Saturday Night Wrestling

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American Wrestling Alliance 
Proudly Presents 
AWA Saturday Night Wrestling

Live from the Grady Cole Center
Charlotte, North Carolina
July 17th, 2010
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[As we fade in, we hear the closing theme to the Fishing With Orlando
Wilson show as the shot starts to fade.  It is replaced with footage
marked "INDEPENDENCE DAY!"  The shot is of "Hotshot" Stevie Scott
slamming the National Title belt into the back of Todd Michaelson's head
and neck.]

GM:  OHH!  What a shot!

[The Hotshot stands over Michaelson, title belt in hand, glaring down at
the unmoving former World Champion...

...and suddenly yanking him off the mat, pulling him into a standing
headscissors with a cold look in his eyes.]

GM:  He's gonna piledrive him!  Somebody stop Stevie Scott!  Somebody
stop the champion!

[Suddenly, a flurry of activity can be seen from the crowd in the
background.]

GM:  What in the-

[A figure in a hooded black sweatshirt hurdles over the ringside
barricade, diving headfirst into the ring, staring dead at Stevie Scott
who shoves Michaelson aside, facing his new threat.]

GM:  We've got a fan inside the ring!  Get that fan out of the ring!

[Without warning, the fan rushes across the ring at top speed, BLASTING
Scott in the throat with a running clothesline that looks all too
familiar to AWA fans.]

GM:  What the-?!

[With Scott down and motionless on the mat, the sweatshirt comes off,
spiked to the canvas to a THUNDEROUS ROAR from the crowd!]

GM:  MY GOD, IT'S KOLYA SUDAKOV!!

BW:  That was no clothesline, Gordo - that was the Sickle! 

GM:  The Sickle!  The Russian Sickle has laid out the National Champion!
 We haven't seen Sudakov in almost a year, Bucky.  It was one year ago
tonight he lost the title to the Hotshot and-

[The babyfaces start to rally, putting up more of a fight as Matsui and
Waterson try to regroup their troops, pulling them back into a retreat
from the ringside area.]

GM:  These fans are going nuts!  This is insane and out of control!

[Soon, Marcus Broussard and Juan Vasquez have made their way back inside
the ring.  After a bit, Ron Houston joins them, eyeing Sudakov a bit
warily as Todd Michaelson gets back to his feet as well.  Broussard
produces a mic, struggling to be heard over the screaming crowd.]

MB:  How...

[Broussard breathes heavily, clutching his head.]

MB:  How do you like... (deep breath)... OUR surprise?

[Broussard points to Sudakov to another roar from the crowd as the stoic
Russian actually smiles for once, throwing his arms apart to an even
louder roar.]

MB:  You think... you think this is over?!

[The San Jose Shark shakes his head as Vasquez shouts at the retreating
Southern Syndicate.]

MB:  This isn't anywhere NEAR over!

[BIG CHEER!]

MB:  A few months ago... this man...

[Broussard pats Vasquez on the shoulder who is still screaming at his
rivals.]

MB:  He told you the war... had just begun...

[The San Jose Shark winces, grabbing the back of his neck.]

MB:  On Labor Day... in New Orleans...

[A deep breath.]

MB:  The war ends.

[The crowd buzzes with anticipation because we all know what's coming
next... right?  Three words that will send the entire American Wrestling
Alliance into a frenzy.]

MB:  You.

Us.

WarGames.

[DEAFENING ROAR!  Broussard spikes the mic down to the canvas, getting a
high five from Vasquez.  Michaelson steps up behind the San Jose Shark,
putting an arm around his shoulders.  Ron Houston glares off into the
distance at the Southern Syndicate who are still huddled just before the
dugouts.  Kolya Sudakov steps up on the middle rope, angrily gesturing
for them to bring the fight back to the ring.]

GM:  Every war has a beginning!  Every war has a middle!  And every war
has an end!  Tonight, we found out that in just two months' time, this
war will end!  

[And with the fan favorites unified in the ring, soaking up the cheers
of the capacity crowd... we slowly fade to the sounds of "One More
Saturday Night" by the Grateful Dead.

A large white map of the United States fills the screen as the music
plays.  The shot zooms through the map, different states "popping up"
into view as we race past them.  As we pull back from the map, it no
longer is white but rather made up of the Stars and Stripes.

The map goes into a spin, spinning round and round as we zoom all the
way into it, dissolving into a few slow motion shots of animated men
battling in a red, white, and blue ring.  The animation runs through
various wrestling moves from an atomic drop to a bodyslam to a
piledriver.

And as the blue animaniac applies a clawhold on the white animaniac, we
freeze and the AWA logo fills the screen.

After a moment, we fade away from the cheaply done intro to the interior
of the Grady Cole Center in Charlotte, North Carolina where over 4,000
fans have jammed into this building to watch their favorite AWA stars.

The ring sits alone in the middle of the basketball court, thin blue
mats laid out around ringside.  There is a cheap looking metal barricade
set up to separate the fans from the ringside area as well.  Also at
ringside are a pair of tables - one for the timekeeper and one for our
announce duo.

Speaking of which, the camera cuts from the cheering crowd to our
announce team, two men on a mission.  Yo baby, yo baby, yo.

One is clad in a dark navy suit, white dress shirt, and red and white
striped tie.  He sports nicely-styled salt and pepper hair and a
well-groomed moustache.  He grips a wireless mic in his hand, grinning
widely at the camera.  In his late-50's and the epitome of
professionalism, this man is Gordon Myers.

By his side is... well, somewhat a bit more flashy.  With a mic in one
hand and a glitter covered briefcase in the other, this man is paunchy
to say the least.  He's got a decent sized gut pushing at the buttons on
his hot pink dress shirt underneath an eye-burning yellow jacket.  His
black hair is tousled in all directions like he hasn't run a comb
through it in his life.  He's in his late 30's... he's former manager
"Big Bucks" Bucky Wilde.]

GM:  Good evening, fans, and welcome to another edition of AWA Saturday
Night Wrestling featuring all the stars of the American Wrestling
Alliance, _the_ major league of professional wrestling.  I am Gordon
Myers alongside my co-host each and every week, Bucky Wilde!  And Bucky,
what a night it was on the 4th of July in Memphis, Tennessee!

BW:  It was crazy, Gordo.  We had attacks out of nowhere.  Surprise
appearances.  Surprise matches!  And we had a challenge for the most
dangerous battlefield in our sport - WarGames!

GM:  Two years ago, the American Wrestling Alliance had ten men go to
war inside the massive double cage structure on Labor Day in Laredo,
Texas.  And as you just saw, Marcus Broussard has made the challenge for
Labor Day in New Orleans - WarGames one more time and tonight, the
Southern Syndicate will answer that challenge!

BW:  We're goin' to war, daddy.  Guaranteed!

GM:  We've got the Lady Luck Challenge with James Monosso taking on Jack
Snyder!

BW:  And that's gonna be a fight!  I can't wait for that one.

GM:  We've got the return of Kolya Sudakov to Saturday Night Wrestling!

BW:  And Uncle Vlad's in action tonight too teaming with Baron Von
Klauss against the Rockstar Express trying to impress Ivan Kostovich who
made his debut on the 4th of July.  

GM:  What will Velikov have to say about his nephew's return to action? 
We'll find out together.  Plus, Calisto Dufresne will be in action.

BW:  He'll be in action defending the AWA Pacific Championship!

GM:  Which is not an authorized and recognized title.  We've got all of
that plus much, much more but for now, let's go up to the ring for our
opening matchup!

[We fade to the ring, where a short man in a brown mask with red
features is standing in the ring.  He has white tights with a jagged red
stripe running down them.]

MC: Ladies and gentlemen, the following match is scheduled for one fall
with a ten-minute time limit.  Introducing first, from Monterrey,
Mexico, weighing in tonight at 165 pounds... PUGNACIO SUPREMO!

[Scattered mild applause.]

GM: Pugnacio Supremo may not look like much, but he's one of the top
lucha libre stars, and he's looking to make a name for himself north of
the border here.

BW: Good luck.

["Try Honesty" by Billy Talent kicks in, and Adrian Freeman storms
through the entranceway, walking businesslike to the ring.  Ben Waterson
is right behind him, intensifying the round of boos.  Freeman hops up to
the apron and steps through the ropes, icily calm.]

GM: Adrian Freeman returning to singles action here tonight, apparently
following in the footsteps of his partner Calisto Dufrense.  At least
he's not parading some phony title around.

BW: He could be the AWA Australian Champion!

GM: Oh please.

BW: Well, is there a better Australian wrestler here in the AWA?

MC: And his opponent... from Sydney, Australia, weighing in at 195
pounds, accompanied to the ring by "Agent to the Stars" Ben Waterson...
"ABSOLUTE ZERO" ADRIAN FREEMAN!

[The crowd boos the Southern Syndicate member, who ignores their
reaction.  Referee Marty Meekly signals for the bell.]

GM: There's the bell, and we're underway in this match.

[Freeman and Supremo lock up and struggle for supremacy.  Freeman starts
to push the masked luchador back into the corner, but Pugnacio drops
down and sends him head over heels with an armdrag.  Adrian Freeman
rolls to his feet and runs at his opponent, but Pugnacio Supremo drops
down once again and sends him up high with a monkey flip.]

GM: Lots of elevation on that maneuver, and Adrian Freeman's having a
hard time adjusting to this luchador's style.

BW: Come on.  It was a few lucky shots.

[Supremo hits the ropes and comes at Freeman with a flying forearm, but
Freeman sidesteps and grabs onto the arm, using it to violently yank his
opponent backwards.  Adrian applies a hammerlock, wrenching the arm
behind Supremo's  back.  Pugnacio drops down, trying to go for another
armdrag, but Freeman blocks it, instead stepping over into an armbar on
the downed luchador.]

BW: Armbar applied!  This one is over.

GM: Don't be so hasty.  Pugnacio Supremo is fighting back.

[Ben Waterson bangs his fists against the apron, yelling at Pugnacio
Supremo to quit kidding himself and tap out.  Supremo rolls over on his
side, lessening the pressure on his arm, and then manages to pop right
out of the submission hold.  The crowd cheers, and Supremo celebrates
with them, rolling to his feet and pumping a fist into the air.  Freeman
responds by clocking him with a forearm to the face.]

GM: That looked like it fired Supremo up.  He hits the ropes and runs...
right into a backdrop by Adrian Freeman.  You know, it's not often
Freeman is the larger man in a match-up, but he has about thirty pounds
on Pugnacio Supremo.

BW: Hey, if wrestling doesn't work out for this guy he could always be a
horse jockey.

[Freeman hauls Supremo up before slamming him into the mat with a
headlock suplex.  He sits down and applies an abdominal stretch, which
gets a lot of jeers as well as a cry of pain from Supremo.  The referee
asks Pugnacio Supremo if he wants to quit, and while he's distracted
Freeman grabs onto the ropes to add more pressure.]

GM: Freeman taking another shortcut, but I don't think I've ever seen
anyone tap out to an abdominal stretch.  Still, it could wear Pugnacio
Supremo down and make him vulnerable to a more dangerous move.

[Referee Marty Meekly returns his attention to Freeman, who is now
playing innocent.  Supremo grabs onto one of the legs holding him in
place and twists it away, then quickly spins around and flips into a
jackknife pin.]

GM: One!  Two!  Freeman gets a shouler up, but Pugnacio Supremo almost
stole it here.

BW: Big deal.  Anyone can get a surprise two-count.

[Supremo pulls Freeman up and whips him into the ropes, hitting a flying
leg lariat on the rebound.  Pugnacio gets a lot of elevation on the leg
lariat, connecting flush with Freeman's chin.  He then spins forward,
rolling into a koppo kick that knocks Freeman down to the mat.  That one
gets a big cheer.]

GM: Oh my!  A sort of... somersault back heel kick!  Supremo goes for
the cover.  One... two... no!  I thought Freeman might have been out
after that maneuver.

[Pugnacio Supremo climbs up to the second rope and motions to the crowd,
who cheer as he flips backwards into a split-legged moonsault.  Supremo
hooks the leg for a pin, but once again Freeman kicks out after two. 
Supremo starts scaling the turnbuckles again, but Freeman rolls to the
outside, being comforted by Ben Waterson.]

BW: This is a good move.  Stop the Mexican jumping bean's momentum and
get some time to compose a strategy.  Obviously Freeman expected to be
in here against some nobody, but the head office may have sent him a
ringer.

GM: You can't take any AWA competitor lightly, Bucky, and this match
just shows why.

[Inside the ring, Pugnacio Supremo points to the two men gathered on the
outside.  He hits the opposite set of ropes and charges towards them,
ducking his head down for a suicide dive... but Freeman hops up on the
apron and sticks a boot through the ropes, causing Supremo to charge
right into that instead.]

GM: Supremo going for a big risk... and it did not pay off!

BW: Brilliant counter by Freeman.  Pugnacio Supremo built up a head of
steam, and all it got him was a collision with that hard boot.

[Adrian Freeman steps back between the ropes and starts stomping at the
body and head of the dazed Pugnacio.  He grabs ahold of one of the
luchador's legs and drops a knee straight into the joint, driving the
limb into the mat.  He hauls Supremo up only to legwhip him down once
again to the mat, twisting away at the right leg.  The AWA faithful jeer
the man they've learned to hate over the past two years.]

BW: It looks like Freeman is targeting the leg, and that's a smart move.
 Take out a man's wheel and he can't exactly jump and flip around the
ring.

GM: Yeah, but earlier we saw Freeman working on the arm and the chest
region.  His strategy seems kind of all over the place here.

BW: He's trying different things out.  Adrian Freeman is a thinking
man's wrestler.

GM: Right.

[Freeman has applied an ankle lock, and is twisting away at it.  On the
outside Ben Waterson yells abuse at Pugnacio Supremo, telling him to
give it up.  The masked man shakes his head stubbornly, and reaches out
towards the ropes, which hang two feet away,  Supremo digs his claws
into the canvas and starts crawling his way towards the ropes, but
Freeman continues trying to snap his leg off.]

GM: That ankle lock's in tight, and Supremo's not close to the ropes. 
This could spell the end for the luchador.

[But, true to his name, Pugnacio Supremo stays tough.  He reaches out,
his hand dangerously close to the bottom rope.  Freeman tries to
scramble backwards, keeping Pugnacio in the hold while pulling him to
center ring.  This doesn't work too well, and the tights-clad leg of
Supremo slips out of the hold as he lunges forward and hooks the bottom
rope.]

GM: Supremo slips free, and manages to get to the bottom rope!  That
submission attempt was close, but no cigar.

BW: Yeah, because Supremo landed a low blow.

GM: What?  Are you just making things up again?

[Freeman is apparently in on the act, hunching over and cupping his
groin, complaining that Supremo kicked him low while they were on the
ground.  While Marty Meekly's back is turned, Supremo tries to get up,
but Ben Waterson leans in and clips the bad leg out from under him. 
Freeman immediately pounces, pushing the referee aside and dragging
Pugnacio Supremo to centre ring, where he drops an elbow into the
damaged right leg.]

GM: Did you see that?  Ben Waterson just attacked that leg of Pugnacio
Supremo, as though what Freeman was doing wasn't bad enough.

BW: Supremo just collapsed because of all the damage the leg took,
Waterson was nowhere near him.  And you accuse me of making things up?

[Adrian Freeman rolls Supremo to his feet and hooks the damaged leg for
a picture-perfect fisherman's suplex.  He then drops down to side mount
and drives a knee into the side of the luchador, all while Ben Waterson
screams high-pitched encouragement.]

MC: Five minutes have passed in this match-up, five minutes remain.

GM: Well, we're at the halfway point here, and you have to figure that
Adrian Freeman didn't count on this being such a tough fight.

BW: Come on, he's well in control of it.

[Just as Bucky says this, Freeman bends down to haul Supremo up to his
feet again, and finds himself rolled up in a pinning cradle.]

GM: Roll-up out of nowhere!  One!  Two!  No, Freeman kicks out at the
last second.  You were saying soemthing about Freeman being in control?

[Adrian Freeman rolls back to his feet, stomping and kicking at the
masked man, a frustrated look on his face.  He hooks both legs of
Supremo and starts turning him over.]

GM: Is Freeman looking for the Deep Freeze here?

BW: If he did that would be it, but I think he's going for something
different here.  Instead of using both legs to target the back, he's
only holding onto that injured leg, and putting the pressure on it. 
Freeman is taking that wheel out one way or another, daddy.

[Supremo fights back, throwing backfists into the legs of Freeman,
trying to escape the hold.  Adrian leans back more, but Pugnacio forces
his other leg back and pushes it into Freeman's support leg, tripping
him up and forcing him to release the hold.  Supremo throws the legs up
and catches the falling Freeman, rolling him forward into a pin.]

GM: Another flash pin by Supremo!  One, two... reversed by Freeman! 
One!  Two!  Kickout!

BW: I'm getting dizzy.

["Subzero" Adrian Freemean gets to his feet and scoops Supremo up for a
slam, but the luchador spins out of it and connects with a mid-air
bulldog, spiking the Australian's head against the canvas.  The fans
applaud as both men lay on the mat, stunned.]

GM: Tremendous mid-air counter by Pugnacio Supremo, and this has turned
into quite the competitive match.

BW: Are you kidding me?  This guy gets off a few lucky counters and all
of a sudden he's equal to a former champion like Freeman?

GM: A former tag team champion, and Calisto Dufrense's not here to bail
him out right now.

[Both men get to their feet, but Freeman stalls Supremo with a MMA-style
leg kick that makes his leg wobble.  Freeman hooks Supremo's head and
snaps him over into a DDT, but Pugnacio rolls back to his feet.  When
Freeman goes for another forearm strike, Pugnacio ducks and counters
with an European uppercut.  He follows it up with a spinning backfist
right to the chin of the Southern Syndicate member.]

MC: Seven minutes have passed, three minutes remain.

BW: These guys had better get busy if they want the W!

GM: Supremo coming through with some flashy strikes, and it looks like
Freeman's been taken off guard.

[Freeman shoots for a single leg, but Supremo leapfrogs over him with
his hands, rubbing his leg as he lands.  He then hooks Adrian's arm,
slings his good leg over the Australian's neck, and sinks in an octopus
hold!  The crowd pops for the flashy-looking submission.]

GM: What is that hold?

BW: I dunno, but I don't think Adrian Freeman wants to be spending too
much time in it.

[Freeman powers to his feet, crying out in pain as he does so.  He
charges towards the corner, smashing Pugnacio Supremo into the buckle. 
He then sinks down into a pin.]

GM: One, two... no. Supremo grabs onto the bottom rope.  Freeman tries
to stand up... but Pugnacio Supremo is going up with him!

[Supremo has grabbed onto Freeman with a headscissors, and comes up with
him before rolling forward again, throwing Freeman head over heels. 
Adrian Freeman looks prone for a cover right now, but Supremo is on the
ground, clutching his leg.]

BW: All that work on the leg paid off, as it might have saved Adrian
from an embarassing loss here.

[Supremo battles up to his feet, as does Adrian Freeman.  The two men
meet in center ring and begin throwing hard forearms at each other once
again, with Freeman getting the better of the exchange.  He hooks
Supremo's head again, going for a suplex, but the luchador escapes out
the back door and once again rolls Freeman up.]

GM: One!  Two!  Freeman gets his shoulder up again.

Bw: When is Pugnacio Supremo going to learn that these little trick
roll-ups aren't going to pin a seasoned wrestler like Adrian Freeman?

[An angry Freeman grabs Supremo by the mask and starts choking him
against the top rope, not even bothering to hide it from the referee. 
Adrian breaks the choke at the referee's count of four and rakes his
nails down the back of Pugnacio Supremo.  He whips Supremo off the
second set of ropes and goes for another backdrop, but this time Supremo
is ready, and connects with a dropkick to the head of Freeman.  The
staggered Southern Syndicate member hits the mat, and Supremo drops an
elbow into his neck.  The crowd roars.]

BW: Freeman's losing his cool.  He needs to stop trying to punish this
kid and start trying to beat him, because this has already turned into
something far from what he expected.

GM: Indeed, Adrian Freeman probably expected tonight to be just another
victory, but instead it's looking more like the coming-out party of
Pugnacio Supremo.

[Pugnacio Supremo plays to the crowd, while Freeman slowly gets to all
fours.  Supremo hits the ropes and manages to catch Freeman with an
evenflow DDT, driving his head into the canvas with all of Supremo's
weight behind it.  Pugnacio rolls Adrian over and hooks the leg for a
cover.]

GM: This could be it!  One, two... no.  Adrian Freeman forces the
shoulder up, and this match will go on.  Pugnacio Supremo going to the
second rope again, and this could be a risk.

