________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __| |\ /| /\ |\ | | /\ \ / | || | \ v v / | __| | v |/ \| \| __| /__\ \/ |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| | |\ /| |/ |/ \/ | | \/ | |\_// /\ |\ /| | _ | / __ / __ | v | | | / \ . |\ | / \ / \ | | | | \__ | | \| | __ \__ 6 April 1998 | | | | \ | | | \__| \ .....................|..v_____/.|.|..|____|____/ ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Steve "the Fury" Kowalski ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Fade up on a dimly-lit interview area. Although nobody is visible in the shot, a familiar voice rings out, echoing into the microphone since it is located in the periphery of its range:] SK: I don't feel like bein' on camera. So jus' keep the audio on, junior. GRIP: Okay, Champ. It's your call. Roll it! SK: Count yer lucky stars they say. How many times can I defend it? How many times can my body take the beatin's? I dunno. I jus' do it. 'Cause I'm the Fury. 'Cause I'm the champ. An' that's what champs do. I'm really not sure what it's all 'bout anymore. Every day it's a new city. Every day it's a new opponent. Hell, the two week lay-off wasn't no vacation to me. While the Double Eye shuts down, I get a week to heal an' then it's off to a cage match. Now the hiatus is over an' I still ain't got the rest I need. I never do. I put this belt up 'gainst the best wrestlers in the world... on more nights... an' shed more blood then any! I mean _any_ IIWF champ in history! Hah. I hurt in places I didn't even know I had. I had me a bruised kidney an' cracked ribs from Shadoe. Nice go, kid. Yer almost there. But don't feel bad. Ain't nobody looks to get it done. So maybe I'll have to set it out. Anyone want a shot... ya got it! I'm too stupid to say "no." 'Sides, this S.O.B. ain't outta gas yet! GRIP: That's a wrap, Steve. SK: [fading as he moves away] That outta stir up the [BLEEP]. [Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Savage" Shadoe Rage ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Fade in: Shadoe Rage and Marissa Monet stand tall and proud in front of the cameras. Shadoe's forehead is still bandaged. His hands are wrapped, too. He still looks exhausted after that gruelling match against Steve Kowalski at Ring Wars 5. Marissa is supportive, a discerning eye can see that she's actually bracing him upright.] SR: [raising his bandaged hands] Yeah, freak out! Freak out! Steve Kowalski, you may have held onto your World Championship, but I think everybody knows who the _man_ is in the IIWF now. I took all your best shots! I took your Skullpump. I took everything you had and I didn't quit. And dammit, Kowalski, I'm still here. The IIWF may not think it's time yet for the Age of the Rage to blossom, but I promise you, my friend, you didn't kill me once. That's your shame, because I'm coming back. I'm coming back to wreak my revenge on all the IIWF. That which don't kill you only makes you stronger. Nietzsche didn't know how right he was. Yeah, the Enemy of the World is back in full force. Ready to do damage to every man, woman and child in the IIWF. And I will damage you all. MM: Take it easy, Shadoe. Relax. SR: I can't relax. I won't relax. See, now it's about manhood. And that's when I get intense. I've seen the direction of the IIWF. I've seen the future. They've set me a challenge. They didn't want me to break open their precious upper echelon, but I will break it open. And right here, I make a vow to all of you, that I am entering this Battle Royal to determine the next Intercontinental champion. That will be my belt. That will be my right. That will be my victory. _I_ am the man who has the will to get the job done. _I_ am the man who will suffer any indignity. Weather any hurt and keep coming back. I am the story of the IIWF. I am its greatest competitor. And I'll be right back right now. And you will all... MM: Die in darkness! [Fade out.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Duncan Macbeth ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [SCENE: A cold, overcast, rainy day in the village of Glenfinnan, Scotland, and the camera shows an interior shot of a dimly-lit study within a very old-looking house. The lights in the oak-furnished room are out except for the flickering of an oil lamp on the mantle of the fireplace, and a small television set in the corner of the room. The shutters of the window overlooking the long black ribbon of Loch Shiel far below bang against the window frame periodically with every gust of wind that blows up the hillside. The figure seated in the centre of the room, however, makes no move to get up and secure the loose shutter, and as the camera moves around the large easy chair, we see the familiar form of Duncan Macbeth, his hands folded under his chin, staring blankly ahead at the wall in front of him. The Scot seems to have recovered well physically from his ordeal aboard the Thames barge at Ring Wars 5, but his silent, sullen demeanour suggests that Macbeth is still suffering from the injury done to his pride after being stripped of the Intercontinental Title after everything he endured to retain it. The shutter bangs away in the breeze, and Macbeth takes no notice as his gaze remains locked on the wall in front of him. The camera shifts to the object of Macbeth's attention, and we see an entire wall full of trophies, plaques, and title belts from the careers of the Macbeth family. The entire history of the Clan Macbeth in the wrestling ring is here, from the then seventeen-year-old Duncan's first title ten years ago as the CRL Northeast Champ, to Andrew's win in the Super Heavyweight division at the 1982 Super Japan Rikidozan Memorial Cup, to the six man titles the Macbeth cousins won in tandem with both the massive Black Angus Macbeth and Timothy N. Turner, to Duncan's more recent wins as the first-ever ICE International Champion and last-ever Mayhem champ. But the young Scot's gaze remains fixed on the one prize that has pride of place in the centre of the wall, and its reflection glitters in his jade eyes as he continues to stare at the wall, undistracted by either the swinging shutter, or the television in the corner, which is showing the Sportsdesk show on Britain's Sky Sports One.] TV: ...now to professional wrestling, and London is still picking up the pieces of last March's spectacular IIWF Ring Wars 5 pay-per-view, as Metropolitan London work crews continue to make repairs to the riverside embankment near Tower Bridge, which sustained substantial damage in that horrific Intercontinental Title match between Glenfinnan, Scotland's favourite son, Duncan Macbeth, and the "Savior" Simon Lebec. [The image on the television changes to a helicopter shot of Macbeth and Lebec trading punishing blows on the deck of the barge, as flames leap up all around them, and the throng of fans packing Tower Bridge cheering them on. Macbeth seems not to hear the commentary on the TV, and continues to stare at the wall.] TV: ...in what was later described as one of the most appalling displays of out-and-out brutality in the IIWF's history, this match was declared a draw, after Macbeth and Lebec beat each other almost beyond recognition before the barge broke free from its moorings and exploded against the north bank of the Thames. [The TV cuts to a shot of a River Police boat pulling Macbeth from the chill waters of the Thames. As the policemen quickly wrap Macbeth in a heavy wool blanket, the camera catches the Scot, still lucid after surviving both Lebec's attacks and the two explosions sustained by the barge, as he looks back to the burning vessel, then across to the other police boat that had rescued Simon Lebec moments earlier. As medics aboard the boat begin dabbing away at the fresh flow of blood that has begun to trickle down Macbeth's face, we can clearly see Macbeth's expression of satisfaction and triumph as the boat comes about and speeds off towards a nearby quay where ambulances are standing by.] TV: ...however, in a move that has stunned the wrestling world, IIWF President Dan Spreadbury later _stripped_ Duncan Macbeth of the Intercontinental Title, stating that the brutal tactics employed by both Macbeth and Lebec during this match made neither of them fitting representatives of the esteemed title. [Macbeth suddenly starts at this comment from the sports anchor, the statement about his being "unfit" causing his expression to darken, the blow to his pride causing anger to well up within him, but he keeps his attention locked on the wall in front of him as the sportscaster continues.] TV: ...Spreadbury has come under intense criticism as a result of this action, with critics pointing out that it was, in the end, the President himself who gave his sanction to the match and its stipulations in the first place, and stripping Macbeth of the title has been seen in many circles as a thinly-disguised attempt at damage control by the IIWF's publicity department. Ring Wars 5, with its wider international appeal due to it being held in London, was the most successful and highest-rated pay-per-view in IIWF history, and Spreadbury may well be more worried about turning off potential new fans of the IIWF, which means losing a substantial amount of new revenue for the federation, than preserving the health of his wrestlers or the reputation of the Intercontinental Title. [Macbeth suddenly glances back at the television, letting that last remark sink in, and the sudden look of understanding on his face gives way to expressions of confusion, disbelief, then finally betrayal and grim resolve. For long moments, Macbeth continues to watch the broadcast, then finally get up and crosses the room to the television set.] TV: ...the future of the Intercontinental Title is uncertain at this point, but insiders have reported to Sky Sports that the President has plans to set up a tournament to decide a new champion, with the final match of the tournament taking place at the next IIWF pay-per-view event, Birthday Bash II. With the King of the Cruisers tournament taking place on the same card, Birthday Bash II could be as exciting and successful an event as Ring Wars 5, something that should make the IIWF's publicists very happy indeed. Duncan Macbeth has not been heard from since RW5, but it's a good bet that he'll be in the thick of the hunt to regain his title. Macbeth remains one of the top draws in the IIWF, and President Spreadbury, despite stripping the fiery Scotsman of the title, has to be counting on Macbeth's participation in what has been up to now a rather lacklustre Intercontinental division. Can he do it again? [Macbeth snaps off the television, leaving no sound in the room but the whistling of the wind and the banging of the errant shutter. The Scot appears deep in thought, his mind turning faster and faster as, at last, the events of Ring Wars 5 begin to become clearer and clearer to him. And then he laughs, a bitter, virulent laugh, and returns to his chair, a strange