosys state intently at the camera, stating their mantra in unison:] TS: No more. [Fade out.] ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Coffin Cooler Match: Gunnar "Grizzly" Gaines vs. Jimmy "the Meatman" Steele ----------------------------------------------------------------------- LM: These two men have pushed each other to the limits...and beyond. I don't want to give anything away until you see it shortly but the Meatman's practical joke last week has moved this whole feud to a higher level. I'm not sure how this will turn out. DB: We have got a very hard and dangerous matchup here. I believe that both Gunnar Gaines and Jimmy Steele had a serious head injury during their childhood. It must be this way as they both agreed to this kind of contest. You know, a match like this is far more demanding than a simple Casket Match. SR: At last he admits it. DB: This of course excludes Casket Matches in which I participate, Roberts. Anyway, this is one of the easier picks. I have met the Meatman in the squared circle already and he certainly showed me what he is capable of. SR: Yeah, he kicked your ... [Deathbringer, fast as lightning, turns over to Roberts and stares at him, causing Roberts to swallow before continuing to speak] ... erm... scythe and you were forced to pick it up... DB: I see you slowly get the point, Roberts... The Meatman is a capable wrestler, and although he might not be championship material yet, he is on the best way to become a contender for the title. The Grizzly on the other hand... Well, we have not seen much of him yet, have we? At least I do not how to judge him. Maybe there is potential in him, maybe there is not. Maybe he is a good wrestler, maybe he is not. Alright, the Grizzly is here in the IIWF and therefore he has to be one of the better wrestlers from around the world. But can he defeat the Meatman in his own backyard? LM: His own backyard? DB: Whether it's a deep freezer or the storage room of a slaughterhouse doesn't matter. The Meatman is used to ice, and this gives him an advantage in this match and in the end he will be the winner of this bout. SR: You know that they're not fighting within the freezer, don't you? DB: Are you questioning my prediction, Roberts? So just what do you think about his match? SR: You can't beat the meat. Plain and simple. TD: I for one am intrigued by what Larry just said. What happened? LM: I think we had better show the videos now. [Stills of a dark meat processing plant, edited together with flash frames, jump cuts, and disassociated camera angles. Fade in music: The Go Go’s doing “We Got the Beat,” digitally enhanced to say: “We Got the Meat.” E.C.U of a pig. A mallet comes down and caves in it’s skull. The pig goes down. The mallet falls again and again- in sync to the beat. Reverse-forward-forward-reverse. The pig’s neck is exposed and there is a flash of steel across it. Blood sprays the lens of the camera. The music is joined by the sound of rabid fans, “Meat, Meat, Meat, Meat.” A hook pierces the back of the dead pig, it is hoisted into the air, its little feet aloft. Down it goes into a vat of boiling water. Steam obscures the lens again. Shot clears and we see the pig’s underbelly, held up by a man’s beefy hands. A knife carves it up. Fat and internal organs spill into the lens. Lens clears again. Jimmy [The Meatman] Steele saws along the backbone of the dessicated sow. His features are grotesque. He wears a lurid maniacal grin, accented by the lighting, angles, and stop-motion pace of the video. Two halves of pork, sprayed with water. One is turned over. Painted one it’s side is the word “Gunnar.” The second half is turned over. Painted on it’s side is the word “Gaines.” Jim Steele lifts both parts and throws them into a coffin cooler. The lid slams shut on the last beat of “We Got the Meat.” Freeze frame. MTV caption reads “The Go Go’s. We Got the Meat. Directed by David Lynch. Fade.] [DAY: Sunday night ... the day after IIWF Saturday Night.] [PLACE: Portland, Oregon ... the Oregon home of Gunnar Gaines.] [Skyline view of the hills west of Portland, dotted with houses and a few high-rise apartments.] [Scene segues to the inside of a house, as the sound of sirens fades in. We see a bookshelf with a few leather-bound volumes on it, and a vase on top, as the screams of a woman -- Gunnar's wife, Cheryl -- is heard in the background.] [View moves to a desk next to the bookshelves. On the desk is a calendar, with the date April 3 circled. Under the "3" on the calendar is written in red ink, "expected arrival date of Justin Lawrence Gaines."] [Another scream rings out ... and it echoes through the house.] [Sirens get louder ... and then images of red and blue flash on the white walls.] [The sirens fade out as a heartbeat is heard. The blue and white images fade out. The heartbeat stops.] --+-- [DAY: Tuesday.] [PLACE: Portland, Oregon ... Oregon Health Sciences Institute.] [Inside the hospital, we rise up the elevator with a crowd. On floor five, we exit. We follow a doctor in green scrubs off the elevator. He trails off into a room but we continue walking. A gurney being pushed by nurses comes towards us and passes and we turn to watch it go by. We turn back to walking forward, then turn into a room.] [Lying on a table is a vase of flowers. In the bed Cheryl Gaines, looking pale without makeup but still beautiful with her long, light brown hair. >From her shape she is obviously no longer pregnant. Her hands are in her lap and we focus on them.] [Her long, delicate fingers are being held by the beefy, hairy hands of Gunnar Gaines. The camera lens goes up his large, hairy arms to a view of his face. He is silent and expressionless, simply looking down at his lap. A tear forms in his eye. It falls down his face until it streams into his beard and disappears in the bushy growth.] [Cheryl is heard weeping. We expand the view as Gunnar stands, then leans over the railing of the hospital bed and places his head on his wife's shoulders. As they embrace the view fades to black.] --+-- [DAY: Wednesday.] [PLACE: Internet web page bulletin board, seen on computer monitor in the shot] [Written there ... ] "... sketchy reports indicate that the child of Gunnar "Grizzly" Gaines [Gunnar Gaines] and Cheryl Gaines [Cheryl Chesapeake-Gaines] was stillborn on Monday, possibly connected to a case of food poisoning suffered by Cheryl. Gunnar suffered a case of food poisoning shortly before his Saturday match in the Congo and it is known the couple ate together in Portland before Gunnar went to the Congo. We do know the baby was expected in April and we were hoping that this was another of those internet death hoaxes that have reported other deaths involving wrestling. Unfortunately, this seems not to be the case. Our IIWF source indicates that this situation is very much real and is being seen inside the promotion's Portland headquarters as a real tragedy ..." [fade] --+-- [DAY: Thursday.] [PLACE: Portland, Oregon ... closeup of a grassy hill with flowers.] VOICE: [somberly] Dust thou art ... [We have now worked our way far enough up the hill to see a tombstone. Engraved in the marble: JUSTIN LAWRENCE GAINES. 16 March 1998 - 16 March 1998. Before the tombstone is a freshly-dug hole.] VOICE: ... and to dust thou returneth ... [The wails of a child are heard echoing as the scene fades to darkness.] --+-- [DAY: Friday.] [PLACE: London, England. Wembley Stadium. Locker room.] [Stomping noises are heard. Objects are being thrown about. A locker slams shut as we continue to walk randomly through the rocker room. Finally, Gunnar "Grizzly" Gaines storms into view ... as it appears we have just arrived to witness his rage.] GGG: ... but you wouldn't _understand_ that, Meatman! You're just a simple-minded idiot who _thinks_ he's a god damn genius! You know some tricks but you don't _think things out_ like I do! You never thought of the _consequences_! And now you've done something to my ing FAMILY! Is _that_ what you wanted, hole? [He grabs a row of lockers and spills them over to the ground with his bare hands.] GGG: You look at me and you see a cartoon -- like YOURSELF! There's a _man_ behind all that, idiot! A man with a FAMILY! And you've messed with that family without even planning on it because you're a complete and utter MORON! We're talking about -- I can't even -- we're -- my KID, Meatman! My hopes and dreams! All the love in my life! That's right, moron! I said LOVE! And it's gone! [He picks up a locker room bench and throws it into another bank of lockers, knocking them over.] GGG: You've -- I can't even bring myself to _say it_. And as a result, you're going to have to deal ... [His yelling is slowing down, increasing in anger as he sits down. He stares straight into the camera with an expression of anger we've never quite seen on the face of Gunnar Gaines.] GGG: ... you're going to have to deal ... with _me_. No Baddest Thang Running ... No Grizzly ... no wood grain alcohol ... just me and _one other thing_. I've called someone. Someone you'd have to call your _worst nightmare_, Meatman. I mean, you can't imagine. He's going to be there. _I'm_ going to be there. And you're dead. Beat me? [He shakes his head, dead serious.] It's not even a question. There's not even a chance, son. You've messed with the Gaines family and your ass is going into _permanent_ cold storage. [Fade.] [The shot re-opens on the Countdown set. Larry sits with a sad look on his face. Tim Dross seems to be in absolute shock. Even Steve Roberts seems stunned.] TD: Oh my god... LM: When I saw this before the show...I didn't know what to say. TD: We've got to get a hold of President Spreadbury! He's got to stop the match! SR: Now hold on here. I think this is awful as well, but stopping the match? Just let's everyone forget it happened. LM: Everyone except Gunnar and Cheryl. TD: Don't you see? The IIWF is sports... this is... too much. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Descent Into Hell Scaffold Match: Serge Annis vs. Mad Dog Watkins ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: The most heated rivalry...until now...has been Annis and Watkins. They face off tomorrow night in what could be the most violent encounter between them yet. DB: Descent Into Hell Scaffold Match. I do not care about the Scaffold part of the name, but Descent Into Hell? You know that I have been leading the fools to the gates of Hades for all eternity now ... SR: And who's going to lead _you_ down there? DB: [ignoring Roberts this time] ... and what these two are going to prove, is that they can lead the other one down to the basement of the arena. Not too impressive in my eyes. However, it gets impressive as you look upon the names of the participants. Serge Annis and Mad Dog Watkins. You never know what to think of any of them. Annis... he is mad... I know that from my feud with him several months back. This guy is completely nuts and this would give him an advantage... if his opponent was not Mad Dog Watkins himself. I mean he has madness written all across his face. The Mad Dog might be the first man to ever understand what Annis is trying to tell us. And _this_ makes the match really interesting. There will not be any mind games in this one. It will be a battle, a pure, brutal, lethal battle... and it will be a battle in which we might have more than one casualty to claim... Roberts, Dross, tomorrow night you should take care of yourself. Do not get in between those two or ... well, or I will have to give you another visit. Who will be the winner in this one? I honestly do not know for sure, but I would go with Annis. He has proven to be a tough wrestler in the past. But so has Watkins. Why I am picking Annis, whatsoever? Well, there are some bills left which Annis has to pay to me. And I do not want him to get hurt so bad that he cannot do this anymore. SR: I don't really care who wins this match...as long as it happens! This is going to be the best match of the night! LM: Who are you going with, Tim? TD: Hmm, what? Oh. I guess Watkins. I don't know. LM: It seems the revelation about the death in the Gaines' family has left you somewhat shaken. TD: Well...yes. It seems wrong to sit here and compare who is going to beat who in a wrestling match. Wrestling is great and everything but... SR: Now hold on there, buddy. You know Gunnar Gaines. TD: Sure, by reputation originally but...we've chatted a few times. SR: Then you know that he had only two priorities in his life. TD: Cheryl... SR: She was first, but wrestling was second. Gaines loves this business. He loves everything about it. Sure we have just witnessed a horrible tragedy but do you think if we were to ask Grizzly if he wanted us to cancel the show he would say yes? TD: Beyond the fact that he wants to get his hands on Jimmy Steele? SR: Besides that. TD: Probably not. SR: That's right! Sure wrestling is a distraction for the masses...but what's wrong with that? We ahve something here that can bring a smile tos omeone's eye or a cheer to soemone's lips. Some poor schlep who works at a job he hates all day and suffers through a disgusting commute home every night...the only thing he looks forward to is Saturday at the fights. More than that, once every couple of months he gets to see the IIWF put on the big show and he can forget about his troubles for a while. Do you want to take that away from him? Do you want to take away the only thing that Gunnar Gaines still has? TD: Since you put it that way... SR: Damn rights, Drossie! So, who is going to win the Annis/Watkins fight? TD: It's got to be the Mad Dog...though not by much. LM: After that stirring exposition by Steve Roberts, let's turn to an interview Tim did this week with the Epitome of Evil. [The shot cuts a picture of a bloody Serge Annis, after his barb wire victory over The Subway Psycho, and Creed. The shot is black and white, except for the red crimson blow that flows from Serge's body. Tim Dross' voice speaks in the background.] TD: Early Tuesday morning, on March 16th, I had the opportunity to speak with the Epitome of Evil, Serge Annis whom goes into Ring Wars Five this weekend, in a 'Descent Into Hell' Scaffold match against bitter enemy Mad Dog Watkins. What shocked me was two things about this interview... [A shot of Annis screaming in anger at an IIWF official is shown.] TD: The first being that Serge himself requested this face to face interview, and second... [Another shot of an angry Serge Annis is shown.] TD: ...the ammount of anger, and intensity inside this young man. [The camera fades into the IIWF Interview set. Two IIWF figures are sitting at two chairs, facing each other. One being IIWF commentator and superstar extradinaire, Tim Dross, still with his wig as this was taped Tuesday morning, and the 6'8, 290 pound Epitome of Evil, Serge Annis. Serge is wearing black jeans and boots, allong with his new IIWF t-shirt, a black 'Napalm Enema' shirt. Serge's short brown hair is wet and parted to the side. His icey blue eyes seem to be stabbing at Dross like warm knives through butter. Dross is wearing a blue IIWF suit, and his hair piece. Tim looks at the camera.] TD: Hello fans of the IIWF, I am Tim Dross sitting here in the studio with a one on one interview with a superstar full of potential here in the IIWF, the 'Epitome of Evil' Serge Annis. SA: What do you mean 'full of potential'? Just what do you mean by that? That is exactly why I requested this interview Dross, to talk about snide comments like that that get made about me each and every day. I'd hate to tell you Dross, but Serge Annis' isn't full of potential here in the IIWF. Why? Because I've already done a lot of history making things in the IIWF. Sure, there are a lot of great things in the future for me, but don't deny me my past Dross. Damnit, I was a member of Genesis. Do you remember that? TD: Well yes, but the board likes us to forget about Genesis to... SA: [Interupting] Well, you shouldn't forget about Genesis, Dross. Genesis walked all over the IIWF. Sure, you can say it was Requiem but frankly Requiem wouldn't have done a damn thing if it wasn't for us. Now Genesis is dead, and I am the only survivor. And look where I am today. Do you see me pumping up full of steroids? Do you see me being some three hundred year old gimmick? Absolutely not. Scott Rogers and Highwayman never made it big in the IIWF, but somehow I have. And I am sick and tired of people like you, like Steve Kowalski, and especially Mad Dog Watkins, not recognizing it! TD: Serge, I'm sorry you took offense to me saying 'full of potential'. But it's just a figure of speech! SA: A figure of speech, eh, Dross? Well, I'm tired of all those figures of speech. When you say stuff like that, you continue to deny me my history. Who beat Brody Thunder for the IIWF World title? TD: Steve Kowalski. SA: No, I did. Remember Dross, it was a three way match. Kowalski beat me, thanks to Mad Dog. He may have got the three count, but I'm the one who beat down Brody Thunder for it. Who won one of the most bloodiest and hellacious matches the IIWF ever saw? And I'm talking about the Barb Wire match. It was me, Dross. Who had the nerve to set the ring and cage on fire? Damnit Dross, that was me. When it comes to history and Serge Annis, the IIWF has a selective memory. They only remember the "over-rated" mid-card hack that Serge Annis once was. They only remember Requiem's lackie. They only remember the negative stuff. And it pisses me off. Sure, I don't come out here and give all these marvelous worked up speeched filled with famous sayings and quotes, and question everyone's intelligence. I come out say it how I see it... be it correct or not. And that's that. With what I've seen in life, Dross, with the things I've lived through, I shouldn't have to put up with this crap, and you know what? I'm not going to put up with it. After Ring Wars Five, I think it's high time people started to re-evaluate their picture of Serge Annis, because I'm going to make it change. TD: Well... Serge... you have your chance perhaps for revenge against Mad Dog Watkins at Ring Wars Five. SA: Of course it is my chance for revenge. Ever since he came back, all I've heard is "Mad Dog, Mad Dog." It's sickening, Dross. Especially after I have been working so long, and so hard to reach the point I am at now. To make it to the Main Event. All these guys are complaining about me being where I am today. But I earned my spot at the top, the exact same way they did. But these "Old Gen" guys just won't accept that. They don't see Serge Annis as a main draw. They see the Epitome of Evil as a cartoon that doesn't know when to give up. Well, I'm not giving up, Dross. There are too many things I have to do to even consider giving up now. It has taken me over fifteen months here in the IIWF alone to reach the point I am at today. That doesn't include the years I spent being the "King of Minor Leagues" as people put it... If Mad Dog Watkins thinks that I'm going to let him hold me back for yet another day, he's got another thing coming to him... It's time for Mad Dog Watkins to shut his mouth, and do something about it in the ring, something I don't think he's done very well. Watkins is great at getting inside people's heads. But that's really about it. "Who's your Daddy?" speaks for it's self. At Ring Wars Five, it's all going to end. The personal hatred I have for the Dog, and the hate he has for me, is all gonna spill out, and it's going to make one hell of a mess. But when the mess is cleaned up, the bottom line is going to be one thing... either Serge Annis comes through with a victory, or Mad Dog Watkins was right... I am an over-rated hack. After the blood is cleaned, and the smoke settles, we'll see just where the hell people lay... and if I have anything to do with it, it's going to be in a hospital bed for Mad Dog Watkins... if not six feet under. Every dog has his day, they say, Dross... well, come Ring Wars, it's going to be the day the dog died... [Serge's chilling blue eyes stare at Dross with an unforgiving and very angry look. The rest of Serge's face remains to be intense. Dross wipes a drop of sweat from his brow.] TD: Well, let's just say that you, Serge Annis do walk out of Ring Wars Five as the loser. What then? SA: Then it'll be time to re-evaluate things, Dross. I'd have a whole lot of things to take into consideration. Do I run with my tail tucked between my legs and break for new ground? Do I move on back to those minor leagues to be King yet again? Do I stick around and watch as Mad Dog Watkins takes away my spot? It's a lot of questions to answer, Dross, and the only way I'll ever find an answer is at Ring Wars. TD: And what if you win? What happens after Ring Wars? SA: If I win? Well, the way I see things right now is this... I am the rightful IIWF World Heavyweight Champion right now, and no one can tell me otherwise! And after Ring Wars Five, and after I dispose of Mad Dog Watkins, Serge Annis is gunning straight for the title that I damn well want more than anything else... the IIWF World Heavyweight championship. TD: Thank you for joining us Mr. Annis. The next time we will see you shall be at Ring Wars, on top of a scaffold in a one on one war between you and Mad Dog Watkins. [Dross gives Serge a warm smile and extends his hand out to Serge.] TD: I'd like to thank you once more for the time. [Annis reaches out and shakes Dross' hand with a firm, hard grip. But Serge doesn't return Dross' smile, but instead stares straight into Dross' eyes with an intense look of hate.] SA: All the luck in the world won't be enough to stop me from ripping into Mad Dog Watkins and tearing the Old Dog apart. [Annis gets up and leaves the set as the camera fades to black, with Dross holding his own hand in pain after the handshake.