[Supremo goes to spring off for another moonsault, but this one is
obviously a much tougher ordeal, as his right leg won't co-operate. 
Freeeman takes advantage of this, getting to his feet and driving a
double axehandle into the back of Pugnacio Supremo.  He then grabs the
luchador perched on the second rope and drives him into the canvas with
a devastating back suplex.]

GM: Freeman with a big back suplex, almost a superplex, and Supremo is
prone on the canvas.

MC: One minute remains in this match, one minute!

BW: Hurry up, Adrian!

[Freeman throws himself into a cover.]

GM: One!  Two!  No, Supremo is still not giving up the fight, and the
clock is ticking.

[Freeman turns Supremo over, going for the Deep Freeze, but Supremo
escapes through his legs.  He grabs onto the luchador's damaged legs,
only to get cracked in the head by the other one.  Pugnacio Supremo gets
to his feet, shakily, and puts Freeman on the canvas with another
dropkick.  He then points to the top buckle.  The crowd cheers.]

GM: It looks like Pugnacio Supremo is going to fly!

BW: That's nice, but if he was smart he wouldn't waste time playing to
the crowd with less than a minute in the match!

[Supremo climbs up to the top rope, obviously a bit gingerly on his
damaged leg.  He points to Freeman, slowly getting up on the canvas.]

MC: Ten seconds remain!

GM: Ben Waterson just reached in and pulled Adrian Freeman out of the
ring!  He's stealing this one from Pugnacio Supremo!

[Supremo is stranded up on the top turnbuckle as the bell rings, and the
crowd boos and jeers.]

MC: Ladies and gentlemen, do to the ten-minute time limit expiring, this
match has been declared a draw!

GM: Well, Pugnacio Supremo certainly impressed in his AWA debut, but he
wasn't able to claim victory thanks to Ben Waterson.

BW: Please.  Anything Supremo could do Freeman would have kicked out of.

GM: Now we'll never know.

[Inside the ring, the masked man grabs the microphone from Melissa
Cannon.  He speaks in accented but good English.]

PS: Adrian... you're a tough hombre, man.  What do you say to five more
minutes?

[The crowd cheers, but Ben Waterson shakes his head.]

PS: Come on man... all of the great fans here in Charleston want to see
it!

[Freeman doesn't respond, just slowly walks away, Ben Waterson
supporting him.]

PS: Well then, I guess that's the way it's gotta be... but hey, do you
guys want to see more Pugnacio Supremo?

[Big cheer!]

PS: You heard them, Jim Watkins!  I know I didn't exactly get the W this
time out, but I want a second chance.  I've been sitting in the back
watching this show and you've got nothing here but tough hombres I'd
love to fight.  I don't care who it is, just hook 'em up!

[The crowd gives a round of applause as Pugnacio Supremo rolls under the
bottom rope and heads to the back.]

BW: Ugh, are we going to have to see this clown again?

GM: He's not a clown, he's one of the top wrestlers in Mexico.

BW: Yeah, well this is America, and he's going to need more than a
gymnastics routine to succeed here.

GM:  An impressive debut in my book, fans, and we'll be right back after
the break!

[Fade to black.

After a moment, we fade back up on a very long shot of the exterior of a
pretty dingy looking building.]

"Have you ever dreamed of fame?"

[Cut a little closer.]

"Of glory?"

[A little closer.]

"Of your friends and family seeing you on television?"

[And just a little closer, revealing a red, white, and blue sign that
reads "AWA Combat Corner."]

"Well, now you can make all your dreams come true by signing up today at
the AWA Combat Corner - the official training school for the American
Wrestling Alliance!"

[We cut to the interior of the building where we can see lots of
standard gym equipment surrounding a very basic wrestling ring.  There
are people lifting weights, running on treadmills, and of course,
working out in the ring.]

"With the very best trainers in the business, the AWA Combat Corner is
the most-equipped training facility to get you in shape and get you in
the ring in the shortest amount of time!"

[Cut into the ring where Todd Michaelson is barking out instructions.]

"With former World Champion Todd Michaelson leading the classes, you can
guarantee that you will be prepared for in-ring action upon graduation
and with the AWA expanding by the day, you will have a place to work on
Day One!"

[Two young students are grappling on the canvas.]

"So, stop by the Combat Corner today... call our offices... visit our
website... and let them know that you want to be the next AWA Superstar!
You want to be the future of the business!

You want to wrestle!"

[Fade to a graphic that has all the info on the AWA Combat Corner.  We
freeze there for a moment...

...and then fade back up to backstage, where Mark Stegglet stands by
with Cousin Bo and the National Tag Team Champions, The Bishop Boys.
Needless to say, nobody in this camp looks happy right now.]

MS: Mr. Allen, I'm sure Independence Day didn't exactly go down the way
you would have liked it.

[Bo looks at Mark incredulously.]

CB: Gee, ya think? Once again, the Bishop Boys meet Rough N Ready. And
once again, we don't get a definitive end to this war. I'm tired of it,
Stegglet.

MS: Well, to be fair, Duane Henry did hit Eric Matthew Somers with a
chair in clear view of the referee.

CB: A chair that was entered into the picture by Joe Petrow, of all
people! Now, I'll admit, I was as confused as anybody else when Sycho
Joe appeared. But I know that lunatic's reputation. And I damn sure know
we weren't looking for his "consultation". That only leads me to one
conclusion.

MS: Surely, you can't be saying what I think you're saying.

[Bo points at Stegglet.]

CB: It's _exactly_ what I'm saying. It all makes sense now. Rough N
Ready know they can't beat us. Not this time. Why do you think EMS
turned his back on The Samoans ganging up on Duane Henry, when they were
SUPPOSED to be watching our backs? Once again, we get screwed by
somebody we thought we had an agreement with!

MS: You did jump on Eric's back though.

CB: Because that big eunuch was going after Cletus Lee! I don't call
attacking a man "watching his back", do you?!

[Mark thinks for a second.]

MS: No. You do have a point.

CB: Damn straight. So you'll have to excuse us if Joe Petrow showing up
in the middle of our match sends up the most obvious red flag I've ever
seen.

[Bo stops and thinks for a second.]

CB: No, no. Scratch that. What that was, was a big WHITE flag. This
isn't about who is or isn't getting cheered. They'll never admit it, but
Rough N Ready, "tag team of the people", have given up on simply
wrestling. They don't really care what the fans think. They've now
brought things into what would normally be our world. So, you know what?

[Bo gives a mocking golf clap.]

CB: Congratulations, boys. You've shown the entire world that you're
actually WORSE than Dufresne and Freeman.

MS: WHAT?!

CB: At least those two have never pretended to be something they're not.
They're vile. Disgusting. Scum of the earth. But at least they own it.
Hell, they'd probably thank me for saying that. Nicest thing anybody's
ever said about them.

[Bo points at the camera.]

CB: You, on the other hand, are liars. Cowards. The most pathetic excuse
I've ever seen for a tag team in my life. And now, to make things worse,
you've given in and hired the services of the most notorious scumbag in
the history of wrestling. A cancer on everything he touches. The man who
killed the IIWF.

[Bo rubs his chin.]

CB: That tells me one thing. You, just like everybody else, want to see
the old Bishop Boys come out and play.

[Bo looks at his scowling cousins and nods, turning back to the camera
with a wicked smile.]

CB: Just be careful what you wish for, boys. You just might get it.

[Bo pats Mark on the shoulder and leaves. Mark gulps as The Bishop Boys
have stayed behind and are staring a hole through him. Cletus Lee lunges
forward, causing Mark to shriek and run off. Duane Henry laughs as
Cletus Lee shrugs. Cut back to ringside.]

GM:  The National Tag Team Champions are not happy with the way things
ended between they and Rough N Ready back on the 4th of July, Bucky.

BW:  Did you hear what they said though, Gordo?  They claim they didn't
hire Joe Petrow to be at ringside.  They didn't hire the Executive
Consultant.  And if they didn't, you know what that means.

GM:  You're implying like they did that Rough N Ready hired Joe Petrow? 
I just can't believe that would happen.  Dave Cooper and Eric Matthew
Somers have played things by the book for two years here in the AWA now
and you're trying to tell me they would stoop to contracting out Joe
Petrow to get them the titles?

BW:  I think that's obviously what happened.

GM:  I don't think so.  And I believe we'll be hearing from Rough N
Ready here tonight as well... so maybe we'll get the truth on that
situation.  But the question is - will Rough N Ready get another rematch
for those National Tag Team Titles?  I think they certainly deserve one.

BW:  If they do, will they cough up the big bucks for Joe Petrow again?

GM:  Will you stop?  Fans, let's go up to the ring for our next match!

[Fade to the ring where Melissa is standing.]

MC: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one
fall.  Introducing first, already in the ring, the team of Steve Robbins
and Cuban Assassin #6!

[Small pop for CA6, he of enhancement talent legend.]

MC: And their opponents...

# GENERALS GATHERED IN THEIR MASSEEEEESSSSSS! #

[Yes indeed, the unique voice of Ozzy Osbourne blares out as Black
Sabbath's "War Pigs" starts up with the beginning of the Ozzman's
vocals.  BIG POP!]

# JUST LIKE WITCHES AT BLACK MASSEEEEEESSSSSSS! #

[And here they come again, in a dead sprint from the back, the
muscle-bound, face-painted, mohawk-sporting, black-leather clad Hammer
and Sabre followed by their manager, Richard E. Lee, wearing his usual
silk shirt and sunglasses.]

MC: Hailing from Detroit, Michigan...Hammer and Sabre...

THE WAAAAAAAAR PIIIIIIIIIIIIGS!

[Hammer and Sabre slide underneath the bottom rope, quickly get back on
their feet, and dash across the ring to attack their opponents before
the bell.]

GM: The War Pigs are in the house, and they are none too happy tonight! 
Already on the attack, with Hammer pummeling Robbins in one corner and
Sabre doing the same to the Cuban Assassin in the opposite corner. 
Sabre pulls the Assassin out of the corner, Irish whip to the far
side...and a BIIIIG diving shoulderblock plants him to the mat!

[While that's going on, Hammer has hoisted Robbins up into a gorilla
press, waiting for Sabre to take care of CA6.  Immediately after Sabre
hits the diving shoulderblock, Hammer shoves Robbins up into the air and
sends him crashing down on top of CA6!  BIG POP!]

GM: What an innovative move by the Pigs, as Hammer used Robbins as a
missile against his partner!

BW: Necessity is the mother of invention as they say, and the Pigs are
gonna need some inventions after getting punked out by the Moonshiners
in Memphis.

GM: We hope to find out more after this match from the War Pigs and
specifically Richard E. Lee about that.

[Hammer reaches down and lifts Robbins back up, applying a rear
waistlock and then tossing Robbins into the air behind him out of a
release German suplex.]

GM: And what power shown by Hammer, throwing Robbins over his head like
a rag doll!  And now he joins Sabre, who has the Cuban Assassin up
against the ropes...double team Irish whip, and a BRUTAL running double
clothesline!

BW: That darn near decapitated the Assassin!  Fidel Castro would not be
pleased, daddy!

[On the outside, Richard E. Lee gives the thumbs up, and everyone knows
what that means.]

GM: Lee's ready to finish it, calling for the Weapon of Mass
Destruction...

[Hammer grabs CA6 by the legs, setting him for the slingshot while Sabre
climbs the ropes.  As Sabre balances himself on the top, Hammer falls
backward into a slingshot...

...while Sabre leaps off the top and connects with a flying dropkick! 
HUGE POP!]

GM: And there it is, the new variation of the WMD, as Sabre makes the
pin...one, two, and three!  It's over as the War Pigs stay unbeaten in
their return to the AWA!

[Lee joins his men in the ring and raises their massive arms.]

MC: Here are your winners...

THE WAAAAAAAAR PIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIGGGSSSSS!

GM: Another impressive win for the War Pigs, who are heading over to
join us here at ringside, and now we can hopefully get some answers from
Richard E. Lee as to why the Moonshiners attacked the War Pigs in
Memphis.

[Lee, entering the camera eye as Myers sets the stage, shakes his head
in response.]

REL: I can give you answers, Gordon, but with those answers for me come
a lot more questions.  Why did the Moonshiners show up in Memphis and
attack us?  Well, that goes back a long way...nearly 30 years back, in
fact, back when I was wrestling in Memphis as one of the Dixie
Fireballs, we had a long-running feud with the Moonshiners.

[Lee again shakes his head.]

REL: It's amazing I'm having to talk about these guys this many years
after the fact.  We had a lot of bad blood, a lot of battles, a lot of
wars, but my lord Gordon...25 years ago.  We all moved on.  Or at least,
I _thought_ we did.

But as recent events have shown, that obviously isn't the case for
everyone.

[The manager of the War Pigs removes his sunglasses and points them
toward the camera.]

REL: We're gonna make this short and simple, Moonshiners, to make sure
you can understand what we're saying.  This ain't the 1980's anymore and
these guys...

[Lee points at Hammer first, then at Sabre, with the hand that holds his
sunglasses.]

REL: ...ain't pushing AARP age like you three are.  You want to start a
war, boys, you better be sure you can finish it.  Because if there's one
thing I know for sure?

It's that we _can_ finish it...and Hammer and Sabre are _very_ anxious
to do just that!

[Hammer, the larger of the two War Pigs, pushes forward and grabs a hold
of the microphone.]

H: Hey, Moonshiners!  You feel pretty big and bad, huh?  You may have
done a number on us after jumpin' us from behind, but it's gonna be a
whole different story next time we see you.  Because, see, you pissed us
off!  You got our attention, and now?  Now, punks, _we_ are lookin' for
_you_!

And the outcome ain't gonna be pretty.  Tell 'em, Sabre!

S: WEEEEELLLLLLLL, Gordon Myers...we've been lookin' for a fight, but it
seems that the fight's come and found us.  I don't know what pile of
sand you've had your heads buried in...or if it's some other dark, nasty
orifice...but what you've unleashed here?

[Sabre laughs, slapping Hammer on his massive deltoid.]

S: It ain't _nothin'_ like you dealt with back thirty years ago when you
were runnin' roughshod.  No offense, Richard...

[Lee just chuckles, as a grinning Sabre continues.]

S: ...but we ain't the Dixie Fireballs...we ain't the Fiends...we ain't
the Beale Street Bullies...we're the by-God War Pigs!  We put people in
hospitals for _fun_.

So just stop and think what we do to those who happen to piss us off!

[Pop!  Sabre slaps Myers on the back as the Pigs stalk off, with Hammer
stopping for one last word on the way out.]

H: It ain't gonna be pretty, Gordon!

[Hammer follows his partner off camera as Gordon Myers shakes his head.]

GM:  If I were the Moonshiners, I'd think tiwce about jumping on the
backs of those two men again.  Fans, let's go backstage where Brian Von
Braun is standing by.

[Cut backstage to where Mark Stegglet is standing with Brian Von Braun. 
Stegglet is wearing his usual backstage interview attire.  BVB is decked
out in a black t-shirt with a skinless face smiling on the front.  BVB
is also sporting a neckbrace.]

MS:  Two weeks ago, you wound up on the losing end of a the match
against Juan Vasquez, Marcus Broussard, and Todd Michaelson.  In fact,
you were the one pinned in the match, Brian.

[BVB shoots Mark Stegglet a look for a moment.  He smooths his hair back
and looks at the camera.]

BVB:  I want you to go back and look at that match, Mark.  Ron Houston
cost us that match.  He stuck his nose in and abused his power as a
Special Enforcer.  He was in cahoots with the official the entire time
and probably bought him off with a pack of smokes and cheap whiskey.

MS:  You did punch Ron Houston during the course of the match, Brian.

[BVB looks at Mark Stegglet and then turns and faces him.]

BVB:  You make it sound like I did it intentionally, Mark.  Are you
accusing me of purposely hitting Ron Houston?

[Thumb hook at himself.]

BVB:  I'm a man who plays by the rules.  I ain't no soundrel, if that's
what you're thinking.  If Ron Houston was any kind of Southern
gentleman, he would've realized it was an accident.  Ron Houston saw it
as an opportunity.  He took that opportunity to hit me with flesh
colored knuckle dusters.  You know what happened, Mark?

MS:  Knuckle dusters?  Oh come on!

BVB:  Why do you think I'm in this neckbrace?  Ron Houston is out of
control!  He purposely injured me on the Fourth of July.  That's why I'm
in this neckbrace, Mark.  That's why I shed a tear every time I try to
turn my head when someone calls my name.

[To demonstrate, BVB tries to turn his head.  He moves it a bit before
he winces in great pain and grabs at his neck.]

BVB:  My doctors told me I would be on the sidelines for at _least_ the
next three months.  Ron Houston has a vendetta against the Southern
Syndicate for injuring him and laying him up.  He took that aggression
out on me, and the Rocket City Badboy wasn't even around when his arm
was injured.

MS:  I find it highly suspect a punch could cause this much damage,
Brian.

BVB:  You don't believe me?  You can check the medical records at the
offices of Dewey, Cheatum, and Howe.  They're a reputable company, Mark.
 They'll provide you with any of my medical records, showing I'm
suffering from a separated fifth clavicle disc.

[Mark Stegglet rolls his eyes.]

MS:  Then what about your blatant refusal to work with MAMMOTH Mizusawa
during the six-man tag team match and shouting at Luis Matsui.

BVB:  Matsui isn't my manager, and he's got no right to bark orders at
me.  What happened with them wasn't personal, but was a message to Ben
Waterson.  That sycophant stepped across a line of trust with me four
weeks ago, Mark.

MS:  Wait, Ben Waterson!?

BVB:  You deaf?  You just don't listen, Mark?  Yeah, I said Ben
Waterson.  Four weeks ago, he promised Louis Matsui _anything_ if he
would deliver Mizusawa as the third man on the team against the crippled
has beens.  He
offered him matches he wanted, money.  It was the words not spoken,
which hit me the most, Mark.

[BVB looks over at Mark.]

BVB:  The unspoken word was a title shot.  You look at Ben Waterson's
body language.  You look at how uneasy he was.  The silent communication
between the two was enough to let me understand the truth.  We all just
play a role in the Southern Syndicate, expected to pull our weight. 
First, you have to prove yourself in order to become a member and not an
associate.

[BVB starts to shake his head and winces in pain, grabbing at his neck.]

BVB:  Your needs come after the group.  I can dig that.  I understand
the role well.  Ben Waterson likes to recite the first rule of being in
an alliance and remind us of the consequence.  Raphael and Simon Rhodes
are living proof of that.  What they got, they had coming to them. 
That's a different story.

[BVB purses his lips.]

BVB:  In your fight with Michaelson, you thought you were above the law,
Ben.  You ain't above the law.  You ain't even a rassler.  You've got us
fighting your battles for you.  Guess what?

[BVB hooks a thumb at himself.]

BVB:  I ain't an associate any longer.  You want to give Matsui and
Mizusawa a blank check for a one night deal while dangling membership in
my face after three months of service?

[BVB goes to shake his head and winces in pain again.]

BVB:  I'm no one's stooge or fool.  You can take membership into your
prestigious alliance of idolatry and fanboi gooberness with you.

[BVB looks back at Mark Stegglet.]

BVB:  I won't be anywhere near that War Games match on Labor Day... [sly
grin] unless Ben Waterson wants to offer me a "blank check" for my
services.

MS:  I... oh wow!

[BVB looks at Mark Stegglet with disdain.]

BVB:  Can it, sunshine.  There ain't a question left to answer except
one, Mark.  It's a question no one's asked, not even Waterson.  If it
had been me, Freeman, or Dufrense who won the Rumble, what would we have
done?

[Mark looks at BVB, who points to his head.]

BVB:  Think about it.

[BVB walks off as we cut back to ringside.]

GM:  What in the world?  Brian Von Braun REFUSING to be an associate of
the Southern Syndicate any longer.  Brian Von Braun stating he will NOT
be a part of WarGames unless Ben Waterson gives him a quote unquote
blank check.  What does this mean for tonight's answer to the challenge?
 Can Ben Waterson actually ACCEPT the challenge of Broussard when he's
another man down?

BW:  No, he can't... and Von Braun knows it.  He knows that Waterson has
no choice but to give him the same blank check that they offered
Mizusawa.  And sooner or later, Ben Waterson will have to pay up on all
those blank checks, Gordo.

GM:  Alrighty, fans, let's head up to-

[Suddenly, Shane Destiny storms into view, dressed in a black T-shirt
and jeans.  He motions for Bucky Wilde to get out of the way, and Bucky
promptly responds.]

GM: Shane Dest-...

SD: No.  Shut it.

