Wrestlerock

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                            American Wrestling Alliance 
                                   Proudly Presents 
                                     Wrestlerock

                 Live from the Durham Bulls Athletic Complex
                              Durham, North Carolina
                                   July 4th, 2011
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[We fade in from black on a shot of a waving flag of the United States
of America.  Gordon Myers' voice is heard in voiceover form.]

"A great man once said 'Let every nation know, whether it wishes us well
or ill, we shall pay any price, bear any burden, meet any hardship,
support any friend, oppose any foe, to assure the survival and success
of liberty.'

On this, our nation's birthday, we will celebrate the very best way we
know how - by presenting the greatest professional wrestling action in
the world today.  But while you are enjoying our birthday gift to
America, we ask that you please take a moment and recall the true price
of liberty and freedom - the sacrifices being made by our servicemen
around the world yesterday, today, and tomorrow as well as their
families who selflessly send them off to a foreign land, knowing very
well what tomorrow may bring.

To them, we say thank you...

...and God Bless America."

[The shot of the flag fades out and is replaced by a pair of spinning
turntables.  After a moment, the camera pans up to reveal BC Da Mastah
MC standing over them, about to drop a record on it...]

BC:  Yo, AWA... let's kick it!

[He drops the record down and what sounds like a super generic Run DMC
rip-off beat stars to play as BC Da Mastah MC begins fistpumping his
left hand into the air over and over again.]

BC: I'm BC, Da Mastah MC, an' I rap around da clock!
It's almost time for da AWA WrestleRock!
I like to rock, but yo, let's rap!
about an event that'll put us all on da nationwide map.

[The shot does a spin, rapidly turning over and over until it is
replaced by Larry Doyle and his "crew".  Doyle wears a fushia suit
jacket over parachute pants.  The Blond Bombers, Avalon and Baldwin,
both wear black hats sideways.  All three try their best to simulate
"gangsta leans" while the Masked Menace, dressed normally, stands in the
background, arms crossed.]

LD: This is Larry Doyle!

JA: I'm Joey Ayyy!

RB: And I'm Robbie B for the rest of the day!

JA: Ay-Dubya-Ay bring the rhymes to your ear, 
tellin' you the things that you're wantin' to hear.

RB: We are the product that they're wantin' to sell, 
this is the story that we're tryin' to tell.

LD: But the big Masked Menace won't shut his trap, all he can say is--

MM: RAP IS CRAAAP!

JA: But still you'll see that the Bombers will rule--

RB: When all the other teams just stand there and drool!

LD: You could say that we're the cocks of the walk, 
and we'll be ruling the roost come Wrestlerock!

JA/RB/LD/MM (yes, even him): HUH!!!

[The shot goes into a full spin again, finding a pair of newcomers to
the AWA, the Antons, Alex and Nick, in matching purple-and-white
Northwestern Wildcats letterman jackets.]

NA: We're the Antons!

AA: Alex and Nick!
We'll hit you hard, we'll hit you quick!

NA: Gotta separate us from the rest of the flock!

BOTH: We'll make our mark at Wrestlerock!

NA: Go Wildcats!

[Spin, baby, spin - coming to rest on a gliterring robe-covered
"Playboy" Johnny Casanova and his main squeeze, Big Mama.]

JC: I'm Johnny Cas here with Big Ma-ma,
We're richer than you and we're better by far!
So bow down peasants, admit we're great,
Because to win the Stampede Cup is Johnny's fate!

BM: My man is hot, my man is cool,
At the Stampede Cup he and Jack will rule.
Jack's losing his morals because he needs some cash.
So when you take on this team your hopes will go CRASH!

[The grinning "First Couple of the AWA" spin out and we settle back in
as Mark Langseth, complete with his royal robe and fancy gold crown
tilted on his head, steps up. He holds a pair of headphones to one ear
with his Hall of Fame ring-adorned hand.]

I'm The King of Wrestl-ing; And I must exclaim
There's no one with a Hall's Ring; Who can match MY Fame!
Sir Petrow, The Lords, and the King - we can't miss!
Those VU swine, they'll only wish
That the only worry to have is "Shoe or sock?"
Are my feet to kiss; At the Wrestlerock!

[Shot does a cut-jump to show the AWA Tag Team Champions, Rough N'
Ready. Lord David's the one up the mic, however, as Lord Eric nods his
head to the rhythm in the back.]

You ought to know we're the Lords of the Ring
Rough N Ready, the best team in all of wrestling
And tonight VU is destined to crumble
As we take the win at the Wrestlerock Rumble!

[Rocking the Wall Street Banker-With-Suspenders look, a smug Joe Petrow
gets jiggy with it, bouncing to a groove that's different from what
everyone else can hear...]

JP: Morton, Haynes, you punks gotta go!
I'm the Eternal World's champ, don'cha know!
When Rough 'n Ready and The King punch the clock,
You'll be kissing our feet at Wrestlerock!

[Petrow crosses his arms in a "Thug Life" pose as our shot turns neon
orange before spinning out and is replaced by the angry faces of Danny
Morton and Jackson Haynes, Violence Unlimited.]

DM:  I'm Danny Morton! 

JH:  And I'm Jackson Haynes!

DM:  We're Violence Unlimited and we always bring pain!

JH:  We bow to no man! We bow to no king!

DM:  We're gonna' toss Royalty all over that ring!

JH:  We want those titles, but we'll settle for cleaning your clocks!

DM:  We're gonna punk Petrow's boys at Wrestlerock!

[The two men laugh loudly at their punchline as the shot spins out of
sight to be replaced by... oh no.  No.  This can't be happening.]

SAS: OntollEgunt AmerEcun
Dey all know
Dot deh Sultan Azam
Sharif stole deh show

On Supairnova un his team
Ve lowair deh boom
IRAN NUMBAH WON!
CAMARAMAN... ZOOOOM!

[Sultan Azam Sharif flexes for both people who survived that without
cerebral hemmoraging.  The shot spins away to...

...Tyler Lee and Supernova.  Lee stands with his Louisville Slugger
draped over his shoulder as he starts to speak.]

TL:  Hey folks, Tyler Lee, and I'm here to tell you all
That in the Tower of Doom all the Russians are gonna fall
And on the Fourth of July the Americans will feel joy
When we grab the victory at Wrestlerock... big boy!

[A grinning face-painted Supernova picks up where his partner left off.]

S:  Supernova's my name, I'm on the warpath
The Foreign Legion is going to feel my wrath
And Count Adrian Bathwaite will have to open the lock
For my team in the Tower of Doom at Wrestlerock

[The shot spins away.  And we cut one more time, this time to the AWA
National Champion himself.]

JV:  I'm Juan Vasquez, amigo! The National champion! 
Gonna' teach a lesson to that no-good West Memphis Assassin
Masked man, you're gonna' be in for a shock
When I kick your butt at Wrestlerock!

[And with that, the shot of a grinning Vasquez fades to live action.  We
are LIVE inside the Durham Bulls Athletic Center, an outdoor baseball
stadium that is filled to the brim with AWA fans screaming their lungs
out for the announcement over the PA that we are LIVE on WKIK!]

GM:  Welcome everyone to Durham, North Carolina - and a Happy Birthday
to the United States of America!  I am Gordon Myers and by my side, as
always, is the three-time Announcer of the Year, Bucky Wilde!  Bucky, my
friend, Happy Fourth of July!

BW:  It's a big day for the Buckster, daddy.  BBQ, some brews, family
picnic at Mama's house, and now it's time for the fireworks!  And we're
startin' those off early, Gordo!

GM:  That's right.  

[The shot quits panning over the crowd and holds steady on the squared
circle in the middle of it all which has several AWA competitors inside
it, doing battle.]

GM:  As you can see, we are nearing the end of that pre-show tag team
Battle Royal.  Remember, the last two teams remaining will immediately
collide in a match for a GUARANTEED seed in the Stampede Cup that we'll
be seeing on Labor Day Weekend!

[The ring has red, white, and blue ropes and turnbuckles with a ring
apron airbrushed to look like the American flag.  A steel barricade
stands several feet away from the edges of the ring, leaving some room
for an announce table and a timekeeper's table.  There are no mats on
the canvas, leaving the grass and dirt that make up the Durham Bulls'
field completely uncovered.  Another panning shot shows a long aisleway
leading away from the ring towards the home plate area where two more
aisles split off, leading to each dugout.]

GM:  We've got a handful of teams remaining in the match here, Bucky. 
Let's run 'em down for the folks at home just joining us.

BW:  The Blonde Bombers, the Rockstars, the Anton, Casanova and Holland,
Fierro and Armstrong, the Southern Stallions, and Tin Can Rust and
Johnny Sone are still in there.

GM:  Seven teams remaining - fourteen men inside the ring.  Remember,
when one man is eliminated from a team, his partner is as- WHOOOOOA MY!

[The crowd jeers at the Blonde Bombers as they double clothesline Johnny
Sone over the top rope, knocking him to the floor.  An angry Tin Can
Rust quits hammering Johnny Casanova with right hands and slumps through
the ropes to the floor to join his partner.]

BW:  Kentucky's Pride is dust in the wind, daddy!  Rust tried out
Clayton Shaw as a partner on SNW and got put down and not Johnny Sone
gets tossed out to the floor too.  They're out of this one!

GM:  They're still in the tournament but they just lost a key chance to
be seeded in the tournament.  The Stampede Cup, coming up on Labor Day
weekend this year, will feature 24 teams!  If you get one of those
precious eight seeds, you don't have to compete in the first round,
Bucky!

BW:  That's right.  It makes it very key to win one of those seeds.  The
odds of an unseeded team going the distance are long, Gordo.  To win the
Cup as an unseeded team, you've got to win FIVE matches over a two day
period.  It's almost unthinkable!

[The camera zooms in on the corner where Jack Holland has his boot
pressed down on the throat of Kenny Stanton, strangling the air out of
him.  A few feet away, we see Tommy Fierro who is being hoisted into the
air by both members of the Rockstar Express, Scotty Storm and Marty
Morgan.]

GM:  The Rockstars are trying to get Fierro over the top... trying to
muscle him over the ropes...

[But Brad Jacobs cuts off that effort, smashing Scotty Storm over the
back of the neck with a double axehandle.  Grabbing Storm by the hair,
Jacobs swings him around, charging towards the ropes...

...and HURLS him over the top but Storm hooks them with his arm,
swinging himself back onto the apron!]

GM:  Storm saved himself!  Scotty Storm just-

[Nick Anton charges across the ring, leaping into the air...

...and DRILLS Storm with a flying shouldertackle, knocking him off the
apron to the floor!]

GM:  THE ROCKSTARS ARE GONE!!  WOW!!

BW:  And that's gotta be considered an upset, Gordo!  A lot of people
were picking the Rockstars to win this whole Battle Royal here tonight
in Durham, North Carolina.

GM:  Marty Morgan joins Scotty on the floor and we're down to five
teams.  The Antons, the Bombers, Playboy Enterprises, Armstrong and
Fierro, and the Southern Stallions!  One of these five teams are about
to earn themselves a spot in the Top 8 seeds of the Stampede Cup
tournament.

[Jacobs grabs Nick Anton around the waist from behind, looking for a
suplex... 

...but the 270 pound frame of Alex Anton wraps the arms around the waist
of Jacobs, yanking him away from his brother.]

GM:  Look out here!

[Alex Anton sets for the German suplex but Kenny Stanton delivers a
running knee to the kidneys, breaking up Anton's grasp as well.  Stanton
drives the point of his elbow down into the lower back of Anton as
Jacobs turns around...]

GM:  Double team coming up...

[The Southern Stallions whip Alex Anton across the ring, flooring him
with a double clothesline...

...but suddenly Robert Baldwin rushes in from nowhere, grabbing Stanton
by the back of the trunks, and FLINGS him over the ropes to the floor!]

GM:  OHHH!  STANTON'S GONE!  THE STALLIONS ARE OUT!!

BW:  We're down to four!

[Baldwin picks up where the Stallions left off, stomping Alex Anton over
and over, pushing him under the ropes to the apron.  Nick Anton grabs
him from behind, hoisting him into a belly to back suplex...

...but Baldwin lands on his feet behind Anton, waiting for the young man
to turn around...]


"WHAAAAAAAACK!"
"OHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  What a shot!

[The right hook to the jaw stuns Nick Anton...

...and allows Ricky Armstrong to connect with a big dropkick that sends
Anton toppling over the ropes to the floor!]

GM:  The Antons are gone!

BW:  What an idiot Armstrong is!

GM:  What do you mean?

BW:  Well, there's no permanent allies in a battle royal but Armstrong
and Fierro stood a much better shot with the Antons in there than they
do when they're alone with the Bombers, Casanova, and Holland!

GM:  You may be right about that.

[The camera cuts across the ring where Jack Holland is holding Tommy
Fierro's arms back as Casanova leaps off the middle rope, smashing an
overhead elbow down across the skull of the former World Champion,
knocking him flat.]

GM:  Casanova takes him down... and look at this, this guy just shouting
at Holland and making him put the boots to Tommy Fierro.  You know
Holland hates this, Bucky.

BW:  He doesn't hate those bonus checks comin' from Playboy Enterprises,
Gordo.  I'll bet you that much.

GM:  I'm sure you're right about that.  But it's blood money - it's not
why Holland came to the AWA.

BW:  Money is money and I bet THAT'S why Holland came to the AWA.

[Holland drags Fierro to his feet by the hair at Casanova's
instructions.  He hooks in a full nelson as Casanova winds up...

...and has his arm grabbed by Armstrong who swings "Playboy" Johnny C
around and throws a big right hand to the cheers of the crowd!]

GM:  Big right hand!  And another!  And a third!

[Holland shoves Fierro aside, trying to help his partner...

...who gets knocked back into Holland after Armstrong throws a short
back elbow into the jaw of Casanova!]

GM:  Ohh!  The Playboy Enterprises team is-

[Casanova spins around, shoving Holland hard in the chest, reading him
the riot act...

...when a dropkick from Fierro and Armstrong each hit Casanova and
Holland, sending them both toppling to the floor!]

GM:  OHHHHH!


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


GM:  Casanova and Holland are gone!  And we're down to the final two! 
The Blonde Bombers taking on Tommy Fierro and Ricky Armstrong to see who
will-

[Suddenly, Johann Avalon rushes across the ring, HURLING Armstrong over
the ropes to the floor.  Fierro spins Avalon around, pasting him with a
right hand as Larry Doyle grabs the official on the floor, violently
shaking him and ordering him to ring the bell.]

GM:  What the- 

BW:  The referee has started this one!

GM:  What right does Larry Doyle have to do that?!

BW:  It's his team in the match, Gordo!

[Avalon and Baldwin team up, firing Fierro across the ring...]

GM:  Double clothesli- ducked by Fierro!

[And Fierro leaves his feet, catching both Bombers with a crossbody,
toppling them down to the canvas.  Fierro pops up, pumping a fist to the
roar of the crowd.  He leans down, dragging Baldwin off the mat...]