smile crossing his face as he folds his hands under his chin once more. And stares at the wall of trophies once again. The camera follows his gaze back to the wall once more, and this time we see exactly what it is that Macbeth has been obsessed with this whole time. In the centre of the wall is a brilliantly gleaming replica of the IIWF Intercontinental Title, the ornate goldwork of the front plate contrasting with the custom royal blue leather strap that Macbeth wore as Intercontinental Champion. It is easily one of the most striking and handsome belts on the wall, seeming to sparkle just a little brighter than its companions, and the inscription on the front of the belt can be clearly read: IIWF INTERCONTINENTAL CHAMPIONSHIP DUNCAN MACBETH Below the Intercontinental Title replica, another title belt, a little older but still immaculately cared for and shining almost as brightly as its newer companion, hangs from the wall. The belt is sterling silver with gold inlays, and as the camera pulls in for a close-up of this particular belt, we can read the inscription: IWA WORLD TAG TEAM CHAMPIONSHIP THE BLACK WATCH: ANDREW MACBETH DUNCAN MACBETH Below the IWA belt hangs a kilt similar to the one that Macbeth wears to ringside for every one of his matches, but with a slight difference. The kilt that hangs from the wall is not set in the familiar bright red tartan that identifies the Clan Macbeth. Instead, this particular garment is woven in a black-blue-and-green sett that is so dark that it appears to be all black from a distance. It is the same kilt worn by members of the Royal 42nd Highland Regiment, the "sidier dubh", or "black soldiers" -- the Black Watch. Macbeth continues to stare at the wall, but his demeanour has now completely changed from his former sullenness, his mouth spreads into a determined grin, and his green eyes burn once again with their familiar intensity as the shot slowly fades to black.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Icehawk ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [SCENE: One of the locker rooms backstage at Wembley Arena. An exhausted Icehawk sits on a stool, still in his wrestling gear, sipping on a Pepsi. The Cruiserweight title belt is sitting on a table next to him. The scratches from his encounters with the cage stand out brightly against his pale face. As the camera comes on, he's not looking at it, but he glances up when he hears the crew come in.] IH: Oh, hi guys. I was just about to come out to do my interview. You didn't have to come in here. CAMERAMAN: It's our pleasure. After putting up with that nutbar Enigma for months, it will be a great joy to deal with a champion who isn't crazy. Congratulations. IH: [smiling] Thanks. It feels really good to be a champion again. CM: Where's the party? We figured it would be a madhouse in here. IH: Oh, there will be a party later, you can count on that. But Fitz and the Predators had to get ready for their match, TNT was going to watch Duncan and the rest of the guys wandered off. CM: Well, if you are ready... [Icehawk nods, then looks into the camera.] IH: I almost don't know how to start this interview. There are so many people I want to thank for making this possible. First, I have to thank the fans. When the Enigma was beating on me out there, and the pain was shooting down my back... I only kept going because I could hear the fans screaming for me. And then all the guys came out -- the Dragons, 4-D, Tim Turner, Charles Sheffield... I know some of you were out there more for to cheer against Musashi than to cheer for me, but it still meant a lot. But most of all, I have to thank one person. After I did the Starsault, and I was laying there, I know that tens of thousands of people were screaming for me. I only heard one voice. I heard Edmund Fitzgerald say "Matt, get up." I heard him tell me to suck it up and beat the Enigma. And when I fell off the cage, I knew he would be there. Steve Roberts can make all the cracks he wants about gay tag teams... but that man let his own career go into the toilet for me. I'll never be able to repay him for that. Thanks, Fitz. EF: You are welcome. [Icehawk spins around at the sound of his partner's voice, and blushes deep red.] IH: How long have you been standing there? EF: Just a few seconds. And don't worry about me... my career won't stay in the toilet long. IH: Who won? EF: TS. Marty put Petrow through the last table, but they overturned the decision, and 4M pulled off a desperate dive off the top rope just as Bear was going to win the match. IH: Damn. Joe Petrow and 4M have our tag titles. That's embarrassing. EF: Kiddo, you can't worry about that anymore. Your title is that one right there. IH: I know... but, jeez. It just lessens the whole title to have those two as champs. EF: Yeah, but let 4-D take care of that. You worry about all the cruiserweights who want a piece of you now. And, there's one more thing. IH: What? EF: I'm proud of you. [Icehawk smiles as his partner claps a hand on his tired shoulder. Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Enigma" Takezo Musashi ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [SCENE: A darkened locker room somewhere in the bowels of the Wembley Stadium. No light is available, but the form of the "Enigma" Takezo Musashi can be dimly made out, sitting cross-legged upon a bench, lost deep in meditation. Slowly, Musashi unfolds his limbs, stands, and eyes now open with a dangerous gleam, faces the camera.] TM: So it comes to pass, that amidst the chaos and bloody mayhem of battle, a lowly foot soldier may strike out in luck and desperation, and topple a mighty warrior. Shock resonates throughout the ranks, the tides turn, and the lowly foot soldier is branded a hero in victory and honour. Often, however, he does not wear that mantle for long... stronger and more ruthless men than himself will always see to that. So did a sigh of relief sweep the ranks of the IIWF? Did you each perhaps rest easier that night, knowing that I had finally been overcome, that the carnage had been brought to a peaceful conclusion, that a demon had been exorcised from your midst? Did you drink a victory toast to the dawning of a new era of law-abiding sportsmanship? Has the "Wrestle Clean" campaign draped a veil of comfort and tamely fought matches across the IIWF? [Musashi cracks a devilish grin, but abruptly, his expression changes back to a radiation of menace.] Your idealised hope is a stain of idiocy upon your name. A demon is never vanquished through mortal means. No matter how many times he is beaten down and bloodied, no matter how many lynchings he endures, no matter how much adversity stands in his path, he will always be lurking in the shadows... gnawing the darkness, brooding on his bitter bile, cultivating his anger until it swells to a mighty crescendo, gathering all his might for one more violent strike, and then!... Well... many of you have already suffered the consequences. Some of you have been more fortunate, but your time will come soon enough. Many more shall writhe in pain. I will see to it personally. Icehawk, I must confess that I underestimated you. For the depths of fight you displayed at Ring Wars, I must offer you a bow... but only for the briefest of moments. It seems that you are more of a warrior than is apparent on the surface, for you had within you the courage and will to overcome the adversity I set before you. But I must pose a question, and I ask you all -- the spectators, the officials, the wrestlers -- to consider it in all seriousness: who was the REAL winner here tonight? Who shall be the one to walk into the future with glory in his wake and notoriety heavy about his name? Is it this young whelp, this lowly foot soldier who with one stroke of luck, in one moment of chance, shocked the world? Consider your answer carefully, for battles are not won with a single stroke, but through the blood and sweat of a tireless campaign... Who was it that wrought the mayhem? Who was it that spilled the blood? Who was it that taunted and punished and damaged and battered until his foe was nothing but a cripple and an example of the strength flowing through the veins of a ruthless man? Icehawk may be riding the crest of a wave, but the mental and physical scars I have given him to remember me by will be haunting him until the end of his days... and even well before that time, that wave will have crashed into foam upon the rocks. I am the victor. I stand in triumph. The glory is all mine to claim. [Musashi's eyes glitter with an exuberant madness as he stares at the camera for several moments. Slowly, his expression softens into one of almost calm reflection.] Besides, I now have greater concerns than such a minor trophy as the Cruiserweight title. I have freed myself for greater heights, greater glory, greater depths of mayhem... and the pinnacle a mighty warrior such as myself can reach. Yes, Steve Kowalski... I'm coming for you. That great golden strap you wear around your waist has been denied me for too long now. I said when I made my come back all those months ago, that nothing would prevent me from climbing to the top of the world, a pile of bloodied victims at my feet, and my fists held aloft in triumph. I ripped the IIWF apart brick by brick and now my destiny is so close I can almost see it shimmering before my maddened gaze... But you stand in my way, Kowalski. That makes my fight to the top only a tenth of the way accomplished. You are a great warrior, of that I have no doubt. You've mixed it up with the baddest of the bruisers and hung them out to dry without a concern in the world for all the rules and regulations the officials try to hamper us with. You've spilled blood by the gallon, and you've exulted in it. We've clashed briefly before, you and I... Sparks flew like sheets of sheer terror across the IIWF, but it was just a mere scuffle, a hint of impending violence, a single drop of blood in the ocean of chaos we weave. Your sternest test still awaits you. Your greatest challenge is on the horizon. I know that you have the courage to face it. Let us salute one another... one last time. After this day, we become each other's nemesis; bitter, mortal enemies as only two great warriors and rivals can be; and neither this league, nor any other, nor any battlefield since the dawn of time, has ever witnessed the depths of violence we are about to unleash. I warn the IIWF in its entirety... you will never, ever, be capable of containing our fury. Let the dance of chaos begin. [Musashi nods to the camera, determination and intensity burning in his gaze, then turns and walks from the shot.