[Destiny rips the microphone out of Myers' hand.]

SD: Out of the frame.

[Myers walks out of camera range, leaving only Destiny in the shot.]

SD: I'll make this nice and clear.  I'm not going to scream.  I'm not
going to yell.  I just want that cornfed oaf, Jim Watkins, out here
right now.

[Destiny looks off-screen, waiting for a few seconds.]

SD: The show's not going to continue until he gets out here.  I swear to
God, bodies are going to get stacked up if you try to continue this show
before he gets out here.

[Destiny waits, and looks off-screen again, then motions towards the
ring.]

SD: Hey, get those guys out of there.  We're not... 

[Destiny drops the microphone, as the camera pans over to the ring,
where two young wrestlers are waiting in the ring.  Melissa Cannon is
heading into the ring, but quickly rethinks her plan as Destiny slides
head-first in and boots one of the young wrestlers right in the head! 
We hear rustling, as the voice of Myers starts to filter in.]

GM: Fans, we were supposed to be getting ready for tag team action, but
Shane Destiny has clearly decided he doesn't care about what was
planned!

[The other young wrestler goes to make a hasty retreat, but Destiny
grabs the kid by his arm and yanks him right into a short-arm
clothesline!  He motions for Cannon to give him the house microphone and
receives it.]

SD: Watkins, you and I need to have a little talk.  I don't care where
it is, but let me make something clear, the blood will be on your hands
if you don't make me a top priority.

[Destiny stares out at the entrance, clearly not satisfied... as he
grabs the wrestler he just clothesline and cinches him in an inverted
facelock, holding the microphone in his other hand.]

SD: I'm telling you now, Watkins... this kid's career is over if you
don't get out here.

GM: This man has clearly lost it!

BW: Can you blame him?  He's had three chances to get a title shot and
they all fell to the side!  And after what happened on Independence Day,
I don't blame him!

[Destiny looks at his wrist, miming looking at a watch.]

SD: Clearly this shows the people just what AWA talent is worth to you,
Watkins... nothing.

[Destiny spins the rookie over, locking him in the feared Destiny
Strangle!  We hear muffled screaming in the background, as Destiny
alters the move somewhat to dig a knee into the kid's back.]

SD: I'm not playing around, Watkins.  Get out here... _now_.

[Finally, we see Jim Watkins walk through the entranceway, over to the
announcer's area, where he takes the side house microphone.]

JW: Let the kid go, Shane.

[Destiny torques back, sending a yelp of pain out of the rookie.]

SD: I don't think so... I kind of like it up here.  Why don't you come
up and visit.

[Destiny crouches down, fully locking on the Destiny Strangle, as we see
the arms of the trapped rookie go limp.]

JW: Shane, you've proved your point.  Let the kid go and we'll talk.

SD: Oh, I don't think I've proved it at all, there's still another fresh
meat out here.

[Destiny releases the rookie, and starts to make strides to the rookie
he kicked earlier.]

JW: Fine, fine, you big crybaby, I'll get in there.

[Watkins puts down his microphone and walks towards the ring as Destiny,
clearly wanting to maintain a hostage, steps on the second rookie's
throat.]

SD: That's all anyone's ever said since I've got here, Jim.  Everyone's
said I've been spoiled.  Well, let me break it down like this... three
times, I've had a title shot within my grasp.  Once, I got thrown out of
a battle royale because you have a lax security force.  Then, I get
disqualified over something I had no control over.  Then... you just
take my damn shot away for no reason.  And to make it worse... you gave
it to my crippled old trainer after you roped me into signing that
loaded contract to fight Langseth.  You sure do know how to rub salt
into the wounds, don't you?

[Destiny stops choking the second rookie, booting him in the ribs to
clear the ring.]

SD: Well, Watkins... is this what you wanted?  You wanted to see me
start hurting people again?  I have two kids that don't deserve to see
their father like this.  I don't need to put up with the kind of
treatment I've gotten lately, either.  Not from you, not from these
fans, and certainly not from Mark Langseth.

[Destiny holds the microphone at his side, as we can barely hear Watkins
say "So what, you're going to quit?", which spirals Destiny into a pure,
unadulterated rage.]

SD: Hell no, Jim, I'm not going to quit!  No, no... you wanted to bring
this nightmare out of me, didn't you?  Well, let me make sure we're on
the same page here, Jim.  Every check you've got to sign off to the
hospital because of what I did to somebody... every time you've got to
call someone's wife and tell him that his neck's broke and he may never
walk again... every time you hear the sobs of some kid when you tell
them that Daddy's not going to be able to play catch anymore because
Shane Destiny put that man in a wheelchair for the rest of his life, I
want you to remember this.

[Destiny spits on the first rookie, still laid out from the effects of
the Strangle.]

SD: You wanted to play games with me.  This is what happens when I get
sick of playing games.  You get me an opponent for next week, Watkins. 
I don't care who it is.  I don't care where he comes from.  I don't even
care how many of them there are.  Just know that whoever it is...
they're going out of this ring on a stretcher, and it'll be your own
fault.

[Destiny drops the microphone and leaves the ring, as Watkins picks it
back up.]

JW:  You want a match in two weeks in South Carolina, Shane?  You got
one!

[Big cheer!]

JW:  But I don't think you're gonna be happy about it.  

[And with that, Watkins exits the ring as well, leaving the crowd
buzzing behind him as we fade to black.

After a moment, we fade back up on a shot of Jason Dane and Mark
Stegglet in an apparently moving car.]

JD:  You know, Mark... the AWA Access iPhone app has been so popular
over the past year, I hear we're making a sequel!

MS:  Jason, that kind of news is so hot, it should be on the app!

[The two men laugh very awkwardly as a giant iPhone appears.]

JD:  Hello, Mr. iPhone.

[The iPhone speaks.  Yes.  Yes it does.]

iPhone:  Hello, Jason Dane.  Did you know that former AWA National
Champion Kolya Sudakov was a former Mixed Martial Artist?

JD:  Well, actually I did.

iPhone:  Mark Stegglet, did you know that Calisto Dufresne was the first
and only champion in Pro Wrestling Revolution?

MS(in his best Johnny Carson impression):  I did not know that!

[Thankfully, a voiceover starts.]

VO:  Starting today, you can download AWA Access Version 2.0!  This new
app contains a brand new TRIVIA mode where you can get all the details
on your favorite AWA superstars!  Plus, be the first to see our brand
new BEFORE THE AWA section where you can find matches from the best of
the AWA - before they were AWA!

AWA Access Version 2.0 - coming to an iPhone near you!

[Fade back to black...

...and then back to ringside where the announce team is standing.]

GM:  Welcome back, fans, and during the break, it was made official -
Shane Destiny WILL compete in South Carolina... and he will do so
against an opponent to be named later.  But speaking of South Carolina,
it's going to be a big night for one of the AWA's hottest rising stars
in Eric Preston as he-

BW: Uh, oh, Gordo.  Now ya done it.  Look who's comin' out.

[The camera picks up the lumbering form of James Monosso as he beelines
for the announce position with a gait best described as "stalking".  The
crowd also picks up on it, and begin booing intently.  Monosso is clad
in his wrestling attire... a black-and-silver one-strap singlet under a
cutoff pale green "PROPERTY OF STATE MENTAL INSTITUTION" T-Shirt, with
black-and-silver boots, taped fists, and the one thing he always wears:
a wild-eyed glare.  Monosso heads for the broadcasters as Gordon stands
to do the interview.]

GM: We're being joined by James Monosso, whom I would think has better
things to do than chat seeing as he has a match with "Dying Breed" Jack
Snyder coming up ton...

[Monosso, uninterested in waiting, cuts him off.]

JM: The biggest joke in the business.  "Dying Breed" my sphincter...
he's another dime-a-dozen wannabe who won some minor titles and people
think he's a star.  Guess what, Jack?  I've been bigger than you'll ever
be, and look at me now!  Some day you'll know what it's like to be
completely discarded and totally forgotten, to live out your days in a
single room, staring at a wall and remembering what life was like when
you thought that people cared.  You and all the rest of them, replaced
by the brand new overrated dime-a-dozen wannabe.

Go ahead, spew some cliches at that, tough guy.  

GM: Regardless of whether or not that happens, what matters is tonight.

JM: Spoken like the typical sheepherder.  I have about as much concern
regarding Jack Snyder as I do regarding the mole on my left thigh.  I
wouldn't even recognize his face if I saw him at the bus station.  He's
not why I'm here.

GM: *sigh* Eric Preston, still?  You beat him, James.  Why can't you
leave it at that?

JM: Because...  because...  

...because...

[Woah, sudden mood shift.  Monosso clutches at his own hair in
frustration.  Frustration and... something else.  Anxiety?  _Fear_?]

JM: ...because they're getting impatient.

GM: "They"?

JM: FORGET I SAID THAT!

[And again!  Monosso's furious now.  Furious at letting that slip, and
furious that Gordon picked up on it.  He grasps Gordon by the collar...
not hard enough to hurt him, choke him, or even shake him around.  But
definitely enough to get his attention.  Myers goes pale, wondering if
the madman is about to snap.  The crowd is up in arms over this,
expecting that Monosso may do something henious.]

JM: ERIC!  LOOK AT ME, ERIC!  YOU SEE THIS MAN IN MY HAND?  THIS TOOL OF
THE MACHINE, USING PROPAGANDA TO MAKE ZOMBIES OUT OF THE PEOPLE?  HE
SAYS I BEAT YOU!  I SAY HE HASN'T SEEN ME BEAT SOMEONE YET!

[Oh, that's a red flag phrase.  Gordon is now visibly nervous, while
Bucky (who is much more familiar with Monosso) is desperately fetching
around for a weapon.]

JM: Until you face me, Eric, for the final battle?  THIS.  WILL.  NEVER.
 END.  I'll do anything, Eric!  ANYTHING.  ANYTHING BUT GO BACK!  I'LL
NEVER GO BACK!  I'LL NEVER LET THEM SEND ME BACK, YOU HEAR ME?!  NEVER! 
THEY'LL HAVE TO SEND ME BACK OVER MY...

[Full stop.  Slowly, Monosso's head turns to regard Gordon Myers, who is
clearly frightened but as yet unharmed.  James resumes his sentence...
not in the wild, desperate rant of a moment ago, but in a quiet, cold
tone of voice.]

JM: No.  Not "my".

"A".

They'll have to send me back over _A_ dead body.

[Bucky curses and searches faster, while poor Myers looks like he's
about to faint.]

JM: Maybe it'll be yours, Eric.

[He lets Myers go with a small shove, causing the erstwhile announcer to
drop the microphone and backpedal away from the maniac.  Monosso's last
two words are thus not so much heard as they are seen, easily readable
on his lips as his face looms in on the camera with a twisted sneer of
an expression on his face.]

JM: ...maybe not.

[That ominous statement is James Monosso's parting; with that, he exits.
 Bucky has a huge pipe wrench now, and he's rushing to Gordon.]

BW: GORDO!  Ya okay, speak ta me!

GM: I'm fine.  He didn't harm me, he just used me as a threat to Eric
Preston, who should in no way regard that maniac.  We are not hostages
out here, Bucky Wilde.  And... were you looking for a weapon to help me?

[Uh, oh, Bucky... you've been caught.  He quickly tosses the wrench
aside and stammers in embarrassment.]

BW: What?!  N...no way, daddy.  No offense, but hit Monosso?  I was just
grabbin' somethin' ta defend myself in case he ate ya fer supper an'
went lookin' for dessert.

GM: Uh huh.  Thank you, Bucky.

BW: Yer w... I WASN'T GONNA DO IT!

GM: James Monosso should be banned from professional wrestling if he is
going to make thinly veiled threats about assaulting civilians!  He
should be sent 'back'... what was he going on about?  "They"?  "Sent
back"?

BW: Look, I know James Monosso.  He ain't scared of nobody or nothin'...
he's nuts.  Only one thing in life could get that man ta fear, an'
that's sendin' him back ta th' asylum.  Someone's holdin' it over his
head, daddy.  Someone's tryin' ta control him.  An' that someone wants
Eric Preston out of the picture.  We just found out somethin' big time:
Eric Preston has an enemy he don't even know about.

GM: But that's absurd.  Who would have the motive?  Preston is a
newcomer; he can't possibly have any enemies powerful enough to
manipulate James Monosso.

BW: Then maybe it ain't personal.  Maybe someone just wants to cripple a
young future star because they can.

GM: That's... that's an even more sickening thought.  Fans, we'll see
later tonight if the maniac gets his when he faces Jack Snyder in the
Lady Luck Challenge, but up next, we've got Calisto Dufresne, the
Ladykiller-

BW:  And the AWA Pacific Champion!

GM:  Bucky, you know very well that the Pacific Title that Dufresne
carries around is NOT an officially sanctioned championship of the
American Wrestling Alliance.

BW:  In your eyes, maybe.  In mine, the man is golden from head to toe.

GM:  Well, that's something you'll BOTH agree on.  Let's go up to
Melissa for the introductions.

[We fade to the ring where Melissa is standing.]

MC:  The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a ten minute
time limit.  Introducing first... already in the ring at this time...
from Parts Unknown... The Carolina Crusher!

[A pretty big masked guy raises a beefy arm to a few cheers.]

MC:  And his opponent...

[Cue "Sharp Dressed Man" by ZZ Top to a big explosion of boos from the
Carolina crowd.]

MC:  From Avery Island, Lousiana... weighing in at 245 pounds...

He is the LADYKILLER...

CAAAAALIIISTOOO DUUUUFRESNE!

[The camera cuts to  the entranceway, where the curtains part to reveal
one of the AWA's most despised (and annoying) characters, "Ladykiller"
Calisto Dufresne.  Dufresne is clad in a black three-piece suit, his
flowing blonde hair cascading down past his shoulders.  He stands at the
head of the 
entryway for many moments, soaking in all of the boos he probably thinks

are cheers from his "throngs of adoring fans".]

GM:  Here he comes, Bucky.

BW:  The champ.  Is.  Here.

[Dufresne lightly pats the title belt hanging over his shoulder and
heads down the aisle towards the ring, making sure to wink and smile at
all the lovely ladies on the entrance aisle while ignoring their
significant others.]

BW:  The Ladykiller's in full effect tonight, daddy.  Look at 'em swoon!

[There definitely does seem to be some swooning...

...except for a rather vocal young blonde in the front row who really
lets him have it as he walks by.]

GM:  And there's that young lady again, Bucky.  We've seen her for a few
shows in a row now.

BW:  Really rackin' up the frequent flyer miles, ain't she?

GM:  She certainly is and she certainly doesn't care one bit for
Dufresne either.

[Dufresne walks up the steps, handing the title belt off to the official
as he removes his tear-away three piece suit to some cheers from some of
the women in the crowd.  He grins at the reaction, nodding his head at
the referee's instructions before the bell is rung.]

GM:  Here we go!

[Dufresne sidesteps out of the corner, circling as the larger Carolina
Crusher moves towards him.  Suddenly, they come together, tangling up in
a collar and elbow tieup...

...which sees the Crusher shove Dufresne down to the mat!]

GM:  Whoa!  Did you see that?

BW:  Big power display by the masked man.  Beginner's luck if you ask
me.

[A surprised Dufresne pulls himself up using the ropes, shaking his head
as he reaches his feet.  He pulls the referee aside, miming a pull of
the hair.]

BW:  He's tellin' the ref that guy pulled his hair, Gordo!

GM:  Which is an out and out lie, Bucky.  I didn't see a hairpull at
all.

BW:  Maybe you should upgrade those bifocals.

GM:  You trying to tell me you say a hairpull?

BW:  Well, no, but I trust the Ladykiller and if he says it happened, it
happened.

GM:  Give me a break.  I wouldn't trust that snake oil salesman as far
as I can throw him.

[Dufresne slips back out into another tieup...

...and this time promptly goes right to the eyes, stunning the masked
man.]

GM:  Thumb to the eye!  That's a cheapshot for sure.

[With the masked man blinded, Dufresne delivers a right hand to the back
of the head, sending the masked man stumbling into the corner.  The
referee warns for the eyegouge as Dufresne moves in, burying his knee
into the kidneys of the Crusher.]

GM:  A pair of cheapshots and Dufresne's got the Carolina Crusher in
trouble early in this one.

[Turning the masked man around, Dufresne whips him by the arm across the
ring to the opposite buckles.]

GM:  Ohh!  The Crusher hits hard, staggering out now...

[And Dufresne dips down, grabbing the masked man around the leg,
hoisting him into the air...

...and dropping him facefirst down on the mat!]

GM:  OHHHHH!  FACEFIRST TO THE CANVAS!!

BW:  Probably didn't hurt that much.  That mask blocks some of that,
right?

GM:  I highly doubt that.

[Dufresne stands over the masked man who lies on his stomach on the
canvas, reaching down to slap him across the back of the head.]

GM:  Oh, come on!

[The Ladykiller uses the toe of his boot to roll the masked man to his
back, leaning over again to deliver a second slap.]

GM:  Give me a break!  Get in there, referee!

[The official does protest...

...and Dufresne answers by stomping down squarely on the nose of the
masked man!]

GM:  This guy is just too much, Bucky.

BW:  I know, right?  He's got future National Champion written all over
him!  I mean, you saw him knock out Soup Bone Samson with one punch,
right?  I heard they're calling him "Soup Bowl" Samson down at the old
folks' home after that one.

GM:  Why is that?

BW:  Because he's eating all of his meals out of a soup bowl, daddy!

GM:  Hysterical.

[Dufresne is all smiles as he drags the masked man back up to his feet,
uncorking a haymaker that sends the Crusher back into the ropes where
Dufresne fires him across the ring again.]

GM:  Irish whip...

[And as the Crusher rebounds, he gets a boot into the gut.]

GM:  Uh oh.  You know what's next, fans!

[Dufresne steps forward to secure a front facelock, lifting the masked
man up off the mat in the air...

...and DRIVES him skullfirst into the canvas!]

GM:  OHHHH!

BW:  WHAM!  BAM!  THANK YOU MA'AM!

GM:  That'll do it.

[Dufresne rolls him onto his back, sloppily applying a lateral press as
he holds up a finger as the count starts.]

GM:  One.

[A second finger.]

GM:  Two.

[And a third.]

GM:  Three.

"DING!  DING!  DING!"

[Dufresne promptly rolls off the downed Crusher, popping up to his feet.
 He promptly wipes his brow, leaning over and breathing heavily.]

GM:  What is with him?  The match lasted a few minutes at most.  He
couldn't possibly be that tired.

[Dufresne holds his arms up in victory, clutching his Pacific Title to
his chest as if he's just gone through a 60 minute marathon match.  He
slowly climbs out of the ring and heads over to Myers and Bucky.  Gordon
stands to meet Dufresne, who comes over and leans over, hands on his
knees, panting as if out of breath.  Gordon waits patiently for Dufresne
to finally stand up straight before beginning, the sarcasm dripping from
his voice.]

GM: Impressive win there, Calisto.

[Dufresne nods furiously, still taking deep gulps of air.]

CD: I just want to... I just want to... thank... Jim Watkins for
allowing me... to have the opportunity... to defend my AWA Pacific
Championship... against the top competitors... the AWA has to offer.

[Boos come flying in as the crowd is well aware that he didn't beat a
top competitor. In fact, he barely broke a sweat.  Dufresne, as usual,
ignores them.]

CD: Without the foresight... and business acumen... of Mr. Jim
Watkins... my fans would be forced... to watch me dispatch... something
less than the top competition... and that isn't fair to them... So,
thank you, Jim!  I hope that... as one of your champions... I have done
you and the organization... proud tonight.

[Dufresne takes a bow as the boos continue as Myers looks on
incredulously.]

GM: You had a chance to fight top competition two weeks ago in Soup Bone
Samson and it took the assistance of Joe Petrow and a pair of brass
knuckles to get the job done.

[Dufresne stiffens up a bit at the charge and miraculously seems
completely rested all of a sudden as he responds.]

CD: By brass knuckles, are you referring to the hardest right hand in
the business?  

[Dufresne holds up his fist, smirking.]

CD: Because as I recall, _that_ is what put Samson down for the count;
not any foreign object or any hired gun.  Calisto Dufresne believes in
honesty, integrity and the spirit of fair play and I reject the notion
that I would participate in anything that compromised those core values!

[Myers rolls his eyes a bit, but continues.]

GM: Now that you've "dispatched" another one of City Jack's close
friends, can you finally let this infatuation with him go?  You've ended
the man's career, you've sent his friends out of the organization.  Is
it over?

[Dufresne looks deadly serious all of a sudden.]