GM:  Fierro brings him back up... big right hand by Fierro!

BW:  The old man throws some hard shots.

GM:  A second right hand! 

[Grabbing Baldwin by the arm, Fierro fires him chestfirst into the
corner, smashing his sternum into the buckles...]

GM:  Baldwin staggers out...

[Fierro hooks him around the waist, hoisting him up...

...and dropping him down on the bent knee with the atomic drop, sending
Baldwin crashing back into the buckles!]

GM:  BIIIIIIIIG LIFTING ATOMIC DROP!!!

[Fierro turns around, blocking a right hand attempt from Johann Avalon,
throwing a right hand to the jaw!]

GM:  And now Fierro's on Avalon!

[The former World Champion throws two more haymakers to the jaw,
knocking Avalon back into the corner...]

GM:  Fierro grabs the arm - big whip!

[Avalon goes sailing across the ring, crashing into the stunned Baldwin,
smashing him into the corner!]

GM:  THE BOMBERS COME TOGETHER HARD!!

[Avalon stumbles backwards as Fierro rushes past him, throwing a leaping
forearm to the back of Baldwin's skull.  He spins around, charging out
of the corner, leaping into the air...

...and knocks Avalon flat with a vertical cross body, pulling his legs
up to cradle the legs of "The Machine."]

GM:  BODY PRESS!!  ONE!!  TWO!!  THR-

[A dazed Baldwin dives across the back of Fierro, breaking the pin
attempt.]

GM:  Ohhh!  Tommy Fierro had him beat, Bucky!  By my estimation, Tommy
Fierro had him beaten right there in the middle of the ring!

BW:  I'm not so sure about that.

[Ricky Armstrong pulls himself up on the apron during the skirmish,
pausing...

...and then slingshotting himself over the ropes, catching a turning
Baldwin with a clothesline!]

GM:  This has broken down completely - not much of a tag match right
now, fans.

[Armstrong climbs to his feet, helping Fierro back Avalon into the
ropes.]

GM:  Double whip...

[Showing some newfound tag skills, the fan favorite duo drops to their
knees in unison, driving an elbow back into the midsection.  They reach
up together, tossing Avalon down to the mat with a double snap mare
before climbing up, leaping up, and crashing down with a double
elbowdrop!]

GM:  OHHH!   What a series of offensive doubleteams by Fierro and
Armstrong!

[Fierro attempts a lateral press while Armstrong stands guard, earning a
two count before Avalon kicks out.]

GM:  Just a two count there.

[Fierro grabs a handful of hair, peppering Avalon with a series of right
hands before dragging him to his feet.  He pulls him into a front
facelock, slinging "The Machine's" arm over his neck...

...and SNAPS him over with a suplex!]

GM:  Nice suplex by Fierro and-

[The crowd roars as Armstrong points to the corner.]

GM:  He's heading for the ropes!  He's calling for the Hollywood
Hangover!

BW:  And if he hits the big splash off the top, this one is over, Gordo.

GM:  Armstrong steps out to the apron... I don't know if he's the legal
man.  Heck, I don't even know if there IS a legal man right now!

[Armstrong steps up to the middle rope, then to the top...]

GM:  Armstrong's up top!  He's gonna fly!

[Suddenly, Larry Doyle leaps up on the apron, drawing the referee's
focus.]

GM:  Doyle's - get him down from there!

[Which is exactly what the Masked Menace intends to do as he climbs up
on the apron, walking down the apron towards the corner where Armstrong
is standing...]

GM:  Here comes the Menace!  He's-

[Armstrong suddenly LEAPS from his perch...

...and hooks his legs around the head of the Menace, snapping him off
the apron and down to the dirt below with a rana!]


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  WHAT A MANEUVER!!

[Armstrong springs up to his feet, pumping a fist.  His back is covered
with the clay from the second base area.  As he looks towards the ring,
he finds Robert Baldwin throwing Fierro back into the corner, throwing
kick after kick into the torso.  Grabbing an arm, he whips Fierro across
the ring...]

GM:  Fierro hits the corner hard!

[Baldwin rushes in, coming quickly across the ring...

...and Fierro just barely gets a foot up, kicking Baldwin in the gut and
doubling up the Ravishing One as he stumbles backwards.]

GM:  Nice counter by Fierro and- what the heck?!

[The crowd roars as Armstrong climbs back up on the apron, quickly
scaling the ropes...

...and HURLING himself off the top, taking down Baldwin in a sunset
flip!]

GM:  SUNSET FLIP OFF THE TOP!!

[The referee counts once... twice... and just as Johann Avalon tries to
intervene, Tommy Fierro rushes across the ring, throwing a dropkick to
the jaw...]

GM:  HE GOT HIM!!


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


GM:  I can't believe it!

[The sounds of Phil Watson's voice makes it official.]

PW:  Here are your winners - earning a seeded position in the Stampede
Cup - the team of TOMMY FIERROOOO and RIIIIIICKYYY ARRRRMSTRONG!

[Armstrong springs up, falling into an embrace with his tag team
partner.]

GM:  Fierro and Armsrong are your winners!  They're moving on to the
tournament where they WILL be a seeded team!  They'll be in the Top 8! 
They'll avoid having to fight in the first round!

BW:  I can't believe it! 

GM:  Neither can Larry Doyle!  Look at him out here, fans, he's hot
under the collar!

[Doyle is screaming, shouting, and generally acting like a maniac as he
verbally lambasts everyone in sight...

...and then starts gesturing wildly at the Masked Menace who gets the
hint.]

GM:  Wait a... what's the Menace doing?!

[The Masked Menace steps into the ring, measuring Fierro and Armstrong
who have their backs turned on him...

...and then OBLITERATING them with a double clothesline as they turn
around!]

GM:  GOOD GRIEF, BUCKY!!

[By this point, Avalon and Baldwin have regained their feet and join in
on the attack, stomping and kicking the two downed fan favorites.  After
a moment, Avalon hauls Armstrong up to his feet, dropping him down over
his knee in a backbreaker as Baldwin heads for the top rope...]

GM:  Somebody should put a stop to this!  There's no call for this,
Bucky!  No call for this at all!

[Baldwin reaches the top, spreads his arms wide...

...and then leaps from his perch, dropping a leg down across the throat
of Armstrong!  The crowd jeers as Armstrong flails about on the canvas,
clutching his throat, and gasping for air as the Bombers and the Menace
stand over him.]

GM:  The Bombers have laid out the two men they just-

[BIG CHEER!]

GM:  And here comes the Rockstars!

[Scotty and Marty sprint down the aisle, diving headfirst under the
ropes where the Blonde Bomber entourage has exited stage right.  Morgan
and Storm each kneel down next to Armstrong, trying to check his
condition as an exhausted Tommy Fierro crawls over towards his partner
as well.]

GM:  This is bad, fans.  A bad way to start off Wrestlerock.  I think
Ricky Armstrong is going to need some medical attention.  We're going to
need some help out here for this young man.  Let's... while we get some
help out here, let's go back to the locker room and our broadcast
colleague, Jason Dane!  Jason?

[Cut to backstage.  Jason Dane, microphone in hand, stands beside a
wrestling legend.  The man, in his late fifties or early sixties, still
looks to be spry and in good shape, despite his age.  He's tall, with
large hands that have gnarled knuckles.  His hair is grey and thinning,
and there are wrinkles on his face.  But for a well traveled ring
warrior, Blackjack Lynch looks damn good.]

JD:  Thanks, Gordon.  It's a bad, bad scene out there to start the night
thanks to the Blonde Bombers.  But right now, I'm here with a man who
represents Texas wrestling royalty.  Mr. Lynch, we've seen Hamilton
Graham in an AWA ring. Tonight we will see Jim Watkins in the Tower of
Doom. Don't tell me you're here to announce your return.

BJL:  Nothin' like it Dane.  This here is a sport for young men.  No one
wants to see an old codger like me in that squared circle.  But I tell
ya what Jason, I sure miss it.

[Blackjack has a deep, gravelly voice.  It sounds like rocks rolling
down a hill, or like he spent the morning gargling razorblades.]

JD:  Then why are you here, Mr. Lynch.

BJL:  Because tonight, my boys are going to be in action.

JD:  You're referring to their wrestling match against the Unholy
Alliance.

BJL:  It ain't gonna be no wrestlin' match, Jason.  My boys are going to
war.  And the old man has somethin' to say to them before they do it.  
So I'd like to bring them out right now.

JD:  Certainly.

[One by one, the Lynch brothers enter.  First is Jack, dressed all in
black, his father's cowboy hat resting comfortably on his head.  Next
comes James dressed in blue jeans and t-shirt and a  Texas Longhorns
baseball cap turned backwards and finally, out comes the heartthrob,
Travis is dressed in blue jeans and a skin tight red t-shirt and his
custom vintage cognac smooth ostrich leather with turquoise crunch
goatskin highlights, boots. The three of them stand at attention against
the backdrop, all of them looking at Dane and their father.]

BJL:  When you look at my boys, Dane, you probably see three wrestlers. 
But when I look at them, I see so much more.  I see my legacy, the
future of the Lynch name.  And you can be sure that I see three future
National Champions, But tonight, I see what Travis said they were.

Jason Dane, I see three knights.

And what do knights do? They go on quests.  Boys?  You've got your
quest.  You are going to take out this Unholy Alliance. Layton, Polemos,
Zaire.  You slay those giants boys.  Or you die tryin'.

Each of you has your mission.

[Blackjack moves to stand in front of James first.]

BJL:  Jimmy.

[The elder Lynch reaches out, and claps his hand on James' shoulder.]

BJL:  I know that sometimes, you might feel like you get lost in the
shadow of your brothers.  I know that you're not as flashy as Travis, or
as ornery as Jack.  But you've got maybe the most important job in the
whole family.

You're the glue, Jimmy.  You make sure that Travis doesn't get too wild,
and you keep your brother Jack from goin' too far. You hold this unit
together.  That's a lotta responsibility, but I know you can do it.

Tonight, when it gets tough out there, that's what you need to do.  You
need to be the one that rallies your brothers.  You need to be the one
that makes sure they stay on the right path.  You're the man that stands
between Jack and Travis, and its on you to hold 'em together.  You think
you can do that?

[James looks at his father then speaks.]

JL: As a child I would sit and marvel how you would stand up against the
toughest men in the world and wrap that giant gauntlet around their face
and take even the biggest of men down to their knees.  I prayed before
bed each and every night that I would grow up big and strong and capable
of doing the same thing ... I wanted to be the star just like my dad who
stood inside that ring in front of a screaming and adoring audience.  
But my two brothers seemed to split those two genes.  I love my
brothers.   And I love being a Lynch.  There isn't anywhere I would
rather be then standing side by side with my two brothers taking on the
scumbags of the Unholy Alliance.  You can bet that when the going gets
tough out there tonight.  I will be right there in the thick of it
bringing my brothers together as we teach them a lesson or two!

[Blackjack then moves to stand before Travis.]

BJL:  And you...

[Blackjack gets a bit more aggressive, as he pokes his finger into
Travis' chest.]

BJL:  You're the blasting cap, son.  You're the one that's going to make
sure that there's no one left standing when this is over.   You are
going to go out there and be the athlete I know you are.  You need to go
out there and get the job done.  You put them boys through their paces,
and run 'em until their tongues are hangin' out.

Its your job to show them what it means when a Lynch is wrestlin'.  You
got that?

[Travis looks his father in the eyes and nods.]

TL: Layton ... Polemos ... and even Zaire ... if he can even understand
the words I'm speakin' ... two weeks ago you witnessed first hand how
the Lynches just keep coming and coming and coming. No matter what might
be thrown at us, be it right hands, chairs, or even forks. We don't back
down.

You see Jason, Layton thought that we would back down from his savage,
that his giant would send fear down our spines and deep into our hearts
... But we're Lynches! We don't know fear!

[Travis flashes his pearly whites and the ladies go crazy all around the
world.]

BJL:  And then Jack, there's you.  First off, when I'm talkin' to you,
you take off that hat.

[Blackjack's oldest son complies.]

BJL:  You're the leader.  Jimmy might hold you all together, and Trav
might push you forward.  But the direction you go in is up to you. 
You're a fighter, like me.  You've got my name.  And more importantly,
you have got _my_ claw.

So you go out there, and you show your brothers what bein' a Lynch is. 
You lead by example.  And you lead by doin' what you did last time.  You
never back down, no matter how bloody you get.  You put that claw on,
and you never let go.  You take your brothers to the promise land.

[Jack doesn't speak, he only nods his head.]

BJL:  And son? I'm ain't askin' you... this is an order.

[And then, showing just how serious it is, Blackjack slaps his namesake
across the face, his son reeling backwards.]

BJL:  That's so you won't forget.

[Jack lifts his head, and the camera zooms in on his face.  His eyes
narrowed, his expression bursting with intensity.]

JL:  Yes sir.

BJL:  Good, you boys are ready now.  Go on, do this.

[The Lynch family exits, as we crossfade back to ringside.]

GM:  Wow.  Some intense words from Blackjack Lynch, Bucky.

BW:  Can we get a replay of him slappin' his boy across the face again? 
That was great.  I bet that happened every night at the dinner table. 
"Whaddya mean you didn't get an A on that quiz?"  SLAAAAAP!  It musta
been great to see.

GM:  You really are a sick man.  Fans, just as a quick update, Ricky
Armstrong is in the process of being transported to a nearby medical
facility.  Tommy Fierro has, of course, gone with him as have the
very-concerned Rockstar Express.  Those Blonde Bombers, I hope they're
proud of themselves.

BW:  Of course they are!  But they're only proud of putting 'em down
AFTER the match.  You can the bunch of 'em are still hot that they
didn't win a seed in the Stampede Cup, Gordo.

GM:  We've heard from the Lynches - now let's go back to Jason and hear
from the other half of our big six man tag team war!  Jason?

[Crossfade back to the locker room where an unsettled Jason Dane is
standing in the midst of insanity.  Ebola Zaire is dressed in a black
cloak, his metal-studded stick in his hands as he grips what appears to
be a dinner fork between his teeth.  His wide eyes glare into nothing as
he seems to shift and shimmy with no apparent reason.  On the other side
of the screen stands Polemos, breathing heavily as he continually slaps
himself across the chest, letting loose a slight roar with every blow. 
And in the middle of the shot stands Anton Layton, his velvety black
hooded cloak hiding the majority of his face for the moment.  All we can
see right now is his mouth and chin.]

JD:  Mr. Layton, we just heard from the Lynches who say they are in a
quest.

AL:  A quest, you say?  They are not alone in that, Dane.  You see, this
army of darkness that you see before you... we are on a quest as well. 
We are on a quest of epic proportions as we set forth to bring the
entire AWA crumbling down around our feet and under OUR control. 
Ehehehehhe.