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Team Sychosys ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [The sun begins to appear over the horizon of the Thames River, casting the first ray of natural light on the party being held in honor of the NEW IIWF World Tag Team Champions "Sychosys" Joe Petrow and "Mr. Majestyk" Maurice McArthur, who in the midst of the revelry show no signs of the punishment they received in the Seven Tables of Fear match just a few hours before. The camera focuses on a tight shot of a piece of leather, gradually pulling back to reveal that it is the back of a title back, and pulling back further to show a close-up shot of McArthur in a trance-like state, staring at his title belt. The camera pulls back further still to show Petrow walking in from somewhere else, his title belt slung over his shoulder, walking over to McArthur and bringing him back to reality by placing an arm around his shoulder.] JP: Get used to it Maurice. This is the first title you've ever won, but it won't be the last, and they won't all be tag belts. You are the future of this sport 4M, and it's time to start acting like it. 4M: I...I know Joe...I mean, I don't know, I mean...DAMN! I can't take it any more! I gotta let it out! JP: Hey, that's all right! You're a champ now! Go ahead! 4M: Really? JP: Yeah, let it ALL hang out! 4M: Well... all right, here goes! [McArthur breaks free, and begins to...well, style and profile, in what would be considered a passable strut were it not for the fact that he is bobbing his head like a pigeon. The rowdy crowd of Sychopaths "Whoo"s in appreciation.] JP: All right, we'll work on it. Or maybe we shouldn't. Anyway, the point is, that at long last, FINALLY our time has come! We thank Cold Spell and the Lost Boyz and the Natural Predators and the Down Boys for keeping these belts warm for us, but NOW, the New Age has arrived! The Dynasty that not only rules the sport, but changes the very way it is perceived. I mean, take a look at what you got here. Just a few weeks ago, the tag division was considered the bastard stepchildren of the IIWF. Now, we got Steve Kowalski, once again defending his title of world's greatest garbage wrestler, a man who does it so well that someday somebody might actually give a damn. The Incontinent Belt is now vacant after the most embarrassing champion of all time wrestled the most embarrassing match of all time. And the Cruiser belt is in the hands of a sub .500 nothing who's gonna be wrestling Flapjack Fatty for the gold. And the general scene is even worse! Two new Genesis reincarnates have sprung, but both far more adept at raising the bar of boredom and mediocrity. First you have some cult that apparently worships the corpse of Danny Dynamite, or something like that. Hey guys, call yourselves 4M and _then_ somebody might give a damn. 4M: Like my lawyers! JP: MAURICE! [Petrow turns around and stares at McArthur, who jumps with a start] That was good. I like it. [turns back to the camera] Then we got the Discordiacs, led by little Moxy Blue. What a fitting leader. A misfit amongst misfits, a loser amongst losers, a man who despite all the originality he claims to possess has recycled the oldest angle in the book. Well Moxy, you do your damnedest! You send all your thugs out to try and take care of us, because kiwi knows the Down Boys can't do it by themselves. Because Moxy, even if you succeed, you know that it means nothing. You know that for all your toilet humour and parlour gags you bring to the party...you will never be fit to even lick my jock strap. Forever the class clown, nothing more. Let that be your personal eternal hell. But enough of that! We've shown that tag wrestling is now the ruling force in the IIWF, and by proxy we ARE now rules of the IIWF! And before we go out and start headlining main events all over the world, tonight we've been partying like it's next year! And while I can't speak for my partner, I know that the only time you won't see me with this belt [pulls belt off shoulder and holds it in front of him] is when I'm in the ring defending it! I'm gonna eat with it, sleep with it, bathe with it, and when this party is over, I'm gonna go back to my hotel room and make SWEET...PASSIONATE LOVE to this belt AWLLLL NIGHT LONG! Maurice, the morning is young, bring me some champagne! 4M: You bet Joe! Hey, look everyone! I can see my reflection in my belt! [As Maurice goes to fetch the liquid lobotomy and party with the Sychopack, Sychosys turns back to the camera for one final comment, looking much more serious than before] JP: Hey Gunnar...I know what you're going through. Believe me, I do. If you ever need to talk...I'm here for you... [Petrow stares for a second, then shakes his head, returning to the crowd while muttering something about being nailed down. Fade out.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Down Boys ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Backstage at Wembley Stadium. The generic IIWF backdrop is there, but the only thing in front of it is a television on a cart, a VCR directly under it, and a VHS videotape. The videotape has a yellow Post-It note on it that reads "PLAY ME". An IIWF intern follows the directions written on the Post-It, and pops the tape into the VCR. Nothing happens. Suddenly "PUSH PLAY, YA MORON" is heard from offscreen, and the intern runs back and pushes the play button. The footage is about six and a half months old, but it seems very familiar.] The scene is backstage after the match. "Sychosys" Joe Petrow stands, a stuffed duffel bag resting on his shoulder. He speaks softly to the camera.] JP: Like all warriors that don't get themselves killed in battle, before the flesh dies, the spirit dies. The body that is left behind is merely an empty shell, waiting for Father Time to claim it for his own. Tonight, that time came to me. Perhaps, my soul should be filled with rage. Perhaps my very being should be baying for revenge. But it is not. I've given everything I have. Over the past few months, I gave away my health, my confidence, and at times, even my sanity, for this one... [The shot of Petrow is replaced by a quick edit of the Down Boys standing in the locker room, in front of the IIWF backdrop. Dan Oliver says to the camera:] DO: ...title. [The shot cuts back to Petrow] JP: Tonight, I gave the one thing I had left. My soul. To the belt I hoped would reciprocate it all. But I don't have it. And I cannot feel anything but emptiness anymore. So I am staying. I am staying at my home. I will not compete. I cannot compete. [The shot cuts again to The Down Boys, with Adam Peterson saying:] AP: Richard "Moxy" Blue and Derek Mota have... [Cut back to Petrow:] agreed to fulfill all of my contractual obligations for me, and I thank him for it. You have been a true friend, [Cut to Down Boys] DO: Discordiac brothers... [Back to Petrow] JP: ...and if I could, I'd miss you. I am alive, but now I must try to find a soul so that I may live. And the desire to once again compete in the IIWF. To those who loved me, I thank you. To those who hated me, I thank you. To those who felt nothing towards me one way or the other... I'm sorry. I tried. [With that, Petrow walks silently out of the shot. Fade out.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Natural Predators ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [IIWF backdrop, Bear and Grey Phoenix, looking frustrated, wearing their standard wrestling gear. Kuyler, stoic, stands in the middle Interview moves rapid fire, no pauses between words.] B: You know what _I_ can't get? GP: What's that, big guy? B: How the hell that little McNugget ever got behind me... GP: It was a fair shot. B: Fair shot. GP: And we'll get our fair shot. B: _Our_ titles. GP: See these faces, Team Sychosys? No way in hell you're going to forget them. B: You beat us. Fair and square. GP: But it must have felt really good to know that the immortal Joe Petrow in all his madness couldn't finish the job himself. B: Question isn't what McArthur's doing on that team. GP: Question is, Petrow...how long can you two stand with those belts? B: Down _BOYS_... we got you back, Kolohe.... GP: Flash in the pan. B: One hit wonders. GP: And like Argentina told Meredith Brooks, you've had your time on stage... get the hell out before we break you. B: And your little "Discordiacs". GP: Moxy Blue's army of un-loveable misfits. B: Steele slumming. GP: Mota struggling. B: And their tag ranks coping with Down Syndrome. GP: Future's us, children. B: Predators. GP: Fitzgerald. B: Warnett. GP: 4-D. B: 4-D. GP: Party Maniac. B: Mighty Oarsman. GP: Native Warriors. [Pause. Kuyler steps forward to speak] KG: Natural Selection is calling to you. Team Sychosys, Down Boys, Discordiacs...what you've forgotten is the most basic of rules. You're only as good as your last match. Down Boys lasted all of one match as champions before they were removed. How long are you going to last, Petrow? McArthur? I mean, yes, you've proven above all else that you are a tag team who can handle yourself in speciality matches. But when it comes to the nitty gritty, the barest elements, week after week of defending your belts... and believe me, we know what it is to defend the titles... how long before the Home Grown Talent or the Crazy Ass Bastard falter... make that one crucial mistake that causes their euphoria of the moment to turn to the nostalgia of the past? [Smiles] Sign the contract, Petrow. You have our challenge. More importantly, you can't hide from us. B: Neyho neyehe hiyo. GP: We will triumph. B: Not just coming at you. GP: Coming at you in 4-D. KG: And by no means do we dismiss the Machines in this upcoming match... but remember, boys... how many times have we beaten you before...? And will again? [Smiles as camera fades.