CD: Over?  _Over!?_  Are you kidding me, Myers?  This will never be
over; I will not stop running roughshod and ending the careers of the
friends of that fat redneck until I get what I want.  Soup Bone Samson
was the most recent, but he certainly won't be the last.  I know you're
watching out there tonight, you sightless freak, so let me be clear:
This is on _your_ head right now.  What I'm going to be doing to men
like Samson, it's only the beginning.  Until I get that phone call from
you to admit that I _am_ the better man...

[A nod.  A wink.  A smile.]

CD: ...this will just be the opening act of a far greater tragedy than
you could ever imagine.

[And with that, "Sharp Dressed Man" kicks in once again and "The
Ladykiller", with his PWR Pacific Championship over his shoulder,
saunters back to the entrance portal while the boos continue to rain
down as we fade to black.

And then quickly back up on a shot of the AWA logo.  A voiceover
begins.]

"Fans, it's that time of year again!  As the AWA hits the summer months,
we're going on the road!  No longer staying in the Lone Star State, the
months of July, August, and September are your chances to see
the AWA all over the Southern states!

That's right!  You heard me right!

[A scrolling list of dates and cities appears as the voiceover reads
along with it.]

July 31st - Charleston, South Carolina
August 14th - Atlanta, Georgia
August 28th - Mobile, Alabama
September 6th - New Orleans, Louisiana

Get your tickets now by calling your local ticket outlet or by visiting
AWAShop.com!"

[We fade to black.

And then come back up to Jason Dane in the backstage interview position,
complete with AWA banner behind him.]

JD: Ladies and gentlemen, at this time I'm joined by Mark Langseth...

[The only current Hall of Famer on the AWA roster steps into view,
wearing a pair of black slacks and powder blue dress shirt. Langseth
seems happy from the smile plastered on his face.]

JD: Two weeks ago, you got your wish as Shane Destiny agreed to a match
on Labor Day when AWA makes its way to New Orleans.

[Langseth nods.]

ML: Yeah, I brokered a little agreement with Destiny, though - heh -
doesn't seem that he had much luck after I bowed out of the running for
a title shot.

[Langseth takes a moment to enjoy his smug satisfaction at his to-be
opponent getting screwed out of a title shot on Independence Day.]

ML: But what's important, as you said yourself Dane, is that FINALLY
Shane Destiny and myself will meet in the ring in just about six weeks
from now. After all this talk, all the actions, back and forth over the
past half a year, two of the most legendary wrestlers in the AWA will
get in the same ring and just see who is the better man...

JD: You initiated the challenge and gave it to Destiny... but do you
think you'll be ready by Labor Day?

[The Pittsburgh native's eyes go wide briefly as he takes a big breath.]

ML: Well... Look, I may be a Hall of Fame wrestler? I may be multi-time
world champion? And I may be considered one of the greatest to lace them
up?

[Mark pauses, letting his boasting root a little bit more.]

ML: But, Dane? I need some work before this match! I've only had one
match in the past...

[Langseth stops, taking time to count on his hand, scratching his head
for a moment.]

ML: One match in about... three? Four years? And that match was last
November! So obviously, I need to get prepared. I need to work off the
rust. And, well, I just need to get myself up for a hell of a fight
cause I know for sure that Destiny - with all the lost opportunities to
get the National title...

[Mark grins.]

ML: And I may or may not have played a role in those lost
opportunities... But with them all and just his general nature? He's
going to look to snap my back or neck with that Strangle of his. So I
know I can't go into this match cold, Dane.

JD: And you have a plan?

ML: I do, I do... two weeks from now, in Charlestown? I plan to be in
that ring and compete against whoever feels up to the task of trying to
defeat me.

JD: Anyone?

ML: ANYONE, Dane.

JD: That is quite the announcement! Mark Langseth will be in the ring in
two weeks on Saturday Night Wrestling!  Let's go back up to the ring for
our next match!

[And we fade out to the ring where Melissa Cannon is standing.]

MC:  The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a ten minute
time limit.  Introducing first... from Wichita, Kansas... he is Larry
Lasher!

[A wiry red head throws up both arms to some jeers.]

MC:  And his opponent...

[The sounds of Metallica's "Creeping Death" kicks in to a slight buzz as
no one knows who to expect...

...a buzz that turns into a big cheer as Kolya Sudakov storms through
the curtain, throwing his arms apart with a roar!]

GM:  The Russian War Machine has returned, Bucky Wilde!

BW:  He's a former National Champion and one of the baddest men on the
planet, Gordo.  This can't be good news for anyone.

GM:  You know who it's not good news for?  Stevie Scott and the Southern
Syndicate!

BW:  Now how do you know that?

GM:  We both saw it, Bucky!  He hit the Sickle on the champ!  He stood
with Broussard, Vasquez, Michaelson, and Houston!  He is back and it's a
frightening day for them all!

[Sudakov quickly walks up the apron, clad in his black singlet with the
Russian hammer and sickle in gold very small on his chest.  The referee
gives him a few quick words, getting a nod in response, and then calls
for the bell.]

GM:  Here we go!

[Larry Lasher dashes across the ring, arms raised in a double
axehandle...

...but Sudakov sidesteps, throwing Lasher chestfirst into the buckles! 
Sudakov quickly spins him around in the corner, snapping off two side
kicks to the ribcage!]

GM:  Ohh!  What a shot that was!

[Squaring up, Sudakov throws a one-two-one combo to the ribcage,
doubling up Lasher.  Hooking a Thai clinch, the Russian War Machine
throws a big knee up into the chin, snapping Lasher back into the
buckles.]

GM:  Sudakov's laying on the beating in the corner, Bucky.

BW:  Do not forget that Sudakov is a master in the Mixed Martial Arts,
Gordo.  He throws punches and kicks like few others in this business can
manage to do.

[Sudakov grabs Lasher by the wrist, flinging him across the ring to the
opposite corner...

...and then storms across, leveling the rebounding Lasher with a running
clothesline!]

GM:  SICKLE!!

[Wasting not a moment, Sudakov drops down into a lateral press as the
referee dives down to count.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THREE!!!

"DING!  DING!  DING!"

[Sudakov immediately pops back to his feet, allowing the referee to
raise his arm.]

MC:  Here is your winner... in a time of 43 seconds...

KOLLLLLLYAAAA SUUUUUUDAKOVVV!

[The Russian nods at the cheering crowd before stepping through the
ropes.]

GM:  And now, Kolya will be joining us here at ringside with a few words
about his return.

[Sudakov hops down off the apron, staring right at Gordon Myers who is
standing and has the mic offered.]

GM:  Mr. Sudakov, welcome back to the AWA.

[The Russian continues to stare at the mic.]

GM:  Mr. Sudakov, do you have anything you would like to say to the fans
of the AWA about your return at Independence Day after nearly a year out
of action?

[Sudakov continues to stand stoic.]

GM:  Sir, please.  We told the world that you would be speaking here
tonight.

[The Russian gives a quick shake of his head, pushing past Bucky Wilde
and making his way back up the aisle towards the locker room.]

BW:  Well, maybe he won't have somethin' to say, Gordo.

GM:  I guess not.  Fans, I apologize for that but I know someone who
DOES have something to say.  Mark Stegglet is standing by with Scotty
and Marty, the Rockstar Express!

[We cut back to the locker room area where Marty Morgan and Scotty Storm
are dressed for action in long matching royal blue tights with white
bandanas tied off around the knees.  They both have black AWA tanktops
on as well.  They exchange a high five as Mark Stegglet speaks.]

MS:  Yes I am, Gordon!  Marty, this is a big match for you guys tonight.

[Marty Morgan nods, pumping a fist.]

MM:  You got it, baby.  The Rockstar Express is rollin' into Charlotte
to do a little rockin'... to do a little rollin'... and to do a little
bit of butt-kickin' all over North Carolina!

[Stegglet turns to Scotty Storm.]

MS:  Scotty, what do you think about your opponents?

SS:  We've got a big nasty Russian and a German dude who keeps showin'
folks his hand.  Now they're tough, don't get me wrong.  Velikov and Von
Klauss are two of the toughest cats on the corner.

But me and Marty ain't so shabby ourselves, ya dig?

[Stegglet nods.]

MS:  A few weeks ago, we found out you two are the number five
contenders to the National Tag Team Titles - right behind the Blonde
Bombers.  What's next for the Rockstars?

SS:  What's next?  We've got a date later tonight that we may have to
cut short, baby.  And when we're done with the Ruskie and his bratwurst
buddy, we're comin' for the Bombers.

MM:  That's right.  Did you two really think we were done with ya?  Did
good ol' Leisure Suit Larry convince you that the Rockstars were gonna
slip on off into the sunset and let you two march on up the rankings
'til you reach the top?  Not a chance, ya hear?

SS:  And those Bombers want to act like they run the joint but the fact
is, the Rockstars are the ONLY tag team 'round this place who wanna rock
and roll all night...

MM:  ...and party every day.  Wooo!

[Another high five and the duo walks off camera together.]

MS:  There you have it, Gordon.  Back to you at ringside.

[We cut back to the ringside area where Gordon and Bucky are standing.]

GM:  Thanks, Mark.  The Rockstar Express certainly is excited about this
showdown tonight with Vladimir Velikov and Baron Von Klauss, Bucky.

BW:  They shouldn't be.  If they thought the Bombers handed their tails
to 'em, wait 'til they get a load of an angry German and a Russian with
something to prove.  Velikov let down Kostovich on the 4th of July and
you can bet your bottom dollar that won't be goin' down here tonight,
daddy!

GM:  Let's go up to the ring!

[We cut to the ring where Melissa is waiting.]

MC:  The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a ten minute
time limit.  Introducing first... he is the West Memphis Assassin!

[No reaction for the masked man who raises a hand.]

MC:  And his opponent... 

[It's about then that the still somewhat unfamiliar AC/DC's "Spoiling
for a Fight" rattles over the house speakers, queuing the entrance of
AWA newcomer "All American" Aaron Anderson.  The tall, athletic young
man bounds out without pause.  His hand is outstretched before the fans
even are, hoping for a high five from whomever might give it to him.]

MC:  Introducing now, from St. Cloud, Minnesota, weighing in at
255lbs... 

"THE ALL AMERICAN" AARON ANDERSON!

[Dressed in green tights with black kneepads and boots, Anderson's gear
choice doesn't cut a shocking picture, but regardless his energy is a
presence as he continues to jog around the ring, giving the obligatory
"COME ON!" and a fist pump before stopping, ONE HOPPING up onto the
apron and with as much ease and barely a hand on the ropes, bounds right
over the top rope and into the ring.  He turns, smiling as he climbs to
the second rope, raising his hands once more.  Youthful exhuberance, you
gotta love it.]

GM:  Aaron Anderson, the first graduate of the AWA Combat Corner in
action here tonight.

BW:  How many chances is this kid gonna get, Gordo?  Hasn't he washed
out yet?

GM:  Aaron Anderson has certainly had some issues making the switch to
the AWA full-time roster from the Combat Corner.  But perhaps he can
start to turn things around here tonight.

[As the bell rings, the two men briefly circle before coming together
where the masked Assassin quickly applies a rear waistlock.  It's only
on for a moment though before Anderson easily reverses it, hoisting the
Assassin high off the mat and taking him chestfirst down to the mat!]

GM:  Big takedown by Anderson!

BW:  The masked man didn't stand much of a chance on that one.

GM:  Anderson riding him on the mat, perhaps trying to wear him down a
little bit as he makes the West Memphis Assassin carry him around the
ring trying to find a way out.

[The masked man battles back up to his feet, grabbing at the wrists of
Anderson...

...who lifts him off the mat again, throwing him down on all fours on
the canvas!]

GM:  Back down to the mat again!  Anderson just keeps that waistlock
applied, riding the Assassin all over the ring...

[Down on the mat, the Assassin rolls through, pushing Anderson's
shoulders down to the mat.  The referee dives to count as Anderson
releases the hold, allowing the masked man to get up to his feet.]

GM:  One man up...

[And as Anderson gets to a knee, the masked man reaches out and slaps
him hard across the face!]

GM:  Ohh!  He slapped the taste right out of the kid's mouth, Bucky!

BW:  That's what I love about veterans.  Always taking the time to go
upside a punk's skull and show him who's in charge.

[An angry Anderson pops up to his feet, rushing the Assassin who hooks a
waistlock as he goes by...

...and drops down into a schoolboy, pulling Anderson down to the mat
with it.]

GM:  One!  Two!  

[But the Combat Corner graduate is out at two.]

GM:  Anderson gets the shoulder up in time.

[A frustrated Anderson slaps the canvas before getting to his feet,
rushing into a tieup...

...but burying a boot in the Assassin's gut instead, doubling the masked
man up.  Anderson grabs the wrist, firing him towards the corner.]

GM:  Big whip...

[But the masked man raises a boot, stopping his charge as Anderson runs
in behind him...

...and catches a well-placed elbow to the jaw!]

GM:  Ohh!  Anderson got caught rushing in!

[The West Memphis Assassin grabs Anderson by the back of the head,
throwing a forearm to the jaw.]

GM:  European uppercut by the masked man!

[Grabbing the wrist, the Assassin yanks Anderson into a short-arm
clothesline, knocking the All American flat to the canvas!]

GM:  I think the masked man is bringing more to this fight than Anderson
had in mind!

[The Assassin quickly hauls Anderson off the mat, delivering a big right
hand to the jaw, sending the amateur wrestling expert falling back into
the buckles chestfirst.  The masked man grabs two hands full of hair,
slamming Anderson's face into the top turnbuckle!]

GM:  Hard to the buckles... and here comes another whip...

[Holding the wrist, the Assassin goes for a whip...

...but Anderson reverses it, sending the masked man facefirst into the
middle buckle hard!]

GM:  OHHHHHH!

BW:  Aaron Anderson put a lot into that one!  He dug down deep and threw
him facefirst into the buckles.  The masked man is down and if you could
see his face, I think you'd see some wincin', Gordo.

GM:  Anderson slowly getting up, trying to get some wind back in his
sails.

[And delivers a hard kick to the back, sending the masked man rolling
under the ropes to the floor.]

GM:  Man!  What a kick!  And I don't recall ever seeing an aggressive
streak out of him like this.  This is new territory for Aaron Anderson,
Bucky.

[Anderson rolls under the ropes to the floor, shoving the masked man
back into the ring.  He rolls back in as well, hauling him up by the
mask.  Grabbing the Assassin around the waist, Anderson powers him up
off the mat, rushing across the ring...

...and DRIVING the West Memphis Assassin spinefirst into the corner!]

GM:  OHHHHH!

[Stumbling backwards, Anderson keeps his grip on the Assassin and hurls
him up and over with a released Northern Lights suplex!]

GM:  Wow!  What a throw by Anderson!  Aaron Anderson is impressing me a
bit here this week, Bucky.

BW:  Is he?  You must impress easy.

GM:  Anderson drags him back up... into the waistlock...

[The former collegiate star hooks the side waistlock, looking to take
the masked man up again...

...but a pair of right hands to the skull breaks up the lift attempt.]

GM:  He battles out of it...

[The Assassin quickly wraps his leg through Anderson's, snapping him
back in a Russian legsweep!]

GM:  Ohh!  Anderson goes back down hard!

[And the masked man promptly applies a lateral press.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  

[But Anderson fires the shoulder up.]

GM:  Not enough to keep him down... and the masked man is pulling him
up...

[Hooking a rear waistlock, the Assassin rushes towards the ropes...

...but Anderson ducks, causing the Assassin to slam into the ropes
himself.  A stunned masked man stumbles back.  Anderson quickly turns,
rushing in again.]

GM:  CLOTHESLI- ducked by the masked man!

[The masked man hits the ropes himself, rushing off...

...and eating a boot to the gut, doubling him up.]

GM:  Anderson caught him!  Look at this!

[The crowd buzzes as Anderson applies a bearhug, trying to plant his
feet for an overhead belly to belly...

...when the West Memphis Assassin's skull slams into his own!]

GM:  Ohh!  Headbutt!

[The crowd "ooohs" as the Assassin uncorks three more rapid fire
headbutts, stunning him...

...and then dragging him down in a small package!]

GM:  SMALL PACKAGE!!  ONE!!  TWO!!  THREEEEEE!!!

"DING!  DING!  DING!"

GM:  HE DID IT!!  THE ASSASSIN DID IT!!

[An irate Aaron Anderson angrily queries the ref who informs him that
yes, he has lost.]

GM:  Aaron Anderson got caught in that small package and the West
Memphis Assassin scores an upset here tonight in Charlotte, North
Carolina, Bucky!

BW:  I told you this kid had nothing.

GM:  Aaron Anderson's gotta be disappointed.  He's gotta be upset.  You
would think that- oh great, it looks like we have company.

BW: Warm up the good coffee, the AWA's Executive Consultant is in the
house!

[Cut to a shot of the suit-wearing, none-too-happy Joe Petrow, walking
towards the ring...but veering left, and stopping right in front of
Gordon Myers!  He picks up the spare mic next to Bucky Wilde, and
directly addresses the legendary announcer:]

JP: You know Gordon, I do not come out here and slander you with
accusations of biased announcing, so I would appreciate if you would
avoid labeling me with your loaded words! I am the AWA's Executive
Consultant, not a man just here to "do your dirty work" as you so
recklessly implied!

GM: We _saw_ what you did in Soup Bone Samson's match with Calisto
Dufresne at Independence Day!  He had the match won until your blatant,
over-the-top interference changed the rightful result!

JP: Like I said, that was a demonstration, the last one at that, and I
explained myself very clearly afterwards!  I am not immoral, as you
imply.  I am _amoral_!  I am as innocent in that match as the brass
knuckles are innocent of denting Samson's forehead!  My modus operandi
is simply to advise the client, and to implement the strategy we agree
on to the best of my ability.  I advise, but the client always has the
final say, which is why the results in the tag title match were less
than optimal for my client.

GM: Who!? Who was your client? Who paid you to get involved in that
match?

JP: Gordon, you may not understand this next word, so look it up in
Merriam-Webster when I'm done.  I am a _professional_!  If I do not have
permission from my client to advertise, then I respect their privacy! 
But I did _not_ fail, as my client...my _former_ client I should say, as
I have not yet received any further payment, is still in the catbird
seat!  And maybe next time, they'll agree with _all_ of my
recommendations!  I don't care who they are, or what they're trying to
accomplish.  Hell, if I was around in March, then maybe Juan Vasquez
would still be the AWA National Champion, and you'd probably be praising
us _both_ as heroes!  As long as the check clears, that would be just
fine with me.  The bottom line is, and I'm saying this to _all_ the guys
in the back, if you need that little something extra, even if you _do_
care about the opinion of these fans and this pious announcer, then I
can help you!  I guarantee it.

[Petrow lobs the spare mic back to Bucky, straightens his tie, and turns
to walk backstage.]

GM:  What in the world is that man up to?  Fans, we'll be right back.

[Fade to black...

...and then back up on a shot of the AWA National Title belt.  The
super-excited voice of Mark Stegglet is heard over it.]

"You've seen it on Saturday Night Wrestling!"

[A shot of Marcus Broussard with the belt over his shoulder.]

"You've seen it on AWA supercards like Memorial Day Mayhem and The Last
Stampede!"

[A shot of Ron Houston wearing the belt in a promo picture.]

"You've seen the best the AWA has to offer wearing it!"

[Now a shot of Kolya Sudakov in a fighting pose with the belt hanging
over his shoulder.]

"And now, it can be yours!"

[A shot of Stevie Scott holding the belt high in the air fades into a
shot of a young fan doing the same.]

"Available NOW on AWAShop.com, get the official replica of the AWA
National Title belt that only the best and brightest of the AWA
superstars have held!"

[A closeup of the AWA National Title slowly fades to black...

Cut back to ringside where now arriving at the announce position would
be Dave Cooper and Eric Matthew Somers, the members of Rough N Ready.
Cooper is dressed in a white polo shirt and khakis, while Somers wears a
black shirt and blue jeans.]

GM:  Welcome back, fans... and now we are joined by Rough N Ready...
winners at the Independence Day show but not coming away with the
titles... Dave and Eric, a lot of people want to know... what's next for
Rough N Ready?

[Dave looks a bit agitated at Gordon's remarks. Eric has a glare on his
face.]

DC: Gordon, the way you word that question, you make it sound like we're
just gonna give up the pursuit of those National Tag Team Titles.

GM: Well, that's not what I said, or even what I meant to say... but
still, you know a lot of teams are waiting for their opportunity at the
titles, and now that you finally got yours...

DC: And we all know what went down at Independence Day, don't we,
Gordon? Duane Henry decides to bring a chair into the match and save
themselves the titles!