JD:  Travis Lynch has likened them to three knights... three white
knights coming to-

AL:  TRAVIS LYNCH IS OF NO CONCERN TO ME!!  A man chiseled from marble
and fueled by the screams of teenage girls.  Tonight, I intend to find
out how much he REALLY likes to hear them scream... screams of horror...
screams of terror... screams of shock as Zaire sinks his teeth into his
face and attempts to rip his very flesh off the bone.  They will scream
then, Lynch.  I hope you like it as much as I will.

JD:  What about what happened last weekend when-

AL:  Do not speak of that to me, Dane.  Jack Lynch fancies himself the
master of the Iron Claw.  And he holds it quite well as my friend Ebola
would no doubt testify if he held mastery of the tongues of civilized
men.  He may in fact be the biggest mountain to scale in this quest,
Dane.  The golden son... the namesake of the old man himself...

I wonder how your brothers feel watching you hog the glory, Jack Lynch. 
I wonder if their bitterness tastes like ash in their throats as they
watch you run around with your hand held high.  I bet it does.  I bet
when James looks out and sees you, the golden child and Travis, the
teenage dream, he chokes on that ash in his throat.

Choke, Jimmy, choke.

[Layton reaches back, grabbing one of the horns on Polemos' mask
suddenly and yanking his head down.]

AL:  My God of War will show you what it's truly like to choke, Jimmy. 

A quest, you say, Jason Dane.

We too are on a quest.  A quest for domination, annihilation, a
reckoning the likes of which this world has never seen.

But it is not old man Lynch who comes to send me on my quest.

It is my Master...

[Layton pulls back his hood, revealing bright red streaks all over his
face, some appearing to be facepaint, some appearing to be welts.]

AL:  ...and believe me, he slaps a lot harder than you do, old man.

Eehehehehhehe.... EHEHEHEHEHEHHEE.... EHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHHE!

[And with that, the Unholy Alliance turns away, heading out of sight as
a frightened Jason Dane looks on.]

JD:  I would NOT want to be at ringside for this one.  Heck, I'm not
even sure I want to be in the building for this one.

[A shake of his head.]

JD:  Let's go down to ringside to Phil Watson for this one!

[We crossfade to the ring where Phil Watson is standing.]

PW:  The following contest is a six man tag team match scheduled for one
fall with a thirty minute time limit!  Introducing first...

[The horrific sounds of women and children screaming fills the air over
the Durham Bulls Athletic Complex speaker system, eventually giving way
to Nine Inch Nails' "Burn."]

GM:  Here they come, Bucky... the most frightening gathering of forces
that I can ever recall seeing in all my years in this sport...

BW:  And that's saying something 'cause you were around when raptors ran
in packs.

[Back to Watson.]

PW:  From the Darkness... they are the team of Ebola Zaire, Polemos, and
the Prince of Darkness, Anton Layton...

THE UNHOOOOOOLY ALLIIIIIIANNNNCE!

[The curtain parts, Layton leading the way.  He completely ignores the
jeering crowd, turning his back to the ring to shout instructions to
both of his charges following behind him.  Layton slaps Polemos with an
open hand on the chest, shouting something about "choke."]

GM:  This is going to be, no doubt, the biggest challenge that the
Lynches have had to face since coming to the AWA.  The first time, in
fact, that we'll actually be seeing them together in a six man tag team
match something that they have a lifetime of experience with.

BW:  Sure, Gordo.  They were the PCW World Six Man Tag Team Champions
for what seems like forever but this ain't PCW - this is the Major
League of professional wrestling!  And the Unholy Alliance don't give
one ounce of anything about what the Lynches did elsewhere.

[The Alliance hits the ring, Layton crawling under the ropes, kneeling
in the middle of the ring with his hooded head thrown back in a howl as
Polemos steps over the ropes into the ring.  Zaire stumbles through the
ropes, pacing around as he slaps his wooden staff into every set of
buckles he draws close to.  The official steps in, trying to get the
staff away from Zaire.]

GM:  I would NOT want to be Mickey Meekly here tonight trying to keep
things under control.

BW:  It's a wasted effort.  There is NOTHING that'll be under control
about this one.

[Layton approaches Zaire, shouting at him to put the staff down.  Zaire
shakes his head back and forth, ignoring both Layton and the protesting
official as Phil Watson continues.]

PW:  And their opponents... from Dallas, Texas... TRAVIS, JAMES, and
JACK... THE LYNNNNNNNNCH BROTHERS!

[The crowd ERUPTS in cheers as "Tom Sawyer" by Rush plays over the PA
system.  After a moment, the three brothers emerge from the locker room
area.  First through is the tall, lanky form of Jack Lynch. The tall
Lynch is, as always, dressed all in black - a black cowboy hat atop his
head, black trunks, and black pad on his right knee, all seen through
the open long black coat he's wearing.  He raises his right hand,
wrapped in a fingerless black glove to a huge roar from the crowd.

James Lynch is the second one through, his light grey zipped jacket
unzipped to reveal his yellow Speedo-style trunks.  He is, of course,
barefoot as he makes his way down the aisle, slapping the hands of the
ringside fans.

And the final man through is Travis Lynch, the youngster dressed in his
classic white wrestling trunks with a yellow and black stripe on the top
of them.  He jogs into view, his well-sculpted body drawing huge cheers
- especially from the women in the crowd as he approaches the railing, a
rabid fan leaning over to pull Travis into an embrace and kissing his
cheek.  He grins as he pulls away, moving down the aisle.]

GM:  In a short amount of time here in the AWA, the Lynches have become
some of the most popular men in the entire company.  Jack, James, and
Travis - we knew they'd be popular in Texas but on the road, they've
been one of the loudest cheered groups, Bucky.

BW:  I bet those cheers will come in handy when Zaire's digging a fork
into their foreheads or when Layton slamming people on the floor or
when-

GM:  We get it.

[The Lynches hit the ring, Travis pulling himself up on the apron and
pointing across the ring at Anton Layton...

...which leaves him wide open as Zaire approaches, SMASHING the
metal-studded staff into the skull of Lynch, knocking him back down to a
knee on the apron.  Zaire tosses the cane aside as he reaches over the
ropes, wrapping his hands around the throat of Lynch!]

GM:  Get off him!  Referee, get him off of Travis Lynch!

[From the floor, Jack Lynch winds up and DRILLS Zaire with right hand to
the skull.  He throws a second... and a third but Zaire's chokehold can
not be broken.  James Lynch grabs the ropes, pulling himself up on the
apron...

...and rushes down it, throwing a big kick to the side of Zaire's head!]

GM:  OHHH!

[James Lynch grabs the top rope, throwing punch after punch after punch
to the skull of Ebola Zaire...

...and suddenly gets a hand wrapped around his throat!]

GM:  OH!  POLEMOS HAS GOT JAMES LYNCH BY THE THROAT!!

[The God of War hoists Lynch into the air, physically lifting James
Lynch into the ring...

...and HURLS him back into the corner!]

GM:  James Lynch is in the ring with Polem- look out!

[The crowd roars and the announcers scatter as Anton Layton SLAMS Jack
Lynch's skull into the announce table!]

BW:  Has this thing even STARTED yet?!

[Layton pulls Lynch back by the hair again...

...but gets caught with a back elbow to the midsection!]

GM:  Ohh!  Lynch caught him!

[Grabbing two handfulls of Layton's blond hair, Lynch SLAMS the Prince
of Darkness' skull into the wooden table!  

We cut back to the ring apron where Travis Lynch has managed to fight
free of Zaire's grip.  Grabbing the big man's skull, Lynch charges down
the length of the apron and SLAMS his head into the buckles!]

GM:  Oh yeah!

[Zaire stumbles backwards, arms pinwheeling around as he tries to keep
his balance.  Lynch steps through the ropes, pointing at the staggered
Botswana Beast...

Another quick cut shows Polemos charging the corner...

...where James Lynch drops down, throwing himself out of the way as the
God of War smashes into the buckles!]

GM:  OHHH!  POLEMOS HITS THE CORNER HARD!!!

[Travis and James quickly work together, throwing a double dropkick that
sends Polemos flipping backwards over the ropes...

...where Polemos lands on his feet!]

GM:  Ohh!  Polemos just landed on-

[James Lynch promptly grabs the top rope, slingshotting over the ropes
onto Polemos and knocking the big man down on the floor!  Big cheer!]

GM:  WHATTA DIVE BY JAMES LYNCH!!  HE TOOK DOWN POLEMOS!!

[At much urging from the official, Jack Lynch and Travis Lynch bail out
to their corner as Zaire and Layton do the same thing on the other side
of the ring.]

GM:  So, it looks like it'll be Polemos and James Lynch starting this
off.

BW:  Starting it off?!  Consider it started, daddy!

[The bell sounds as James Lynch grabs Polemos by a horn on the mask,
dragging him to his feet and shoving him under the bottom rope...

...which gives Anton Layton an opportunity to sprint down the apron,
stomping Lynch's head!]

GM:  Ohh!  Come on!

[Jack Lynch shouts something at the official who nods, turning to yell
at Layton for the interference.  The Prince of Darkness shakes his head,
backing off as a hurting Lynch pulls himself under the ropes into the
ring where the God of War is waiting, dropping a three hundred pound
elbow down in the back of the head and neck!]

GM:  A crushing elbowdrop by Polemos!

BW:  Three hundred pounds slamming down on the back of James Lynch's
head and neck... that'll do some damage in a hurry...

[Polemos rolls Lynch over...

...and wraps his hands around James Lynch's throat!]

GM:  He's choking him!  

BW:  Look at how happy that makes Anton Layton.  He told everyone that
James Lynch would choke tonight and he's a man of his word, Gordo.

GM:  A man of his... you've gotta be kidding me.

[Polemos breaks the choke at four, grabbing a leg to drag him towards
the Unholy Alliance corner, slapping the hand of Anton Layton.]

GM:  In comes the Prince of Darkness...

[Layton promptly stomps Lynch a half dozen times before hauling him off
the mat by the hair, shoving him back to the ropes...]

GM:  Irish whip...

[But Lynch leaps up to the middle rope, blindly springing backwards...]

GM:  CROSSBODY!!!

[Lynch wipes out Layton, reaching back to hook the leg...]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  No!  Layton's out at two!

[Lynch takes the opportunity to crawl towards his corner...

...but Layton uses his own legs to scissor Lynch's, blocking the tag
attempt.]

GM:  Layton's got him trapped!  He won't let him make the tag!

[Layton rolls up to his knees, still holding the leg, and then rises to
his feet, physically dragging Lynch across the ring where he slaps the
hand of the Botswana Beast.]

GM:  Uh oh!

[Zaire steps through the ropes as Layton hauls Lynch up, holding his
arms behind him, and promptly DRIVES his stiffened fingers into the
throat of Lynch, leaving the fan favorite gasping for air against the
turnbuckles.]

GM:  Zaire coming in after him...

[Throwing Lynch back into the corner, Zaire throws a heavy chop across
the chest.  A second one follows just before a big back elbow smashes
Lynch against the turnbuckles!]

GM:  Ohh!  Zaire smashes him in the corner!

[Grabbing a handful of hair, Zaire drags James Lynch out of the buckles,
swinging his arm around, and slamming it down across the back of the
neck, knocking Lynch down to the canvas.]

GM:  Zaire hammers James down to the canvas...

BW:  This guy is just a monster, Gordo. 

GM:  They call him the Human Horror Movie and it's a fitting name, for
sure.

[Zaire backs into the ropes, stumbling off, swinging his right arm
around and around and around...]

GM:  Off the ropes...


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  HE MISSED!!  HE MISSED THE ELBOWDROP!!!

[James Lynch, now on all fours, does a front roll...

...and makes a lunging tag to Travis Lynch!]

GM:  TAG!!  IN COMES TRAVIS!!

[The girls in Durham can be heard squealing with excitement as Travis
Lynch steps into the ring...

...and drills a rising Zaire with a running dropkick, sending the Beast
falling back into the corner where Anton Layton slaps the hand!]

GM:  Tag!  Layton's back in!

[Layton rushes in towards Travis Lynch...

...and gets scooped up, turned around, and slammed down hard on the
canvas!]

GM:  BIIIIIIIG bodyslam!

[Travis throws his arms back with a roar to the screams from the
crowd...

...and then DRILLS Polemos with a right hand!]

BW:  What a cheap shot by Lynch!

[Travis spins away, drilling Zaire in the skull as well!]

BW:  And another one!  What a jerk this guy is!

[And as Layton gets back to his feet, Lynch hoists him up again,
spinning around a few times with him to show him off...

...and HURLS him down with a thunderous bodyslam again!]

GM:  Another big slam by Travis Lynch!

[An angry Polemos steps into the ring, approaching Lynch from behind and
grabbing him by the hair...]

GM:  Polemos is in illegally!

[A devastating headbutt rocks Travis Lynch.  A second one connects as
well before Jack Lynch battles past a protesting official, drilling
Polemos with a big boot to the side of the head!]

GM:  Whoa my!

BW:  Jack Lynch is in here illegally!  Can't this referee do anything to
keep control of this thing?

GM:  Polemos came in there first!  He was illegal first!

BW:  Well, that's debatable but I think you'd agree that Mickey Meekly's
incompetence is NOT up for debate!

[Jack Lynch gets Polemos back in the buckles, hammering the masked man
with right hands to his covered head...

...when a rushing knee to the lower back from Layton cuts off the
attack.  Layton promptly grabs Jack Lynch by the hair, hurling him
through the ropes ot the floor.]

GM:  Layton clears out Jack Lynch!

BW:  He's gotta do the referee's job for him!

[Layton grabs Polemos, shaking him by the horns, and pointing out the
rising Travis Lynch...

...who nearly gets separated from his boots courtesy of a running
clothesline from Polemos!  Lynch throws back his head, cackling with joy
as Lynch hits the mat and Polemos exits the ring.]

GM:  Good grief, Bucky.  This is ridiculous!

BW:  I told you Meekly's incompetent!  The whole family is!  The AWA
needs to completely revamp the officiating in this company!

[Layton dives atop the downed Travis Lynch, hammering him with right
hands to the skull as the referee protests.  Switching his grip, Layton
SLAMS the back of Lynch's head into the mat once, twice, three times
before breaking away, climbing to his feet.]

GM:  Layton's all over Travis Lynch out here!

[The Prince of Darkness climbs to his feet, pointing at the downed
Travis Lynch and then cupping his hand to his ear.]

GM:  What in the world is he doing?

BW:  This is great, Gordo!  He's listening for the screams from the
fans!

GM:  This guy is sick, Bucky!  He's sick!

[Layton drops to a knee again, grabbing a handful of hair, slamming his
fist into the forehead of Lynch.]

"SCREAM!"

[Another right hand.]

"SCREAM FOR HIM!"

[Another.]

"SCREAM FOR HIS WORTHLESS SOUL!"

[Another.]

"SCREAM YOUR HEARTS OUT!"

[Layton pops to his feet, again cupping his hand to his ear.  Not
hearing what he wants, he sneers at the downed Lynch.]

"I KNOW HOW TO MAKE YOU SCREAM FOR HIM!!"

[Layton marches across the ring, slapping the hand of Ebola Zaire.]

GM:  Oh my stars.