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Blindfold Match: Marty Warnett vs. "To Excess" Rick Williams ------------------------------------------------------------------------ SR: Welcome to true wrestling hell...the blindfold match. LM: Do you mean it is truly gruelling for the participants? SR: No...me! And anybody else with half a brain in their heads who sits through this thing hoping it will end soon so they can see the Annis/Watkins match. TD: I think this match has a lot of potential. DB: A simple match. One fall, the only stipulation is that Warnett and Williams will be blindfolded before the match. SR: That's a good thing, this way we don't have to see their ugly faces. By the way, did I already thank you for always wearing a mask? DB: [making a growling voice and raising his hands] You see this, Roberts, you see these gloved hands? They could give you a reason to wear a mask for the rest of your life, too. SR: [raising his voice] Is this a threat, dead man? TD & LM: Would you please stop! DB: [calming down] In a blindfold match you never know where the opponent is, and you never know where _you_ are. This makes such matches very interesting and perhaps maybe even a little bit dangerous. A prediction on the outcome of the match is almost impossible to make. After all, a lot will depend on coincidences. Therefore I will just say this: The winner will be either Marty Warnett or Rick Williams. TD: Very diplomatic, Deathbringer. DB: Yes, but there really is no way to determine the winner by looking at stats or anything else. SR: I'm looking forward to this match being over, and nothing else. LM: With that kind of a send-off, let's go to the video. [Scene opens to an overhead shot of the legendary Wembley Stadium. Empty, save for several workmen busily constructing the ring and the ringside seats, one figure sits isolated in the stands. As the camera slowly zooms in, his identity is immediately revealed. Dressed in blue jeans, a red baseball cap and a red shirt, which is for the most part concealed by his black jacket, "To Excess" Rick Williams smiles confidently as he realizes the camera is on him. Briefly glancing around his famous surroundings, he begins to speak.] RW: Hey Marty, you feeling brave? You feeling lucky? You wanna be famous? Well, here's your chance, sap... Beat me tomorrow night... Avenge your buddy's _shocking_ blinding... It's Wembley Stadium... It doesn't come much bigger. Look down through history, Marty... Hurst and Charlton, Offiah and Edwards... even Rush and Saunders, rarebit... you could become quite the national hero, huh Marty? The dragon flying high, the continued chants of "Warnett". It's a hell of a chance, Marty... but unfortunately, it's not about you. [Placing his feet on the seat in front, Williams takes a stick of gum from his pocket, unwraps it, and places it in his mouth. With the most arrogant of grins now apparent, he calmly proceeds.] It's about _me_, Marty. I told the world that I'd dispose of the criminally washed-up, and tomorrow night, I'm doing just that... and dedicating it to the eternal memory of Billy Shakespeare. And speaking of Billy... if you're watching, Bill, I got a couple of ringside tickets back at the hotel... you want 'em? Hey, at least you could _hear_ the action. Marty, you want blindfolds... fine. Just don't think that because I can't see you, I can't put you in the same ward as good ol' "Spotlight". You still feeling lucky, Marty? For your sake, I damn sure hope so. [Fade] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Mask Ladder Match: Deathbringer vs. Harlequin Tragedy ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: Here is the match featuring our esteemed co-host. What do you think about this one, Deathbringer? DB: Well, I think I do not stand a chance, and I guess that Tragedy will tear me apart. [Silence] DB: Please, what did you expect what my thoughts about this match are? Tragedy has been a thorn in my eye for far too long, and I am no longer willing to keep quiet and let him run around the whole world, holding my mask in his hands. SR: [laughs] Well, I ... DB: [interrupting] No, Roberts, no fun in this one. [Roberts stops laughing and looks slightly astonished] It has gotten personal and I am planning to solve the whole matter tomorrow night -- once and for all. Some have asked me why it took so long until I demanded a match against Tragedy himself. I will tell you something: I demanded that match the very day Tragedy stole the mask from me. I walked directly to the IIWF officials and demanded that match and they told me it was no problem. Then, a day later, they notify me that there would not be a match against Tragedy for the next few weeks. Now you can believe that this made me more than angry. Rage and wrath were the only things that had a place in my mind in those days. And today it is not much different. [The camera moves in to Deathbringer's piercing red eyes as he continues to speak] DB: [speaking softly] I can hardly wait to get my hands around your neck, Tragedy, I can hardly wait to see the last remaining drops of blood running out of your veins, as I come to get your soul. In just a few hours from now on, Tragedy, we will face within the squared circle, in a match which will once and for all end the war we have been leading against each other for the past few weeks. Tragedy, prepare to meet your maker! [The camera slowly moves out to the full view again] DB: Now listen up, Dross, Roberts and Morton, as it could be dangerous for you to pick someone else than me as the winner in this match, I guess it will be the best, if we just move on to the next bout... LM: Well, we do have some video to show first... [Deathbrigner doesn't move and Morton sees that as a subtle acquiescence so nods to the producer who runs the clip.] [The scene is a darkened studio. The only thing visible is Tragedy, dressed completely in black with his steel mask on.] TRAGEDY: It all comes down to this little man. In less than 24 hours, the world will witness the final destruction of the Dark Destroyer. [Tragedy removes his own mask to reveal Deathbringer's mask being worn underneath.] TRAGEDY: I've told you from the very begining, tragedy is a far greater power than death. For tragedy can destroy lives, death only takes them. And the tragedy that has unfurled for you is far from over. For you see, dead man, I am the one that has brought you into the realm of mortality. For the first time in your existence, you stand before the world on its terms, not yours. No longer can you rely solely upon the darkness that was once inside you. I hold that power now. And as far as everyone can see, you are a mere mortal now. And that scares you. [Tragedy removes Deathbringer's mask to reveal his own painted face.] TRAGEDY: You spoke of Dan Kauffman, and the human will to survive. You questioned whether or not I wished to die. I'm afraid, little man, that you fail to comprehend the true gravity of the situation. I am the one that holds the power now. Requiem, Verhoeven, nothing compared to me and what I have done. So I ask you the question now, little man. How does it feel to be mortal? How does it feel to bleed? How does it feel to be able to die? And how will you feel tomorrow, when I climb that ladder and once and for all claim your destiny as mine to decide. Your fate is in my hands, little man. Resistance... is futile. [Fade out.