GM: Now, just a minute... Joe Petrow was the one who introduced the
chair, and besides, he sure seemed to be favoring your side.

DC: Joe Petrow introduced the chair, but Duane Henry used it, Gordon!
You saw it yourself... as far as I'm concerned, it's just another way
the Bishops have demonstrated that nothing has changed... they're still
the same punks they were when we first crossed paths!

GM: Still, Dave, you know there are plenty of teams here in the AWA who
are waiting their chance at the titles.

DC: So what are you saying, Gordon? That Eric and I don't deserve
another shot?

GM: I'm not saying that at all... I'm simply saying you've made it a
point that you wanted your opportunity for a title shot, you got it, and
now others may want their opportunity.

[It's at this point that Eric reaches in and takes the mic from
Gordon... a move that surprises Gordon, and Bucky as well.]

EMS: Gordon... if others are waiting for an opportunity, they can keep
on waiting. Because things between the Bishops and us are not over...
and they won't be over until we say they are over!

[He then tosses the mic back to Gordon and walks off. Dave just looks at
Gordon and Bucky and nods his head, then walks off after Eric.]

GM:  An obviously upset duo there, Bucky.

BW:  But did you notice that they didn't deny that Joe Petrow seemed to
be favoring them?  You made the accusation, Gordo, and they didn't shoot
it down one bit!

GM:  I did notice that.  But they did not take responsibility for him
being at ringside either.  They didn't-

[Suddenly, Shane Taylor, Kandi Kane, and Kevin Slater arrive on the
scene.  Shane is visibly nervous, looking over his shoulder as Slater,
sporting a black Stetson, speaks.]

KS:  Blah blah blah blah blah.

[Gordon looks agitated.]

GM:  Kevin Slater, I don't believe you are scheduled to be out here
right now.

KS:  I'm sorry, Gordy, but am I taking away from your crying time?  I
know it's hard work to cry about Rough N Ready failing to get the tag
titles AGAIN but somebody's gotta do it.  You did your job.  You paid
them lip service.  Now, listen up... this is OUR time, Gordy.  This is
OUR chance to tell the world what's on our minds.

GM:  And what might that be?

KS:  Bobby Taylor.

GM:  Color me stunned.

[Slater glares at Gordon.]

KS:  Watch yourself, Myers.  I got the money to pay for a fine for
slappin' an announcer in the gums.

[He refocuses on the camera, tipping his hat towards it.]

KS:  So, Bobby Taylor finally came out at Independence Day and told the
world what we've all known for years.

He's afraid.

[The crowd boos as Slater chuckles.  Shane Taylor is peeking down the
aisleway.]

KS:  He's afraid of what Shane Taylor and myself will do to him.

GM:  That's not what he said.  He said he was afraid he couldn't do
what-

KS:  I know what he said!  He said he was afraid of us and now he's
proving it.  Because he's ripping me off and he's putting out a bounty
on his own brother.  What kind of a coward puts a bounty on his own
brother?  That's sick, right?

[Gordon starts to speak up but gets cut off.]

KS:  I know!  I'm disgusted too, Myers.  But we're out here for one
reason.  We're out here to show that we're not afraid of any bounty. 
We're not afraid of any bounty hunters.  And we're damn sure not afraid
of Bobby Taylor.  Right, Shane?

[Shane Taylor is still looking down the aisle.]

KS:  SHANE!

[Taylor snaps around, looking at Slater.]

SST:  Uhh, right, right.  I ain't afraid of nothin' Bobby's got in store
for me!  Send 'em all - big, small, short, tall, fat... Kev and I can
take out anyone you send my way, Bobby.

And when I've fought off all your bounty hunters, Kev will take you out
once and for-

[Slater interrupts.]

KS:  No, no, no... Taylor made the deal himself.  If he wants me, he's
gotta take you out.

SST:  But, Kev, I-

KS:  A deal's a deal, kid.  If Taylor wants to go one-on-one with the
TRUE Outlaw, he's gotta put you on the shelf.  

And I just don't think he can get the job done.

[Slater grins arrogantly.]

KS:  In fact, send a ref out here.  Shane's gonna get in there and show
that he-

[Suddenly, the crowd ERUPTS at the sight of Jackson Haynes and Danny
Morton charging down the aisle.]

GM:  VIOLENCE UNLIMITED!!  VIOLENCE UNLIMITED IS GOING FOR THE BOUNTY!

[A freaked out Shane Taylor rolls into the ring, fists at the ready...

...while Kevin Slater stays at ringside with Kandi Kane.]

GM:  Are you gonna let him fight by himself?

KS:  He's his own man, Gordon!

[Taylor is shouting at Slater to get in the ring just as Haynes and
Morton arrive, rushing Shane Taylor who throws a hooking right hand to
the jaw of Haynes.]

GM:  Ohh!

[Morton tackles Taylor around the waist, hoisting him off the mat, and
dumping him down to the mat with a big overhead takedown!]

GM:  He takes Taylor off his feet!  The kid got rocked!

[A furious Haynes dives on top of Taylor, throwing quick and well-aimed
punches to the temple of the Scorchin' One.  Outside the ring, Kandi
Kane is screaming encouragement to her man as Morton stomps the ribs of
the overwhelmed Taylor.]

BW:  Outlaw, I think you'd better get in there and-

KS:  Are you crazy?  I'm not getting in there with them!  SHANE!  GET
OUT OF THERE!

[Taylor tries to claw towards the ropes but Morton leaps up, driving a
knee down on the ribcage.  Slater grabs the bottom rope like he's about
to help his partner...

...but a wild right hand thrown by Morton keeps Slater at ringside.]

GM:  Violence Unlimited is going to cash in the bounty tonight!

[Haynes yanks Taylor off the mat, grabbing him and throwing him into the
nearest set of turnbuckles.  Grabbing Taylor by the arm, Haynes muscles
him from corner to corner.]

GM:  Hard to the buckles...

[Haynes grabs his own partner by the arm, whipping him across the ring
into a clothesline in the buckles!]

GM:  OHHH!

[And Haynes stampedes across the ring right behind him, drilling Taylor
with a big boot to the jaw!]


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  BIG BOOT!  ON TARGET!!

[Taylor stumbles out of the corner into the waiting arms of Danny Morton
who uncorks a stiff-as-all-hell Lariat across the jaw that knocks Taylor
flat!]

GM:  Ohh!

BW:  He could've broken his jaw with that!  Would that land the bounty?

[But before the hard-hitting tag team can unleash more punishment, the
crowd explodes in boos.]

BW:  SAMOANS!

[Scola and Mafu come sailing down the aisle, diving headfirst under the
ropes into the ring...

...where Mafu tackles Morton off his feet, battering him on the mat. 
Scola goes after Haynes, trading heavy right hands near the buckles.]

GM:  This is a fight!  The Samoans and Violence Unlimited are beating
the tar out of one another!

[With a dazed Shane Taylor on the mat, Slater crawls under the bottom
rope, grabbing his partner by the foot and dragging him under the ropes
to the floor.]

GM:  Look at that!  Slater got 'im out of there!

[The former Wild Thing draps Taylor's arm over his shoulders, making a
quick exit down the aisle as the Samoans and Violence Unlimited continue
to pummel one another inside the ring.]

BW:  Were the Samoans after Violence Unlimited or Shane Taylor?

GM:  I think they wanted the bounty, Bucky!  I really do!

BW:  How could you not?  Bobby Taylor, one of the owners of this
company, says he'll owe whoever cashes in that bounty a favor.  And if
you're gonna have someone own you one, it might as well be the boss,
Gordo.

GM:  You better believe it.  You want money?  He's got it.  You want an
opportunity to put yourself at the top of the card?  It's yours.  Big
matches?  Title shots?

BW:  And believe me, there's a lot of people who would like a title shot
to be gift-wrapped to them by the promoter.  Taylor's dangled an offer
out there that I just don't know if anyone can refuse.

GM:  That's absolutely right.  Fans, we're going to take a quick break
and we'll be right back with more Saturday Night Wrestling!

[And we fade to black.

After a moment, we fade back up on a very long shot of the exterior of a
pretty dingy looking building.]

"Have you ever dreamed of fame?"

[Cut a little closer.]

"Of glory?"

[A little closer.]

"Of your friends and family seeing you on television?"

[And just a little closer, revealing a red, white, and blue sign that
reads "AWA Combat Corner."]

"Well, now you can make all your dreams come true by signing up today at
the AWA Combat Corner - the official training school for the American
Wrestling Alliance!"

[We cut to the interior of the building where we can see lots of
standard gym equipment surrounding a very basic wrestling ring.  There
are people lifting weights, running on treadmills, and of course,
working out in the ring.]

"With the very best trainers in the business, the AWA Combat Corner is
the most-equipped training facility to get you in shape and get you in
the ring in the shortest amount of time!"

[Cut into the ring where Todd Michaelson is barking out instructions.]

"With former World Champion Todd Michaelson leading the classes, you can
guarantee that you will be prepared for in-ring action upon graduation
and with the AWA expanding by the day, you will have a place to work on
Day One!"

[Two young students are grappling on the canvas.]

"So, stop by the Combat Corner today... call our offices... visit our
website... and let them know that you want to be the next AWA Superstar!
You want to be the future of the business!

You want to wrestle!"

[Fade to a graphic that has all the info on the AWA Combat Corner.  We
freeze there for a moment...

...and then back to live action where we find Jason Dane standing
backstage alongside Jim Watkins.]

JD:  We are back, fans, here in Charlotte, North Carolina... and right
here by my side, we've got the Chairman of the AWA Championship
Committee, Jim Watkins, joining us.  First, Mr. Watkins, congratulations
on a fantastic Independence Day.

[Watkins smiles.]

JW:  Thanks, Jason.  It was a tremendous night of action and we're all
very proud of what went down.

JD:  Mr. Watkins, I have to ask.  What is next for the National Tag Team
Titles?

JW:  Obviously, the match between the Bishop Boys and Rough N Ready did
not end decisively.  It did not end like we would have wanted it to. 
And in my opinion, Rough N Ready deserve another shot at the titles...

[Dane interjects.]

JD:  I sense a "but" there.

JW:  BUT... they're not the only ones.  In fact, the team that the
Bishop Boys defeated for the National Tag Team Titles have yet to
receive their rematch.  So, in two weeks' time, that's what we're gonna
see.  Adrian Freeman and Calisto Dufresne challenging the Bishop Boys
for the gold.

[Big cheer inside the building!]

JD:  That oughta be a great one, Mr. Watkins.  But what about this
WarGames situation.

JW:  We've got nothing new on that yet.  We know that Juan Vasquez,
Marcus Broussard, and Todd Michaelson have asked the AWA to prepare
contracts for a WarGames showdown on Labor Day weekend in New Orleans
but until the Southern Syndicate agrees to the match, we've got nothing
more to add to that matchup.

JD:  Fair enough.  Sir, there are rumors that Ron Houston's days as the
Special Enforcer may be short-lived.  Can you comment on that?

JW:  I can say that Mr. Houston's actions at Independence Day are under
review and we hope to rule shortly.  That's all I can say on that
subject.

[Suddenly, the voice of Vladimir Velikov is heard from off-camera.]

VV:  That's all you can say?

[Velikov arrives, glaring at his old rival.]

VV:  That's all you can say?

[He snorts.]

VV:  All I can say is that it continues to be a mockery of justice to
have you in power here in the AWA, Comrade.  You have shown nothing but
bias and favortism for months.

[Watkins shakes his head.]

VV:  Do you deny it?  You can not deny it.  If you were not biased,
myself and the Baron would have gotten National Tag Team Title shot long
time ago.

JW:  Don't you have to win a match first?

[Velikov seethes.]

VV:  Funny man you are, Jim Watkins.  Very funny man.  You have gotten
funnier in the years since I bloodied you all over the South.  You
remember the cold steel cutting your flesh?

[Velikov wraps his steel chain around his hand...

...and for a moment, you think you see Jim Watkins' fists clench.]

JD:  Gentlemen, please.  Mr. Velikov, don't you have a match to get
ready for?

VV:  Russian fighter is ALWAYS ready.  

JD:  Speaking of which, what do you have to say about your nephew,
Kolya's, return?  The last time we saw him-

VV:  You do not need to remind anyone.  The last time we saw Kolya, he
was beaten at my feet... where he belongs.  And now?  Now he returns to
stand beside the same pathetic Americans we use to go to war with.  

[Velikov spits.]

VV:  He is softer than I thought possible.

JW:  Maybe he just got sick of associating himself with losers, Velikov.

[Watkins seems a little more fired-up than usual.  Velikov glares in
reply.]

VV:  You speak strongly from behind your suit, Watkins.

[Watkins starts to take off his suit jacket.]

JW:  I talk just as strongly without it, Velikov.  I know you remember.

[Without warning, Ivan Kostovich walks into view.  He eyes Watkins
warily for a moment, then turns his attention to Velikov.]

IK:  Do not embarrass me - or yourself - any further.  Come.

[And Velikov doesn't hesitate in the slightest to turn away from his
confrontation with Watkins, moving off camera.  Jim Watkins stands with
Dane, shaking his head slowly.]

JW:  I hate Russians.

[And then Watkins exits as well, leaving Dane all alone.]

JD:  It's a wild night in North Carolina, fans!  Back to ringside to
Melissa!

[Back to ringside we go!] 

MC: The following contest is scheduled for one fall.  Introducing first,
already in the ring, hailing from Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, and
weighing in at 225 pounds...

FRANKIE B!

[The non-descript local, uh, talent, raises his right hand in the air to
absolutely no response.]

MC: And his opponent...

[Cue "You Can't Judge A Book" by Hank Williams, Jr., and cue the cheers
while you're at it.  Exploding through the curtain (as much as a fat man
can) is the "Working Man" Vernon Riley, dressed in his black trunks,
red-and-white cowboys boots, and a t-shirt with his own likeness that
looks like it dates back a few years.]

MC: Hailing from Amarillo, Texas, and weighing in at 295 pounds...he is
the Working Man...

VERNOOOOOOOON RIIIILEEEEEEEEEYYYYYYY!

[The big Texan power walks down the aisle, slapping some hands along the
way, before climbing into the ring and ascending the middle turnbuckles,
raising his hands in the air to a big pop.]

GM: Vernon Riley seems to be showing no ill effects of the attack he
suffered on the 4th of July in Memphis, Tennessee, but you have to think
the tide of his feud with Anton Layton has turned just a little bit with
the appearance of Nenshou on Layton's side.

BW: Layton and Percy Childes kept that a secret, Gordo.  Not even yours
truly knew about it, and Bucky Wilde finds out just about everything in
the locker rooms, daddy.

GM: There's the bell and we're set to go...Frankie B and Riley circling
around and now into a collar-and-elbow tieup.  Frankie B emerges with an
armwringer, cranking away at the shoulder...

[Pop!]

GM: But Big Vern delivers one of his trademark big elbows right to the
top of Frankie's head, and that breaks the hold and sends Frankie B to
the mat.

[The South Carolina product gets back on his feet, and is met with a
flurry of left jabs from Riley before finishing it with a big right
cross that again drops Frankie B.]

GM: Vernon Riley is all business tonight, Bucky!

BW: He better be.  Layton's plan was brilliant in that it caused the fat
man to be lulled to sleep.  He never knew what hit him, sort of like a
buffet when he shows up at it.

GM: Riley staying right on top of him, grabs an arm and sends him for
the ride...and a HIIIIIIGH back bodydrop!  Vern quickly off the
ropes...and an elbowdrop connects!

[The fans cheer the Working Man as he immediately gets back up and drags
Frankie B to his feet, applying a side headlock and waiving his right
arm in the air in a lasso motion.  Pop!]

GM: He's calling for the Riley Roundup!  Vernon Riley wasting no time
tonight!

BW: Speaking of buffets, there must be one calling his name somewhere
nearby.

GM: Back into the corner and here he goooooes...there it is!  The
running bulldog out of the corner and this one is over...one, two,
three!

[But the face pop turns to a heel pop as no sooner does Meekly's hand
hit the mat for the third time than does Anton Layton, Gino Moretti and
Nenshou come dashing down toward the ring.]

GM: LAYTON!  NENSHOU!  HERE THEY COME FOR RILEY!

[But instead it's Moretti who slides into the ring as Layton and Nenshou
(and Percy Childes, bringing up the rear) wait on the outside, Layton
screaming instructions at Moretti as he removes his purple robe.]

GM: Well...it looks like they're going to send Gino Moretti to go after
him first.  Very odd, how they treat him, Bucky.

BW: Hey, everyone needs a lackey, daddy!  Look at me.  I've got you.

GM: Whatever.  Moretti not too eager to attack Riley, but Layton
continues to point at Riley and yell at him to attack.

BW: I think he said, "Purify the battlefield with his blood" again.

[Finally, Moretti charges at Riley, who easily ducks underneath his
right hand and comes back with his trademark flurry of left jabs.]

GM: Well...I guess he decided a beating from Riley would be preferable
to a beating from Layton...but the former doesn't seem to be going too
well at the moment either.

[Riley spins his hands together and finishes it off with a big right
cross that sends Moretti to the mat.  A frustrated Layton slaps the mat,
then grabs his lackey and yanks him to the floor.]

BW: I guess the beating from Layton is coming next.

[A short one, anyway, as Layton pounds Moretti with right hands, then
grapevines his arms behind him as Nenshou walks over...and throws a
_vicious_ martial arts kick right into the throat of Moretti!  Layton
throws one more kick to the ribs for good measure, then points to the
ring before he and Nenshou enter.]

GM: Now here comes the real challenge for Riley, as it's two on one in
there with Layton and Nenshou trying to back him into a corner.

BW: Why didn't he get out of there when they were attacking Moretti? 
Riley ain't all that smart.  Maybe he oughta call Joe Petrow and enlist
his consulting services.

[Slowly, Riley is backed into a corner by the duo...and with nowhere to
go, comes firing out with rights and lefts!  HUGE POP!]

GM: RILEY!  The Working Man is fighting out of the corner!  They had him
trapped but the big man from Amarillo is throwing punches, kicks,
anything he can to get free!

[But it only works so long, as Layton finally gets in a hard double
axehandle to the back as Riley's attention is focused on Nenshou.  The
duo begins to lay into the Working Man with chops and punches, until
Layton grapevines Riley's arms just like he did Moretti's moments
earlier.]

GM: They've got him!  They've got Riley trapped and set up just like
they did to Gino Moretti!

BW: Guess the kick on Gino was just a dry run for the real deal.

[Nenshou backs up, sizing up his target, before letting out a scream and
thrusting his right foot for the throat of Vernon Riley...

...but instead, it connects with the chin of Layton and Riley slips free
at the last moment!  BIG POP!]

GM: NO!  RILEY DUCKED!  DOWN GOES LAYTON!

[And taking advantage of the momentary distraction, the Working Man
grabs Nenshou and starts unloading his overhead elbow smashes.]

GM: ATOMIC ELBOW!  ANOTHER!  ONE MORE FOR GOOD MEASURE AND THAT SENDS
NENSHOU DOWN TO THE MAT!  VERNON RILEY HAS CLEARED THE RING OF _THREE_
MEN!

[The crowd is going nuts as Riley points at Layton, now standing on the
outside, pointing and motioning for him to get back into the ring.  But
with his attention focused there, he can't see the latest attack coming
from out of the crowd.]

GM: Wait...is that?  It...it can't be!

BW: It is!  It is, daddy!

[The crowd starts shouting warnings at the fan favorite, but they aren't
heard in time as the man from the crowd spins Riley around into a front
chancery before SPIKING his head into the mat with a DDT!]

GM: JAMES MONOSSO!  WHAT IS _HE_ DOING OUT HERE?

BW: Don't tell me...THIS nutjob is in cahoots with THOSE nutjobs?

GM: Judging by Layton's reaction, I'd say so.

[Layton cackles, throwing his head back, as if he knew it was coming all
along.  But instead of getting it the ring, the Prince of Darkness grabs
Moretti by the head and forcibly holds it to the ring.]

"WATCH!  WATCH AND LEARN HOW TO FINISH THY MASTER'S BIDDING!"

[Monosso grabs Riley by the hair, pulling him into a front facelock
before twisting him around into neckbreaker position... and leaning
forward, powering Riley's bulk off the canvas with his hands cupped
around the big man's chin!]

GM: THE SANITY CHECK!  MY LORD!  HE'S GOT RILEY UP IN THE HANGMAN
NECKBREAKER!  This is the very hold Monosso has used to win
championships with in the past... the one hold he's mastered!

BW: With HIS weight?!  He'll snap his neck, Gordo!  He'll snap his neck
in no time!  All that fat on Vern Riley is workin' against him now!