BW:  This is getting ugly in a hurry, daddy!

[Zaire steps through the ropes, almost salivating at the sight of his
downed opponent.  He leans over, pulling Travis Lynch to his knees...

...and SINKS his teeth into the forehead of Lynch!]

GM:  AHHHHH!

[The shot cuts to the crowd, to a pair of young women screaming loudly,
tears forming in their eyes at the sight of Travis Lynch being
brutalized by Ebola Zaire.]

GM:  Zaire's trying to rip the man's head open!

BW:  It's what he does!  He's a brutal, disgusting, savage, bloodthirsty
monster and that's why he fits right in the Unholy Alliance!  

[Zaire breaks the bite at the count of four and then smashes his elbow
down across the forehead, knocking Lynch down to his stomach.  Zaire
stands over him, nodding with glee as Lynch tries to crawl away from
him...

...and DROPS a heavy elbow on the back of the head!]

GM:  MY GOD!!!

[Zaire promptly rolls Lynch onto his back, applying a big lateral
press.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THR-

[But Lynch just barely gets a shoulder up before the three count.]

BW:  From most men, a simply elbowdrop is nowhere near enough to secure
a pinfall but from Ebola Zaire, it could end a career, daddy!

[Zaire pushes up to his knees, promptly wrapping his hands around the
throat of Travis Lynch.]

GM:  That's another choke, ref!  Get in there!

BW:  He's counting - what more do you want?

GM:  If the Unholy Alliance keeps going back to illegal tactics, I want
him to do his job and disqualify them!

[Zaire breaks the count at four...

...and then HAMMERS his forearm down into the throat of Travis Lynch in
a chopping motion!]

GM:  Good grief!  Another illegal strike to the throat!

BW:  Zaire's not exactly what you'd consider well-associated with the
rulebook, Gordo.  You're gonna have to give him some leeway.

GM:  I most certainly do not.

[Grabbing a handful of Travis Lynch's hair, Zaire climbs to his feet,
and promptly sails Travis through the ropes and out to the baseball
outfield grass below!]

GM:  OHHH!  Down he goes to the floor!  Right out there on the grass!

[Zaire steps through the ropes, kneeling down on the apron, and then
dropping the rest of the way to the ground.  He approaches quickly - or
as quickly as he can at least - and buries a boot into the ribs of an
on-all-fours Travis Lynch.]

GM:  Ohh!  Boot to the ribs!

[Zaire hauls Lynch off the ground, wobbling over towards the steel
barricade...

...and SLAMS his skull into the metal railing!]

GM:  Good grief!  Headfirst to the steel!  Ebola Zaire is savagely
beating this man right here in Durham, North Carolina!  The Botswana
Beast is on a rampage here at Wrestlerock!

[Zaire grabs Lynch by the arm, going for a whip...]

GM:  Big whi- reversed!

[And the crowd roars as Zaire SLAMS spinefirst into the ring apron!]

GM:  LYNCH WHIPPED HIM INTO THE APRON!!

[The Texas, hurting but still fighting, stumbles over towards the
Botswana Beast, swinging him around...

...and SMASHING Zaire's face into the hardest part of the ring!]

GM:  LYNCH SENDS HIM INTO THE APRON!!!

[Lynch climbs up on the apron, delivering a pair of stomps to the head
of Zaire...

...and then DRILLING an incoming Layton with a right hand, knocking him
off the apron!  Big cheer!]

GM:  Travis Lynch is fighting off the entire Unholy Alliance!

[But Zaire reaches up, hooking Lynch by the back of the trunks...

...and YANKS him backwards, sending him sailing off the apron, and
CRASHING down on the outfield grass!]


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


BW:  That'll knock the wind out of you!

[Lynch lies flat on his back on the grass, sucking wind into his body as
he winces with every breath.  Zaire leans against the apron, breathing
hard as well as the referee continues a very slow count.]

GM:  The count is only up to six... Meekly is giving these men a long
time to get back into the ring, Bucky.

BW:  As well he should.  No one wants to see this war end in a countout.

[Anton Layton is the first man up, grabbing Travis Lynch by the hair...]


"CLAAAAAAAAAAAAAANG!"
"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  HEADFIRST INTO THE STEEL STEPS!!

[That brings Jack Lynch tearing around the ring, throwing a big right
hand to the skull of Anton Layton.  Lynch hammers him a bit before
scooping the Prince of Darkness up into the air, throwing him down with
a bodyslam on the ground!]

GM:  It's breaking down out here again!

[Zaire rolls Travis Lynch under the ropes into the ring before moving
through them himself.  He staggers to the corner, slapping the hand of
Polemos.]

GM:  In comes the God of War...

[Polemos steps over the ropes into the ring, stalking the downed Travis
Lynch who he grabs by the throat while he's on the mat, powerfully
hoisting him up to his feet...]

GM:  Polemos has got him by the throat!  Polemos is going for that big
chokeslam!

BW:  If he hits this, it's over!

[Jack Lynch is screaming and hollering at his brother from the corner,
begging him to fight free as James Lynch steps up on the middle rope,
clapping his hands together to try and rally the crowd...]

GM:  Listen to these fans falling in behind Travis Lynch!

[And for a split second, Polemos seems distracted by the chants of
"TRAV-iS!"  "TRA-VIS!"  "TRAV-IS!", chants that have Polemos looking
around in shock...

...and getting Lynch's right hand hooked on his abdomen!]

GM:  ABDOMINAL CLAW!!

[Polemos immediately releases the choke, grabbing at his midsection, and
then throwing an uppercut to the jaw that knocks Lynch back a couple
steps, falling down to a knee...

...where Polemos UNLEASHES a big boot to the jaw of the kneeling Lynch!]

GM:  GOOD GOD!!  That might be it right there!

[Polemos drops to a knee, covering Travis Lynch as the crowd roars their
support for the Texan.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THR-

[But again, Lynch fires a shoulder up before the three count can come
down.]

GM:  LYNCH IS OUT AT TWO!!

BW:  Just barely, Gordo!  Polemos almost had him right there!

[Polemos climbs to his feet, lifting his right hand back...]

GM:  He's calling for the chokeslam again!  He's looking to end this
right now!

[Polemos waits... waits... waits...]

GM:  Lynch to a knee... now coming up to his feet...

[Lynch suddenly spins around, UNLEASHING the discus punch on the jaw!]

GM:  OHHHH!  WHAT A SHOT!!

[Polemos collapses down to the canvas as Lynch tumbles backwards and
SLAPS the hand of his big brother!  DEAFENING CHEER!]

GM:  TAG!!!  JACK LYNCH MAKES THE TAG!!

[The largest of the Lynch boys steps into the ring, charging across and
DRILLING Anton Layton with a right hand, sending the Prince of Darkness
falling off the apron to the floor!]

GM:  JACK LYNCH CLEARS OUT LAYTON!!

[Lynch raises his gloved right hand into the air...]

GM:  Polemos staggers up...

[Lynch moves in...]

GM:  CLAW!!

[DEAFENING CHEER!]

GM:  HE LOCKS THE CLAW ON POLEMOS!!  HE LOCKS THE CLAW ON-

[But he gets a little too close to the ropes where Ebola Zaire reaches
over them, pulling Jack Lynch into the ropes where he hammers his head
and throat with blows!]

GM:  Zaire's battering Jack Lynch and- the Claw stays on!

BW:  How is that possible?!

[Zaire smashes his arm into the throat of Lynch once... twice... three
times, still failing to break the hold...]

GM:  He can't get the Clawhold off his partner!

[James Lynch attempts to come in to help his partner but the referee
cuts him off...

...which gives Zaire the chance to dip into his baggy pants, pulling out
something in his right hand, and SMASHING it into the skull of Jack
Lynch, causing him to fall down to a knee!]

GM:  Ohh!  He hit him with something!  He hit Jack Lynch with something!

BW:  Prove it!

GM:  He threw all those punches, all those blows, and couldn't break the
hold but he dipped into his pants and hit Lynch with SOMETHING!  I know
it, Bucky, you know it, and all of these people here in Durham know it
too!

BW:  But there ain't a one of ya that has any proof of it!

[Polemos stumbles backwards, slapping the hand of Anton Layton who
rushes through the ropes as Zaire staggers to the corner, tugging at the
turnbuckles.]

GM:  What in the world is Zaire doing to the ropes over there?  This guy
is nuts.

[With Layton in, he rushes forward, leaping up into the air...

...and DRIVING both feet down into the midsection of the downed Jack
Lynch!]

GM:  DOUBLE STOMP!!

[Layton dives across the downed Lynch, waving for the official to
count.]

GM:  ONE!!!  TWO!!  THR-

[A big cheer goes up as James Lynch dives across the ring, smashing a
forearm across the back of the Prince of Darkness.]

GM:  James Lynch breaks the pin!  And it's breaking down here AGAIN!

BW:  Mickey Meekly, you incompetent ape!  Do something!

[James Lynch pulls Layton off the mat, hammering him with right hands to
the skull, battering him back into the corner.  Lynch spins around,
charging across the ring, and DRILLING Ebola Zaire and Polemos with a
split-legged dropkick that knocks them both off the apron and down to
the floor!]

GM:  OHHHH MY!!!

[James Lynch promptly gets up, pointing out to the floor as Jack Lynch
gets back to his feet, urging his brother on.  The crowd roars as James
starts to scale the ropes...]

GM:  My stars, what is he doing, Bucky?!  What in the world is James
Lynch thinking here?!

BW:  Whatever it is, it can't be good news for-

GM:  He's up top!  He's-

[And he DIVES off his perch, wiping out Polemos with a crossbody off the
top!]


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  WHAT A DIVE!!  WHAT A DIVE BY JAMES LYNCH!!

[A smiling Jack Lynch charges across the ring, leaping up, and DRILLING
Layton with a clothesline in the corner.]

GM:  BIG LEAPING CLOTHESLINE IN THE BUCKLES!!

[Grabbing the arm, he flings him across again...]

GM:  HERE!  HE!  COMES!!

[The crowd ROARS as Jack leaves his feet, connecting with a high knee to
the skull.  Jack Lynch pulls out of the corner, raising his right hand
with a roar as the crowd explodes, watching as Anton Layton stumbles
from the buckles...]

GM:  CLAW!!

[ENORMOUS ROAR!!]

GM:  HE'S GOT THE CLAW ON LAYTON!!

[The crowd is screaming their hearts out as Layton's arms flail wildly,
trying to fight the power of the Iron Claw as Lynch bears down on it,
grabbing his right wrist with his off hand to steady the grip.]

GM:  He's squeezing the demented skull of Anton Layton!  He's trying to
take him down right here tonight in the middle of Durham, North
Carolina!  That clawhold is in DEEP, fans!

[Layton's arms slowly fade, not pumping with anywhere near the same
speed as he crumples to a knee...

...and gets forced all the way down to his back!]

GM:  Lynch has got him down!  ONE!!  TWO!!  THREEEEE!!!!


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


[The crowd ERUPTS at the sound of the bell as Jack Lynch springs to his
feet, leaping up in triumph as Travis Lynch stumbles in to embrace his
big brother, celebrating their victory.]

PW:  Here are your winners...

THE LYNCH BROTHERS!!

[The crowd ROARS once again at the announcement as James Lynch staggers
in to join the celebration as Polemos drags Layton's prone form under
the ropes to the floor.]

GM:  The Lynch Brothers are victorious tonight in Durham, North
Carolina!  What a win!  What a fight!  And while these three young men
are celebrating here at Wrestlerock, we've gotta take a quick break! 
But don't you go away because we'll be right back with our first title
match of the night!

[The Lynches are still celebrating in the ring as Polemos and Ebola
Zaire help an unconscious Anton Layton back up the aisle and we fade to
black.

Cut to 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 live action backstage
where we find the challenger for the Longhorn Heritage title.  Robert
Donovan is dressed in blue jeans and a black t-shirt with a simple logo
across the front -- that of the long-defunct Longhorn Wrestling Council.
 As one might expect, Donovan is looking pretty serious -- but also
somewhat anxious, pacing back and forth until he notices the camera.  He
stops abruptly and turns to address said camera.]

RD:  Lotta guys, when they get to where I'm at...they'd be happy to be
still collectin' a paycheck.  They'd be happy if they had a title match
at a major show, happy as all get out that the company still has enough
faith in 'em to let 'em have that kinda moment in the twilight of their
careers.

[Donovan's look becomes less than friendly.]

RD:  Lemme tell you somethin', though, folks...I ain't happy.  I ain't
satisfied just 'cause the company threw this old man a bone -- I ain't
content to just enjoy the fact that I still get paid to do what I do. 
No, that ain't enough for me at all -- that ain't why I dragged these
old bones outta comfortable retirement to get 'em knocked around on a
regular basis.  No, I came outta retirement because I heard the AWA
wanted to honor the place I called home for so long, an' I didn't wanna
let that happen without bein' a part of it.

[A wry smile crosses Donovan's face.]

RD:  An' whaddya know...the one thing I was afraid of more'n anything
happened.  Losin', that I could handle -- at this point I'd almost have
to be used to that possibility or I'd have lost it.  No, losin' wasn't
what bothered me comin' out of the tournament, seein' Nenshou comin' out
the winner is what bothered me.  Havin' that rat Childes be why I lost,
that bothered me.  Childes makin' sure that Nenshou won the finals? 
That don't sit quite right either.

[Pause.]

RD:  What's still eatin' away at me about it there's a man supposedly
representin' the history of the Longhorn Wrestling Council who doesn't
appreciate it, a man who ran it down an' ran down everybody that bled
and sweat for that place without hesitation, 'cause he knew that anybody
who DID give a damn might actually be hurt by his words, an' I'd be
lyin' if I said that he didn't bother me any, an' I'm sure I ain't quite
alone on that score.

[Donovan raises his hands, palms up, to about chest level, staring at
them.]

RD:  Now, though...now I've got a chance to change all that.  I got a
chance to get that belt off that slimy toad's shoulder an' around the
waist of someone who lived Longhorn Heritage, instead o' someone who
spends every wakin' minute thinkin' of a way to further desecrate it.

[Donovan's hands are actually shaking now.]

RD:  I got the power in MAH hands, Nenshou.  Your manager?  Handcuffed
at ringside to a man that I can count on to make sure stays out o' my
business.  Your Unholy Alliance?  Any o' them show up, an' they're gone.
 Ya think Layton'll take that bullet for ya?  Zaire?

[Donovan clenches his fists.]

RD:  Ain't no excuses for anybody this time, Nenshou.  No excuses, no
turnin' back.

...nobody to save you from what I'm gonna do to you tonight.  Nobody to
save me from whatever's up YOUR sleeves, neither. Just you, me, the
ring, the referee...an' most importantly, the Longhorn Heritage
championship.  I ain't satisfied just bein' here, Nenshou, I ain't
satisfied with just the chance anymore.

[Donovan lowers his still-clenched fists.]