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Gunnar "Grizzly" Gaines ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [SCENE: IIWF Coliseum. Portland, Oregon. The seats are empty. Gunnar "Grizzly" Gaines is seated in the front row next to his wife, Cheryl. She has a nice flowered dress on, while he is wearing jeans and a blue polo shirt. He has his arm around her. The memories of the death of their baby... and of Gunnar's victory over Jimmy "Meatman" Steele... are still fresh, even after two weeks' time.] GGG: Folks... what you see here is why I signed with the IIWF. This is PORTLAND. This is where my home is, along with Alaska. And this is where we buried little Justin Lawrence Gaines. [The camera pans around the arena... the lower level... the balcony... the ring... the entrance ramp... an IIWF banner hanging from the ceiling...] GGG: When you have a tragedy like Cheryl and I did a couple of weeks ago, you learn who your friends are. And it seems that here in Portland, we've had more friends than we truly knew. The cards... the letters... the flowers... the support you've given has been wonderful. We've truly been blessed. [Cheryl weeps for a second on Gunnar's shoulder, and he squeezes her just a little bit tighter, blotting her tears onto his shirt.] GGG: But back in London two weeks ago... [Gunnar's expression turns to one of disgust.] GGG: Let me just say that I _heard_ some of those fans who cheered for Jimmy "Meatman" Steele. Both of us did. The whole _family_ did. And let me just say to you people, and you _know_ who you are... _You turn my stomach._ Jimmy "Meatman" Steele... you're just a dumb idiot. First, you didn't have any idea the damage you would cause with your little stunt. Second, I've dislocated your arm with the Grizzly Slam Limited Edition. Third, I'm going to assume that not even _you_ are stupid enough to mess with me or anyone in my family ever again. Let me know if otherwise. What does all this mean? It means today's your lucky day, butcher boy. I'm going to do something that some people who don't know me well might consider out of character. I'm going to forgive you. But for the fans who cheered the Meatman on, just days after he poisoned me, poisoned my wife and killed our baby? You _knew_. You knew, and you cheered anyway. And now, you might have had some time to think about it. You might have reconsidered. You might even want to apologise to me and my wife. Well, don't bother. You see, _God_ might forgive you... [For the first time in the interview, for a split second, he gives a grin. A very slight, very subtle Grizzly Grin. But it quickly fades into a deep scowl.] GGG: ...but I won't. So don't bother showing up in Portland on Saturday. Cheryl and I are going to do something special. For our TRUE fans. And if you're smart... you WON'T be there. [Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Deathbringer ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [SCENE: The IIWF interview area. The Blind Guardian and Deathbringer are standing in front of the camera. While the old man is looking straight towards the camera, the Dark Destroyer faces the rear wall onto which someone has written the blood-stained letters "R.I.P.". Deathbringer's manager begins to talk after a few seconds] BG: The PPV is over. Clown Tragedy is dead and buried and most important: The Reaper's own deathmask is back where it belongs. Everything's okay now. And Deathbringer's the nice guy again, whom you all love... Ain't that right, big man? [It almost looks like a slow-motion footage, as Deathbringer turns around now. He's wearing the mask he regained during the brutal ladder match on Ring Wars V. Something looks strange though. As the camera zooms in to the mask, the little difference becomes apparent: His pair of piercing-red eyes has been replaced by two completely black ones. He says but two words with his low, growling voice before the scene fades] DB: Not really... [Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Real Deal" Luke Steele ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Fade up to the IIWF's interview area, inside Wembley Stadium. The show is over, as crew members struggle with the elaborate sets and numerous pieces of equipment. Luke Steele leads his entourage, Awesome T and the massive bodyguard Stone onto the set. Steele carries the water bucket in his hand, and Stone has his meathooks wrapped around the axe used in the water bucket contest. Steele looks back at Awesome T, and then starts to speak.] LS: Nasty, baby dolls. It just doesn't get much nastier than this. Good ol' Luke Steele went out and won himself the biggest pay per view match of his career to date. Sure, it was nice beat the hell out of the Jerkhammer, it was nice to fool Scheffy and use Dexter St. Croix for all he was worth, and it was even pleasant to get shuffled into three or four random tag team matches. But nothing, nothing can beat the feeling of slamming a cool metal waterbucket into the side of your enemy's head. Ain't that right, T? AT: You said it, Luke. I knew that once I found a proper singles wrestler I could mold him into a champion. And thanks to the Thames Follies, starring Duncan Macbeth and Simon Lebec, Luke is going to have his chance much earlier than anticipated. LS: Wait, wait, wait. Hold on, T. We can't forget about the most important, most historic, most newsworthy topic to come out of Ring Wars. The Discordiacs. The Dis-f'n-cordiacs, baby dolls. The Real Deal, Moxy Blue, the tough little Canadian bastard, Derek Mota, and the Down Boys, baby dolls. We don't have to like each other, but we don't have to like you either, IIWF superstars. But you wanna know the best thing about the Discordiacs? [Luke pulls the camera in close, just tight enough for a head shot of the three men. Steele looks at Awesome T and grins.] AT: _We_ don't have stupid little hand signs. LS: But here's one appropriate for 6-D. [Steele gives the camera the finger as we fade out.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Richard "Moxy" Blue ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Scene opens to a poster of anime classic-to-be "The Ghost in The Shell", it's headline reading "Aimed at smart audiences: Siskel and Ebert". The camera pans out, revealing a small mahogany table against a light Copenhagen blue wall, adorned with am empty tin of Dutch Butter cookies, a Dr Pepper can and a few Interac cards. On top of the table rests an answering machine, on top of which rests a telephone shaped like an '87 Corvette. The phone rings, or rather, makes a honking sound.] MACHINE: [sound of a barbershop quartet] # We're sorry Rick ain't home right now # # He's such a merry person, he loves you one and all # # So leave your name and number # # And he'll call you back, with any luck # # But if you should hang up too soon # # Go take a flying... # [The machine beeps at the appropriate time.] LUKE STEELE: [through answering machine] Hey, Blueboy? Ya there? We ain't heard from ya lately... where ya at? We gotta start planning... uh... well, you know. If you're there, don't screw with me, Moxy doll, and pick up the phone. If you're not, well, get back to the rest of this crew ya formed, capiche? Oh Why Are and all that crap, Ciao. [The camera pans out, and Mox is indeed there. He sits in a chair, wearing ripped blue jeans and a black T-shirt with lettering that can't be read in its current position, as Mox is bent over in the chair, head hanging down, his freshly re-dyed blue hair concealing his face. He does not move. He hardly looks like he's breathing. In his hands, he holds an opened envelope, and its supposed contents, a thin piece of paper, with a formal sort of lettering on it. It's pink. Camera fade out.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The Machines ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Paul Wong and Simon O'Neal of the Machines stand in front of the IIWF Interview area. Each man has a smug expression on his face.] SO: Let us introduce ourselves again for the first time. I'm Simon O'Neal, the big man is Paul Wong, and we're the Machines: the NEXT IIWF Tag Team Champions. PW: At Ring Wars Five, we beat three teams to earn that shot. We beat the Night Patrol, we beat the American Dragons... SO: But most of all, we beat the Fabulous Ones. They tried to break us up; it didn't work. They attacked us in the parking lot; didn't work. They attacked us after the match and tried to injure us; didn't work. PW: What it all comes down to is this; we won the title shot... they didn't. SO: [Chuckles] Miki and Bertha were the groupies to the wrong team. And in addition to that, we outlasted the cheapshots by the Prophets, we outlasted the attack by Terror... [Simon stops. He looks at Paul. Both men look at the floor and shake their heads.] PW: Poor, poor Binky. SO: It's a shame, really. That poor little chainsaw, on his deathbed and everything. PW: It's a real Tragedy. SO: Yes, it... [Groans and looks at his partner.] Man, that was bad! Stop with the puns. [Paul looks up and grins] PW: But enough about them. We finally have the chance we've been looking for. Our shot at the tag team titles. SO: And it's against Team Sychosys. The team that beat the Fabulous Ones. The team that beat the Prophets of Rage. The team that beat both the Natural Predators and the Down Boys... PW: And the team that lost to us. SO: Australia. Double-Bullrope match. There was no controversy, there was no doubt. We won the match. PW: Just like we'll win the titles on Saturday. [Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Eddy "Flap" Jacks ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [SCENE: the nurse's office in Wembley Stadium, immediately after the conclusion of Ring Wars 5. One slight, somewhat homely nurse slowly bandages a cut over a small child's eye.] N: Does that feel better? [She rubs the band-aid gently, as if to enhance its recuperative power. The small child nods, leaps off the table and then departs. Seconds later, the door is pushed open again. Eddy Jacks, still attired in his wrestling garb, steps into the office. His eye is swollen shut. The bridge of his nose is completely broken.] EJ: Can ya fix me up? N: Weren't you wrestling toni...? EJ: [interrupting] I was. N: Isn't it fake... uh... scripted... uh...? [Jacks shakes his head and points to the injuries.] EJ: Are these fake, hon? N: Well... uh... no. They look pretty bad, sir. EJ: [grimacing] Just bandage the damn cuts. [The nurse moves to begin suturing Jacks' wounds when the young child who was recently treated by the nurse bursts through the door, a sheet of paper in his hand.] CH: Mistah Jacks, Mistah Jacks! EJ: What? CH: Mr. Osterhout wanted me to give this to you. Says it's a ker-tifite or somefin'. Says you won the King of the Hill! [Jacks snatches the sheet of paper out of the child's hand.] EJ: I'll_be_damned. CH: Yeah, an' now he wants to know who you...uh.... EJ: Wanna wrestle? CH: 'Zackly. [Jacks nods thoughtfully, tugging at his beard.] EJ: Ya know who won the Macbeth-Lebec match? CH: Don't nobody know, mistah. [Jacks nods.] EJ: All right. How 'bout the Kowalski match? CH: Fury won, mistah. He whipped up on Sabage Saboe. [Jacks shakes his head, surprised.] EJ: Ain't got the gumption ta give Kowalski a go. How 'bout Icehawk-Enigma? CH: Icehawk won, mistah. [Jacks grins.] EJ: That so, boy? CH: Uh-huh, mistah. EJ: I'll_be_damned. CH: You ain't mad at me, is you Mr. Jacks? EJ: Nah... but I got an idea. Icehawk, eh... cruiserweight belt... sounds good enuff. Spready's gonna hafta ink it. The lil' puke's gonna hafta take it. An'... [Jacks glances at the nurse... and smiles.] EJ: Yunz are gonna see just how fake wrestlin' is. [Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Sanguinary" Steve Manning ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [SCENE: IIWF Monday Musings area. "Sanguinary" Steve Manning strolls into the scene smoking a cigarette and looking quite content, wearing a black t-shirt reading "Quickstrike 3:16" on front, and as he turns for just a second, the words "I Quit." are seen on the back. Manning puffs out a few smoke rings before speaking.] SM: Pro rasslin'. There's nothing quite like it. Besides a mental hospital or a poorly run circus or something. This world is a world of vicissitude. Everything has it's ups and its downs, y'know. I've had my ups, like ripping the heads off three different IIWF stars at Ring Wars V. And I've had my downs, like being powerbombed and pinned by a stupid shoat like Derek Mota. But... what can ya do? [Gets a wild look in his eyes...] SM: [yelling] I'LL TELL YA WHAT I CAN DO! [Manning begins to breathe slowly, drawing back on the cigarette to calm himself.] SM: I swore to all the minions below that I would make EIGHT other superstars feel a sanguinous wrath, one which could be expelled only by the likes of myself, the self-proclaimed scum of the universe. Well people... IIWF Saturday Night is rapidly approaching, and according to my charts, only _three_ superstars have paid the price at this time. Five more must fall, and five more _will_ fall. [Manning gets a weird gleam in his eyes, as the camera closes in, so that just his two steely blue eyes are staring back into the picture.] SM: Watch your backs. All of ya... watch your backs. [Laughter arises from the scene. A mad sort of laughter that leads you to wonder if his head is as hollow as his heart. Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Andrew Macbeth ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Cut to an outside shot of The Empress Hotel in Victoria, British Columbia, Canada, where a number of reporters are huddled around the front steps.  Hotel management is refusing to grant them access. However, one camera crew can be seen passing the manager a crisp $100 dollar bill.  We then cut to a shot from the camera just allowed inside.  It wends its way through the posh corridros, eventually reaching the tea room, where Andrew Macbeth can be seen at a table reading a newpaper and muttering to himself.] AM: Blasted Empress... if I see another picture o' Queen Bleedin' Victoria, I think I'll retch... AH, BALLS!  Who let ye miserable sods in here? [Startled old ladies begin to whisper to one another in the background.] REPORTER: Mr Macbeth, sir... no offense meant.  Alex Robertson, CHEK 6 Sports.  We were just curious what you were doing in Victoria. AM: Ye wants tae ken what I'm dooin' 'ere, aye?  Cor, I'll tell ye, then.  I figured this wee pathetic DOOMP of a toon would be th' only place I could get away from people th' likes o' ye.  Shouldn't ye be reportin' some Grade 5 egg-'n'-spoon race or somethin'? ALEX: [a bit flustered] Umm... well, no, you're the biggest story to come along in quite a while. AM: Story?  STORY?!  Cripes... _I'll_ give ye a story, aye. [Andrew gets up from the table and grabs Alex Robertson by the knot of his tie.  He then takes a small pitcher of milk and pours it down the front of Alex's shirt.  Next, Andrew takes the sterling silver teapot and begins pouring the hot tea down Alex's shirt, causing Alex to turn beet red and stammer in shock and anguish.  Finally, with cool precision, Andrew takes a pair of tongs from the table, picks up a cube of sugar, and drops it inside Alex's shirt, then again with a second cube.] AM: Enjoy yer bleedin' Empress Afternoon Tea.  Tosser. [Andrew Macbeth gets up and storms out of the tea room, while old ladies gasp and say "Well, I never!" to one another.] ALEX: [visibly shaken and angry]  That bastard!  Look at this!  He... he didn't mess up my hair, did he?  No?  Good... [Cut.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The Prophets of Rage ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Fade in: the Prophets of Rage stand before the interview set, straight-faced. Even Unique Allah doesn't have his jovial expression any more. Pizzazz rubs Derek's tense shoulders while Medusa dominates the centre of the screen.] MR: IIWF, I hope you're happy. You've finally created a real boy out of that Pinocchio called Mr. Majestyk. You've made a mockery out of the rest of your tag-teams, said they are nothing more than second rate bit players in the sideshow of your poster boy, Joe Petrow. Is that really as good as it gets, Spreadbury? Is that as good as it gets? Well, thankfully, you haven't ever tried to destroy the reputation of the Prophets of Rage, you haven't chosen to subject them to the ridiculous sideshow of Team Sychosys. But you better realise something right now. The Prophets of Rage have been treated like red-headed stepchildren right now. DR: [growling] You heard her. Cuz, that's the way it is. You can't hold us down and back any more. You can't keep us out of contention, you can't keep us off television, you can't keep us from still being the _best_ the IIWF has ever seen in tag-team warfare. You punished us once for being too good, trying to drag us back to the pack. Well, now you've made a mediocre mockery out of an entire division. And the fans are looking saying that every other team out there sucks. We was mad when we got left off the Ring Wars card. What kind of disrespect is that for the number one tag-team in the world? What kind of respect have you given your former champions. Then I saw the card unfold and how easily Team Sychosys made the rest of those tag-teams look like amateurs and imbeciles. And I was glad I wasn't part of the mix. Because there was no way I was going to lie down for Maurice McArthur. There was no way I was putting my hard-earned reputation for being a _wrestler_ on the line to be some pawn in a pathetic joke. DDUA: I just got one question. What're you gonna do now? You ever gon' give us our props? You ever gonna rank us again even though we beat all the teams we was supposed to beat, even though a whole stadium full of Sycopaths couldn't stomp us down in the Heart of the Motherland. What the fuh are you gonna do now?! How you gonna keep us down? MR: Well, Mr. Spreadbury, don't even worry about that. Because we're going on strike. DR: That's right. DDUA: [yelling] YEAHHH, MUHFUHS, we goin' on a got dang strike. We ain't wrasslin' no muhfuh in this promotion until you give the Prophets their due, the number one ranking in the IIWF and a bona fide shot at Team Sychosys! DR: We no he would rather stay home than ever get in the ring with the Prophets, but dammit, Spreadbury, you gotta give us what we _earned._ Hell, we may not be all about comedy, but we're all about wrestling. We're all about making this promotion the best it can be. And right now, it just ain't good, you've only got one team... [jerking his thumb at his chest] And that's us! MR: So, we're going to picket every tag-team match in the IIWF until we are given our shot! And we will bring pressure to bear on you, Spreadbury, to give us our match... on our terms... and at our convenience for once. And there will be no wriggling out. There will be no squirming off the hook. There will be no exceptions to the rule. And by God, the Prophets of Rage will rain holy havoc down on the IIWF. DR: We been team players here. That's all done now. You better accommodate us or I swear somebody's gonna die. DDUA: And that ain't no joke, muhfuh! It ain't no joke at all! [Fade out.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The American Dragons ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [We open on a shot of the rapidly-becoming-famous leather jackets. One white, one black, one with a green curled up dragon, and one with a red dragon, wings spread, breathing fire. The jackets of Joe Scalercio and Bob Ivey, aka the American Dragons. The two men are walking through Heathrow Airport in London, England, hours after the completion of Ring Wars. It's 5 am here in England, and the sky is beginning to turn from black, the hint of dawn breaking through. Joe and Bob have their suitcases in hand, and are rapidly walking through the airport, gym bags slung over their shoulders. Even in the pre-dawn light, Joe is wearing his black sunglasses, while Bob's got the cowboy hat. They move quickly, eyes locked forward, pace rapid, strides long. They move slightly to avoid the sparse crowd... ...until they come to a stop. In front of a 6-year old boy. The boy is obviously fresh from the PPV also. He's sucking on a lollipop and wearing an old-school Syndicate shirt. He looks up at the two superstars, in wide-eyed wonder] B: It's the Drag-uns! Mommy! [Joe can't help smile as Bob sketches a wave] BI: Howdy, partner. [The boy looks for a moment at the two wrestlers...] B: Are you going home now? [Joe and Bob look at each other, then look back at the boy] BI: Yep. JS: We've got two policemen who we're going to take revenge on... [Joe ruffles the boy's hair as both men make their way past him, on their way to the nearby Gate 57, and a sign reading: NOW BOARDING FOR NEW YORK, CHICAGO, AND PORTLAND. As we once again see the emblems on the back of the jackets as the American Dragons walk away, we hear the little boy speak...] B: Any team, any time... [Fade out.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ NorthPac Coalition ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [The shot opens outside of a hospital room in London, England. The camera starts to go through the door but is stopped by a trio of men leaving the room. It is "Rocket Man" Timothy N. Turner, "Constable" Tom Turner, and "The Immolator" Akira Saito.] TNT: You didn't think we were going to stay in here for long, did you? It's true that we were beat up pretty bad at Ring Wars...but nothing could stop us from getting ready for the return of the IIWF after the break! CTT: We were only there to cheer on my brother! We aren't even signed to compete in the IIWF! Those lousy backstabbing Scots attacked to innocent men! TNT: Make that three. I extended my hand in friendship and it was bitten. After I had shown the world that you could fight with honour and pride...and beat a dominant athlete like Andrew Macbeth...I was brutally attacked by a man I knew as my friend. Everyone in the arena knows that I had Andrew beaten and it was just the luck of the bell that saved him. No one gets up from a TNT from the top of the Jumbotron! AS: The victory was yours. The victory is yours. Now you must use the momentum. You have left your dark past behind and have stepped into the light. Embrace it. TNT: I have never felt as happy as I did when I heard the fans get behind me and cheer for me! CTT: You showed the determination of a champion! That's more than Duncan did. He couldn't even beat Lebec...which you have done handily. I only wish that Akira and I could get our hands on the Macbeths! TNT: Well...let me talk to President Spreadbury. I'm sure the fans would love to see the NorthPac Coalition lock up with the Black Watch. Let's see what we can do. [The camera cuts away as the three men walk down the hall.