[Riley struggles to get free, but can't, his face showing the obvious
pain as his arms slowly lose their strength... and his efforts to pull
Monosso's hands from his chin begin to fade.]

GM: PRESTON!

[HUGE POP as Monosso's rival - whether he wants to be or not - sprints
down to the ring.  Monosso sees him coming, laughing as he continues to
keep the Sanity Check locked in on Riley, allowing Preston to easily
drill him with a hard right hand!]

GM: Monosso...he just let Preston get in and hit him!

BW: Exactly!  It's exactly what he wants!  He's been begging Preston to
fight him again, and he's done it!  Brilliant!

GM: The blow was enough to get Monosso to release that neck hang...
Riley is out, it appears... and Preston is unloading on James Monosso
with right hands...and a final BIIIIIG right sends Monosso over the top
and to the floor!  Eric Preston has just saved Vernon Riley from the
hands of the madman James Monosso...

[HEEL POP!]

BW: But who's gonna save him from Layton and Nenshou, daddy?

GM: Anton Layton drills Preston from behind and now it's a triple team
on the youngster as he's joined by Nenshou and Gino Moretti.

BW: They're letting Moretti get back in on the action?  Layton must be
feeling generous tonight.

GM: All three stomping away on the downed Preston...and now Layton
orders Moretti to hold him up.  Layton and Moretti bring him to his
feet, each holding an arm, as Nenshou backs up to prepare for another
one of his kicks...

[POP!]

GM: RILEY!

[Indeed, the Working Man is somehow able to hop to his feet and FAT MAN
SPEARS~! Nenshou before he can deliver the thrust kick.]

GM: Riley saved Preston from Nenshou's kick, and Preston uses the
distraction to break free!  Dropkick sends Moretti to the floor!  Layton
charges him...Preston ducks!  Kick to the stomach doubles Layton over! 
Front facelock by Preston, hooking the leg...he's going for Greeneville
Thunder!

[But he won't get to finish it, because Monosso has now slid back into
the ring...chair in hand...and HAMMERS Preston in the back with it!  BIG
HEEL POP!]

GM: OOOOOOOOHHHHH!  Monosso just leveled Preston from behind and now
it's four-on-two in there!

BW: Three on two, really.

GM: How do you figure that?

BW: Does Moretti really count?

GM: Good point.

[Moretti does count enough to get Riley away from Nenshou, freeing up
the Japan product long enough to catch the Working Man with a hard chop
to the throat giving him and Moretti the edge.  On the other side of the
ring, Layton and Monosso go to work on a downed Preston.]

GM: We need some help out here...we need-

[HUUUUUGE POP!]

BW: Looks like we're gettin' it, Gordo.

[Indeed we are, as Brent Maverick comes tearing down to the ring, his
own steel chair in hand.  He slides underneath the bottom rope and the
heels scatter, getting out of the ring as Monosso _narrowly_ avoids a
big swing from Maverick.  Brent stares at the evil foursome before
checking on Preston.  Riley slowly gets up and goes to join the other
two as the other four men retreat down the aisle towards the locker
room.]

GM:  This is totally out of control, Bucky!  We just saw... what DID we
just see?

BW:  We saw James Monosso throw in with Layton and Nenshou!  We saw
Preston and Maverick come to Riley's aid!  This is wild, daddy!

GM:  Fans, we've gotta take a quick break!  We'll be right back - don't
you dare go away!

[Fade to black...

...and then back up on a shot of the AWA National Title belt.  The
super-excited voice of Mark Stegglet is heard over it.]

"You've seen it on Saturday Night Wrestling!"

[A shot of Marcus Broussard with the belt over his shoulder.]

"You've seen it on AWA supercards like Memorial Day Mayhem and The Last
Stampede!"

[A shot of Ron Houston wearing the belt in a promo picture.]

"You've seen the best the AWA has to offer wearing it!"

[Now a shot of Kolya Sudakov in a fighting pose with the belt hanging
over his shoulder.]

"And now, it can be yours!"

[A shot of Stevie Scott holding the belt high in the air fades into a
shot of a young fan doing the same.]

"Available NOW on AWAShop.com, get the official replica of the AWA
National Title belt that only the best and brightest of the AWA
superstars have held!"

[A closeup of the AWA National Title slowly fades to black...

...and then we come back up on the ringside area where security and AWA
officials are just starting to restore order.]

GM: My word, this has gotten out of control!  And now... Brent Maverick!
 Brent, can I have a word?

[As Msverick stomps past the broadcast area on his way out, he hears
Myers and heads over that way.]

GM: Brent Maverick, what have we just seen?

BM: A buncha two-penny vermin that don't rate, tryin' ta beat th' world
with numbers an' crazy talk.  In other words, th' same ol' garbage we
seen a thousand times before.

[He points at the camera.]

BM: Layton!  I know yer behin' all this, so I'll make it real, real
simple.  I got no regard for a man who knowin'ly sides with th' devil. 
If ya believed he was real, then ya'd believe the source material that
says he already lost.  All's he got left is ta drag as many souls down
inta th' pit with him as he can; an' if that's yer aim, then I will
finish this before it starts.  My sins stack up ta th' sky as it is; I
have no need ta see anyone else repeat those mistakes because some fat
midget with a bad haircut inspired 'em.

So I'm callin' for YOU, Layton!  Ya might be real comfortable sendin' a
hundred mooks at Riley, but I ain't got no patience for yer fool games. 
Settin' back playin' "human chess"?  Boy, when ah git my hands on ya,
yer gonna be playin' "human punchin' bag".

An' then we'll see how well yer master deals with repeat failures.

[The fans cheer the defiant proclamation as Maverick storms off.]

GM:  Boy oh boy, what a night this is... fans, we've got tag team action
coming up right now if we can get the ring cleared.  Vernon Riley's in
there still and he's STILL mad as hell and who can blame him?  This one
is far from over and-

[Five sneaky little words come screeching through the PA like a rocket.]

#REACH OUT AND TOUCH FAITH!#

[The crowd immdiately wants to tear down the arena.. they might even
want to tear down their homes.. or dismantle a perfectly good
automobile.. they're that enraged..  Why you ask? Simple. The four smug
faces that have emerged from the back. Nova. Baldwin. Crusher.. Doyle.
The Blonde Bombahs, bay-bee! The leader of the pack, "Hollywood" Larry
Doyle is the first on the scene.. sitting in his unfortunately underused
golden wheelchair. He twiddles with a piece of paper while wearing a
pair of purple khaki's.. a purple colored shirt.. purple tie.. purple
shoe.. purple boot. Entirely "Princesque" almost as if he walked in off
the set of Purple Rain. Crusher pushes him down towards the ring as
Baldwin and Nova confidentally follow from behind. Mock slapping the
crowd.. yes, even children!]

GM: These guys hate everybody don't they, Buck.

BM: They are, in fact, equal opportunity haters there, Gordo. 

[Doyle directs the foursome over towards Gordon and Bucky. Larry
immediately hopping out of his chair. He jerks a mic out from Gordon's
hand.. leaving him there to hold nothing but the air between his
fingers.]

LD: My.. oh.. _mmmmyyyyy_!

[Doyle waves the piece of paper high above his head.]

LD:  We most curtainly got us a lllooottt to talk about here tonight
Buckinator.  We could come out here and whine and cry about tiddle twit
Joe Petrow's incredulous, some might say _heinous_ interference.. nay!
Crime! The same crime that cost the Bombers the chance to once and for
aaaalllll put those two hug a dub.. idiots out onto cripple street.. 

[Doyle wags a single index finger furiously.]

LD:  But.. NNOOOOOOOOO!

We ain't here for that. 

[Doyle begins to pace.]

LD:  But Mr. Petrow.. that little.. *ahem* incident didn't go unnoticed
and if _I_ were _you_.. I'd think reaaalll loonnnggg and rooty tooty
rrrreeaaaaaalllll hard before you offer your "services" to any jamokes
that are looking to cross paths with the class of the tag division. 

[Doyle pats Nova's broad chest.]

LD:  This guy right here.

[Another pat, this one for Baldwin.]

LD:  And this bad hombre, too. 

Cause _next_ time you stick your nose in Bombah bidness.. next time you
decide to cash that pitiful thing you call a paycheck at _our_ expense.
We'll hit you so hard it'll knock you back to the decade you were
actually _relevant_. 

I MEAN.. AMIRIGHT~!?

[Doyle looks for crowd approval. Receives none.]

LD:  But we're getting off track.. we're not here for that. 

We are _also_ not here to discuss the outright travesty that occured
with the so-called Championship Committee showed their tainted hand and
had the gaul to not only _NOT_ declare Da Bombahs the number one ranked
tag team in this sport.. but they also had the nerve to place us fourth.

[Doyle stares blankly for a moment, let's this atrocity sink in.]

LD:  Fourth.

[His face reddens.]

LD:  _FOURTH_!

AREUKIDDINGME!

I could train a team of _monkies_ to finish fourth with the trash that
they let in here these days. 

But _again_.. I'm getting off topic. 

Between that.. the Petrow thing.. the constant chatter from all these
other good for nothing Bombah wanna be.. ride their coattails to the
bank and pray they let us live teams... all the faux
imitators..duplicators.. recreators.. incantantors..

[Yep.. Larry's losing his mind.]

LD:  Between all that! All the Bombers goings ons.. we haven't even
gotten to the _real_ reason we're out here. 

And I'll make it simple. 

Because if I have to look at these trailer park trash, inbred, hippy,
twits in attendance for two more seconds.. I'm likely to lose my five
star lunch..

[BOO!]

LD:  Shut it, ya Gumps!

[BOOOO!]

LD:  The most important news of the night.. the reason we graced another
podunk town with our mere presence.. is that we _demand_ something. It's
even on..

[Gasp! Duh duh duh! Paper flies into the air above Doyle's head. But not
just any paper.]

LD:  DA LIST~!

Labor Day Weekend.. we wanna finish the job we've been working _months_
to finish. We want those two _punks_.. Storm and Morgan.. and we want
'em in an AWA ring. 

Give us Rockstars vs. Bombers. 

Let us show the world that what happened _last_ time.. was just a blip
on the radar. 

And _IF_ you give us what you, I, they, and everybody in the world most
_obviously_ wants.. 

[Doyle smirks.]

LD:  Then we'll reward the AWA and the bajillion Bombahs fans the world
over with the one event that tragically slipped through it's fingers the
first time around.. 

[Dramatic pause.]

LD:  .. with Bomberfest 2010.. _live_ next card. 

Get the Rockstars, get me an answer. 

And if we don't know by the end of tonight.. 

.. then we'll be left with no choice but to renegotiate our AWA
contrats. 

That's a fact, Jack!

[Doyle tosses the mic at Gordon and the foursome walk away. Well, three
of 'em walk, Doyle hops back into his wheelchair and is carted back by
Crusher Glenn.]

GM:  Fans... let's go to the ring...

[We cut up to the ring where Melissa is standing.]

MC:  The following contest is a tag team match scheduled for one fall
with a twenty minute time limit.  Introducing first...

[The Russian National Anthem kicks in to a big shower of jeers.]

MC:  They are accompanied to the ring by Ivan Kostovich... they are the
team of Vladimir Velikov and Baron Von Klauss!

[More jeers from the crowd as Kostovich, clad in a black suit and
sunglasses, leads the way.  Velikov is just as we saw him earlier, steel
chain draped over his massive neck.  The unusual Baron is a few feet
behind him, a velvet jacket with hood covering his head from the booing
fans as they head towards the ring.]

GM:  Into the ring comes the Baron and the Russian... and look at
Kostovich.

BW:  He doesn't look the slightest bit happy, Gordo.

GM:  He's not.  Not at all.  Ivan Kostovich has made it very clear that
the Russian government is not pleased with how Vladimir Velikov has
fared here in the AWA over the past year and that's why Kostovich is
here.  He's here to straighten out Velikov or send him packing.

[The rulebreaking duo gets inside the ring as Melissa continues.]

MC:  And their opponents...

[The sweet sounds of KISS rocks the house!]

MC:  From Rock And Roll, USA... Marty Morgan... Scotty Storm...

THE ROCKSTAR EXPRESS!

[BIG CHEER!  With "Rock And Roll All Nite" blasting over the PA system,
Storm and Morgan burst into view to even more cheers from the fans. 
They quickly hit the entryway, each taking a side of the aisle to high
five and hug fans all along the railing heading towards the ring.]

GM:  Scotty and Marty had some strong words for the Blonde Bombers
earlier tonight and the Bombers just fired right back a few moments ago,
Bucky.

BW:  Larry wants the Rockstars on Labor Day.  Make it happen, Gordo!

GM:  Me?  How can I make it happen?

BW:  I heard you party with these guys after the show.  Senior special
at Denny's for you and some O'Douls for the party animals.

GM:  Give me a break.

[As the Rockstars hit the ring, they hop up on the apron together and
lead the ringside fans in a little sing-a-long.]

"IIIIII WANNA ROCK AND ROLL ALL NIIIIIIIGHT!"

"AND PARTY EVERY DAY!"

[A big double high five from the duo comes right before they slingshot
in unison over the ropes into the ring...

...where Vladimir Velikov bowls them both over with a running double
clothesline!]

GM:  SICKLE!  DOUBLE SICKLE!!

[Velikov frantically orders Von Klauss out of the ring, diving to make a
cover...

...but the referee refuses to count, pointing out the steel chain still
inside the ring.]

GM:  The chain's in the ring still!  The ref won't ring the bell to
start the match with the chain still inside the ring, fans.

BW:  Why is that?  How is that fair?

GM:  Are you serious?

[An angry Velikov kicks the chain out of the ring, diving into a lateral
press on Scotty Storm.  A reluctant referee calls for the bell before
dropping to his knees.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THRE-

[The crowd ERUPTS in cheers as Morgan throws himself on top of Velikov,
breaking up the pin attempt.]

GM:  Morgan makes the save!

[Totally irate, Velikov gets up to his feet, ripping Marty Morgan off
the mat by the hair...

...and HURLS him over the ropes to the floor!]

GM:  HE THROWS MORGAN OUT!!

[Velikov pulls Storm off the mat, firing him into the ropes.]

GM:  SICK- ducked!

[Storm races across the ring, leaping up to the middle rope, and
springing back with a crossbody that knocks the Russian down to the
mat!]

GM:  He knocks the Russian down!

[Storm rolls right out of the lateral press, climbing back to his feet. 
He is a little wobbly from the double Sickle still, falling back against
the ropes as he waves for Velikov to get back to his feet.]

GM:  Velikov's right back up as well.. stinging right hand by Storm! 
And a second right hand!

[After landing the blow, Storm spins away from Velikov, trying to keep
out of reach...

...but as he moves in for another haymaker, Velikov wraps him up and
hurls him into the closest set of turnbuckles before delivering a right
hand of his own, stunning Storm.]

GM:  And now it's Velikov on the attack in the corner.

[The big Russian lands a pair of right hands before simply wrapping both
hands around his opponent's throat.]

GM:  Choke!  That's a choke, Bucky!

BW:  Sure is.

GM:  That's all you have to say?

BW:  Yup!

[Velikov delivers a big kick to the gut, dragging Storm to the middle of
the ropes before firing him off.]

GM:  Off the ropes...

[Storm ducks a wildly thrown right hand before hitting the brakes,
leaping up on the back of Velikov and wrapping his arms around his large
neck.]

GM:  SLEEPERHOLD!

BW:  Smart move by Storm.  I've gotta give him credit there.  He's
trying to wear the much larger man down and this is a good way to do it.
 Velikov has to expend energy trying to escape as well as having to
carry the man around the ring on his back.  Good idea here.

GM:  I've never heard you compliment one of these guys before.

BW:  Hey, I may not like 'em but they're the number five contenders to
the National Tag Team Titles and that makes them a tough, tough team,
Gordo.

[Velikov fights it a bit more before standing straight up and reaching
overhead to hook two hands full of hair...

...and HURLS Storm off his back and down to the mat!]

GM:  Ohh!  What a counter by Velikov!

[Not wasting a second, Velikov immediately kicks Storm full force in the
back.  The camera catches him looking over to Ivan Kostovich.]

GM:  And he immediately looks to Kostovich, trying to impress the older
Russian.

BW:  Kostovich holds all the cards in this one.  Velikov BETTER impress
him.

GM:  He drags Storm off the mat, boot down to the gut against the
ropes...

[He flings Storm across the ring again.]

GM:  Whip by Velikov...

[Another right hand is reared back but Storm baseball slides through the
legs, going into a front somersault roll, and springing up to tag his
waiting partner who slingshots over the ropes into the fray.]

GM:  In comes Morgan!

[Morgan throws a right hand to the jaw... and another... and another...]

GM:  He's all over the Russian!

[Morgan steps back, throwing a superkick to the jaw that sends Velikov
falling across the ring into the ropes.]

GM:  He drilled him with that!

[Marty Morgan attempts a whip but Velikov overpowers him, reversing it.]

GM:  Reversal by Velikov!

[And as Morgan rebounds, Velikov hoists him up into the air...

...and DRIVES him down with a thunderous spinebuster!]

GM:  OHHHHH!

[A smirking Velikov gestures towards Kostovich before applying a lateral
press.]

GM:  Another cover for one!  For two!  But that's all!  Morgan is out at
two!

[An angry Velikov gets up, stomping and kicking Morgan into the mat. 
After a bit, he drags Morgan up by his long hair, hurling him over into
his own corner where he slaps the hand of the Baron.]

GM:  In comes the lanky German, Baron Von Klauss!

[Velikov applies a front facelock, shouting orders to Von Klauss who
delivers a hard kick to the body.]

GM:  Illegal doubleteam there.

BW:  He's got a five count to get out of the ring, Gordo.

GM:  I suppose he does.

[Von Klauss grabs the wrist with one hand, firing Morgan off the ropes.]

GM:  Off the far side... boot to the gut...

[Von Klauss pops up, hand held high.]

GM:  He's calling for the Claw!  He's callng for it!

[The lanky German highsteps around the ring, turning back towards Morgan
with his hand at the ready...

...and eats a dropkick to the jaw!]

GM:  Ohh!  Dropkick by Marty Morgan blocks the claw!

[A second dropkick on a rising Von Klauss knocks the German through the
ropes and out to the floor.  Seizing the moment, Morgan sprints to the
far ropes, rebounding off...

...and connecting with a baseball slide dropkick to the jaw, knocking
Von Klauss back into the barricade!]

GM:  Ohh!  Into the steel!

[Morgan rolls under the ropes to join his opponent out on the floor.  He
grabs him by the back of the neck, walking him over to the ring apron...

...and SMASHES the German's face into the apron before shoving him back
under the ropes into the ring.]

GM:  The German's back in and-

[Morgan grabs the top rope, ready to slingshot over the ropes...]

GM:  He's going for a slingshot and-

[The crowd roars as Morgan slingshots over the ropes, crashing down on
the chest of the German!]

GM:  Slingshot splash!  That might do it!

[A disappointed Kostovich shakes his head as the referee drops down to
count.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THR-

[But an incoming Vladimir Velikov breaks up the pin.]

GM:  Ohhh... he almost had him, Bucky.

BW:  He did.  And thankfully for Velikov's sake, they were able to cut
it off from happening.  If they would have lost this one, who knows what
Kostovich would have done, Gordo.

GM:  Velikov just narrowly made the save in time.

[The referee forces the Russian out of the ring as a protesting Marty
Morgan pulls Von Klauss off the mat.  He pushes Von Klauss back to the
corner, hopping up to the middle buckle.]

GM:  Morgan's got him cornered, fist held high!

"ONE!"
"TWO!"
"THREE!"
"FOUR!"
"FIVE!"
"SIX!"
"SEVEN!"
"EIGHT!"
"NINE!"
"TEN!"

[Morgan hops down, pumping the same fist in triumph before grabbing the
wrist of Von Klauss, firing him across.]

GM:  The German hits the buckles hard... here he comes!

[Morgan sprints across, leaping up for a monkey flip...

...but Velikov charges down the apron, drawing Morgan's attention as he
springboards off of the German, twisting backwards to connect with a
dropkick on the incoming Russian, knocking him off the apron.]

GM:  OHHHHHH!

[And as the German staggers out, he drills Morgan with an axehandle in
the back of the head.  He quickly grabs him, scooping him up for a
slam...

...but Morgan flips out, hooking a rear waistlock.]

GM:  MORGAN TO THE ROPES - ROLLING CRADLE!!  SHADES OF ADAM ROGERS!

[Marty Morgan holds on tight, keeping his weight on the German as the
referee drops down to count.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THREEEEEEE!!