RD:  I failed last time out an' it hurt me more'n I'd ever let anyone
know.  Seein' the heritage I celebrate spat on by that tub of guts
Childes...burns me right to the soul every time I see him marchin'
around with that belt on his shoulder.  I failed last time,
Nenshou...but tonight, I promise you an' everybody watchin' right now
that the Longhorn Heritage title finds...

...redemption.

[A determined look etched on his face, Donovan turns and walks away as
we crossfade back to ringside where the single lightning bolt crackles
over the PA, and the drumbeats begin. "Raijin's Drums" thumps over the
PA, and the fans boo as the red-cloaked form of Nenshou parts the
curtains.] 

GM:  And here he comes, fans... the man who has held the Longhorn
Heritage Championship since the night it was first created - the
engimatic Nenshou!

[Immediately, his right arm swashes a line in the air, parallel to the
ground, and his left arm comes up with a swift motion... this extends
into some sort of kata that ends with the famous throat-slitting gesture
and thumbs down. Only then does he move on, and behind him comes the
short, bald, rotund Percy Childes. Childes is wearing a dark green
sweater vest over a golden-yellow dress shirt with dark green tie... the
combination sounds gaudy, but it actually looks fine on him... well,
aside from wearing a sweater vest during summer, and this sort of attire
generally being more appropriate for the home than for a managerial
position. Black pants and the AWA Longhorn Heritage Championship slung
over one shoulder complete Percy's look. 

Nenshou's "look" is harder to determine, as his red cloak is covering
most of his body. A matching red hooded mask is draped over his head,
bearing golden designs and patterns. The Longhorn Heritage Champion
marches slowly to the ring, the jeers of the crowd falling all about.
Childes is following; not only is the manager carrying the belt, but he
has a brass urn in one hand, similar to the one he used on Robert
Donovan when Nenshou defeated him in the Longhorn heritage Championship
tournament. Childes flips the urn about idly in his hand, smirking at
the raging fans on either side of the aisle.]

GM: Fans, Jason Dane is at ringside, and he will get a few words with
Percy Childes before the arrival of Robert Donovan and Sweet Daddy
Williams. When last we saw Mr. Childes, he was much less composed than
he is right now.

BW: Time, Gordo. He's had two weeks ta simmer down and come out with a
plan.

[Childes passes his charge, who is moving very deliberately, his hooded
head moving back and forth to take in everything.  In contrast to
Nenshou's alertness, Childes seems to only have eyes for his
championship belt and that small urn.  Jason Dane is now at ringside,
and Childes approaches him.  With Nenshou's music still going in the
background, Dane starts the interview.]

JD: Percy Childes, we've already seen the Unholy Alliance in action
tonight, and they didn't have the best of nights against the Lynch
Brothers, did they?  But now it is Nenshou's turn, and he is facing his
toughest challenge to date... particularly amongst challengers that he
didn't just use his mist to duck.

PC: Well, you're having a good time, aren't you, Dane?  Foolishly trying
to raise my ire with Nenshou at hand.  

JD: I am, actu-

PC: Kare wa osorete kudasai.

JD: What did you *grk*

[He wasn't speaking to you, Jason.  Nenshou suddenly shifts from slow
walk to lunge, yanking Dane's tie down and sending his knee up into the
bridge of his nose!

...well, almost.  He stops less than an inch short, balanced perfectly
on one foot, holding Dane in position to make it very clear what could
have happened.  Dane yelps, as he turns white from the sudden movement. 
The crowd jeers the asinine behaviour.  Only now does "Raijin's Drums"
fade out.]

PC: Now then.  Please explain to Nenshou how he 'ducks' people.

JD: ...I'm not a wrestler!  This doesn't mean anything!  It's Robert
Donovan he has to beat, Percy Childes!  All this is... is bullying!  And
there's an anti-bullying poli-

[Percy reaches over and pulls the cord out of Jason's mic, so that we
can't hear whatever it was he was going to say about some policy or
other.  Ah, but he came prepared... Percy pulls his own wireless mic out
of his back pocket.]

PC: Observe, Dane.  I had my own microphone.  I knew that you were going
to take liberties with my patience, as you always do.  And so I simply
plotted a way around it.  Now, that seems somewhat trivial, doesn't it? 
Of course.  As trivial as you are.  But if I could prepare a means to
circumvent a man taking liberties with my patience... how much more
would I do so when someone plans to take liberties with my physical
well-being?  Hmm?

[The fans boo and grumble.  They see where this is going.]

PC: Sweet Daddy Williams is, as I have repeatedly said, a crafty fellow.
 His maneuver to install himself as a manager was clever.  No doubt, he
wants Donovan to win, so he can betray him and get yet another title
opportunity.  And he would like to extract some revenge on me as well,
for telling the world the truth about him.  But that will not happen,
Jason Dane.  I am prepared.

As for Nenshou, he lives and breathes preparation.  He has trained
relentlessly, spending every waking moment perfecting his technique and
developing his strategy.  He will defeat Robert Donovan!  He does not
need his mist, he does not need whatever interference you thought he
would have, and he does not even need me... not to defeat Donovan.  I am
his manager; I handle his business affairs and logistics.  The everyday
concerns that are beneath him.  Do you think that shackling me to an
enemy means anything for this match?  Do you?

JD: ...please have Nenshou stop choking me, and I will answer that.

[Yes, the Longhorn Heritage Champion hasn't moved a muscle, despite
Dane's efforts to break free.  He's still perched on one foot, and Dane
still can't push him over... probably because he's being held down by
his tie.  Percy makes a small motion with his hand, and Nenshou
releases, jumping onto the apron and entering the ring.]

PC: You needn't answer.  We will answer that.  And Robert Donovan... I
know what the title "Longhorn Heritage" means to you.  You want this
belt to be your security blanket.  To warm you with memories of the
long-gone days of your youth.  The sad shadows of the failures which you
somehow remember as successes.  And just because I obviously haven't
made it clear enough yet, I have brought you two more reminders of the
utter and complete futility of living in the past.  The first is my
attire.  Snappy, isn't it?

JD: No.

PC: On this Fourth Of July weekend, I have decided to wear the colors of
the United States of America.  I am wearing them proudly: green and
gold!  Money and winning!  THAT is what this country is all about!

[BBBOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!]

PC: I see the celebrity-obsessed lottery-addicted masses fail to see
their own hypocrisy, as usual.  But this country only cares about
winners.  That's why you can look all over, and not find one Tommy
Fierro T-Shirt, one Ken Stanton poster, or one Yuma Weaver bobblehead
(unless he's out in the crowd himself).  And you can look all over
Texas, but you won't find the Longhorn Wrestling Council, either!  

[A small "DON-O-VAN!" chant starts from fans who would like to see
Percy's mic time ended prematurely.]

PC: They failed as a business, which means you and your so-called
legends failed to bring in the money!  Green and gold, Donovan, take a
good look.  They are the only colors that matter.  I don't wear them
often, but tonight, we wanted to make a point...

[Percy points to Nenshou, who whips off his red robe... to reveal green
baggy pants, green boots, and shiny gold face paint with green symbols
drawn on them.  As we saw on the last Saturday Night Wrestling, Nenshou
now sports a buzzcut with a single kanji shaved into it: "Darkness".]

PC: ...so you'd remember just how spectacularly your heritage failed!

And second...

[Percy holds up the urn.]

PC: You'll recall that I hit you with one of these some months back. 
Filled with the ashes of the memories of your precious Longhorn Heritage
Council.  I then had it FedExed to your house, so you could mourn
properly... and in private.  But since you refuse to let it go... I've
brought another one.  It's a bit smaller... but it's made of... higher
quality materials.  I wonder what is inside...

[Childes opens it up, and pulls out... a rolled up leather strap?  There
are belt-holes in the strap... and bolt-holes from where plates were
once attached.]

PC: Well, honestly, they weren't THAT much higher quality.  I certainly
didn't have to pay much for it at the pawn shop.  It looks like
Longhorns don't quite go for as much as they used to.  But when a
wrestling league folds, they can't exactly afford to be picky on how
they pay off the creditors, now can they?

[Dane's eyes bulge as he realizes what Childes is implying, and the fans
scream at the pudgy manager.  Percy casually rerolls the leather strap
and stuffs it back into the urn.]

JD: That's...?

PC: Oh, yes.

JD: YOU MELTED IT DOWN?!

PC: It seemed apropos.

[Silence...abruptly broken by the opening notes of Union Underground's
"South Texas Deathride."  Edited for appropriateness, of course!]

JD: I wouldn't want to be you tonight, Percy Childes!  Fans, we're
moments away from the Longhorn Heritage Title Match, back to you, Gordon
Myers!

GM:  Thanks, Jason.

BW:  New theme music, same lumbering wreck.

GM:  Bucky Wilde, how can you say that?  How can you even THINK of
saying something like that after what we just saw?

BW:  What the heck are you yappin' about now, Gordo?

GM:  I'm talking about Percy Childes perpetuating a fraud on the entire
AWA!  That's not the LWC Silver City Championship title belt and you
know it, Bucky!

BW:  I know no such thing!  Percy says it's the belt - I believe him!

GM:  You would!  This is all a mindgame on the part of Percy Childes!

[Said lumbering wreck emerges from the back shortly after the song
starts.  Robert Donovan, challenger to the Longhorn Heritage
championship, is wearing a pair of black jeans, plain black boots, and a
silvery-white double-strapped singlet with "Redemption" printed across
the midriff.  Donovan's hands are heavily taped, and his left elbow is
adorned with a  white brace.  Donovan's hair, grey streaks and all, is
tied back, and the look in his eye says somebody is going home hurt
tonight.]

# Take a look in my mind, justify
 Hell, I might even sympathize... #

[Donovan stops at the front of the aisle, holding his hands in front of
his face before closing them and yelling, "In MAH hands, Nenshou! 
MINE!" before stalking the rest of the way down the aisle.]

# So c'mon, c'mon, c'mon get up, get up
So c'mon, c'mon, 'cmon get up, get up #

[The volume on the song picks up quite a bit as Donovan reaches the
ringside area, looking up with a cold glare at Nenshou.  He throws one
hand into the air in a "hook 'em horns" while making the universal "I
want the belt" gesture with his other hand.  He points a finger at Percy
Childes at ringside, dragging his thumb across his throat to the roar of
the crowd...

...which brings Nenshou into action, slingshotting himself over the
ropes onto a surprised Donovan!]

GM:  NENSHOU OVER THE TOP!!!

[But Donovan catches him in his waiting arms, shaking his head back and
forth as the crowd roars...

...and then LAUNCHES him several feet down the aisle with a fallaway
slam!]

GM:  GOOD GOD!!  GOOD GOD ALMIGHTY!!  DONOVAN JUST TOSSED HIM DOWN THE
AISLE!!

[An irate Percy Childes races around the corner, pointing and shouting
at Donovan as the big man gets back to his feet.  He points a finger at
Childes, waving it back and forth as he turns back towards the downed
Nenshou...]

GM:  We need Sweet Daddy Williams out here!  Childes is supposed to be
handcuffed to him!

[Donovan pulls Nenshou off the infield dirt by the arm...

...and WRAPS his massive right hand around the Longhorn Heritage
Champion's throat!]

GM:  Whoa!  Donovan is bringing the fight to Nenshou!  He's bringing the
fight to the Longhorn Heritage Champion!

[The seven footer prepares to chokeslam his rival to the infield dirt, a
move that would certainly turn the tide in his favor once the bell
rings...

...but Percy Childes sprints around the corner, carrying himself at
Donovan's back where he leaps up, jumping on the seven footer's back!]

GM:  CHILDES IS ON THE BACK OF DONOVAN!!  GET HIM DOWN FROM THERE!!

[And the crowd EXPLODES as Sweet Daddy Williams comes tearing down the
aisle from the locker room area.]

GM:  HERE HE COMES!!  THE MAN FROM HOTLANTA, GEORGIA!!

BW:  We're only about six hours away from there too, Gordo, so you can
bet some of his inbred relatives are in the building tonight.

[Williams hits the confrontation running, grabbing Childes by the back
of his suit jacket and yanking him down to the dirt to a big cheer!  He
slaps Donovan on the back, pointing to the ring...]

GM:  Donovan's got Nenshou up, dragging him down the aisle towards the
ring...

[And while he does so, Williams pulls Childes up by the arm - the latter
of which is kicking and screaming as he does so, dragging him towards
the ring as well where a pair of AWA officials are waiting...]

BW:  This isn't fair!  Percy's done nothing wrong!  Don't do this to
him!

GM:  Lock 'im up, boys!

[With Childes screaming and ranting, the AWA officials slap a steel
handcuff around his wrist...

...and then do the same to Sweet Daddy Williams!  Big cheer!]

GM:  They're cuffed together!  Oh yeah!

[Donovan hurls Nenshou under the ropes into the ring, the bell ringing
as the big man steps over the ropes into the squared circle.  Out on the
floor, Childes is trying to pull away from Williams but a hard tug from
the fan favorite knocks Percy back down on the ground.]

GM:  Haha!  I love it!

BW:  You would.  I can't believe the AWA would make Percy go through
with this.

GM:  Are you kidding me?

BW:  This is barbaric!  It's inhuman!

[Donovan pulls Nenshou off the mat, drilling him with a big right hand
that sends Nenshou stumbling back into the corner.  The Asian Assassin
attempts to fire back with a chop but Donovan simply shakes his head at
the effort.]

GM:  Donovan didn't even feel it!

[A second chop lands, blasting across the chest of Donovan who again
shakes his head, grinning at Nenshou...]

GM:  Another shot that Donovan just brushes off!

[Suddenly, the big man reaches out, grabbing Nenshou around the throat
with both hands...

...and hoisting him up into the air!]

GM:  CHOKE!!  HE'S GOT HIM UP!!

[And HURLS Nenshou back into the corner, his spine rattling as he hits
the buckles.  The big man grabs Nenshou by the arm, firing him across
the ring, lumbering across after him...

...and CONNECTING with a big running clothesline in the corner!]

GM:  CLOTHESLIIIIINE!

[Donovan steps out of the corner, throwing his arms apart with a roar as
the crowd cheers for him.  He turns back, waving his hands towards the
staggered Nenshou as he crouches down...]

GM:  Nenshou stumbles out of the corner...

[Right into a boot to the midsection, a blow that doubles up the
champion.  Donovan reaches down, hooking the gutwrench...]

GM:  He's going for the kill right here!  He's looking for that
gutwrench powerbomb!

[The big man nods once as he powers Nenshou up into the air, turning him
over...

...where Nenshou slips free, landing down on a knee behind Donovan.  As
the big man turns around, Nenshou lashes out backwards with a crescent
kick squarely in the chest!]

GM:  Ohh!  Nenshou caught him!

[The big kick staggers Donovan a bit, knocking him off-balance. 
Reaching back, Nenshou hooks the big man around the head and neck,
taking him over with a snapmare...]


"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!"
"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


[...and DRILLS Donovan with a hard kick to the spine!]

GM:  Good grief!  What a kick to the back!

[Nenshou sprints to the far ropes, rebounding off...