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The Benjamins ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [The camera opens in a busy gym, with two particular individuals standing out from the rest. One, a hulking figure, is tossing a fairly well-built man around like a rag doll in the wrestling ring in the centre of the gym. The other, a smaller man, yet also gifted with a fantastic physique, is dangerously practising different kinds of 'plancha' from the top turnbuckle of the same ring onto mats placed outside the ring, his blonde hair flying with him. The smaller one looks up and sees the camera. A warm smile breaks out on his blemish-free face, he waves and then runs over to the camera.) BOBBY BENJAMIN: Hi! [Shakes hand of cameraman, as the camera also wobbles with the handshake] I heard you guys were comin' here! First, let me just say what an honour it is to be accepted into the Double-eye. I've been in a few feds before, but nothin' of this calibre of competition. Me and my bro are really lookin' to make an impression on everybody. We didn't come here to be jobbers, and we definitely don't wanna be lookin' bad in front of our family and friends back in Minnesota. [Look of mild shock] Oh geez! I didn't introduce myself, did I? I betcha Mom's gonna give me a big lecture about my manners now... [smiles broadly]. Anyway, I'm Bobby Benjamin, and the big dude that's in the ring's my "little" brother, Joe. [He is "little" only age-wise, as he is a massive giant. He also sees the camera, drops the unfortunate victim in his gorilla press, and jumps out of the ring and runs over to his brother. He towers over him.] JOE BENJAMIN: [With a child-like look of awe] Hey! Omigod! It's a camera crew! Man, I'm gonna be on T.V! BB: [Turns to brother] Get used to it, little bro, we're gonna be seein' a lot of these things. JB: Aww man! It's just so exciting to get into the Double-eye. I've been waitin' for a chance to get some real wrasslin' since I was thirteen! And to get it in the biggest fed on the planet is unreal! Y'know, I've been watchin' awesome superstars in the IIWF like 'Crazy' Joe and the Natural Predators on the screen for ages, and now I'm gonna get the chance to wrestle with 'em! I just can't believe it! [Bobby looks at his brother standing next to him, and shakes his head with a small snigger of laughter] BB: Dude, you definitely got a lot to learn 'bout this wrestlin' gig. [To the camera] Don't worry, he gets excited like this all the time... Well, if we wanna get seen right for our first match, we're gonna have to get back into training... C'mon Joe, let's get back to it! [Bobby runs back to the ring, motioning for his brother to follow him. Joe waves him on and turns back to the camera, still with a silly grin on his face] JB: Just before I go, could ya give me a copy of this tape? I think my girlfriend would really dig... [With Joe still talking, the camera fades to black.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Robert D'Artois & Reiner Ver Magnusson ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [The Scene is in the interview area. Standing there are IIWF newcomers Robert d'Artois and Reiner Ver Magnusson. They address the cameras.] Rd'A: I'll make that short and clear. IIWF, you used to believe that your federation was filled with talent. But you were mistaken. We can understand that... We can understand because you had never seen true wrestling talent. But now, you won't have any excuses to overrate yourselves. Why? That simple. Because real wrestlers have just arrived in the IIWF. Sure, we are not legends... We are not so-called greats of this sport. But we are wrestlers, unlike all of you. My name is Robert d'Artois, I am an expert in submission style fighting, and my friend here, is the most powerful man who has stepped foot in the rings of the IIWF. RVM: That's exact. I'm the World's Strongest Man. Rd'A: We have already signed for our debut match. This Saturday Night, all of the IIWF's never-were will be able to look at our real wrestling style, to admire and worship our great capacities and also to accept and realize your own mediocrity. This Saturday Night, it will be your chance, IIWF, to look at two True Wrestlers, two True Fighters, and to take example of everything that we will do. RVM: You will be able to take example of my unlimited power and of Robert d'Artois' soon-to-be legendary ring expertise. The Benjamins shall be the first step on our domination of the IIWF tag team division. Rd'A: And of course, in our quest to set new, but definite, standards to a rather lacklustre wrestling federation called the IIWF. All of those who are listening, all of those who are watching, you will all be changed. You will all adopt our standards of excellence and you will all accept our... Evident superiority! RVM: We are the only talent in this federation! The superior wrestling talent. [Screen fades to black.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ King of the Cruisers Tournament Participant: Youth Gone Wild [UWF] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Backstage at a UWF event. Sitting on an equipment trunk is Youth Gone Wild. He fidgets in his seat, and starts to speak several times, stopping abruptly each time, as though he has more to say than he could possibly say at one time. After a small smile, he organizes his thoughts enough to speak his mind.] YGW: Hey Double Eye fans, and all you guys watching in Japan. Always meant to do a tour of Japan. Anyway, here I am, representing the UWF in the King of the Cruisers tournament. I've looked the bracket up and down, and no offense, guys, but I think I can win this thing. [Wild stands up and paces back and forth a few times before continuing.] YGW: First things first. Icehawk. This guy I know. Hey, Serge Annis is in the IIWF, I keep up. Great wrestler, singles champ, tag champ, and he's done all this in the IIWF, which has as good a reputation as you're going to find. You find an objective observer, he'll tell you this may just be your final match right here. But Hawk? I was in the UWF before they even had a Cruiserweight division. I was a little man in a big man's world, and I still got the wins. And I'm the only man from the UWF in this thing, so I've got the reputation of a whole promotion on my shoulders. And that's a promotion I helped build, and I do not plan to let them down. [Wild is walking back and forth even faster now. He moves his hands constantly, as if he doesn't know what to do with them.] YGW: So come on, Icehawk. One of us is going to leave this tournament way too soon. You're too good to go in the first round, buddy. But that's the way it's gotta be. It's going to be a wild ride, Double Eye fans. Hope you enjoy it. [Wild flashes his famous smile, then strides off stage. Having said everything he wants to say, he walks with confidence, turning on his way off camera to flash one more smile to the camera.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ King of the Cruisers Tournament Participant: Tiger Claw [independent] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [SCENE: A simple shot of Tiger Claw in front of a black backdrop. Claw is a man in his mid-20s, with a cleanly shaven head, and a thin Fu-Manchu moustache accompanied by a chin spike. His build is slight compared to many wrestlers, but appears completely solid. He looks intently into the camera.] TC: All right... Listen up. It's time for the King of Cruiserweights to speak. Funny thing, you know? Over half a year ago, me and a few friends, we walk out of the IIWF in... less than amicable circumstances. And for that time, I've been to a lot of places. Mexico... Japan... Back home, to Toronto. In that time, and at all those places, I've had time to think... To reflect... To look into myself and see just what the hell's going on in there. There's a lot that wants out. See, for a while now, I've been laying low... I've been training folks. I've been working behind the scenes for the good of a friend, or for the good of another organisation. It's all been for someone else. It's never been for myself. I kept my mouth shut. I played the silent partner while others yammered on to fame. I've been the company man. Well now, it's time for me to come out from behind the scenes... It's time for me to get into a few faces... It's time for me to say what's on my mind. It's time for me to do things for _me._ It seems like quite a coincidence that I come to this conclusion right when the King of Cruiserweights tournament starts up, and I get an invite. So I figure... I'm coming into this by myself. No manager. No buddies coming in and interfering. No fancy video clips with voice-overs. No flashy lights or loud music, and no goddamn fairy tales. I've got some stuff to prove. Lately, it seems like the world doubts my ability as a competitor. They doubt that I have what it takes any more to do this any more. A lot of people are thinking I should just be training my friends for belts, and stay home when the bell rings. To hell with that. I _am_ the best in the world, be it heavyweight, cruiserweight, wrestler or Battle Artist. So why come here? Why come to the place where dreams are shattered? Why enter a tournament to find the best when I know I am the best? Because it's the King of Cruiserweights. No tournament deserves that title unless I'm involved. I'm the best there is in the sport today, and that's no overdone catchphrase... That's the god's honest truth. So who's first up for me? The Son of the Devil himself. I can see the IIWF isn't wasting any time trying to challenge me. Well, Hijo... Let me tell you something... I know a bit about that Lucha style that I know you practice. I've spent some time where you earn your keep. Don't think for a minute that I'm going to be overtaken or awed by your dazzling mat work or your stellar aerial techniques. I can match you hold for hold, plancha for plancha, and tope for tope. I've seen it all, and I can do it all. Some might say that you pulling a win over me would be quite an accomplishment, but it's never going to happen. This year, 1998, is the year of the Tiger... [Claw points to his chest] And the Tiger is me. [Claw stares at the camera for what seems like a few very long moments. The intensity in his eyes is almost overwhelming. Almost out of nowhere, he pushes the camera to the right, making it swivel, and losing the shot. The shot swings back to it's original position, but Claw has already started walking off the set, leaving the blackness of the backdrop unbroken. Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ King of the Cruisers Tournament Participant: El Hijo Del Satanico [CLLL] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Scene fades in on the IIWF interview room. Standing in front of the IIWF logo banner in the room is El Hijo Del Satanico. EHDS is wearing a t-shirt which says "I Represent Myself," as well as his trademark bold red mask and long wrestling tights. He also wears white boots with red laces.] EHDS: Tiger Claw, you and I have never crossed paths before, but come this weekend, you learn why we were placed in the positions we currently reside. You see... Claw... all the training you have been through, all the hard work you have put in, and your history here in the IIWF itself as a whole may just be all for naught. TC... you are a former tag team champion among other things here in the IIWF, but now... you no longer fight on your own turf. Listed as an independent, you are out to do this for _yourself_, apparently. [EHDS laughs] EHDS: Yet your motive, to become the King of Cruisers... your dreams, must all be _shattered_. I hate to be the one, Claw. I hate to have to do what I need to do this weekend. I'm sorry. I really am. [EHDS points to his shirt.] EHDS: I fight for myself... I fight for what I want to fight for. And whether you like it or not, Claw... I get what I want. I have not spent my life in the hell that is Mexico just to lose to a man who cannot even find himself a home. I do not do what I do to be a _failure_, unlike you, Tiger Claw. Always living in the shadow of Casey James... always having to know that he was the number one in the Syndicate, and you never could be. I'm really sorry that I can't allow you to make your huge breakthrough now, Tiger Claw. I'm sorry that I can't permit you to finally shine. I'm apologizing, right now, for being unable to allow you to advance. Claw, I'm here because I am going to defeat you... finally, your hopes and dreams shall be SHATTERED. Whether you want to admit it or not, Claw, that shadow will always be around you. If you like it there, so be it... But I'm not taking you lightly. I'm merely making sure you know your role. [EHDS laughs] EHDS: And this weekend, you continue to play the role you've played all your life. The role of the man who remains in the shadows... merely second best. Second fiddle... to the Son of Satan himself. [The room goes dark... and there is only a voice.] EHDS: I'm sorry, Claw... but my destiny does not allow you to win... and you're not powerful enough to change my destiny. [Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ King of the Cruisers Tournament Participant: "Playboy" Ronnie D [EMWC] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [The thunder rolls in the black night sky. Massive clouds partly-cover the full moon, which the camera focuses on, almost like a wispy beard over the light. The furious pounding of rain on stone is heard as a sudden crack of lightning blinds the shot with a huge blast of bright white light. As soon and sudden as the light enveloped the sky, it disappears, leading into our next shot. Sheets of rain pour like buckets of water over a cemetery. On a chipped headstone, sits a man in a black leather trench-coat, the collar pulled up to conceal his neck. Lightning flashes, lighting up his figure, exposing the long blond hair flowing down his back, soaking in the rain. In a dark, angry voice, the figure speaks.] VOICE: Cripple, maul, destroy, maim, thrash. Those are all strong words, which will surely be used by many a man in this tournament. I, however, have no need for such words, because... [The shot switches to show the front of the man who sits on the stone. His body is concealed under the leather, but we can see that he has his blond hair pulled back, and we can see his face, illuminated by a bright light, coming from near his feet. It is none other than... "PLAYBOY" RONNIE D! He speaks in his energetic yet cocky tone, quite a contrast from the dark, brooding facade he had on but moments ago!] RD: ...Because the icon isn't about that. No, I'm here to kick ass, take names later, and sleep with all the interns in the Double-Eye Towers along the way! [Ronnie blows a bubble of pink gum as the camera fades out on this... quirky... little scene.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ King of the Cruisers Tournament Participant: Kabuki Kid [SJPW] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [The scene opens in a school playground. Lots of oriental children run about playing kick-ball, baseball, and a few girls are playing jump rope. The majority of the children are of the age of ten to twelve. Off to the right is a group of boys sitting at the monkey bars. They all seem to be looking down at something that one of them is holding.] Boy: Hey! My dad just got this for me last night. Boy: What is it, Rowen-kun? Rowen: It's the latest issue of the IIWF program, Masaki-kun. Masaki: Cool! What's in it? Rowen: It's got a lot of pictures of the wrestlers in the league, but what stands out the most is the "King of the Cruisers" tournament that the IIWF and SJPW is sponsoring. Another boy: Wow! Who's in the tourney? [A girl walks into the group.] Girl: That's the IIWF program, isn't it? Rowen: [Whining] Yes, Mizuki! You aren't going to tell dad I brought this to school are you? Mizuki: Well, I wont, if you give me the centrefold of the Fabulous Ones from it. Rowen: [Whining] Ahh, all right! [Rowen pulls the centrefold out and hands it to Mizuki who runs off with it.] Rowen: My sister can be such a pain sometimes. Anyway, let's see who's in it. [Rowen opens the magazine back up to the page with the big "King of the Cruisers" logo on it. He points at the bottom of the page to the list of wrestlers in the tournament.] Rowen: El Hijo Del Satanico, Shawn Harrison, "Superior" Sean Stevens, Youth Gone Wild... Other boy: [Cutting in] YGW rules! He wrestles in the UWF. Rowen: Hey, I've got an idea. How about we bet our lunch money on the winner of the tournament? Sage, who do you want? Sage: Definitely, Youth-kun! Rowen: That's your pick, you can't change! Sage: Hai. [Masaki pulls out a pencil and hands it to Rowen.] Masaki: Here, write it down. [Rowen writes down Sage's pick in the magazine.] Rowen: Who do you want, Masaki? Masaki: Finish reading all the wrestler's names first. Rowen: All right. The IIWF has two guys in the tourney, "Sanguinary" Steve Manning and Icehawk. [He continues to read off the names quickly.] Then, there's "Iconoclast" Sean Watts, Big Greggy Cool, Chris Michaels, "Armitage" Steven Spector, Joey Rappoport, Kabuki Kid, Sengir, and "Playboy" Ronnie D. Who do you all want? Masaki: Back up a second. You said the names too fast. Repeat the last couple. Rowen: What, you want Ronnie D? Masaki: No! Another boy: Who the heck is Sengir? Rowen: I don't know? Some guy from the ESWP. What, you want him, Akira-kun? Akira: No, I'll go with Ronnie D if Masaki doesn't want him? Masaki: He's yours. I want to see the list. [Rowen writes down Akira's chose. Then, looks at the tallest boy there.] Rowen: Ryu-kun, what about you? Ryu: I'll go with Tiger Claw-san. [Rowen writes it down.] Masaki: Let me see the names. You read them off too fast. Rowen: [Whining] All alright. [He allows Masaki to look down the names. Masaki's eyes stops on one, then a smile comes across his face.] Masaki: I'm going with the "Ruler of the Airways" the Kabuki Kid! [The other boys didn't hear his name because Rowen read his off too fast.] Akira: That's not fair! I didn't know he was in the tournament! Rowen: Well, I read his name off. Get the toilet paper out of your ears! Ryu: I'll stay with my choice, but I'd like to have gone with Kabuki Kid. He's one of my favorites. Akira: This isn't fair I tell ya! He did it on purpose to help out his best friend. This sucks! Rowen: Hey, it sucks for me too. Who am I going to pick? Kabuki Kid's the man. [Akira walks off as the alarm sounds for recess to end.] Akira: You cheated! Rowen: Whatever! [The other boys run off towards the school while Masaki stays back to talk with Rowen.] Masaki: So, who are you going to pick? Rowen: I'm not. I don't want to lose my money. You've got the sure thing. Kabuki Kid rules! [Rowen rolls the magazine up and with Masaki run towards the school.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ King of the Cruisers Tournament Participant: Joey Rappoport [SJPW] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Joey Rappoport is in an IIWF interview area.] JR: I've done all I can to get to this King of the Cruisers tournament, and all that's left is to wrestle my heart out. Because I know and the fans know that I will give them their money's worth by putting out 110% of my efforts. All of my past accomplishments mean nothing now. Now it's me against fifteen other superstars of the world of professional wrestling, battling it out for the right to be called the best lightweight wrestler today. Best of luck to all the participants, and I'm going to do my best to represent SJPW by showing them what Joey Rappoport can do. To the rest of the wrestlers in the tournament; I'll see you in the ring. [Joey Rappoport walks out.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ King of the Cruisers Tournament Participant: "Armitage" Steven Spector [LWC] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Steve Spector is seen pacing back and forth in front of the King of the Cruisers banner. Spector appears to be a little bit nervous, but he turns and faces the camera. Spector tugs on the collar of his t-shirt, then relaxes by the backdrop.] SS: A new, different stage for me. [Spector lets out a sigh.] SS: Unfamiliar territory... heh. Imagine, someone with a small reputation such as myself, and I don't believe that word's gotten around on how good I really am. At least my first match in the King of the Cruisers tournament will take place on familiar soil. [Spector smiles.] SS: Japan, the place where everyone that steps into the ring gets equal respect. I've wrestled in front of those large crowds before, and I know that those people are true wrestling fans that aren't fickle if somebody shows the slightest bit of change. Japanese fans don't feel the need to ask stupid questions either. [Spector grins.] SS: The match is a little under two weeks away now.. gives me enough time to get a few things off my chest. Let me say a few brief words to my first opponent, Joey Rappoport.. SJPW Middleweight champion... the adoration of the Japanese people... not bad, Joey. But... you gotta look at it this way. You're taking on someone with a rap sheet a mile long, and someone that is always looking for something to prove. You're good, from what I've seen from ya... but don't get overconfident so early. Just an early warning from a fellow cruiserweight... Not much I have to say for tonight until I have to hear from you... so... I guess I'll see you in the ring. [Camera fades out.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ King of the Cruisers Tournament Participant: Chris Michaels [ESWP] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Camera opens on a young man wearing long black tights, black shinguards, black kneepads and black boots. He also has his wrist wrapped with black tape. His dark brown hair is cut short, and shaved on the sides. He has a solid athletic build, looking to weigh in the 220 to 230 range. He stands in front of a blue banner with the letters "E-S-W-P" in gold. He has his arms folded in front of him, and he stares intently into the camera. He wears a poker face. His emotions hidden. He speaks, in a sharp, but low tone.] CM: My name is Chris Michaels. I have been entered into the King of the Cruisers tournament in a rare show of respect from the ESWP. Or is it? Perhaps they considered the tournament a way to be rid of me for awhile. Another dodge for Don Hall. Another way to keep me occupied, so he won't have to face me. Well, if that is the case, so be it. I have already challenged the entire ESWP, and it only seems fighting that I face new challenges as well. An elite tournament to determine who the best man is. Hosted by the world famous IIWF. [Michaels shakes his head, and unfolds his arms, letting them fall to the side.] CM: I go into this tournament, not representing the ESWP. No. I represent myself. I stand on my own two feet, and anything I gain from this tournament. Be it experience, respect, acknowledgement...Anything, I will have earned for and by myself. I won't brag. I won't pander to the fans. I won't ask for any favours, and I expect none. I know this will be one of the hardest fights of my life. Going through a field filled with incredible talent. But, like every other challenge I face, I will take it one step at a time. [Michaels raises his right hand, and extends his index finger] CM: Step one is Big Doggy Cool. Everything else beyond him is irrelevant. He has to be the first to fall for me to continue. [Michaels slowly curls his finger down until he makes a fist. He holds his fist in front of him towards the camera as the scene fades to black.