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


[The crowd roars for the Rockstars as they celebrate their victory. 
Marty Morgan and Scotty Storm embrace in the ring as Melissa makes it
official.]

MC:  Here are your winners... Scotty and Marty... the ROCKSTAR EXPRESS!

[Scotty Storm breaks away from his partner, grabbing the mic from
Melissa.]

SS:  Hey!  Bombers!

[The crowd cheers at the idea of the Rockstars answering the challenge.]

SS:  You want us in New Orleans?  You got us.

[And Storm spikes the mic to the mat to even more cheers from the
crowd.]

GM:  Oh yeah!  The Blonde Bombers vs the Rockstar Express on Labor Day! 
Fans, it was several weeks ago now that we saw Raphael Rhodes get
violently ousted from the Southern Syndicate.  We have not heard from
Rhodes since then... until now.  At this time, we'll be seeing a
pre-recorded interview that Jason Dane did with Raphael Rhodes just a
few days ago, from Mr. Rhodes' home just outside of Manchester, England.
 Let's go to that tape.

[We crossfade over to see Raphael Rhodes sitting on a couch, with his
knee wrapped in a bandage, covered with a brace.  He's wearing a
Manchester City tank top and gym shorts, and he looks rather scruffy,
appearing as if he hasn't shaved in the last week or so.  His crutches
are next to the couch.  Jason Dane sits across from him in a chair,
dressed in a AWA polo shirt and khakis.]

JD: Raphael, thank you for letting us come to your home and get a
special report on your current health status.

[Rhodes remains silent.]

JD: I'm sure the AWA fans have been wondering about the condition of
yourself and your brother, Simon, after what happened a few weeks ago
after you refused to rescind you challenge for the AWA National title.

RR: Well, there ain't too much to say about me, mate.  The knee's
knackered.  Ain't nobody unaware of that one.  I had arthroscopic
surgery on it to take care of what the rigors of the last few months
have done.  Doctor said gettin' hit with the tire iron didn't help
matters too much, but I was probably goin' to need it anyway.  Simon...
Simon's a different story.

JD: Well, certainly AWA fans know the lethal ability behind Stevie
Scott's piledriver.

RR: Yeah.

[Rhodes looks downward, his voice dropping.]

RR: Simon's still in hospital.  He had surgery to repair cracked
vertebrae in his neck... they fused those vertebrae together.  He's
goin' to be lucky if he can ever do anythin' athletic again.  Wrestlin'
is right out.

JD: When was the last time you spoke with him?

RR: Jason, he's me brother.  I talk to him all the time.  He's... at
peace, actually.

JD: Really?

RR: Yeah... only reason he came out of retirement was because he wanted
to have a run with me in the States.  Teamin' with me big brother was
always a dream for both of us.  And, well... he knows what his little
brother's got in mind.  My injury ain't too bad, and he knows I can
handle a bunch of poofs like the Southern Syndicate without his help.

JD: With all due respect, Raphael... there are a lot of very talented
wrestlers in the Southern Syndicate.

RR: So?  Not a single one of them knows how to fight.  See, I've done
some dirty things, but I ain't ever ran away from a fight.  I ain't ever
had a bunch of people tryin' to bail me out until I got into the
Syndicate.  And you know somethin', mate?  I sure did notice that I was
losin' a lot more after joinin' them.  But that ain't why I wanted to
fight Stevie.

JD: What did make you want to challenge Stevie Scott?

RR: I had a theory, mate.  A pretty good theory.  See, when we first got
started up, it was me, Stevie, and Gary Bright.  Obviously, we know what
happened to Gary Bright.  But we had a gameplan, and Ben Waterson sat us
down and said, okay, we're goin' to control the whole AWA.  We was a
team, and we'd make sure we stayed that way.  Stevie's already got the
singles belt, we just need to get the tag belts.  I told them I'd go
after the tag belts and I'd get a partner, and I called up me older
brother.  Simon used to look after me when we was kids, and he'd been
down on his luck, so I figured I'd call him up.

JD: So the original plan was to have you and Simon try to take the tag
team titles?

RR: Right.  But somewhere, we got greedy.  Ben signed Dufresne and
Freeman to contracts, but nobody told me nothin'.  So now, we've got all
the belts, but Ben don't want Simon around.  We've got two new members
but I was never even given the option of sayin' hey, let's bring these
guys in.  I just got told it was for the team.

JD: And Von Braun?

RR [sighing]: That man's a right lunatic.

JD: So basically, what you're saying is you didn't have a lot of say in
what happened with the Southern Syndicate?

RR: Right.  The one thing Ben's word was good on was the money.  I was
makin' really good money, but me standin' in the AWA was slippin'.  It
was gettin' harder and harder to look at meself in the mirror,
especially after we got chucked out of that tag team rumble.  So even
though I busted me knee in the Ghost Dancers match, I knew I was winnin'
the Rumble.  There weren't no way I was lettin' that go.

JD: So how does challenging Stevie come into this?

RR: Dufresne confirmed it last week... somewhere, Ben decided that
Stevie, Dufresne, and Freeman were goin' to be the chosen ones, and
anyone else was just thugs to keep the belts on them.  Bloody lot of
good those two sods were, though, aye?  They couldn't beat a few wimps
like Lawson and Fitzgerald and lost to a pair of inbreds.  So when I won
the Rumble, I had to know... was we a team like Ben first said, or am I
a pawn in this chess game?

JD: Obviously, you found out the hard way what the plans for you were.

RR: Right.  And like I said, and you know I don't blow smoke here,
mate... Stevie Scott's a great wrestler.  But the belt would've stayed
in the team.  If I won it, great!  The Syndicate still had the belt, and
we could've controlled it because Stevie would've gotten rematches and
we would've frozen everyone else out.  If I lost, well... I tried and
gave Stevie a good workout.  But I realized... not only was we not a
team, but Stevie was the only one allowed to have the gold.  And maybe
it's because he's scared of me, maybe it's because he knew he'd be in
for a heck of a fight... but he wanted no part of a Rhodes, and I know
for a fact he orchestrated that attack.

JD: He did get a Rhodes, though... your uncle Jeremy fought him.

RR: I love me uncle, but he ain't exactly tip top and ain't been in
years.  But you see... even a Rhodes at half-strength is better than
Stevie Scott.  No wonder he had Von Braun take out my knee and broke
Simon's neck.  He knew we'd kill the little bastard.

JD: Were you surprised that nobody from the locker room came out to help
you?

RR: No.  I ain't exactly a choir boy.  Hell, guys like Vasquez were
probably cheerin' them on in the locker room.  I didn't deserve the
help, and I sure weren't expectin' it.

JD: So... here's the question I'm sure you've been waiting for.  When
you're cleared, what's your next move?

RR: Dufresne said he shot me dead.  Stevie said they dealt with their
problem.  Freeman said my body was broken.  Von Braun crowed about what
he did.

[Rhodes cracks his knuckles.]

RR: I don't care if I got to do it alone.  I don't care if I got to go
down swingin'.  I helped create the monster that's the Southern
Syndicate... and I can damn sure bring it down.

JD: Well, good luck, Raphael... you might just need it.

RR: Hey, mate?

[Rhodes shows Dane his fists.]

RR: I got these.  I don't need luck.

[Fade to black.

And then quickly back up on a shot of the AWA logo.  A voiceover
begins.]

"Fans, it's that time of year again!  As the AWA hits the summer months,
we're going on the road!  No longer staying in the Lone Star State, the
months of July, August, and September are your chances to see the AWA
all over the Southern states!

That's right!  You heard me right!

[A scrolling list of dates and cities appears as the voiceover reads
along with it.]

July 31st - Charleston, South Carolina
August 14th - Atlanta, Georgia
August 28th - Mobile, Alabama
September 6th - New Orleans, Louisiana

Get your tickets now by calling your local ticket outlet or by visiting
AWAShop.com!"

[We fade back to black.

And then back up to live action to a fancy Southern Syndicate logo with
"Gimme Back My Bullets" playing over it.  After a few moments, we fade
from the logo to ringside where Gordon Myers is standing between "Agent
To The Stars" Ben Waterson and the National Champion, "Hotshot" Stevie
Scott.

Waterson is dressed in his usual suit and tie, a sheen of sweat on his
forehead as he glares angrily at the camera.  Scott seems less agitated,
smirking at a couple ringside young ladies through his dark sunglasses.]

GM:  Fans, welcome back to Saturday Night Wrestling.  As you can see, we
have been joined here at ringside by the Southern Syndicate and the
question on everyone's-

[Waterson angrily interrupts.]

ATTSBW:  Gordon Myers, there is one question on everyone's mind as we
walk through the doors here tonight into North Carolina.

One question that the entire wrestling world wants the answer to.

Tell 'em, Hotshot.

[Stevie grins... no, not a Steviegrin... but Stevie grins.]

HSS:  The question the entire wrestling world wants answered is...

Where is the Southern Syndicate going to be partying tonight?

[Big shower of jeers!]

HSS:  The answer is that Ben Waterson has booked the entire top floor of
the Hyatt for the Southern Syndicate and we will be tearin' up the joint
all... night... long!

[Stevie spins away as Waterson retakes the mic.]

ATTSBW:  Does that answer your question, Gordon?

GM:  You know it doesn't.

ATTSBW:  Fine.  You want to know our answer?  You want to know if we
accept Broussard's challenge for Labor Day?  You want to know if the
most elite force in professional wrestling is willing to step into two
rings surrounded by steel against three former National Champions, a
former World Champion, and a player to be named later?

[Waterson smirks.]

ATTSBW:  The answer is clear, Gordon.

Oh.  Hell.  Yes.

[BIG CHEER!]

ATTSBW:  After months and months of putting up with Juan Vasquez, we
have the chance to end him in one night.  After months of hearing how
Marcus Broussard could save the AWA, we have the chance to end him in
one night.  After months of Todd Michaelson telling us his six minutes
with a World Title makes him worth a damn, we have the chance to end him
in one night.  And after months of people saying that we swindled
Sudakov out of the National Title and how he'd hand us our lunches on a
platter when he came back, we have the chance to end him in one night.

What possible other answer COULD we give, Gordon?

It's going to be rough.  It's going to be the fight of our lives. 
People are going to bleed.  People are going to get hurt.  

But at the end of it all, it's a chance to wipe out every single enemy
of the Southern Syndicate that is still standing in one night.

What else could we possibly want, champ?

[A smirking Hotshot removes his sunglasses, folds them up and places
them in his breast pocket.]

HSS: What else...could we possibly want?

I'll skip the obvious answer about voluptuous blondes who want to take a
ride on the Stevie side and keep this purely to wrestling.

[Myers rolls his eyes noticeably.]

HSS: You know, Gordon...it was almost two years ago that my life changed
forever.  And it started at, what else?

WarGames.

Wasn't a good night for the Hotshot.  And even though that night
eventually led to great things, I still have a lot of bad memories from
what went down in Laredo, Texas.  Despite the _title_...despite the
_money_...despite the _fame_ that has come my way, the memories of that
night are still in the back of my mind, playing over and over again like
a DVD stuck on repeat.

So Labor Day 2010?  It's my chance to kill two birds with one stone.

[The champ holds up an index finger.]

HSS:  Get rid of the demons still haunting me from two years ago.

[And the middle finger for two.]

HSS: And as Ben said, finish off the enemies of the Southern Syndicate
in one...fell...swoop.

[With the final word of the sentence, Stevie wipes his hands together
like he's brushing off dirt.]

HSS: Vasquez...Broussard...Michaelson...Sudakov.

Done.  Finished.  History.  Proven to be as useless as Ben and I know
they are.

[And finally, because you didn't ask for it...STEVIEGRIN~!]

HSS: Now what more could we _possibly_ want?

[Myers turns back to Waterson.]

GM:  But who will make up the Southern Syndicate team that night?  Two
weeks ago, you could not count on Calisto Dufresne or Stevie Scott to be
part of the team.  What about-

ATTSBW:  Don't your worry your silly little head about it, Gordon.  The
Southern Syndicate will be out in full force for WarGames.  It'll be
Stevie Scott, the AWA National Champion and the BEST damn wrestler in
the entire world.  It'll be Calisto Dufresne, the Ladykiller, the AWA
Pacific Champion, and one of the most sadistic men you'll ever see in a
ring.

Unless you're City Jack.  Then you're not seeing a damn thing.

[Waterson grins at his own joke.]

ATTSBW:  It'll be Adrian Freeman, the master technician who can bend you
into more knots than a Boy Scout trying to earn a merit badge.  

It'll be Brian Von Braun, the most unpredictable man I've EVER met.

[Myers interrupts.]

GM:  Hold it, hold it.  You heard what Brian Von Braun had to say
earlier tonight?

ATTSBW:  I did.

GM:  A blank check.  You're prepared to offer that?

[Waterson grimaces.]

ATTSBW:  I'll handle Brian.  Don't worry about it.  He'll be there for
WarGames.

GM:  Well, that's four.  Who is the fifth?

ATTSBW:  Memory is the first thing to go, huh, Gordo?  Don't you
remember two weeks ago when the Southern Syndicate aligned ourselves
with the largest man in the entire AWA?  Don't you remember MAMMOTH
Mizusawa standing alongside the most elite group of talent in the
wrestling world?  

Mizusawa's no idiot.  Matsui's no idiot.  They know that being with us
is a hell of a lot better than being against us.  They know that-

[Tomoyasu Hotei's "Battle Without Honor or Humanity" starts to play
over the arena speakers, cutting off Ben Waterson's diatribe.  The crowd
jeers the arrival of Louis Matsui, dressed in his more typical dark
suit, as he saunters over to the announce position. With a crook of his
finger, he beckons Gordon Myers for the mic.]

LM: Whoa, whoa, whoa! Nobody's spoken to me about my client being
involved in WarGames on the Labor Day card, so let's not get ahead of
ourselves. 

[Waterson arches an eyebrow in Matsui's direction.]

LM:  Despite what you say, Gordon, Mizusawa-san is not just a hired gun.
Why don't you ask Ben Waterson right there how much we asked for for the
Independence Day gig? That's right, not a single cent, because it's not
about the money for my client and me. No, we agreed to be a part of the
six-man tag match because my client is not one to walk away from a
fight, especially not when Ben told us that Juan Vasquez would be on the
other team!

[Name-dropping pop!  Waterson looks uneasy at where this is going.]

LM: Which is why it makes me angry when someone else on the team fails
to pull his own weight. Which is why it makes the giant mad when someone
on his team leaves him hanging. And when some smartmouthed punk tells me
to shut up, well, that downright pisses me off. 

Who am I talking about? Ask the man who was pinned at Independence Day.
Ask the man who lost the match for the Syndicate. Ain't that right,
Rocket Man? And the only reason Von Blonde is still standing is because
I told my client to take the night off. 

[Matsui points a finger right at Waterson.]

LM:  So, here's the deal, Ben: until MAMMOTH Mizusawa and I get an
apology from the Rocket City Boy Toy there for the disrespect he showed
us, and the assurance that he'll be a team player, there's no way in
Hell my client and I can stand alongside your ASSOCIATE.

[Matsui spins away, walking away from Waterson, leaving him open-mouthed
as he stares at the exiting manager.]

GM:  Mr. Waterson, your response?

[Waterson has no answer.]

GM:  Mr. Waterson?

[Still nothing.]

HSS:  Ben?

[Nope.  Not even for the champ.  Stevie eventually nudges Waterson,
practically dragging him down the aisle away from ringside.]

GM:  Hehehe... for the first time in his life, Ben Waterson is
speechless, fans!  

BW:  Oh, very funny!  What are they gonna do, Gordo?

GM:  I have no idea but I know what we're gonna do.  We're going to take
a quick break and we'll be right back with the Lady Luck Challenge so
don't you dare go away!

[Fade to black.

...and then back up on a shot of the AWA National Title belt.  The
super-excited voice of Mark Stegglet is heard over it.]

"You've seen it on Saturday Night Wrestling!"

[A shot of Marcus Broussard with the belt over his shoulder.]

"You've seen it on AWA supercards like Memorial Day Mayhem and The Last
Stampede!"

[A shot of Ron Houston wearing the belt in a promo picture.]

"You've seen the best the AWA has to offer wearing it!"

[Now a shot of Kolya Sudakov in a fighting pose with the belt hanging
over his shoulder.]

"And now, it can be yours!"

[A shot of Stevie Scott holding the belt high in the air fades into a
shot of a young fan doing the same.]

"Available NOW on AWAShop.com, get the official replica of the AWA
National Title belt that only the best and brightest of the AWA
superstars have held!"

[A closeup of the AWA National Title slowly fades to black...

...and then back up to live action where Gordon and Bucky are standing.]

GM:  Welcome back, fans... and in a few short minutes we're going to see
the Lady Luck Challenge continue on, with Jack Snyder taking on James
Monosso, but before we get to that, Eric Preston has requested a minute
to speak his mind, Eric, come on out here.

[Preston comes out to the announce table, dressed in jeans and an AWA
t-shirt, with a Carolina Panthers hat pulled low over his eyes.]

GM: Eric, we've got a very important match coming up here in a few
minutes, what are your thoughts on this match in the Lady Luck
Challenge?

EP: I think it's a real big match, Gordon, for a lot of reasons. First
and foremost, this match is going to weigh heavily on the AWA Top Ten
rankings that will be coming out, so you know it's piqued my interest.
The other reason is that for my money, Charlotte, North Carolina is as
close to a wrestling holy land as you can get.

[Big cheer as Preston nods at the crowd.]

EP: Growing up for me, this region was where it was at, and Charlotte
was the epicenter of it all. If you were a somebody, you wrestled in
Charlotte, North Carolina. So my interest is double what it normally is,
because I've got a lot vested in this match from a business perspective,
and a lot riding on it from a personal point of view. I know what James
Monosso can do, I know the mayhem that follows that lunatic better than
anyone else in the company.

So I'm gonna stick around out here and take a front row seat for this
match and make _sure_ that this match goes down the way it should.
Winners and losers, I'm not worried about that, but what I am worried
about is a match of this magnitude in a city with this history getting
dragged down by Monosso's one man Chinese fire drill. 

These people are my people, Gordon, I've said it a hundred times, and I
know that they want to see a clean winner just like I do.

GM: So you're going to get involved in the match?

[Preston shakes his head.]

EP: No no, man, just the opposite. I'm gonna make sure that the only two
guys involved are the two guys whose names are on the contract. You know
me, Gordon, I'm a disciplined guy, I can control myself in most any
situation. This isn't about me stealing the show, this is about me
making sure the shenanigans are kept to a minimum, and we get a real
winner. As a competitor, that's all I want.

[With that, Preston pats Gordon on the back and walks slowly to
ringside, grabbing a chair next to the timekeeper.]

GM:  Like I said, we're moments away from the Lady Luck Challenge but
before that, let's go backstage where Mark Stegglet's standing by with
the AWA's Special Enforcer, Ron Houston!

[The camera cuts backstage where we find Mark Stegglet standing. Next to
Stegglet stands the massive frame of The Athens, Georgia Madman.. The
East Coast Terror.. former National Champion Ron Houston. Houston's in a
plain white t-shirt and pair of jeans.. his buzzed head beading with the
sweat of the arena on this hot summer night. He perches his hands on his
hips.. a look of concern piercing out from beneath his baby blues.]

MS: I'm here with Ron Houston, who two short weeks ago fulfilled his
role as Special Enforcer in the six man Main Event at Independence Day..
although not without a bit of controversy. Tell us Ron, what's your
status with AWA? 

RH: Ain't nothin' changed.. Mark. Von Braun did what ah've been beggin'
him ta do. He put his little digits upside mah head and got what he
deserved.. 

[Houston smirks.]

RH:  .. he got his clock cleaned. 

And ah'm _hopin'_.. I'm _prayin'_ he puts his hands ta me again.. cause
far as ah'm concerned.. a life of knockin' Brian Von Braun out week in
and week out.. well.. it don't get much sweeter than that, now does it
partnah?

MS: Von Braun came out here earlier tonight, Ron. He said he's _out_ for
War Games. He's out for tonight.. heck.. he's out for _three_ months
according to him, and he's blaming it on you. He's blaming it on the
shot you took at Independence Day.. your thoughts?

[Houston freezes.. his southern lips curling up into a slight smile, as
he if he can't believe the words he's hearing.]

RH: Three months, eh? 

[Beat.]

RH:  From one of mah balled up fists ta the head?

[Another pause.. as if this must be some kinda joke.]

RH:  Ah didn't know they could put a timetable fer returnin' from
hurtin' yer flamin' pride. 

Ah ain't buyin' it.. 

then again..

[Houston bows his head for a second before holding it back up high.]