...and DRIVING both feet squarely into the face of Donovan with a low
dropkick!]

GM:  Cover for one!  For two!  

[And the crowd cheers as Donovan powers out, tossing Nenshou through the
air and down to the mat.

The camera cuts outside the ring where Percy Childes has pulled himself
onto the apron, shouting at the official for a slow count...

...and gets YANKED down off the apron by a grinning Sweet Daddy Williams
to the cheers of the crowd!]

GM:  Hehehe.

BW:  There's nothing funny about that, Myers!  Percy Childes could be
seriously hurt with that fat idiot out there pulling him off the apron
to the floor!  He could be very badly hurt!

GM:  Yeah and that'd be a real shame, I suppose.

BW:  It would be!

[Nenshou springs back to his feet, delivering a pair of stomps down into
the ribcage of Donovan.  He measures him, lifting his leg high, and
snapping it down in an axe kick on the ribs!]

GM:  Ohh!  Hard shot to the torso!

[The Longhorn Heritage Champion leaps up, dropping a knee down into the
ribs of Donovan...

...and slamming down an open hand palm strike onto the sternum!]

GM:  Outside the ring, Sweet Daddy Williams is shouting some
encouragement to his friend, Robert Donovan.  Remember, it was Sweet
Daddy Williams who took Nenshou to the limit at Memorial Day Mayhem and
came up just a bit short of walking out of there on that night with the
gold.

[Nenshou climbs to his feet, bouncing off the ropes, and DRIVING the
point of his elbow down into the ribcage!]

GM:  Good grief!  Some call that the powerdrive elbow but I call it
effective.

BW:  And quite the good call that is, Gordo.  Nenshou can absolutely
obliterate the ribs of a man with an elbow like that.

GM:  And with this barrage of assaults on the body, you have to assume
that Nenshou's looking for that moonsault that would finish off the big
man.

[The Asian Assassin gets to his feet, stomping the ribs again as the
crowd jeers.  Outside the ring, Percy Childes is shouting his approval
of his charge's actions.]

GM:  Percy Childes certainly likes what he's seeing so far, Bucky.

BW:  What's not to like?  Nenshou is poetry in motion - the Human
Highlight Reel!

[Nenshou delivers a trio of kicks to the ribs, forcing Donovan under the
ropes to the apron.  The champion grabs the top rope, slingshotting over
them...

...and swinging back to drive a pair of boots into the ribs, forcing the
big man back into the ring!]

GM:  Good grief!  What in the world was that, Bucky?

BW:  That's the kind of beautiful innovation you can expect in there
from the Longhorn Heritage Champion...

[Nenshou grabs the top rope with both hands, catapulting himself over
the ropes into a somersault senton across the chest of Donovan!]

GM:  Oh my!  And Nenshou certainly is doing a number on the seven footer
right now here in Durham, North Carolina, Bucky.

BW:  Donovan looks completely out of sorts right now.  Nenshou's got a
gameplan and he's executing it to perfection.  See, he doesn't need
interference from the Alliance or Percy!  

GM:  Remember, this match is being conducted under Locked Door rules. 
If anyone comes out here to interfere, it will result in an instant
disqualification!

[Nenshou drags Donovan to the center of the ring, flipping the big man
over onto his stomach.  The champion quickly ties up the leg, bridging
back to hook an inverted chinlock...]

GM:  Oh, look at that!  He's got his hands locked underneath the chin,
putting tremendous pressure on the ribs, neck, and back!

[From the floor, Childes grabs the middle rope, shouting "GIVE UP!! 
GIVE UP, DONOVAN!!" as Nenshou tries to wrench that submission out of
his challenger.]

GM:  Childes wants a submission but I don't think he'll get it out of
Donovan.

[Nenshou pulls harder, wrenching the neck of Donovan who cries out in
pain, clawing at the canvas as he tries to get to the ropes.  The
champion suddenly breaks the hold, backing off...

...and charging forward, dropping down into a baseball slide kick to the
ribs that forces Donovan under the ropes and out to the floor.  Childes
leans over him, shouting...]

"YOU'RE NOTHIN', DONOVAN!!  ABSOLUTELY NOTHING!!"

[Childes attempts a kick on Donovan but Williams tugs him closer,
threatening him with a right hand...]

GM:  Get him away from the challenger, Sweet Daddy!

[Williams does exactly that, pulling a struggling Childes around the
corner and leaving Donovan down on the floor as Nenshou steps out to the
apron, backing into the ringpost as he stares down at the dazed
Donovan...]

GM:  Donovan's up to a knee, rubbing the small of his back...

[Nenshou charges down the length of the apron, leaping off...

...and getting caught as Donovan pivots and DRIVES the champion into the
grassy outfield!]

GM:  OHHHHH!  GOOD GRIEF!!!

BW:  That'll knock the wind out of something - heck, that could bust up
some ribs!

[Donovan pushes up to his knees next to Nenshou, nodding at the cheering
crowd as he does the "I want the belt" gesture.]

BW:  We know you want the belt, jerky.  But that ain't gonna happen!

GM:  This one's not over yet and Robert Donovan just drastically changed
the odds in this one.  Nenshou got driven into the ground with that
powerslam counter and Donovan really did some damage.


"FIVE MINUTES HAVE EXPIRED!  FIVE MINUTES REMAIN!!"


GM:  We're at the halfway point!  Remember, only a ten minute time limit
is standard in these Longhorn Heritage Title matches and we just hit the
five minute mark.

[Donovan pushes up to his feet, reaching down to drag Nenshou off the
ground by the arm...

...and WHIPS him spinefirst into the steel barricade!]

GM:  OHHHH!  INTO THE STEEL GOES THE CHAMPION!!

[Nenshou collapses against the steel, his arms hanging over the railing
to stay on his feet as Donovan approaches, clutching his own ribs as he
draws near.  The big man grabs the arm, pointing towards the ring...

...and FIRES Nenshou into the hardest part of the ring, the apron
SLAMMING into the lower back of the champion!]

GM:  Good grief!

[Donovan pulls Nenshou up, shoving the Asian Assassin under the ropes
into the ring.  The seven footer grabs the top rope, pulling himself up
on the apron.  Nenshou rolls to a knee as Donovan goes to step over the
ropes...

...and pops up, spraying liquid into the face of Donovan!]

GM:  AHHHHH!  MIST!

BW:  It's the dreaded clear mist, Gordo!

GM:  It's the- the what?!

[Donovan frantically is rubbing at his eyes...

...and then suddenly stops just as Nenshou uncorks a spinning back kick,
causing Donovan to fall backwards, his leg getting caught in the ropes
so that he's danging upside down precariously.]

BW:  Brilliant!  Absolutely brilliant!

GM:  It was water?!

BW:  Of course!  You think he'd use the mist in front of the official
like that?

GM:  It wouldn't be the first time if he thought the title was in
jeopardy.

[Nenshou rolls under the ropes to the floor, turning around and throwing
a high kick into the ribs of Donovan.  He squares up, throwing chop
after chop into the ribs and chest of the seven footer as the referee
desperately tries to free the big man's leg from the ropes.]

GM:  Get him down from there, referee!

BW:  They're trying, Gordo!

[Nenshou throws spinning kick after spinning kick into the ribs of the
trapped Donovan.  The champion strides over to the timekeeper's table,
shoving the timekeeper to the floor as he picks up a steel chair,
folding it up...]

GM:  He's got a chair!  Nenshou's got a chair!

[Winding up, Nenshou approaches...

...and a desperate Sweet Daddy Williams just barely grabs the chair with
one hand, blocking his attempt to hit Donovan.]

GM:  Nenshou's trying to get himself disqualified!  He was gonna waffle
the challenger with that chair but Sweet Daddy Williams just stopped him
from-


"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!"
"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  NENSHOU NAILS SWEET DADDY WILLIAMS WITH THE CHAIR!!

[The blow across the back of an unsuspecting Williams leaves the fan
favorite down on the floor as Percy Childes shouts instructions to
Nenshou who throws the chair down, climbing up on the apron and
delivering a few more hard kicks to the ribs as Donovan gets his leg
free, slumping down on the apron, grabbing at his knee.]

GM:  Donovan finally gets free from the ropes but goodness, that could
have ended very, very badly for him.  His leg was wrenched in between
those ropes, fans, and that knee could be in real bad shape right now.


"THREE MINUTES REMAIN!!  THREE MINUTES!!"


GM:  Three minutes left, fans!  The pressure just increased on both of
these men.

BW:  Not on Nenshou.  Nenshou keeps the belt if this goes the distance.

GM:  You're absolutely right about that.  

[Nenshou grabs Donovan by the wrenched knee, dragging him back into the
ring.  The Longhorn Heritage Champion quickly pulls Donovan off the mat
by the arm, throwing a pair of chops to the throat that sends the big
man stumbling back to the corner.  The Asian Assassin backs across the
ring, going into a cartwheel, tumbling back into a handspring...

...and SAILS right into a raised big boot to the back of the head,
snapping Nenshou's head forward and knocking him flat!]

GM:  GOOD GRIEF!!  WHAT A COUNTER!!

[Donovan winces, shaking out his leg as he steps out of the corner,
reaching down to pull Nenshou up by the back of the trunks.  He pulls
him into a side waistlock, hoisting him up for a belly to back suplex...

...but Nenshou flips all the way over, landing on his feet on the
canvas.]

GM:  Nenshou flips out of the suplex!

[And as Donovan turns around, he gets a side kick into the midsection,
doubling him up.  Childes shouts, "CATTLEBUSTER!"]

GM:  Did he just say...?

[The crowd buzzes as Nenshou hooks a front facelock, hoisting Donovan
partially off the mat...

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

GM:  CATTLEBUSTER!!  NENSHOU HITS THE CATTLEBUSTER!!!

[Flipping Donovan to his back, Nenshou dives across, reaching back to
hook a leg.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THR-

[HUUUUUGE CHEER!!]

GM:  MY STARS!!  DONOVAN POWERS OUT!!  HE KICKS OUT WITH AUTHORITY!!


"TWO MINUTES REMAIN!!"

[And an angry Donovan sits straight up, eyes filled with rage.  Nenshou
winds up, throwing a kick to the jaw of the seated Donovan, knocking him
flat...

...but Donovan sits back up!]

GM:  He got up again!  Donovan is fired up!  That CattleBuster... it...
well, it did something to him, Bucky!

[The seven footer climbs off the mat, pointing a menacing finger at
Nenshou who backpedals, looking frantically out to Percy Childes whose
jaw has dropped...

...and then gets POPPED when a rising Sweet Daddy Williams makes Childes
pay for his client's actions!  HUGE CHEER!]

GM:  Nenshou's backing down!  He doesn't know what to do and Percy
Childes just got his jaw jacked so he won't be any help for him!

BW:  This isn't fair!  Nenshou doesn't speak English!  He's all alone
out there!  Gordo, I gotta go help him!

GM:  You stay right where you are!

[Donovan drills the cornered Nenshou with a right hand... and another...
and another to the jaw.  He grabs Nenshou by the hair, hobbling across
the ring, and SLAMS him facefirst into the buckles!]

GM:  OHHH!  HARD TO THE CORNER!!

[Nenshou stumbles away, falling to a knee in the center of the ring as
Donovan stalks towards him.  The big man nods his head at the cheering
crowd, grabbing Nenshou's arm in a full twist...

...and DRILLS him squarely in the chest with a punch!]

GM:  HEART PUNCH!!  HEART PUNCH!!

BW:  And if I'm not mistaken, I think that was a BLACKHEART Punch,
Gordo!

GM:   Robert Donovan may be about to take us on a trip down Memory Lane!

[Nenshou crumples from the heart punch, rolling out to the apron to
avoid a pin attempt...]


"SIXTY SECONDS!!!"


GM:  SIXTY SECONDS LEFT!!  COME ON, ROB!!

BW:  Are you kidding me, Gordo?!  You're supposed to be impartial!

[Donovan reaches over the ropes, dragging Nenshou to his feet.  He hooks
a front facelock on him, dragging him over the ropes so that his feet
are resting on the top rope.  The big man pauses, nodding to the roaring
fans who know exactly who this is a tribute to...

...and DRIVES Nenshou's skull into the canvas!]

GM:  DDT!!  MY STARS, WHAT A DDT!!

BW:  IT'S THE MODIFIED DDT!!  SHADES OF TEX VIOLENCE!!!

[Donovan flips Nenshou to his back, applying a lateral press.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THRE-

[But just before the three count comes down, the referee leaps up,
pointing at Nenshou's foot which is resting over the bottom rope...

...just a couple feet away from where Percy Childes is standing!]

GM:  Did he-?!

BW:  No way!  He's handcuffed to-

[BOOM!]

GM:  SWEET DADDY'S HAMMERING PERCY CHILDES!!

[The crowd roars as the fan favorite backs him against the steel
ringpost, battering Childes with right hand after right hand after right
hand!]

GM:  I think that's our answer!  Childes interfered and got that foot on
the ropes and-


"THIRTY SECONDS!!"


GM:  Come on, Rob!  Get it done!

[Donovan climbs to his feet, angrily looking out to the floor where
Williams has knocked Childes down to the floor but continues to hammer
him over and over again.  The seven footer reaches down, hauling Nenshou
up to his feet, drilling him with a right hand, sending him spiraling
away from Donovan...

...where he promptly SPEWS that green mist into the eyes of Sweet Daddy
Williams!]

GM:  OHHH!  THE MIST ON WILLIAMS!!

[Donovan grabs Nenshou from behind, pulling him back into the middle of
the ring.  He drives a knee up into the midsection, hooking a
gutwrench...]

GM:  He's got the gutwrench hooked!  He's going for the powerbomb again!


"FIFTEEN SECONDS!!!"


[The seven footer hoists Nenshou high into the air, turning him over...

...and DRIVING Nenshou down to the canvas below!]

GM:  POWERBOMB!!  DONOVAN PLANTS HIM!!!

[The big man staggers forward, dropping to a knee, and then throwing his
heavy frame down into a lateral press...]

GM:  He's got him down!  ONE!!!  TWO!!!  THRE-

[But Donovan proves to be JUST too close to the ropes where Percy
Childes reaches in, swinging for the fences with the urn in hand...

...and DRILLS Donovan in the cheek with it, knocking him off the downed
Nenshou as the bell rings!]

GM:  OHH!  WHAT A SHOT BY CHILDES!!

BW:  Childes saved the title!  He saved the title, daddy!

GM:  Or did he?!  I think Donovan might have gotten the pin before the
bell!  He might have-

BW:  No way, Gordo!  You're delusional!

GM:  The referee is out on the floor, conversing with the timekeeper and
the ring announcer.  What's it gonna be here?  What's the decision?

BW:  All I know is that Donovan is NOT the new champ.

GM:  How do you know that?!

BW:  He's not!  He can't be!

GM:  He hit the powerbomb!  He had this match won and-

[The voice of Phil Watson interrupts.]

PW:  Ladies and gentlemen... the referee has reached a decision.  After
consulting with the official timekeeper, referee Mickey Meekly has ruled
that...