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Waterbucket Match: Christopher Stonebreaker vs. "Real Deal" Luke Steele ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: This match is between two athletes who have been really making waves in the IIWF... SR: Booorrrriiiing. Rockhead versus "Bob and Kneel". I'd almost rather watch tags. Water bucket or no water bucket...this is the match where half of Wembley heads to the concession and bathroom. DB: Why did they just agree on hanging a waterbucket at the top of the pole? Why not a baseball bat or a chainsaw? SR: Because unlike you they don't need such weapons to win a fight. DB: Well, Roberts, but I guess another reason is that they do not know how to use those other weapons as well as I do. [Deathbringer grabs somewhere underneath the table and finds a baseball bat there. He holds it in one hand as he continues to talk] Maybe you would like to see a little sample of my talent in using this? TD: Deathbringer, please, there is no need for this kind of violence here! DB: [putting the bat back underneath the table] It is OK, Dross. Never really wanted to use it. [Deathbringer makes a motion as if to continue to speak, but he then looks at Roberts again, then at the bat underneath the table, then at Roberts again... He then shakes his head and continues to talk] The outcome of the match certainly depends on which one of the participants reaches the bucket first. It might not be a handy weapon, but it is handy enough when you are the one who wields it. Afterall a weapon is a weapon and there are rather few examples of fights in which a weapon was allowed to be used and in which this weapon did not decide the bout. However, I would go with Luke Steele, who, in my eyes has more experience. Nothing against Stonebreaker, but he is just too new to this league and experience might be the key to success in this one. TD: While I agree about the experience, I think Stonebreaker is a bit hungrier. Steele has had many opportunities to stand out in the IIWF and has been unable to do so. It may be time for the Cajun to step up. LM: Christopher Stonebreaker had a few words for our cameras. [The camera opens on Christopher Stonebreaker, who stands in what appears to be a metal shop yard, with stacks of the silver and rust colored piles all around him. In his hand is his trademark sledgehammer, and he stands with the back to the camera, watching as a huge crane drops another load to a growing pile.] CS: That's what all this is about? Metal? [Chris turns around and in his hand is a lead pipe no more than 2 feet long, and he holds it up with his free hand.] CS: For the past few weeks, Steele, you've wanted me to be impressed by the fact you can swing something like this? And then somehow, somehow, you manage to cajole everyone here into thinking that I"m the one who started this little bucket swinging of ours? [The wrestler stops and looks down at the metal pipe in his hand, and then tosses it off to the side to a loud "clangin" noise from the metal on metal collison.] CS: Steele, if I was impressed with someone who carried things around.... [Chris pulls the sledgehammer off this shoulder and holds it in his two hands cross-length across his body.] CS: I'd be more impressed with myself then I would with anyone. But as you and I both know, one of the two of us will be putting a little piece of extra weaponry to use at Ring Wars. CS: It ain't how I wanted to make my career here, but you, my friend, are the one who started it this way. And I _am_ going to be the one to finish it. One way or another, Lukey, you will be finished after Ring Wars!!! J'vais te Briser!!!! [The camera fades out, and right before it goes to black, another pile of metal is dropped behind the Rajun' Cajun making a huge sounding crash of metal on metal.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Highland Brawl: "Rocket Man" Timothy N. Turner vs. Andrew Macbeth ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: Here is a match that could be decided based on which Timothy Turner shows up... will it be the despondent wreck we have seen in recent weeks or the tough wrestler who has held gold in the IIWF? TD: In a match like this, if it's the wrong Turner, it will be the end of Turner. DB: Falls count anywhere. And because of this I guess that this could become one of the most interesting matches of the card. You know, when you are out there, fighting your opponent, following him through a stadium, there are plenty of opportunities to set up a trap for him, to use the surroundings for your attack... SR: If you were one of the competitors in this match, I guess the other one just had to run away from you, as you certainly drop dead after running twenty meters. Oh, no pun intended. DB: No pun intended? _NO PUN INTENDED_? Watch it, Roberts, or we will find out, just how long _YOU_ can run away from me as I am coming to get your soul! TD: They're starting again... LM: Perhaps we should let the two of them be removed from here and ... [Deathbringer and Roberts stop arguing and turn over to Morton, who stops talking, swallows and turns away from them] DB: This one is called a Highland Brawl, and I would say this title pretty much describes what the match is all about. And as the title suggests, a wrestler from the Highlands could have an advantage in this bout. I know the Highlanders as tough, hard ... SR: ...and immortal... DB: ...competitors, and therefore I am going with Andrew Macbeth as the victor. TD: I'd have to agree. Turner has been impressive in the IIWF, but he has fallen hard. I might disagree about how good a match this could be because Turner might fold the instant he walks in the arena. SR: Ah, poor Cheesecake! Andy hurt my feelings...I'm the one who kept Dunky from defending his belt...this guy has turned into a whine brigade. He has gone from being a top cat who threw great parties to just another sack of Quigley! I hope he snaps to his senses and pummels Andy because the sooner we get rid of the broguesters the better! LM: Let's see these clips from the competitors. [The shot opens to see an empty gymnasium. A large Union Jack is on one wall and a boxing ring sits in the middle of the floor, noticeable because is has four ropes instead of three. Propped up agains the close ropes is a wooden board, about the size of a man. Standing just past it is Timothy N. Turner, wearing black karate pants and boots. Akira Saito stands just behind him and Tom Turner sits in a chair at ringside. As the camera gets closer it can pick up what Saito is saying to Turner.] AS: You must take your emotions and use them. Do not fear them. Feel them. You feel shame. You feel fear. You feel despair. From where did these emotions come from? Andrew Macbeth. Before he came you were happy. Before he came you were strong. Take these emotions and mould them. He made you feel this way. You know that you are not week. We have proved that. You know you are fit to compete. We have proved that. Only he stands in your way. Do you feel it? Do you feel those emotions changing? Metamorphosizing? The emotions are still there and every bit as strong. They have just changed into a diferent emotion. Anger. Anger is seen as destructive. It can be. It is seen as damaging to the bearer. It can be. What I want you to do is focus the anger. Use the anger. Where do you want the anger? Where will you aim the anger? What can it accomplish? [Suddenly Tim Turner leaps forward and lashes out with his right foot in a spinning thrust kick, snapping the board clean in half. As the pieces fall to the mat the camera can see the other side of the board, which held a life-size picture of Andrew Macbeth. Saito glances over to Tom...] AS: He's ready. [Fade] [Fade in to reveal the inside of a pub. It's early in the afternoon, not very many people inside. On one wall, we see a collection of towels representing various Scotland football teams: Hamilton, Celtic, Raith, East Fife, Albion Rovers... as well as a banner for the unheralded Scotland Sixth Division champions, the Glenfinnan Silver Eleven. In a corner stands a Wurlitzer juke box, currently playing "The Great Divide" by Big Country quietly in the background. On another wall, a collection of trophies. One says "IWAWorld Tag Team Champions", another, "Super Japan Rikidozan Memorial Cup 1982". The camera continues to pan across the pub until it stops at a giant hart's head mounted on the wall above the bar. It then tilts down to reveal the somwhat incongrous sight of Andrew Macbeth, in a white shirt and red Macbeth tartan vest, cleaning glasses and placing them on the overhead rack. Andrew looks up from his work, and addresses the camera crew.] AM: Cor, so ye've foond me. Fine, fine. 'Ave a seat, lads. [Somewhat surprised at the burly Scot's geniality, the technical crew find themselves a nearby booth, while Larry Morton has a seat at the bar.] LM: Well, it wasn't too difficult. You mentioned the "Hart's Head Pub" in one of your interviews. But what are you doing working here? AM: _Working_ here? Laddie, I _own_ this place. 'Ere, have some Haggis Fingers. Ye want some ram's blood fer dippin'? LM: Ummm... AM: Go on, lad. Try it. [Morton takes a haggis finger from the dish palced in front of him and dips it in the ram's blood, then bravely takes a bite, not wanting to upset the behemoth in front of him.] LM: Sayyyy... not bad. AM: Me Gran'ma Sharon's recipe, aye. Th' secret is in how ye steam the bladder. [Morton does a mild double take to the camera, pauses, then eats another finger.] LM: So, you own the place? How did that happen? AM: Well, th' Macbeth clan's been comin' here since it opened back in 1783. See that piece o' parchment under th' glass here? Tha's th' original licence. Robbie burns 'imself came 'ere an' had a wee dram a few times. See this parchment 'ere? 'E wrote this poem right where yuir sittin' right now. LM: What's it called? AM: "Doup-skelper Doxy A-day". Cor, wot a randy bugger 'e was, aye. Anyhoo, Dunc an' I used tae come 'ere too, back before either of us had ken we'd be oot an' aboot on th' wrestlin' circuit. But tha' bastard got inta one too many scuffles. After I was in Japan for a while, one dee, some bloke came in 'ere an started runnin' doon the Silver Eleven, so Duncan grabbed this hart's heed ya see above ye, an' threw it right at 'im. The whole lot went crashin' through tha' window there. 'E could nae afford th' repairs, so I wound oop spendin' me whole winnin's from th' Rikidozan Coop ta buy the poob. I figgered I'd need sumthin' tae fall back on after it was all over. But I'm still in the game, aye. LM: You and Duncan have quite a history. Why is it all unravelling right now? AM: Unravelling? Bollocks. If 'e needs a good crank upside 'is wee noggin' tae get 'im ta smarten oop, it ain't th' first time I've done it. Tha's wot big brothers are for, aye. 'E's supposed t' be th' bleedin' I-C champ. Th' title nae makes th' man, but 'e still has ta represent th' clan. Nae Macbeth aroond 'ere wants ta see Dunc get soft because o' ten pounds o' tin. [Andrew takes away the now-empty dish of haggis fingers and starts to pour a pint of stout. The black liquid oozes from the spout.] LM: So this is where Timothy N. Turner enters the picture. AM: Damn straight, Mr Morton. I met Turner in '89 at th' "Wrestle for Peace Super World Tournament" at th' Egg Dome. S'trooth, 'e was a wee sprite of a kid. 'Is idea of "carb loading" was tae doon a box o' Pop Tarts every mornin'. Cor, but ya could see it in 'is eyes, an' we all ken tha' he'd be a guid one. 