RH:  ..ain't sure what ah think 'bout a lot of things these days.

MS: What do you mean, Ron?

RH:  Ain't no mystery mah feelings 'bout the Southern Syndicate. Ain't
nobody claimin' they don't know how ah feel bout Von Braun, Scott,
Waterson and the rest of 'em. But ah gotta admit.. havin' two of mah
enemies standin' beside me ain't something ah'm all too comfortable
with. 

MS: You must be talking about Marcus Broussard and Kolya Sudakov. Two
men you've had an extreme amount of history with--

RH: And ain't none of it been good! 

We're in a _war_ here.. a flamin' _war_ versus the Southern Syndicate. 

In a war ya need trust. 

[Houston holds up his right hand and holds up his index finger.]

RH:  Broussard tried ta end mah career 'fore it even had the chance ta
start. Before ah won the first rumble.. before ah even dreamed of bein'
National Champion. He ran 'round here doing anything and everything he
could.. every single underhanded tactic in the book.. every single
dirtly little thing ya can.. and fer what? 

His own personal satisfaction?

His own personal glory?

Money?

Yer.. gonna have ta ask Broussard 'bout all that, partnah. But if you're
askin' me ta come out here and blindly put mah trust in him.. well.. mah
trust ain't given. It's _earned_. 

Since our little personal war, ya know how many words ah've heard from
Marcus Broussard?

[Mark shakes his head "no".]

RH:  Know how many apologies ah've gotten?

[Again.. his head shakes side to side as Houston curls his hand into a
big fat zero.]

RH:  Not one.. Mark. 

MS: But that was so long ago, Ron. Isn't it time to leave the past in
the past?

RH: Was it, Mark? Cause it feels like yesterday ta me. When ya try ta
burn a man's home ta the ground.. he's gonna hold it 'gainst ya fer a
little while. 

MS: Which brings us to the return of Kolya Sudakov..

[Houston glares at Mark.]

RH: Man returns ta a thunderous applause.. runs out there ta save the
day.. gets a hero's return.. the big Russian Nightmare himself.. 

[Houston's face reddens. He's obviously unsure of what to make of all of
this. Obviously flustered to see his own mortal enemies now standing
beside him in battle.]

RH:  .. we all rememberin' the same man? 

'Cause the Sudakov _ah_ know.. he don't deserve two hands put together..

[Houston is obviously very flustered.]

RH:  .. let alone two thousand. 

Ah got some stuff ta chew on.. ah'll see ya later, Mark. 

[Houston storms off camera. Obviously a lot for him to digest.]

MS:  That man has a lot on his mind.  But is he right about Broussard
and Sudakov?  Only time will tell.  Let's go back down to ringside to
Melissa for the introductions for the Main Event!

[Cut back to the ring where Melissa is standing.]

MC:  The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a ten minute
time limit and is part of the LADY LUCK CHALLENGE!

[Big cheer!]

MC:  Introducing first... he comes into the match going for his third
win in the LLC... from Bullhead City, Arizona... weighing in at 255
pounds...

["No Quarter" by Led Zeppelin starts up to a pretty big cheer.]

MC:  He is "Dying Breed"...

JAAAAAAAAACK SNYYYYYYYYYYDERRR!

[Snyder bursts through the curtain to another cheer.  Jack's an ugly,
ugly man.  His crooked teeth, hairy chest and back, and a physique that
is a far cry from bodybuilder just cements the fact that he's an ugly,
ugly man.  He's wearing plain black wrestling trucks and black boots as
he makes his way down the aisle, walking with purpose.]

GM:  Jack Snyder, defending the Lady Luck Challenge here tonight.  He's
got two wins under his belt and if he gets a third here tonight, he will
be two victories away from a shot at the AWA National Title.

BW:  Snyder's a tough guy, Gordo, but do you think he's got what it
takes to survive a showdown with James Monosso?  The man is legitimately
insane, Gordo!  And he's got Anton Layton, Percy Childes, and Nenshou on
his side.  We've yet to see anyone who can stand toe to toe with him
physically and I don't think Snyder's any different.

GM:  We're all about to find out together.

[Snyder steps through the ropes into the ring, rolling his next and
swinging his arms back and forth across his chest to loosen up as he
stares down the aisle.]

MC:  And his opponent...

[The Theme From Halloween starts over the PA to a big explosion of
boos.]

MC:  From The State Of Confusion... weighing in at 288 pounds...

JAAAAAAAAMES MONOSSOOOOOOO!

[Monosso tears through the curtain, nearly ripping them right off the
entrance as he storms into view.  The camera zooms in tight, showing his
wild grey eyes.  He runs a hand through his shoulder-length stringy
hair, tugging at it before he starts marching down the aisle towards the
ring.]

GM:  And here comes the man I have to consider the most dangerous in the
entire AWA, Bucky.

BW:  He's dangerous because he's unpredictable.  Who knows what he'll do
from moment to moment?  Maybe he'll go for a body slam, maybe he'll body
slam you off the roof of the building.  He might throw a right hook, he
might throw a meat hook!  You just don't know, daddy!

[Monosso tugs his one-strap singlet into place, glaring at Preston at
ringside for a long, long moment...

...and then shakes his head, rolling under the ropes into the ring.]

GM:  I thought we were going to have a problem there, Bucky.

BW:  Me too.  Eric Preston's playing a dangerous game out here tonight. 
We already saw what went down earlier with Monosso.  Monosso came out
here to ally himself with Anton Layton and Percy Childes and he didn't
care who got in his way.  Riley, Maverick, or Preston... they're all
fair game to Monosso.

[Monosso gets up to a knee, whipping his hair back as he stares across
the ring at Snyder who is crouched, ready for action.  The referee steps
between them, shouts a few words to both, calls for the bell, and gets
the heck out of the way as they race towards each other.]

GM:  HERE WE GO!!

[Monosso and Snyder collide in a big way in the middle of the ring,
throwing rights and lefts as quickly as they can.  Snyder quickly gains
an edge, drilling the madman with haymakers to the skull, battering him
back a few steps.]

GM:  Snyder's got him reeling!  Can you believe it?

[Snyder dashes to the ropes, rebounding off...

...and DRIVING the air out of Monosso, taking him down to the mat with a
spear tackle!]

GM:  OHHH!  WHAT A TACKLE!!

[But the crowd's roar quickly changes to a murmur of concern as Snyder
rolls around on the canvas, clutching his shoulder.]

GM:  Oh my stars.  Snyder is hurt and hurt badly, Bucky.

BW:  What an idiot!  The guy may be tough as nails but he's dumb as
rocks.  He knew he was coming into this with an injured neck and
shoulder and he throws himself into a spear?  Moron.

GM:  It was all instinct, Bucky.  He's in a fight and in a fight,
sometimes you don't get the luxury of thinking.

BW:  This is professional wrestling.  If you're acting without thinking,
you're probably taking a one-way trip to the loss column.

[Monosso rolls to his chest, pushing up off the mat.  He's clutching his
own ribcage in pain as he glares down at Snyder who is still wincing on
the canvas...

...which makes it an easy decision to stomp right down on the shoulder,
sending a shout of pain from Snyder into the night.]

GM:  Oh, come on!

BW:  What?  You want Monosso to go easy on him now?  You new around
here, Gordo?  Monosso's gonna finish this punk off once and for all
right now and Grant Stone's not even going to get a chance to do it.

[Monosso reaches down to haul Snyder off the mat by the hair, flinging
him into the corner.  The madman quickly charges in, smashing into him
with a running clothesline.  With Snyder pinned against the buckles,
Monosso grabs him by the shoulders, pressing him back...]

GM:  What in the world is he doing here?

[The madman bellows, lashing out with a headbutt to the skull.  A second
one hits solidly on the shoulder area, causing Snyder to cry out again.]

GM:  Two well-placed headbutts by Monosso... and I'll be...

BW:  An armtwist?  Monosso actually KNOWS a hold?

[The crowd seems just as surprised when the madman holds onto the wrist,
putting pressure on the limb, stretching his arm all the way out...

...and lashes out with a kick to the bicep, snapping the arm up.]

GM:  Oooh.  A torturous hold and kick to the arm.  Snyder's shoulder is-

[A boot to the gut doubles up Snyder and a well-placed elbow to the back
of the neck knocks him down to a knee.  Monosso races to the ropes,
bouncing off the set behind Snyder...

...and DRILLS him with a lunging clothesline to the back of the neck!]

GM:  OHHHH!  COME ON!!!

[Snyder hits the mat like a gunshot victim, flat on his chest as Monosso
kneels next to him, glaring out at Eric Preston who is seated at
ringside, shaking his head at what he's seeing.]

GM:  Eric Preston doesn't like what he's seeing, Bucky, and neither do
I.

BW:  Hey, it's not Monosso's fault that Snyder can't hack it in there
with him.  The man is one hard shot away from the hospital and if
Monosso doesn't do it, Grant Stone will.

GM:  And... uh oh... speak of the devil...

[The crowd begins to boo as the cold-blooded Grant Stone slowly walks
through the curtain into view.  He's dressed in a plain black t-shirt
and jeans as he moves towards the ring where James Monosso has spotted
him, looking out with a cockeyed glare as he pulls Snyder up off the mat
by the hair.]

GM:  Both men back up - 

[Monosso points a finger at the approaching Grant Stone.]

GM:  Is... is this a message to Stone?

BW:  Maybe it's a tribute.

GM:  Whatever it is, it's gonna-


"CLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANG!"
"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


[The crowd ERUPTS in shock as Monosso HURLS Snyder through the top and
middle ropes, sending him smashing into the steel ringpost.  A stoic
Grant Stone looks on, nodding his head approvingly at Snyder's
condition.]

GM:  Monosso sent him shoulderfirst to the ringpost and I don't think I
like the looks of this, Bucky.

[The madman from the State of Confusion steps out to the apron where
Snyder is still leaning against the post.]

GM:  We've seen this before, Bucky!

BW:  Jack Snyder's lights are about to get turned out in a hurry!

[Monosso slowly backs down the aisle, moving all the way to the far
ringpost, and breaks into a sprint...

...but his attempt to drive his boot into Snyder's temple and smash his
skull into the steel comes up empty as Snyder yanks his head out of the
aim of the madman just in time!]

GM:  HE MISSED!!  HE MISSED!!

[An off-balance Monosso falls easy prey to Snyder who throws a barrage
of right hands to stun him.  He grabs the madman by his stringy hair,
pulling his face into the ropes...

...and rakes his face down the ropes, burning the eyes of Monosso which
actually gets a cheer from the crowd!]

GM:  Monosso can't see!  He's wobbled out on the apron!

[Snyder steps up on the middle rope, grabbing the 6'7 monster around the
head and driving right hand after right hand after right hand into the
temple.  Holding onto the back of the head, Snyder leaps off the ropes,
dropping down to his knees and snapping Monosso's throat down over the
top rope...

...which snaps the madman off the apron and down to the floor!]

GM:  HE TOOK HIM DOWN!!  HE TOOK HIM DOWN!!

[The madman is sprawled out on the floor now...

...just a couple feet away from Eric Preston who slowly rises from his
chair, looking down at his rival.]

GM:  Uh oh... this could get ugly...

[Preston picks up the chair, folding it in his hands...]

BW:  Wait a second!  What's he doing, Gordo?

GM:  I have no idea.  Fans, Eric Preston has that steel chair in his
hands!  He's ready for a fight!

[But instead of attacking Monosso, Preston walks a few feet to his
right, standing in the aisle...

...and blocks Grant Stone from getting any closer to the ring.]

GM:  What the-?!

BW:  Oh, he's crazier than I thought.  It's not bad enough that he's got
Monosso trying to hollow out his skull and now he wants to pick a fight
with Grant Stone?

GM:  That can't be a good idea but Preston said he wasn't going to let
anyone get involved with this!  He said he was going to make sure this
one stayed one-on-one, Bucky.  And if nothing else, you have to say Eric
Preston is a man of his word.

[With Preston standing guard in the aisle, Snyder rolls out to the
floor, still wincing a bit as he moves, and drags Monosso off the
thinly-padded floor by his stringy hair...

...and DRIVES him skull-first into the steel ringpost!]

GM:  OHHHH!

BW:  And that should equalize this thing, Gordo!  That shoulder may be
banged up but he just gave Monosso a major whack to the noggin that
should daze him badly.

[Out on the floor, Snyder spins Monosso around, grabbing him by the
wrist.  With a loud effort-filled scream, he HURLS Monosso spinefirst
into the steel barricade, dropping down to his knees from the exertion!]


"CLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANG!"


GM:  HE PUTS HIM INTO THE STEEL!  GOOD GOD!!

[Monosso lies on the floor, rolling back and forth clutching his back.]

GM:  He got whipped spinefirst into the steel railing!  Good grief,
Bucky.  Did you see that?

BW:  Of course, I saw it!  How could I not see it?  The railing almost
ended up in the third row!  He threw a 288 pounder into the steel
railing... heck, he almost went THROUGH the railing, Gordo!

GM:  He certainly did!


"FIVE MINUTES HAVE EXPIRED!  FIVE MINUTES REMAIN!!"


[A wincing Snyder drags Monosso up by the hair, firing him under the
ropes into the ring.  The Dying Breed rolls in after him, breaking the
referee's very lenient count.  Snyder pulls himself off the mat by the
ropes, backing into the corner, hopping up to the middle rope...

...and hurls himself off the ropes, smashing down with an elbowdrop
across the chest!]

GM:  OHHH!  He caught him with all of that!

[Snyder grimaces as he throws himself into a lateral press.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  TH-

[Monosso powers out at the count of two, throwing his arm up off the mat
and shoving Snyder out of the pin attempt.]

GM:  Not enough to keep him down.  But Jack Snyder was a half count away
from being two victories away from a shot at the National Title.  The
National Title is what everyone wants in this company.

BW:  In this business, Gordo.  It's the title everyone wants in this
business.

[Snyder grabs at his shoulder as he drags the madman off the mat to his
feet...

...and pops him with a jab to the jaw!]

GM:  Ohh!  Stinging jab by Snyder!

[The "Dying Breed" throws another... and another... and another... and
another... and another...

...and then breaks into a charge, bouncing off the ropes.  He leaps into
the air, hooking his legs around the waist, dragging Monosso down to the
mat as he throws rights and lefts to the skull!]

GM:  JACK ATTACK!!  HE'S ALL OVER MONOSSO!!

[After a few moments of pummeling, Snyder grabs two hands full of the
stringy hair...

...and SMASHES the back of Monosso's skull into the canvas!]

GM:  OHH!

[He repeats the process, driving his head into the mat over and over and
over before springing back to his feet, letting loose a triumphant
yell.]


"FOUR MINUTES REMAIN!"


GM:  Four minutes left to score the victory for both of these men. 
Snyder pulls Monosso off the mat...

[Grabbing the madman by the arm, Snyder fires him into the ropes.]

GM:  Off the ropes... JACKBREA-

[Monosso pulls up short, burying a boot into Snyder's gut.  A second
boot connects with the face, sending Snyder staggering back into the
ropes where a running clothesline takes both men over the top and down
to the floor!]

GM:  They're both out to the floor!  Both men go over the top to the
floor!

[Seeing his blood rival just a few feet away, Stone starts to make a
move towards him...

...and Preston pulls the chair back, ready to swing if Stone gets too
close.]

GM:  We've got a stand-off at ringside!  Preston's holding back Stone
with that chair!  

BW:  That could explode at any moment, Gordo.  

GM:  It certainly could... but the ref has just started a count on
Snyder and Monosso.  Remember, if both men get counted out, we'll be
drawing two new cards for the Challenge.

[As the count hits three, Monosso pushes up off the floor.  He shakes
his head back and forth, trying to clear the cobwebs.  He grabs Snyder,
pulling him up by the hair.  He wraps his arms around him, hoisting him
up over his shoulder...

...and rushes forward, smashing Snyder's spine into the ringpost!]

GM:  OHH!  INTO THE POST!!

[Monosso drags him away from the post, firing him under the ropes into
the ring...

...and then turns towards Eric Preston's exposed back.]

GM:  Uh oh.

BW:  Preston's trying to keep Stone back and-

GM:  Turn around, Eric!


"THREE MINUTES REMAIN!"


GM:  Three minutes to go and-

[Monosso takes two steps towards Preston before the Combat Corner
graduate spins around, chair at the ready!]

GM:  He spotted him!  Preston knew he was coming!  He-

[With Preston distracted, Stone DRILLS him with a forearm to the back of
the head from behind, knocking Preston flat and causing the chair to
slide across the floor...

...right to the feet of James Monosso.]

GM:  Oh my stars.

[The crowd buzzes with concern as Monosso picks up the chair.  Grant
Stone walks past the downed Preston, approaching the ring where Snyder
is starting to get back to his feet...

...and the madman shoves the chair under the ropes into the ring.]

GM:  The chair's in - and so is Monosso!

[Monosso gets up, leaning over to grab the chair...

...when suddenly Eric Preston leaps up on the apron, screaming and
shouting to warn the referee.  The official spins around to face
Preston.]

GM:  No!  Turn around!

[The madman scoops up the chair, grabbing it with both hands and rearing
back...

...just as Preston spins the referee around!]


"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!"
"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


[The crowd falls silent as the steel chair slams down over the skull of
Jack Snyder, knocking him completely flat to the canvas...

...and in comes Eric Preston, tackling Monosso down to the mat!]

GM:  HERE WE GO!!  HERE WE GO!!

[The referee immediately calls for the bell.]


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


GM:  There's the bell but the fight is on!

[The crowd is roaring as Preston and Monosso are rolling around on the
canvas, beating the heck out of each other...

...when suddenly Grant Stone slides into the ring.]

GM:  Look out!  Stone's in there now as well and-

[The referee gets up in Stone's face, shouting at him...

...and EATING a huge clothesline, knocking the referee head over heels!]

GM:  OHHH!  STONE LAID OUT THE REF!!

BW:  That's a fine!  Maybe even a suspension!  Grant Stone can NOT put
his hands on a referee like that.

GM:  Monosso may be fined too.  He bashed him over the head with a steel
chair!  That can cause serious injury... maybe a concussion... maybe a
cracked skull...

[With the referee down and the crowd screaming bloody murder, Stone
reaches down and drags the motionless Snyder off the mat.  He holds him
up, glaring into his glassy eyes...

...and spins him around, bending over to hoist him up in a torture
rack!]

GM:  NO!!  NO!!

BW:  He's going for Etched In Stone!

GM:  If he hits it, Snyder's heading to the hospital!

[Suddenly, Preston breaks away from Monosso, charging across the ring...

...and PASTING Stone with a right hand, causing the psychotic brawler to
drop Snyder.]

GM:  He dropped him!  Preston knocked him free!

[A few more right hands to Stone's temple follow suit, knocking him back
against the ropes...]


"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!"


GM:  OHHHHH!  

[A wild-eyed Monosso stands over a now-downed Preston, holding the steel
chair high above.]

GM:  He drilled him across the back with the chair!  Preston's down!

[Stone and Monosso glare across the ring at one another for a long
moment.]

GM:  What's gonna happen here, fans?  We've got a staredown and-

[Suddenly, Anton Layton emerges from the locker room, Percy Childes and
Nenshou by his side.  Layton can instantly be heard.]

"NO!  NO!  THAT IS NOT HIS PLAN FOR YOU!!"

[Monosso seems to be drawn in by Layton's voice, his eyes drifting off
of Stone.  The madman turns away completely to the side, leaving his
flank fully exposed to Stone...

...and then simply steps out of the ring, dropping down to the floor.]

GM:  Monosso's leaving the ring.  He's- Layton talked him down!  I
thought for sure he and Stone were going to go at it but somehow, the
Prince of Darkness talked him down and-

[Suddenly, Gordon is cut off.  The camera promptly cuts to reveal James
Monosso grabbing Myers by the tie.]

"WHERE IS IT?!"

GM:  I don't know what you're-

"WHERE IS IT?!"

[Myers shakes his head...

...and Monosso sticks his hand into Myers' jacket pocket, pulling out
what can only be presumed to be the Lady Luck Challenge deck.  He rolls
back into the ring, deck in hand.  Ignoring the nearby Stone, Monosso
rolls Preston onto his back with his boot.

He promptly starts going through the deck of cards, throwing card after
card to the side, shouting "NO!  NO!  NO!" to each one that he pulls
into view.

Until he finally comes to rest on one, holding it high in the air.

He slowly leans over with the card, folding it up and shoving it inside
Preston's mouth.]


"NOW IT'S YOUR TURN!"


[And with that, Monosso exits the ring to join his partners in crime at
ringside...

...as we fade to black.]