...the TIME LIMIT HAS EXPIRED!!!

[The crowd jeers!]

PW:  This match is declared a DRAW!  Still the AWA Longhorn Heritage
Champion is Nenshou!

[The crowd is booing wildly as Nenshou rolls from the ring, grabbing the
now unhandcuffed Childes, staggering together down the aisle as Sweet
Daddy Williams rolls in, consoling Robert Donovan.]

GM:  The time limit expired - can we get five more minutes out here?

[Robert Donovan seems to be asking the official the same question but
Mickey Meekly doesn't seem inclined to give it to him.  The fans are
booing the decision as the referee bails out.]

GM:  Robert Donovan, in my opinion, should be the new Longhorn Heritage
Champion.  That man was robbed of the gold here tonight in Durham, North
Carolina, by Percy Childes!  Childes, yet again, has played a major role
in the end result of this matchup.

[The camera catches a final glimpse of Nenshou and Childes as they
vanish beyond the curtain and we fade to black.

We cut to the living room of a house, where two kids are playing with
plastic army men.  The little green army guys are spread out in attack
formations, with all kinds of objects being used as cover/sniping
positions/barricades/etc, but the kids don't seem real enthused.]

Kid #1: This is boring.  

Kid #2: I wish we had toys that could _really_ fight.

[Suddenly, a body is flung through the large front window with a loud
crash.  A hard-rock background track plays as the body gets to his
feet... wait, is that Calisto Dufrense?]

Kids: *gasp*

[And... is that Juan Vasquez running through the broken window to attack
him again?!]

Kids: Juan Vasquez!

[And... did James Monosso just kick down the front door to attack Alex
Martinez from behind while he was grappling with MAMMOTH Misuzawa in the
dining room for no apparent reason?!  And is that Nenshou leaping down
the staircase at Stevie Scott?  And why are Rough & Ready beating up the
mailman?  Oh, there's Violence Unlimited turning them around and
brawling with them on the lawn!]

Kids: WOAH!

[Yes, these two kids are about to have a very badly-acted simultaneous
cardiac arrest and orgasm.  It happens.  Especially when Supernova is
jumping off your kitchen cabinet to hit Sultan Azam Sharif with a flying
clothesline, Eric Preston is hiptossing Johnny Casanova across your
family room, and the Aces and First Family are brawling across your
driveway.  Joe Petrow takes a dish from the china cabinet and breaks it
across the back of Sweet Daddy Williams as he had Mark Langseth in a
headlock, Percy Childes and Count Adrian Bathwaite are in a shouting
match, Kolya Sudakov tries to Sickle Robert Donovan, who ducks... poor
Kolya hits the boys' father who was coming in to check out the noise. 
Then Anton Layton wanders by and double-stomps the poor guy.  Because he
can.]

AL: Ehehehehehehehe!

Kids: THIS IS AWESOME!

[And cue the sales pitch!] 

Announcer: And now you can bring the awesome home with new AWA action
figures from Hasbro!

[We cut to the product line, where action figures of all of our favorite
AWA characters stand in dramatic action figure poses~!]

Announcer: Relive the greatest matches!

[Stevie Scott Irish-Whips Juan Vasquez into the family entertainment
center!  Then we see the kids playing with the Scott and Vasquez action
figures.]

Announcer: Create new dream matches never before seen!

[Nenshou tries to blow mist at Calisto Dufrense, but he pulls the
kitchen door open to block!  Then we see the kids playing with the
Nenshou and Dufrense action figures.]

Announcer: Form brand new alliances and teams that you'd never see live!

[Danny Morton and Eric Cooper double-clothesline Vladimir Velikov in the
kitchen... then both grab for the paper towels to wipe off their hands
with disgusted 'yuck' expressions.  Then we see the kids playing with
these three action figures.]

Announcer: Perform the great signature moves of the AWA wrestlers, or
invent totally new ones!

[The magic of blue-screen editing makes it look like Alex Martinez is
doing a double-somersault chokeslam to Johnny Casanova.  Well, his body
is doing flips in the air as if someone were just spinning the footage
around (because that's exactly what it is.  Then we see the kids do the
same 'move' with the action figures.]

Announcer: The base set comes with the Crockett Colisseum ring and four
of the top stars in the AWA!

[Cut to a posed shot of Sweet Daddy, Velikov, Preston, and MAMMOTH. 
See, you have to buy the ring, and you get some
reasonably-popular-but-not-first-choice guys (plus one who is, but he's
off TV right now so this keeps him in exposure!) and then you HAVE to
spend money to get the popular guys!  Clever!]

Announcer: AWA Action Figures... get them today!  Because it's the only
way to get this close to the action... AND SURVIVE.

[With that, we cut to the post-fight devastation of the house... it
looks like a tornado went through here.  And exploded.]

Announcer: Ages 8 and up!

[As we return from commercial, we find footage marked "EARLIER TONIGHT."
 [We open up to a shot on the field of Durham Athletic Park, as we see
Jason Dane standing by with the team of Violence Unlimited. On this day,
Jackson Haynes has decided to forego his usual stars-and-bars
Confederate flag motif, opting to wear wrestling trunks in the style of
the American flag. As always, he wears a tri-corned, floppy cowboy hat
atop his head. Danny Morton is dressed in a similarly American
flag-styled boxer's robe, standing there with his arms folded across his
chest. The two look focused and ready for their match later tonight.]

JD: Violence Unlimited, you have a tough task ahead of you, as you take
on Royalty in a handicap match. This wasn't exactly the match you were
hoping for, as Rough N Ready's AWA National tag team titles are _not_ on
the line, tonight. Gentlemen, your thoughts?

[Jackson Haynes calmly(!?) removes his hat and turns to Jason Dane.]

JH: Boy, you know what they say happens when you assume.

[He remains calm, cool, and collected...which ironically makes Haynes
seem even MORE volatile and deranged.]

JH: And the fact that you're _assuming_ that this ain't a match that we
want makes you the biggest a-

JD: Hey! Kids are watching!

[A slight grin forms on Haynes' weather-beaten face.]

JH: Heh. Well, boy, just know that even if the tag team titles ain't on
the line, this is _exactly_ the sorta' of match we wanted! 

JD: Really?

DM: You see, Dane, Royalty tried to strip away our pride! Our dignity!
Our self-respect! They forced us to kiss Mark Langseth's feet! Do you
know how that made us feel?

JD: ...angry?

[Suddenly, Morton springs to life, slapping himself repeatedly in the
head and lets loose a yell of frustration.]

DM: AHHHH!!! YOU'RE DAMN RIGHT WE'RE ANGRY!!!

[He places both of his hands on his head, seething with rage.]

DM: We've been carrying that shame with us for months! We want those tag
team titles, don't get us wrong, but there's something more important to
us, Dane...our dignity! Rough N Ready'll have to put those titles up
again some day...but tonight ain't about business! It's personal!

[Haynes spins Dane around.]

JH: If Royalty was capable of formin' a thought in that half a brain
that they share 'tween the four of'em, they'd of just stayed away! Ya'
don't go tuggin' on Superman's cape! Ya' don't poke a sleeping tiger in
the face with a stick! AND YA' SURE AS HELL DON'T MESS WITH VIOLENCE
UNLIMITED!

[POP! Haynes then begins to pace around, clearly worked up now, leaving
Morton to finish it up.]

DM: There's no place in this country for your "royalty" and "nobility"
bull on _this_ day, boys! Tonight, we're celebrating Independence day
just like our founding fathers' did! By...

[Suddenly, Haynes walks back into view, taking control of the
microphone.]

JH: BY WHUPPIN' THE ASS OF A KING!!!

[BIG POP! Danny Morton can only shake his head and laugh, as he follows
Haynes off-camera, leaving a mortified Jason Dane standing there.] 

JD: Uh...strong words. STRONG words from Violence Unlimited. Please
excuse the language, folks.

[A sigh.]

JD: Mark Langseth may be in for one heck of a night here tonight at
Wrestlerock!

[The footage fades away to leave Gordon and Bucky standing at ringside
where they have been joined by the interim Chairman of the Championship
Committee, Jon Stegglet.]

GM:  Welcome back to Wrestlerock, fans, and as you can see, we have been
joined by a very special guest.  Mr. Stegglet, welcome to Wrestlerock!

JS:  Thanks, Gordon.  It's a great honor for me to be out here tonight
in front of all these great AWA fans here in Durham, North Carolina.

[The crowd cheers for themselves!]

BW:  Not to be rude or anything, Stegglet, but... why ARE you here?

JS:  I'm actually out here to talk about the last match - the one we
just saw between Robert Donovan and Nenshou.

BW:  Oh, you mean Nenshou's successful defense of the Longhorn Heritage
Title?

JS:  That's correct, Bucky... however, the Championship Committee
remains unconvinced that that is what we saw.

BW:  What the heck you talkin' 'bout?  We saw the bell ring, we heard
the draw announced, and we saw Nenshou walk out of here with the gold! 
Case closed, daddy!

JS:  Well, sometimes you have to re-open a case.  The Championship
Committee held an emergency session during the commercial break and we
have decided that pending further review of the video tape to see
whether or not the time limit truly expired before the three count came
down... the Longhorn Heritage Title is HELD UP effective immediately!

BW:  Held up?!  What kind of game are you trying to play here,
Stegglet?!

JS:  No games, Bucky.  We're just trying to make sure the right man
walked out of that ring with the title here tonight.  The Committee will
be meeting immediately after the show to begin our review of the footage
and we hope to have a decision reached before the next Saturday Night
Wrestling.

GM:  Well, that's a big announcement here tonight and we thank you, Mr.
Stegglet, for coming out here to let us know.  The Longhorn Heritage
Title has been HELD UP pending further review - we have NO champion at
the moment!

BW:  Tell that to Percy Childes!  He's got the belt in his hands and he
has no intention of giving it up.

GM:  You're probably right about that.  Fans, coming up next, we've got
our big three-on-two handicap match pitting the National Tag Team
Champions, Rough N Ready, with their partner, the so-called King of
Wrestling, Mark Langseth, taking on the Number One contenders to those
titles, Violence Unlimited!  The rivalry between the champs and the
Number One contenders has been raging for months but took a very
different turn back at The Main Event when Rough N Ready made Jackson
Haynes and Danny Morton KISS the feet of Mark Langseth!  That's what
leads us here tonight for this big, big showdown.  Now, let's go up to
Phil Watson for the introductions!

[Crossfade to the ring where Watson is standing.]

PW:  The following contest is a HANDICAP match scheduled for one fall
with a thirty minute time limit.

Introducing first... wrestling as a unit for the very first time, at a
total combined weight of 848 pounds, they are the AWA National Tag
Champions, Dave
Cooper and Eric Matthew Somers, together known as Rough 'N Ready, and
the KING of WRESTLING, Mark Langseth, collectively known as ROYALTY!!

[No music plays, and there is no sign that Royalty is on their way to
the ring.]

GM: Well, that was an unusually subdued introduction for Royalty, as
they normally

BW: LOOK AT THAT!

[A curtain near the right side of the ringside entrance has suddenly
dropped, revealing a band.  Not a wedding band, a ROCK band. Ready to
rock!  Ready to WRESTLEROCK!!]

GM: IT'S ZZ TOP!

[Forgetting all about who is supposed to be coming out, the thunderous
ovation breaks out over the Durham Bulls Athletic Park at this
unexpected treat.]

GM: Fans, ZZ Top is set to perform for this crowd after the wrestling
action is over tonight, but they aren't scheduled to be out here at
this-

BW: Shaddup, Dusty Hill's gonna speak!

[Indeed, the smiling lead singer (at least I think he's
smiling...through the beard it's hard to be sure) for ZZ Top has one
hand in the air and another on the mic as he looks to address the
crowd.]

DH: Hello Durham!

[Obligatory "Hey, that's my town!" pop]

DH: You know we're gonna rock things for you tonight, but our management
has worked out something with your hero, Joe Petrow, so we hope you
enjoy this special little number just for you!

[The pop quickly turns to confused murmuring, as Dusty backs off the mic
to give his cue to the band.]

BW: Yeah!  Give it up for our hero Joe Petrow!

GM: Oh my stars...I get the feeling that ZZ Top are not big wrestling
fans, and Joe Petrow got in the ear of some clueless management flunky
to-

[ZZ Top bursts into song, playing something nobody has ever heard them
play before.  It is both familar and weird.  Very very weird.  But Dusty
Hill is on the mic to give it the old college (did he go to college?)
try]

DH: [sings] They were, sent to the gates! Ride the tides of fate! Ride
the tides of fate! They were, sent to the gates! In the burning all are
yearning, for life to be.

[Even though it's ZZ Top, the crowd starts to boo this ill-advised
southern rock cover of Emerson, Lake, and Palmer's rendition of "Great
Gate of Kiev".  ZZ Top appear confused at the reaction, but bravely
soldier on...

Meanwhile, the curtain on the left side of the ringside entrance now
drops, revealing King Langseth sitting in a royal throne in his royal
robe, Dave Cooper and Eric Matthew Somers standing on either side, and a
beaming Joe Petrow behind them all in Wall Street banker suspenders, all
in the exact same pose as the "Hustle. Royalty. Respect." t-shirt that
Rough 'n Ready wears.  Through thunderous booing, lackeys set up the red
carpet from King Langseth's throne and roll it down towards the ringside
area.  Langseth rises and walks to the ring, Rough 'N Ready following
immediately behind, with Petrow bringing up the rear, after quickly
running over to give the thumbs up sign to an increasingly exasperated
ZZ Top]

BW: A fitting tribute by ZZ Top towards Royalty, Gordo!  Finally,
Southern and Progressive Rock are one!  And they go together like peanut
butter and jelly!

GM: More like peanut butter and sardines.  Well, I hope that ZZ Top's
management have their resumes in order, because I think they're going to
need them very, very soon!

[Royalty are nearly at ringside, and Dusty Hill appears desperate to
hurry and wrap this abomination up]

DH: [sings] There's no end to my life, no beginning to my death: Death
is life!

[The long instrumental solo ending is cut abruptly short, as ZZ Top
quickly exit their perch.  Petrow has yanked the mic out of Phil
Watson's hands, either oblivious to the crowd reaction, or simply
looking to rib them further:]

JP: Ladies and gentlemen, how about a big hand for Royalty's official
minstrels, Z! Z! TOP!!!

[The boos are a bit subdued, out of respect for ZZ Top, who obviously
had no idea what they were getting into.  A smirking Petrow hands the
mic off to Phil Watson who shakes his head.]

PW:  And their opponents...

[The sounds of Motley Crue's "Shout At The Devil" kicks in to a HUUUUGE
CHEER!  Soon, the crowd is singing along...]

"SHOUT!"

"SHOUT!"

"SHOUT!"

"SHOUT!"

[As the lyric "SHOUT AT THE DEVIL!" hits, the curtain tears apart to
reveal a fired-up Jackson Haynes and Danny Morton to a MAMMOTH ROAR from
the crowd!]