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ King of the Cruisers Tournament Participant: "Iconoclast" Sean Watts [SCRA] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [It is the standard IIWF Monday Musings setting which provides the background. A brief flash of movement is visible as the scene fades into view -- a barely glimpsed figure paces out of field. Moments later, the figure strides back into the full glare of the lights and the impartial scrutiny of the camera, approaching so closely his face dominates the picture. Lank blond hair defines his face, framing gaunt cheeks and light blue eyes. His well-worn black leather jacket creaks as he brushes back stray wisps of hair, more of a habit than a desire for his face not to be obscured. He frowns at the camera, stepping back to reveal the last part of his ensemble; a pair of terribly worn blue jeans and a black tee with the word "LOSER" written across it.] SW: I'll try and get this over with quickly, and painlessly. I hate doing this sort of thing, always have. I'm Sean Watts, and I'm a wrestler. I'm not someone who does monologues, or who goes on to no end about their skills, or bothers to sell tee shirts. I wrestle. And I'm pretty damn good at it. Skillwise, at least. I'm just not so good at all the other aspects of it. Fact is, the promoters don't really care how much talent you have, they're only interested in how many dollars you can rake in for them. [Sean pauses for a moment to open his leather jacket, flashing his "loser" tee to the camera.] SW: And let's face it, someone who proclaims himself to be a loser or an "Iconoclast" just doesn't sell too many tee shirts. So it's interesting that I'd be invited to something like the "King of the Cruisers." Especially when it's someone not so many of you might have heard of before. The way I see it, some suit realised how good it would be to invite someone like me. Sort of like throwing a bone into the mix, an easy round for someone else, and the triumph of hard work over someone who is nothing more than a "slacker." [Sean's leather jacket makes scrunching noises once more as he folds his arms across his chest.] SW: Only thing is, I aim to tell a different story. One that won't leave the suits too happy. [Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ King of the Cruisers Tournament Participant: "Real Deal" Shawn Harrison [UEW] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Scene opens with "Real Deal" Shawn Harrison standing in front of an IIWF banner. His attire consists of a white Gold's Gym tanktop and black windpants. He fixes his black cropped, neatly cut hair and flashes a smile to the camera.] SH: The IIWF's King of the Cruiserweights Tournament and the Real Deal is taking over. The first opponent that lies in my path seems to be an IIWF representative. A man who is accustomed to the way things go in and around here and is a man who is _undoubtedly_ one of the best cruisers ever. [smirks] Well, I'm not too worried about the man known as "Sanguinary". I am _not_ worried about what he is going to throw at me in that ring because no matter how hard you try or how hard you work...you can't top the "Real Deal". And that is something that Manning will learn the only way I know... [arches his left eyebrow] _My_ way... [Fade to black.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ King of the Cruisers Tournament Participant: "Superior" Sean Stevens [SOW] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [SCENE: Fade in to the generic IIWF interview room. It's got a blue IIWF backdrop with the IIWF logo written in blue. Taped hastily on the bottom of the backdrop is a piece of paper. Scrawled onto it is "Portland rules Baltimore." Sitting on a stool in front of the camera is a man with long blond hair, hazel eyes, and a definete muscular frame. He wears a King of the Cruisers shirt and a pair of Jncos. He is staring at the "Portland rules Baltimore" paper and shaking his head, grinning. He then turns around and jumps up a bit, saying:] MAN: We're on? [Camera bobs up and down in answer] MAN: Oh...sorry.      [pauses] Hey everyone. For those of who know me...hang on for a couple of seconds. For those of you who don't...the one percent population out there, I'm "Superior" Sean Stevens. I wrestle in the SOW, where I am the current world champ, as well as the MLWO...      Yeah, I wrestle in the MLWO. Got a problem with it? Turn off your TV, 'cause there's not a thing you can do about it. [Stevens grins] SSS: Sorry if that alienated anyone. I'm a likeable guy...trust me. [smiles]           Anyway, I digress.      Now, there's one question that everybody around here's been asking... [Stevens motions to the cameraman] CAMERAMAN: Why the hell is a Baltimorian in the Double Eye? [Stevens claps] SSS: _Very good!_ And you know what? I'll tell you.      Basically, I'm here because Spreads saw me on MLWO TV. He saw me fly around the ring like a kamikaze, he saw my _vast_ array of talents... called me up... an' he said, "Sean, I want you to fight in the King of the Cruisers tournament."      I asked if I would get paid, he said yes, I'm here. [Stevens laughs] SSS: Now... my first opponent in this tournament... that would be the Playboy himself. Ronnie D.      Ronnie...I know a lot about you. That's a compliment, by the way. I      saw you beat one of the toughest men in the world in Brody Thunder. I saw you wrestle in the smaller feds like the NOW. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't impressed.      But you see "Playboy"... I ain't Brody Thunder. I ain't no guy you      beat in the bush leagues who'd be a prelim here in the IIWF.      I'm "Superior" Sean Stevens. And I'm vastly different than anything      you've seen before... [Stevens shakes his head] SSS: You see, I'm not gonna sit here and call myself the future franchise of the IIWF. I'm not gonna sit here and say that it's a given that I'm winning this tournament.      I'm different than that. I'm confident, yeah, but I'm not cocky lke      you...it's like this. I know you can beat me, Ronnie.      But I'm going to do my absolute _best_ and make sure that doesn't happen. [Stevens cracks his knuckles] SSS: Can I do it? [nods] You'd _better_ believe it.      Understand that. Just because I don't sit here and spout off at the      mouth trashtalking doesn't mean you're gonna trample all over me. Things don't work that way.      If I lose? [shrugs] Life goes on... [Stevens pauses to clear something from his eye] SSS: But _when_ I win..._when_ I prove to you that you're not just facing a fellow opponent, but one of the best challenges you've ever had...      You're the one whose going to have to deal with it.      Don't like it?      Too bad, Ronnie...'cause it's the truth. [Stevens gets up and walks away. Fade to black.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ King of the Cruisers Tournament Participant: Big Greggy Cool [NPWA] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [The scene opens up with Big Greggy Cool in front of the old and former Grapplearium.  Home to Pacific Coast Wrestling in PORTLAND, OREGON banging on the doors.  No one's been in the PCW Grapplearium in over a year.  The doors have been boarded up and the lights have been turned off.  Big Greggy Cool is wearing beaten up Pumas, long brown cargo shorts, an "IIWF" T-Shirt, with no sleeves or collars, curly brown hair and shades.] BIG GREGGY COOL:  Dan! DANNNN!!!!! DAAAAANNNNNN!!!!! [Big Greggy Cool keeps on pounding on the doors of the Grapplearium when a big lookin' cop comes over.) COP: Whatcha doin', Mac? BGC: Well, um... No one wants to come to the door.  I got this letter from a wrestling orginazation here in Portland, so I remembered the PCW and I'm here, and, well, they don't wanna let me in. COP: You're not the sharpest pencil in the box are ya, Mac? BGC: Um... No sir. [The Cop shakes his head and walks away.] BGC: This doesn't make sense.  Maybe they don't like me...  That can't be possible.  Everyone does.  I'm as cool as Michael Jackson -- Before Thriller -- and I'm phat like Albert... Hmmm... There's gotta be another solution... DAAAAAAANNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN!!! [BGC keeps on pounding on the door of the boarded up Grapplearium as the scene fades out.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ ? ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [A deep bass voice speaks as thunder is heard in the distance...] VOICE: Since the dawn of time man has attempted to harness Mother Nature... [Scene of a hurricane destroying the coastline of a tropical village] VOICE: Since the dawn of time man has attempted to build weapons of great destruction! [Scene of German stukas strafing a tank column then cutting to a scene of a several American Sherman tanks cutting through the hedgerows of Northern Europe then cutting to the scene of a large mushroom cloud bursting over the Nevada desert] VOICE: Since the dawn of time man has tried to understand the human mind... [Scene of a galaxy with the equation "E=mc2" and "X to the power of Y" and other various and sundry mathematical equations are seen floating about then fading away] VOICE: Well IIWF... Put away your toys for the raw power of Mother Nature is going to be set upon you! [flash of lightning] The ultimate wrestling weapon of destruction is about to be unleashed! [A sword and cestus are dropped to the ground] The monster without a conscious or a mind.... [Blazing red eyes are seen] On April 11th all sanity will be thrown aside to bring one thing to the ring... MADNESS! [Pan down to a hot red-white anvil as suddenly a large fist with an iron wrist band is slammed down on to it. The anvil breaks in half and the searing of flesh is heard. Screen fades to black then suddenly static and white noise fill the air.] +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= 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 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+