'E went back tae Calgary, an' right aroond then, Duncan wound oop at me door needin' a place tae get back on 'is feet. After tha', I called Turner in '92 an' he got us into the IWA. Th' rest is history. LM: But why do you want to get at Turner so badly? He and Duncan have done very well for themselves here in the IIWF. [The stout finally finishes pouring, and Andrew hands it to Morton.] AM: 'Ere, lad. On the hoose. Thick as a brick -- ye can draw a smiley-face in the heed, aye. [Morton draws a smiley-face with the tip of his finger, then, with some reluctance, takes a drink. His face goes sour.] AM: [laughing] Ah, come on, lad, drink oop. Or should I get ye some "Happy Lemon Water Joy?" LM: [shuddering] God, no. I still can't see very well out of my left eye. AM: Mr Morton, everyone tha watches th' Double Eye kens tha' Turner went from bein' a man t' bein' a wee ponce. Wha' happened? Lifestyle choice or genetic mandate? Who kens. Turner can do whatever' e wants, but look at what hangin' aroond 'im has done t' Duncan. _Soft_, I tell ya. I was ready tae pound Turner inta dust when I got into th' Double Eye. LM: But you've backed off. AM: Aye, well, the bloke deserves a chance. 'E got a negative reception the last few months, an' it did nae sit well with 'im, so it looks like 'e may be comin' aroond. But 'e's got nae but one way t' pruive 'imself worthy of any respect, an' tha's by puttin' oop th' fight o' his life against me at Ring Wars 5. It's tha' simple, Mr Morton. I've said it before, an' I'll nae say it anymore. If 'e turns chicken like 'e did in th' Congo, I'll make damn sure 'e nae ever wants ta set foot in th' same time zone as the Clan Macbeth. Speakin' of whom... [Throught the front door comes a throng of large men and women, led by a sheer chunk of humanity that looks like he must weigh 450 lbs.] AM: 'Ere's the clan now, Mr Morton. Say hello t' Black Angus Macbeth. LM: Ummm... hello. BAM: BLIMEY, WOT'S OOP, LAD! HOW'S YER FATHER! HEY, ANDY! WE'RE GOIN' TAE WEMBLEY!! WHOOOO!! LM: What? All these people are going to be at Wembley for your match? AM: Ye betch'er arse, mate! Two hundred o' the rowdiest sods ye've ever laid eyes on, kep. Cynthia! How's yer husband? CM: Nae too bad, Andy. The doctor said two months, an' 'is back'll be fine! [The whole clan bellows with laughter.] AM: Ya see, Mr Morton, if Turner's gonna get a fair shot, we canna have anyone stickin' 'is nose in our match, can we? Th' clan'll make damn sure o' that, aye cousins? CLAN: AYE!! LM: [to the camera] Well, it looks like it's going to be one hell of a match at Ring Wars 5! Let's get back to the studio! CLAN: WHOOOOO!!!! [Fade] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ King of the Mountain Progressive Match: featuring: "Sanguinary" Steve Manning, Charles Scheffield, "The Intrepid" Ryan Howard, Richard "Moxy" Blue, Derek Mota, Edmund Fitzgerald, "The Demon" Damien Lestat, Ike Sampson, Eddy "Flap" Jacks ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: Here's a match with a whole lot of talent in the ring! TD: These matches tend to be harbingers of the future. Who will stand out? What do you make of this match? DB: A very interesting one. And another one of those where one cannot pick a winner easily. SR: Pick a winner. When you say this it sounds as if you were looking for a date and because nobody wants to go out with you ... TD: Steve, please. DB: You do not have to defend me, Dross... Roberts, maybe _you_ want to go out with me right now... out of that door over there, that is, where I would _LOVE_ to tell you a thing or two... LM: Deathbringer, please. SR: You don't have to defend me, Morton. DB: [calming down again] This one depends on the numbers which the participants draw from the hat. If you get a low number, like one or two, you can almost give up all the hope to win this one. A high number however does not necessarily mean that you will have the better chances. If I look at the names of the competitors and if I do not look at the possible distributions of numbers, I would say that Charles Scheffield has the best chances to win this one. TD: This is certainly because he defeated you a few weeks back? DB: Defeated me? No, he certainly did not. A countout cannot be called defeat can it? But as he speaks about that match, about how he managed to keep me down, about how he tortured me, about how he _DEFEATED_ me... Well, if I listen to his words, I am getting intimidated myself. Perhaps this psychological warfare gives him the advantage he needs to win this one. SR: I've got to go with the ugly guy. LM: Lestat? SR: Naw, Manning. He may not be as ugly as Lastat on the outside, but he's just as ugly on the inside. TD: I think this might be the day Ryan Howard steps forward. He's had a hard time getting noticed in the IIWF, but he certainly has the talent. LM: You've also got a former Cruiserweight Champion in there. As off track as he's become, I'm going with Mota. SR: Just as long as it's not Sampson. That's all I care about. LM: Ike Sampson was one of a few of the athletes in this match to speak up. Let's hear from them. [SCENE: Tim Dross is standing outside a large wooden door, in a plain looking coridor. On the door is a nameplate marked Dr. S. Floyd. Muffled voices are heard from behind the door. Dross gets his cue from the cameraman and begins to speak.] TD: Ladies and gentlemen... I'm standing outside the office of Dr.... uh... Dr. Sigmund Floyd. Oh good grief. Anyway, apparently the powers that be in the IIWF have given Steve Manning a choice, seek professional help, or get out. And even then, IIWF Security had to drag Mr. Manning here and keep a constant eye on him, for the safety of Dr... er... Floyd. Let's go inside and "check up" on the doctor and his patient! [An audible groan can be heard off-camera as Dross quietly knocks on the door and then walks on in. The camera follows the plump broadcaster to reveal a distinguished looking office. Several diplomas and certificates are hanging on a far wall. There are several other pictures of various famous psychologists and psychiatrists, educational institutions, and for some reason, several large pictures of armadillos. The doctor is sitting behind a desk. He's a skinny, balding man, with thick black glasses, dressed in a restricting suit. He has a notepad and pencil busy at work, obviously taking notes on his patient, Steve Manning, who is lying down on a leather couch. Manning is wearing a pair of shredded blue jeans and an alcohol stained "Blow Me... I'm Irish!" t-shirt. Manning is in the middle of a detailed account of something or other...] SM: ...and then the principal said, "No Stephen, blowguns are not acceptable show and tell items, and no Stephen, Smelly Wally did _not_ deserve to be shot in the head." But he _did_! I tell ya, Smelly Wally was a no-good, rotten prick! He didn't bathe for one reason and one reason only, to piss me off! Oh sure, "Pig Pen is my idol!", he'd claim! But really, anyone who watched Peanuts knows full damn well that Schroeder kicked ass and that was that. But nooooo, Smelly Wally had to be different. That bastard was always known for his ostentatiousness, and he'd stoop to any level to get at me, to get at the Class President, the head cheerleader, anyone or everyone he could harm with his body odour, with his pretentiousness over his own funk, he would! The kid had no conscience! So I shot him in the head! Is that so wrong?! No jury in the world would convict me! SF: Actually, Mr. Manning, as my records state, a jury _did_ convict you, and you were sentenced to 200 hours community service... how might this have affected your life? Being punished for something that you thought was justified? SM: I was forced to give sponge baths to old ladies. 1980 that was. I was 10 years old. [Manning shudders as Dross' eyes go wide.] TD: Hey... pardon me, but wasn't there a rash of mysterious senior citizen drownings in Phoenix during 1980?! SM: Excuse me, I'm seeking _help_, Dross! Do you mind?! Next question, Doc. I don't wanna talk about this crap anymore. SF: Very well, Mr. Manning. Let us take this further into the future. The drug use, the injury, the pressure. It all had something to do with it I'm sure. I want to ask one question, and see how honetly you can answer me... Why are you the way you are? SM: Hard work and determination. [Manning gives an ear to ear grin.] SF: [sighs] I'm beginning to think this session was a waste of time, Stephen. You do not seem to be taking this seriously. You must realize you have all the signs of a severe mental dysfunction. You don't seem to learn from the consequences or your actions. As B.F. Skinner once said... SM: Wasn't he that guy who wrestled alligators? [Manning snickers as Dr. Floyd rolls his eyes and tosses his notepad and pencil over his shoulder.] SF: Mr. Manning, with all due respect, I think this session should end. [Manning leaps up off the couch, but immediatly two previously unnoticed, massive men wearing "IIWF Brute Force" t-shirts appear out of the corner of the room. They grab Manning and toss him back on the couch.] MAN#1: The IIWF paid for the full hour, sir. I suggest you deliver the full hour. SF: Yes, of course. Of course I will. [The two men nod and return to their spots in the corner of the room.] SF: I don't know what to say, Mr. Manning. You... you... WILL YOU PAY ATTENTION! [Manning is occupied, giving a delayed middle finger salute to the two gorilla-like men in the corner. He turns his head back quickly to the doctor upon being screamed at.] SM: What?! What?! Am I cured yet?! SF: No, for the love of God, no. I'm _this_ close to breaking out the shock treatment. SM: [grinning] I like shocks. SF: [sighs] Why me? Why? TD: May I make a suggestion, Dr. Floyd? SF: Yes, _please_ do! TD: Well, the IIWF is _concerned_ about this match coming up at Ring Wars 5. Manning will have the opportunity to face up to 8 other men. His love of violence _must_ be contained or someone is going to be seriously hurt! SF: Hmmmmm... a little word association maybe? All right. SM: Huh? SF: I'll give you a name, you give me your first thought. "The Demon" Damien Lestat? SM: Terminate. SF: "The Intrepid" Ryan Howard? SM: Kill. SF: Derek Mota? SM: Destroy. SF: Uh... can you diversify your answers just a tad, Mr. Manning? Destruction can _not_ be your first thought. Eddy "Flap" Jacks? SM: He's fat... he'll probably drop of a heart attack. SF: Um... Charles Scheffield? SM: If there is one man on this earth that I want to decimate... it's Joe Petrow. This Scheffield guy is second. SF: Richard "Moxy" Blue? SM: If there is one man on this earth that I want to decimate... it's Joe Petrow. This "Moxy" guy is third. SF: Okay... Ike Sampson. SM: Wrestle Clean! SF: Alr... SM: [interupting] Wait! I want a re-do! I didn't mean that! I meant, Ike Sampson is the bane of my existance! I want to scrape him off the bottom of my shoe and spit on him, then grind him all up on the sidewalk, then scrape the excess off the bottom of my shoe and spit on it! SF: Right. How about Edmund Fitzgerald? SM: [sighs] Horrific. A real tragedy. Those poor, poor people. Thousands of voices screaming in terror as... SF: [interupting] I meant the _wrestler_, not the boat! SM: So did I. SF: Of course you did, Mr. Manning. I'm feeling some progress here. Let's keep this up. "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley? SM: A [BLEEP]in' legend! A legacy that will live on and never, ever be equaled! Not by a Groundskeeper Willie, not by the nut and the jobber, not by all the Fury of hell! SF: Good. Good! Now, how about... I dunno... Marty Warnett? SM: Gay as a french horn. SF: "Soundbite" Steve Roberts? SM: This man is depriving a village somewhere of an idiot. SF: Daniel Spreadbury? SM: His staff would follow him anywhere, but only out of curiosity. SF: Gregg Osterhout? SM: He has carried out each and every one of his duties to his entire satisfaction. SF: [chuckles] Jim Jividen? SM: When he opens his mouth, it seems that this is only to change whichever foot was previously in there. SF: Tim Dross? [Manning looks over at Dross, as the veteran broadcaster smiles at him, but his face quickly falls at Manning's response.] SM: He would be out of his depth in a car park puddle. SF: [laughs] All right, Maurice MacArthur? SM: Works well when under constant supervision and cornered like a rat in a trap. SF: And finally, Joe Petrow. [Manning's eyes go wide, and he gets a crazed look. The doctor stands up and begins to back away. Tim Dross, realizing that Manning may be about to explode quickly exits the room, as the camera follows him out. Dross stands outside the large wooden door, as several crashing noises can begin to be heard.] TD: Well apparently, this little psychotherapy did little to improve Manning's mental state, and I can't say I'm surprised. This appears to be bad news for his opponents at Ring Wars, so for... YIKES! [With a sudden crash, one gargantuan member of the "IIWF Brute Force" flies through the door, knocked silly. The other man soon follows, and then Manning strides out, wearing Dr. Floyd's thick glasses, one lens having been smashed out somehow. From inside the office, a weak moan is heard as Manning walks by the camera, flashing an excited grin, before disappearing from view. Dross stares uneasily at the two fallen security officers.] TD: I think maybe I should seek some medical attention for the doctor. For Countdown... this is Tim Dross! [Dross cautiously peeks into the room, through the smashed door, and quickly turns his head, a look of shock and disgust on his face. Fade.] [From a darkened screen, the following is heard....] <> VOICE: WHAT A SHOT! That one's for you, Sheffy, you stupid bastard! [A mucus filled laugh; another internal noise...These audio characteristics can certainly belong to just one man...camera up to "The Demon" Damien Lestat as he stands in an empty room with Mr. Coolie a few feet away...] [Lestat lobs another gob of gook into the direction of his plastic friend. As the wad lands inside the open cooler, Lestat cackles with glee] DL: BINGO! Moxy-f Blue....that's what I think of you! [Lestat scratches his acne-filled face...] DL: Whaddya' f know; that rhymed. [Lestat takes a drag off his unfliltered menthol cigarette and gags on the smoke] DL: Awwwwwwwwww s....god-damned menthol... [More gagging that creates another ball of gunk which is expertly disposed into Mr. Coolie] DL: [cackling as the remnants spill from his mouth] Mr. Coolie loves my homemade snacks! They're great for a pre-match meal, aren't they Mr. Coolie? [Quick cut to the plastic cooler ....then back to a shrugging Lestat] DL: He's kinda quiet today... [Lestat chuckles; coughs, then lobs one more "treat" towards the red-and-white container] DL: A DIVING GRAB!!!! Way to go, Mr. Coolie! [Lestat does a little jig in celebration of the "acrobatic catch" by Mr. Coolie] DL: Alrighty...time to talk about this King of the f Hill Match....I wanted a _real_ mountain to throw sheads like Sheffy, Blue, Buttonhead Ike and the rest off....now __that__ woulda' been fun! [Lestat takes another deep drag as he ponders the thought of tossing the IIWF superstars off a real moutain] DL: No balls.....the f in the IIWF Towers got no balls....we need a _real_ mountain, God damnit... [Lestat looks at Mr. Coolie...] DL: Gettin' hungry, pal? [Lestat generates more gook and "feed" Mr. Coolie from afar and Lestat continues in his gravelly voice] DL: Mr. Coolie's not the only one gonna be fed..Pancake Man..two words, pal....You're f dead meat, you piece of s... [Lestat proudly nods his head as he takes another drag. No...he's not aware his last statement was more than his alotted "two words"..] DL: ...God-damned ugly fatass bastard...talks like a s-fer-brains, he does... [Another thick drag on the menthol stick as he "thinks" about Eddie "Flap Jacks". After an exhale and a gag, his dark eyes widen as he, remarkably, has a thought] DL: I think I'm gonna pretend it's a real mountain and throw people "off" the ring! [Without notice, Lestat hurls himself against a wall...] DL: [in midair] MOXY F BLUE!!! <> [He quickly stands up and repeats the action...] DL: [again, in midair] BUTTONHEAD IKE!!! <> [One more time....] DL: EDDIE "PANCAKE" JACKS!! <> [Lestat regains his footing and continues to "throw" different wrestlers "off" the ring as the camera fades...] [SCENE: Wembley Stadium. It is Friday afternoon, and IIWF staffers are running around busily, trying frantically to prepare for the big show tomorrow night: The ring is being constructed in the center of the field, lighting technicians are running cables, etc. The camera pans through the ringside area to the main concourse, where concessionaires are going through their usual pre-game routine, and IIWF vendors are setting up various merchandising stands. It is one of these stands where we find the massive Ike Sampson, leaning against the stand flipping through a magazine. Ike is wearing his street clothes, jeans and a KEEP IT CLEAN t-shirt. He holds the cover of the magazine up for the camera.] IKE: Here it is. A program for the big R-W-5. [reading] "Your guide to the King of the Mountain Progressive Match." [He sits the magazine down.] IKE: Here's all the guide you need: Ike Sampson, King of the Mountain. That's a gaurantee. Now I'm sure there's a lot of people gonna have something to say about that. Eight other people, to be exact. But I'll let you in on a little secret, on the hush-hush: They got no chance. Lestat. Wednesday night you get involved, cost me my match, with your little can. I guess you didn't realize what that can cost you: you opened up Pandora's Can, if you will, and you ain't gonna like what comes out tomorrow night. . . Flap Jackie. Seems like we met a coupla weeks ago. I won. You lost. Bottom line. You don't think it can happen again. I know it can. And it _will_. Back of the line, son. Manning. Mota. Moxy Blue. A trio of certified nutballs. I don't think any of you three have a snowball's chance of getting through this one. Too many rules to understand. Gotta Keep It Clean to get through this one. No chance. My good friends Scheffield and Fitzgerald and Howard. I'd be proud to go into battle with any of you by my side. But tomorrow night, it's every man for himself. We all understand. We all know the stakes. May the best man do his thing, gentlemen. . . So there it is, folks. The Big Dog handicaps the field. Looks like I'm the odds-on favorite. Take that to the bank. Easy money. And guess what? I'm gonna do it all the right way. The _clean_ way. I ain't breakin' any rules... just some heads. And that's the truth... [Ike turns and walks down the concourse into the setting sun.] [The camera slowly fades in as the sounds of "Fur Elise" by Beethoven played by what seems to be a stringed quartet with a grand piano accompanyment. As the scene continues to fade in, it appears to be a shot of the "high class" seats of an opera house... in other words they are pretty much secluded from the rest of the audience. It appears Charles Scheffield is sitting within the confines of the specially delegated area along with only one other person, that being a lady who can be described as nothing less than stunning. They both seem to be enjoying the performance, yet the woman seems to be a bit uneasy for some reason who shall henceforth be referred to as Lisa Jennings.] CSc: [speaking in a soft, quiet voice] Anything wrong, dear? LJ: [also speaking quietly] Sorry... nothing's wrong. [However, she still seems as if something is troubling her. After only a few seconds, she has to say something.] LJ: Actually, there is a problem. I just can't get this whole Ring Wars Five thing out of my mind. I mean you could get hurt! [Scheffield appears taken aback by the statement, as almost a jovial expression crosses his face, contrasting with the melancholic tones of "Fur Elise". He looks at the lady directly into her eyes, his calm blue eyed expression seemingly enough to take away all doubts from the heart of a nice young lady.] CSc: Look... there is absolutely nothing to worry about. At Ring Wars, you'll find out I have the situation _entirely_ under control. I really have _nothing_ to lose, and everything to gain! What is so frightening about that? LJ: Well, it isn't you I'm worried about. I know you can handle yourself. What I am worried about is things could get disasterously out of hand. What of people like Steve Manning, Derek Mota, and Damien Lestat? They are noted for causing people to end up staying the hospital! And that Lestat... oooh! He is of _such_ a low class in society! I don't understand how you can step in the ring with him once again... I simply do not understand it. CSc: Let me explain a few things, Lisa. You see, this is my life. I cannot go around here dodging challenges and not showing up for matches simply because there is the prospect I could sustain injury. That is simply for gutless cowards. LJ: But those men could really cause you harm! CSc: Why try to predict the future? There is a chance that I shall not have to fight a single one of them. Don't you recall that we draw lots the night of the match before it all begins? For all practical purposes, I may not have to wrestle until the three people you mentioned have been defeated. There is the possibility I may only have to wrestle one person, rather than wading my way through several bouts. You really shouldn't worry so much. LJ: I cannot share your optimism, Charles. Wrestling several matches in one night could be dangerous... any number of things could happen. But you still haven't answered me, Charles... what would happen if you had to wrestle one of those other men? [Scheffield turns his head away from her slowly, thinking about the question. He breathes a sigh as he realizes there is no getting around it. He turns back to Lisa Jennings.] CSc: Well, if you really must know, I believe I can handle myself. I have wrestled against Steve Manning before... so I believe I can handle myself against him. Mota... well, interestingly enough I have wrestled against that man as well. Now while I do not underestimate the ability of anyone... I have to say that I am not worried about anyone competing in the cruiser weight division because they are used to taking on people smaller than themselves most of the time. I have to contend with three-hundred plus pound slugs from time to time! I think I can handle a cruiserweight. But this Lestat character... I am going to show him just how dangerous life can be if I get a chance at him in the ring. I'll work my way through the other wrestlers very hard just to get at him... he caused me a great deal of embarassment Saturday... and I wish to equally embarass him... in a good old one one one contest. I hope he is in tip-top condition when we meet as well... because I want to knock _every_last_bit_of_steam_out_of_him_! [The shot cuts to a man sitting in a row just below the prestigious seats who turns around and glares at Scheffield who had apparently been speaking a little loudly. The shot cuts back to Scheffield who appears a little embarassed.] LJ: If you say so, Charles... if you say so. CSc: [suddenly regaining his composure] Lisa... I know I can do this. I just hope you can have confidence in me. That is really all I need. LJ: Yes... you have my confidence. I'm sure you shall do what you must to prove what you must. CSc: Yes, dear... and I intend to prove to everyone once and for all that I am not just a star for the blink of an eye... I shall be recognized as a star for all time. LJ: We shall see... [With that, the camera once again slowly fades as the incessant tones of "Fur Elise" continually hammer their way into your mind... and then fade away just as the current shot did.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Top Contenders Tag Team Warfare: American Dragons vs. Fabulous Ones vs. Night Patrol vs. The Machines ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: This match may be at the bottom of the card but it may be the one that is contested the hardest. DB: The top contenders to the IIWF tag team title compete against each other for a chance to meet the IIWF tag team champions on the first IIWF after Ring Wars 5. We are talking about 8 men here, willing to do almost anything to get this chance. There lies a lot of pressure upon the shoulders of each and everyone of them. One mistake, and your team is out. One chance that you do not use... and your team might have to pay for it. It will be hard to decide whether a risk can be taken or whether it is better to remain silent somewhere in the corner of the ring. This match will tell us which teams work best together. SR: Oh boy, you sound like an announcer for one of those UFC events. You are not here to build up heat, you are here to make your pick, pal! DB: UFC events. Well, Roberts, as I watched some of them, I saw some nice moves and tricks which I would really _LOVE_ to show to you. How about it? We could leave the studio right now and ... TD: Please! DB: [calming down] Ok, who is my pick for this one. There is only one possibility: The Night Patrol. They are the team the other ones know the fewest about. This could be the deciding advantage in a match like this. How will they react in a certain situation? No one knows. And mysteries, if I may say so, often help in such situations. TD: Maybe so but the American Dragons have the focus and determination to vault to the top. I think that these guys are the next Natural Predators. SR: Oh, please. Those two losers have about as much chance as you have sprouting new hair by Saturday! It's got to be the Machines. As much as I dislike tag wrestling...and this goes all the way to loath...you gotta like the style shown by Wong lately. The others don't have a chance. LM: That's assuming the Fabulous Ones don't get their hands on them first. All four teams had comments about this match. [We open on a shot of the famed Wembley Stadium. We stand in the aisleway leading to the ring, an aisleway which the superstars of the IIWF will walk come this Sunday night. The ring is set up, the chairs are in place, and the big screens look down upon the empty area. Well, not totally empty. In the ring, where it all will take place come the 22nd, stand Joe Scalercio, Bob Ivey, and Major Johnathan Ivey. The American Dragons are wearing their trademark leather jackets, and even in the England morning gloom, Joe is wearing his wire-rimmed sunglasses, while Bob has on his cowboy hat. Johnathan is in a long brown trenchcoat over his military uniform, and is wearing a drill sergeant's hat] JI: Okay, troops! You've done well this past week. After the hell you went through in the Congo, and the training we've embarked on this week, I am pleased to pronounce you two fit for combat! [Bob and Joe smile at this] JI: Now, you have one last task ahead of you! A task which will challenge you, mentally and physically! A task that will take every bit of mettle you have! A task that will pit you against SIX other men! Six men who represent your trials and tribulations ever since January! You have come into this fed for one reason, and one reason only...to prove that you are the best tag team in the world! This Sunday, you will go a long way in proving that theory! You will beat these six men, because you have the will, the desire, and the capacity to win! [Johnathan salutes the two men, who return the favor, before stepping into the background] JS: It's been a hard road, folks. Seven weeks ago, a young tag team stepped into the Delta Center in Salt Lake City, primed and ready to take on any team, any time. A lot of people predicted us to go the way of teams like G.W.R., the United Nations, and the Aces of the Deep. Well, we're still here. And even more so, we're about to wrestle on THE PPV. The one fans everywhere eagerly anticpate. The one wrestlers around the world would LOVE to attend. And the one that will showcase the best tag teams in wrestling today! And the best of the best? The American Dragons. BI: Not bad for two rookies, huh? We're opening up Ring Wars with an eight man tornado match, against three other teams we sure as hell don't get along with. The Fabulous Ones, the Machines, and the Night Patrol. This has been something I've looked forward to since the announcement was made in Sydney. You see, we've been here...and we've played by the rules. Any time we've been obligated to wrestle, we have. Any time the contract says "Give an interview", we're there. We don't agree with Steve Roberts on much, but we've worked our asses off since getting here...Sunday's the big pay off, partners. We've proven we're here to stay...granted, a record of 2-3-2 ain't much to brag about...but a team to wrestle EIGHT times in seven weeks? In the mighty IIWF? Hell, we must be doing something right! JS: We've said it before, and we'll say it again... "Any team, any time" is not an attempt to rip off old One-Eye. It's not an attempt to cash in on one of this fed's BIGGEST superstars ever...it's out idealogy. We stand by it. Any team that wants to wrestle us, we'll take them on. Right now, that open contract with the Predators stands...but that's WAY down the road. Bottom line is, right now is OUR chance. The winner of this whole thing gets the #1 ranking...and a tag team title shot the next time the IIWF's on the air. So...this is the chance for the rookies to make their name. Two words: Cold Spell. They got a World Tag Team shot their first PPV...now we've got a shot at a shot. They're one of the great tag teams...and so will we, after this Saturday. BI: Let's look at the list. We'll start with the Fabulous Ones. Now, we've had a couple of run ins with these guys. They attacked us during our match with the Down Boys...we tangled in Japan when we were attacked pre-match by the Night Patrol...and we had that whirlwind brawl a couple of weeks ago. Now, here we have two teams that just DO not get along. However, what happened this past week to Ms.Miki made us realize something. While we've had a couple of words about Ms.Miki... what happened to her was sickening. I don't care what happened, Wong, you got a problem? Take it out on someone your own size. Sho and Agito...we'll make you this promise, if your watching. JS: You want the Machines...take them. BI: When the match starts, they're ALL yours. I hope you get your pound of flesh. Now, when the Machines are gone, it's back to normal, but you have our word...on our honor...we will not jump you while you're working over the Machines. JS: And let's talk about Paul Wong and Simon O'Neal. Now, I know you guys weren't always on the same page...but what always impressed me was the fact you two could work together. And you've done a damn fine job of it. But Wong...first, you turn your back on your partner, and then you came crawling back. Is this what you really want? If so, fine. You seem happy with yourself...nothing wrong with selling out your beliefs, I guess. You want to know why you've never gotten a title shot, guys? You talk about the establishment and how people hate the Machines. Why would anyone want to give a title shot to a team where one guys has no backbone and the other's a honorless putz? Everyone else has EARNED their shots, chummers...well, maybe not LFD, but the other teams did. This Sunday, when we beat you from one ringpost to the other, and we walk out of Wembley the #1 contenders, please don't whine. Just push the RESET button, losers, and try again. BI: And let's close out with my thoughts on the Night Patrol. Blaze, you may have been hot stuff here once...but as Major here said before, this is your PPV back. You may be ready...and Hawkings may be... ...but is Rey Garcia? You saw what we did to him this past Saturday...cost you guys the match, if I recall. Now, is HE ready for the lights...the action... ...is he ready for us? JS: I didn't take too kindly... [Joe opens his jacket, to show the bruises on his chest] JS: ...to your little nightclub attack. You want the Dragons? Then face us on even terms, Patrol. You may have been US champs...and #1 contenders for the World belts...once. This is OUR time. You guys may be hot stuff once again someday. But Sunday, Ring Wars, you belong to us. BI: Get ready, because whenever we finally step foot into the IIWF Coliseum in a few weeks...it's going to be as #1 contenders. [Joe and Bob turn their backs to the camera...and suddenly, the overhead monitors snap on, reveal a close of few of the dragon logos on the back of their jackets] JS and BI: Any team, any time... [Fade out on the view of the green and red dragons] [Standing in the rain, in a huge garden, outside of Nagoya Castle in Nagoya, Japan. The rain is coming down heavy. The sound of the droplets hitting the leafs on the trees and the ground is almost deafening. The glare off the plants reflects into the camera leans. Standing next to a small creek in the garden is “Sweet” Sho Satsuma.] SSS: Machines! You asked for it. When you messed with Ms. Miki, you signed your death warrant. Wong, you thought what she put you through was hard, well you haven’t seen anything yet! Agito and myself will deal with you two chikushoo’s tomorrow at the pay per view. [Sho looks down at the creek, then looks back up.] SSS: Harlequin Terror! Your time will come soon enough. I don’t give a rat’s ass about your stupid Binky. You put Ms. Miki in harms way, and for that you’re going down. [The sounds of the wet ground below another persons feet can be heard getting louder and louder.] Voice: Sho-kun, what are you doing? We’ve got a match tomorrow night. [Agito Nakajima steps into view.] AN: Let's wrap this thing up. Tomorrow night Machines, the storm of the Fabulous Ones will be upon you. Don’t think for a second you’ll survive. [Sho steps out of view.] AN: Marty Warnett-san, I thank you for helping us save Ms. Miki from what could have been irreversible injuries. We owe you one. Domo arigato gozaimishita! [Agito bows to the camera then walks out of sight.] [Larry Morton at Webley with the Night Patrol and Brenda Hawkings, with the men in London "Bobby" uniforms and Brenda in a robe and wig of an English Barrister. All three also wear Tottenham Hotspur scarves.] LM: I'd like to introduce now one of the teams involved in the Top Contenders Battle Royal, the newly-reformed Night Patrol, led by the lovely Assistant DA Brenda Hawkings, Lt. Jack Blazer and Sgt. Rey Garcia. Friends, welcome back to the IIWF. BH: Thank you, Mr. Morton. My officers intend to resume the mission they set out to do on their first stay here in the IIWF, and that is recapture titles in the federation. JB: You've go a lotta great wrestlers making their way to the IIWF. The Enigma came back. Team Sychosys is together again. Gunnar Gaines is here in the Two Eye, and now, we're back to bust some heads. LM: Now, there have been other changes to the organization as well, such as the Wrestle Clean campaign. Obviously, not a high priority on the list of the Night Patrol. RG: Man, whadd'ya talkin' about? We always wrestle clean! Take showers, have our boots shined and uniforms washed before each match. Brenda even wears some perfume. LM: Another team in the tag ranks has also focused their attentions on you, the American Dragons. BH: Dragons, you just couldn't leave well enough alone, could you? Before you get to pleased with your little attack last Saturday, just remember your record against us is still 0-1. It'll get worse at Ring Wars 5. You've also had time to see the sights in England. Your impression of the British Isles? RG: Hey, I see why President Danny likes this place. Aside from the rain it's pretty. We even went to him to a soccer match earlier, and what went on after the game made us feel like we were back on the beat in Houston. JB: England, Prepare to Get Jacked! [Fade] [The camera shows IIWF VP Gregg Osterhout walking into an official building in London. He has a disgusted look on his face, and storms into the building. The camera starts to enter the door, but a police officer stands in the cameraman's way. He shakes his head, and the camera reluctantly steps back. The camera pans to the right, where a sign on the building indicates DETENTION CENTRE. The camera fades to gray.] [Sometime later, the camera fades back in. VP Osterhout walks back out, still steamed. Following him are the Machines. Simon is wearing a bright green shirt that is torn on the front, while Paul is sporting a small cut above his forehead. Osterhout leads them out of the building and towards the camera, then spins around and starts hollering at them.] GO: Three days before Ring Wars, and you two get into a BAR FIGHT!?! Do you know what type of liability the IIWF could be held to? We could be sued! And if you think... SO: [Holding up his hands.] Easy there, Gregg. It wasn't our fault! GO: You'd better hope not. [calming down] What happened? SO: Well, Wednesday night I went over to Bennigan's Tavern... [Osterhout glares at him] Hey, it's St. Patrick's Day, my last name is O'Neal... you figure it out. Anyway, my partner was getting his car imported over here. Why the hell he wants to bring his car all the way to England is beyond me. PW: After Ring Wars, I'm taking the Chunnel, then driving to Germany. I've always wanted to take my BMW onto the Autobahn. SO: You're obsessed with that car. PW: Given my recent history with women, can you blame me? SO: Yeah, but... GO: [VERY frustrated] Enough! Now, what happened at the bar? SO: I met this hot looking barmaid -- tall, red hair, the works. It even made up for that swill that they serve here in England. So, I'm turning on the famous O'Neal charm, and this rugby-lovin' bum starts giving me crap about the IRA and the Sinn Fein and all this other garbage. Now, I ain't interested in politics when I'm this close to scoring, so I tell him to buzz off. GO: ...and that's when he hit you? SO: No, that's when Paul finally showed up. Now, the lovely barmaid had a friend, so I thought I'd do Paulie a favor and fix him up... PW: Some favor. She could pass off as the love child of Dakota Bundy and Tonnage. SO: Stop complaining. PW: While Simon's trying to tell me that this woman has a great personality, That same drunken bum who was bothering Simon sees me and realizes who we are. And he starts hollering at me, saying that I had no right to hit a former Playmate, that I should burn in hell for attacking Miki, and so on. And my partner here is throwing gasoline on the fire... SO: I was trying to calm him down... PW: Let's see... You insulted Elton John, the Royal Family, the English version of Football... SO: It's called soccer, and it's for people who can't play real sports... PW: ...and Monty Python. [Simon pauses] SO: Okay... that one MAY have gone a little too far. PW: And those were just the ones I heard. So the guy takes a swing at me, I defend myself, and the next thing I know, we're in the middle of a huge brawl. SO: Ah, hell. Look at it this way. Huge brawl, bodies flying everyone, two great fighters like us and a bunch of pathetic drunks... if we added two jackasses and two hookers, we'd have a practice match for Ring Wars V. [The VP checks his watch] GO: I've got to get to a meeting. Try and stay out of trouble until Ring Wars. I'm not bailing you two out again. PW: Yeah, sure. I've got to get my car. SO: No problem... We'll be good. Besides, I've got to meet that waitress in an hour. [Simon saunters off, while Paul heads off in the opposite direction. VP Osterhout shakes his head and leaves as the camera fades.] LM: Alright, any final comments? DB: Yes, there's something I gotta tell ya right now. [Silence. The first one to speak is Dross.] TD: There's? Gotta? Ya? What's going on, Deathbringer? DB: Well, it's just that... [laughs] SR: What's wrong with him? [Deathbringer slowly begins to remove the cowl and the known goalie mask becomes visible.] LM: What is he going to do? [Deathbringer begins to remove the goalie mask, much to the shock of Morton, Dross and Roberts] TD: Oh my god, it's ... it's ... [Deathbringer has managed to remove the mask and it becomes apparent that it wasn't Deathbringer who had been sitting there behind the table, but...] SR, LM & TD : ...THE BLIND GUARDIAN! BG: Now what had you been thinkin'? Did ya really believe that my man would waste his time to sit here while he could be training and studying his opponent? Please... SR, LM & TD : ...but... [Again silence, as the other three commentators obviously do not know what to say] BG: Well, it seems as if they'll remain silent for another couple of minutes, therefore I'd like to end this show today. So guys and gals, don't forget to tune in tomorrow night to the big one, Ring Wars 5! For Larry Morton, Tim Dross and Steve Roberts, this is the Blind Guardian and this has been the Road To Ring Wars 5! [Fade as the Blind Guardian laughs about the astonished faces of Morton, Roberts and Dross.] +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= 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 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+