PW:  They are the Number One contenders to the AWA National Tag Team
Titles - at a combined weight of 595 pounds... "THE HAMMER" JACKSON
HAYNES... DANNY MORTON...

VIIIIIIIOOOOOLENNNNNNNCE UNNNNLIMMMMMITED!!

[The burly duo is making their way down the aisle, tearing off their
entrance attire en route...

...and upon hitting the ring, they make a bee-line for their opponents!]

GM:  HERE WE GO!!  HERE WE GO!!

"DING!  DING!  DING!"

[Mark Langseth dives from the ring, joining a panicked Joe Petrow out on
the floor as Petrow shouts, "THAT'S ILLEGAL!!  RING THE BELL!!"]

GM:  HAYNES AND SOMERS!!  COOPER AND MORTON!!

[The crowd is going NUTS at the sight of the champions and their top
contenders doing battle in the center of the ring.  Dave Cooper quickly
proves to be no match in the brawling department with the American
Murder Machine as Morton hammers him back into the ropes before knocking
him over them and down to the floor with a standing clothesline!]

GM:  OHHH!  Morton clears out Cooper!

[With Somers and Haynes enjoying a more even brawling battle, Morton
rushes in to aid his partner.  Morton spins Somers around, blasting him
across the chest with a knife-edge chop...]

GM:  Oh!  What a chop!

[Haynes grabs Somers, turning him back towards him, and drilling him
with a left hand squarely between the eyes!]

GM:  And a hard shot by the Hammer!

[Morton grabs the shoulder of the bigger man, turning him again, and
cracking him with an elbow to the jaw!]

GM:  Good grief!

[Haynes shakes his head, pulling Somers back around and smashing his
elbow down across the crown of the skull!]

BW:  What the heck is this, Gordo?!  What is this idiot Meekly doing?!

[With a smirk, Morton grabs the arm of Eric Matthew Somers, flinging him
across the ring...

...and rushing forward, colliding with a big time shoulder tackle that
staggers the bigger half of the National Tag Team Champions!]

GM:  Big tackle by Morton!

[Haynes grabs the top rope, shaking it a few times before he spins,
sprinting towards Somers...

...and SMASHING his skull into the big man's, toppling him over the
ropes and down to the floor alongside his partners!]


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  HAYNES TAKES- 

[HUUUUUUGE CHEER!]

GM:  THEY'RE GOING OUT AFTER 'EM!!  VIOLENCE UNLIMITED'S NOT TAKING ANY
CHANCES HERE TONIGHT IN DURHAM!!

[The crowd erupts as Haynes and Morton spill out to the floor, a Morton
right hand to the skull of Dave Cooper sending him falling back into the
steel barricade.  Haynes takes a swing at Joe Petrow who just barely
scampers away, shouting in Haynes' direction and then at the official.]

BW:  Joe Petrow wants them disqualified for coming after him and I think
he's right!

GM:  RIGHT?!  How could he be right?!  He's not even in the match!

BW:  That's why he shouldn't be coming after him!

GM:  Then tell him to get out of the way!

[Haynes grabs Eric Matthew Somers by the arm, dragging him off the floor
to his feet, wheeling him around...]

GM:  LOOK OUT!!

["The Hammer" hurls Somers into the steel barricade, the railing
actually buckling under the weight of the big man, breaking apart from
the next section of railing and toppling over into the front row of
fans!]


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  Watch your hands and feet out there, fans!  This is getting out of
control already and it's just getting started!

[Jackson Haynes marches after his fallen foe, pulling the hurting Somers
off the leaning railing...

...and ducks down, hooking Somers like he's going for a bodyslam!]

GM:  HE'S GONNA SLAM HIM!!

[Haynes looks to power the 350 pounder up into the air but Somers is
having none of that, driving the point of his elbow down onto the temple
of the Hammer.  A second elbow lands as well, breaking up Haynes'
grip...

...and then Somers returns the favor, scooping Haynes off the grass,
spinning around...]

GM:  NO, NO!


"CLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANG!"
"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  SLAAAAAM!   HE SLAMMED HIM ON THE STEEL RAILING!!!

[Somers shouts down at the sprawled-out Haynes, turning away to stumble
back towards the ring where Mark Langseth is shouting instructions from
around the corner from the fighting.  Dave Cooper has managed to get an
edge on Danny Morton and fires him under the ropes as Somers approaches.
 The two men get back into the ring.]

GM:  Both members of the National Tag Team Champions are in now - what
the heck is Mark Langseth doing?

BW:  Staying fresh.  He's the cleanup hitter, Gordo.

GM:  He's a coward is what he is.  He got himself into this situation
and now he wants to stand out there and hide from the men who he made
kiss his feet a few months ago.

[The tag champions fire Morton into the ropes...

...and knock him flat with a double shoulder tackle.  Cooper nods,
exiting the ring at Somers' insistence as the big man backs into the
ropes, slowly walking off with his right arm cocked...]

GM:  ELLLLBOOOOW!

BW:  BOOOM!

GM:  A 350 pound elbowdrop from Eric Matthew Somers!

[Somers rolls into a lateral press as Marty Meekly dives to the mat to
count.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!! 

[But Morton kicks out with ease, nowhere close to being finished off by
the big man.  Somers climbs to his feet slowly, glaring down at Morton,
and starts swinging his big right arm around and round...

...and DROPS a second big elbow!]

GM:  ANOTHER ONE!!  That'll knock the wind out of Professor Pain!

[Somers rolls into a lateral press again, still only earning a two count
before Morton kicks out.]

GM:  It's gonna take more than a couple of big elbowdrops to put Danny
Morton down for a three count, Bucky.

BW:  Well, it's a good thing that Royalty's got more than a couple
elbowdrops.

[Somers rises to his feet, slapping the outstretched hand of Dave Cooper
who rushes through the ropes, pulling Morton up to his feet.  He
promptly hammerlocks the arm behind the powerhouse from Oklahoma...

...and HURLS him shoulderfirst into the top turnbuckle!]

GM:  OHHH!  HE HITS THE CORNER HARD!!

[Morton stumbles backwards into the waiting arms of Dave Cooper who
cranks the left arm into a hammerlock again, hoisting Morton off the
mat...

...and drops him down on top of his own arm with a belly to back
suplex!]

GM:  Right down on the arm!  Good grief!

BW:  You can break the man's arm with a move like that, Gordo.

[Out on the floor, Joe Petrow can be heard shouting advice to his charge
as Cooper nods, stomping the left shoulder a few times.  Mark Langseth
quickly gets up on the apron, sticking out his hand...]

GM:  Oh, NOW he wants in there!

BW:  Of course!  It's the perfect strategy!

[Cooper smirks, slapping the hand of the Hall of Famer who gleefully
steps through the ropes.  He walks around the downed Morton, waving at
the jeering crowd...

...and then stomps the shoulder!]

BW:  Oh yeah!  What a move!

GM:  Huh?

[Langseth backs off, "measuring" Morton...

...and then stomps the shoulder again!]

GM:  What the heck is he doing, Bucky?

BW:  He's putting forth one of the best-laid offensive plans I've ever
seen!

GM:  He's... he's what?!

[Langseth nods, moving to tag out...

...but the voice of Joe Petrow breaks his movement.]

GM:  What is Petrow saying?

[The camera cuts to the Royalty mastermind as he shouts...]


"ONE!  MORE!  TIME!"  "ONE!  MORE!  TIME!"  "ONE!  MORE!  TIME!"


[Langseth points to Petrow, grinning broadly as he walks back towards
the downed Morton, stomping his foot a half dozen times on the canvas...

...and then DRIVES it down on Morton's shoulder!]

BW:  OHHHH MY!!  WHATTA MOVE!!  DID YOU SEE THAT, GORDO!?

GM:  I saw it.  This is ridiculous.  Mark Langseth is trying to make a
joke out of this match... and he just tagged back out to Dave Cooper.

[Cooper slips back through the ropes, grabbing Morton's left arm and
pinning it down to the canvas with his left foot...

...and leaps into the air, bringing his right knee down on the bicep!]

GM:  OHHH!  Now THAT'S an impressive move, Bucky.

BW:  I won't argue that.  Dave Cooper's the man that they call "The
Professional" for a reason.  He's one of the best in the world in that
ring and really knows how to hurt a man.

[Kneeling on the arm, Cooper twists the wrist and forearm into a short
twist, bending it over his calf and then sits back on it, increasing the
pressure.  Morton sits up in pain, trying to wriggle free but a
well-placed right hand to the jaw knocks him back down.]

GM:  And out here on the floor, Jackson Haynes is finally starting to
stir.  That slam on the steel was horrific!  I'm surprised the man can
even WALK after that!

BW:  Oh, let's not be a drama queen, Gordo.  It's not that much worse
than a slam on the floor - maybe not even as bad!

GM:  Should I call him over here and have him try it out on you?

BW:  I'm needed here.

[After a few moments of pressure on the injured limb, Cooper climbs back
to his feet, grabbing the arm to pull Morton off the mat.  He does the
armtwist again, dragging Morton over into the corner where he wraps the
arm around the top rope, and SMASHES his elbow down across the
shoulder!]

GM:  Dave Cooper's staying on the arm... ohh!  Somers takes a shot as
well!

[The crowd jeers Eric Matthew Somers for the double axehandle blow
across the shoulder that sends Morton staggering away...

...where Mark Langseth grabs the hurting arm, snapping it down over the
top rope as he drops off the apron!]

GM:  OHHHH!

[Morton stumbles backwards, falling chestfirst to the mat in the middle
of the ring.  A sneering Cooper approaches, shouting something at the
protesting official who tries to back him off...

...and then settles into a straddle, reaching down to hook the arm under
his armpit, yanking back on it!]

GM:  Ohh, he sinks that armbar in deep, fans!  And Danny Morton may be
in some trouble here!

[The official kneels down in front of Morton's face, asking him if he
wants to quit.]

GM:  The referee's right there to check on Danny Morton but the tough
guy from Oklahoma says no, he won't quit!  It's gonna take a lot to make
him submit, I think, Bucky.

BW:  You may be right but everyone's got their pain limit that they just
can't survive.  

GM:  If Danny Morton has one of those, we haven't seen it yet.

[Cooper continues to crank back on the arm, screaming "ASK HIM!" at the
official who obliges...

...and gets an unprintable word for his efforts.]

GM:  Uhhh.  I'm sorry about that, fans.  Danny Morton doesn't always
keep in mind that we've got young children watching this show.

BW:  Neither does Haynes.  Buncha savages.

[Cooper suddenly gets up, dropping a pair of stomps onto the back of the
injured shoulder...

...and slaps the hand of a waiting (and grinning) Eric Matthew Somers.]

BW:  HERE COMES THE PAIN!

[Somers steps into the ring, slamming his open palm into his chest three
times before taking a three step run, leaping up...]

GM:  SPLAAAAAA-

[HUUUUUUGE CHEER!]

GM:  HE MISSED!!  HE MISSED THE SPLASH!!

[Morton, having rolled out of the way, pushes up to his knees with his
right hand.  He looks up to his corner, spotting Jackson Haynes still
out on the floor, clutching his back in pain with an AWA medicial team
member standing next to Haynes.]

GM:  Haynes can't make the tag!  Haynes is still hurting and I don't
know if he's going to be able to get back in there, Bucky.

BW:  If he can't, this became a bigger handicap match than we thought!

GM:  It certainly did.

[Morton edges to the ropes, pulling himself up with his right hand as he
leans back against the VU corner buckles, grabbing his left shoulder as
Somers pushes up, clutching his ribs...]

GM:  Both men back to their feet...

[Morton rushes out of the corner, throwing a big dropkick that knocks
Somers stumbling backwards.  He lands strategically on his right side,
pushing up to crawl back to the corner again where he looks out to
Jackson Haynes who shoves aside the AWA medical staff, moving towards
the corner.]

GM:  Haynes is trying to get up on the apron!  He's gonna tag in!

[Somers charges across the ring with a roar, trying to squash a
distracted Morton against the buckles...

...but the American Murder Machine sidesteps, sending Somers crashing
chestfirst into the corner!]

GM:  HE MISSES THE AVALANCHE AS WELL!!

BW:  Eric Matthew Somers is having NO luck here tonight in Durham!

[Morton slips in behind Somers, wrapping his arms around the 350
pounder's waist.]

GM:  My stars!  He's going for the Backdrop Driver!

[The big man from Oklahoma plants his feet, ready to power Somers up
into the air...

...but suddenly peels away, clutching his arm in pain.]

GM:  He couldn't do it!  He can't get him up!

[Suddenly, Joe Petrow leaps up on the apron, providing enough of a
distraction for Dave Cooper to slip back in, grabbing a front facelock
with the injured arm stretched out...

...and DRIVES Morton down to the canvas with a single-arm DDT!]

GM:  OHHH!  Good grief!  That's the kind of thing that'll do big damage
to a shoulder!

BW:  You can call it Divorce Court 'cause it ALWAYS causes a separation!

[Cooper rolls back out to the floor as Somers staggers out of the
corner.  He reaches down, dragging Morton back to his feet by the hair
as Jackson Haynes climbs up on the apron...]

GM:  Jackson Haynes is finally up on the apron and-

[Somers grabs the injured arm, HURLING Morton spinefirst into the corner
to the jeers of the crowd.  Moving to the buckles, Somers turns his back
on Morton, leaning back against him...]

GM:  No, no... look out here...

[Somers leans out of the corner...

...and then SLAMS his entire body back into the buckles!]

GM:  OHHH!  350 POUNDS SLAMMED INTO DANNY MORTON!!!

[The big man steps out of the corner, slapping the hand of Dave Cooper
who steps back in, throwing a trio of forearms to the jaw of Danny
Morton.]

GM:  Morton's trapped in the corner...

[Each grabbing an arm, Cooper and Somers pull Morton from the corner...

...and then SLAAAAAM him back into the buckles!]

GM:  OHHH!  GOOD GRIEF, BUCKY!!

BW:  Excellent teamwork on display by the champions!  That's why they've
held those titles for nearly a year now!  That's why they've beaten
EVERYONE the AWA has put in front of them!  That's why-

GM:  Oh, be quiet!

[Somers steps out of the ring as Cooper drags Morton out to the middle
of the ring by the injured limb.  Cooper goes into a full armtwist
again, twisting the arm into a hammerlock behind Morton's body, hoisting
him up, and slamming him down on his own arm!]

GM:  Right DOWN on the arm!

[Cooper dives down on Morton, applying a press.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THR-

[The crowd roars as Jackson Haynes dives onto Cooper's back, slamming
rights and lefts down on the back.  The official steps in, shouting at
Haynes, forcing him back out to the apron as Cooper angrily gets up. 
The Professional points a finger at Haynes, stomping the shoulder once,
twice, three times with Morton crying out in pain on the last one.]

GM:  Dave Cooper is trying to severely injure Danny Morton here tonight
in Durham, fans.  The American Murder Machine DESPERATELY needs to get
out of here.  He needs to make the tag to his partner.

[Cooper reaches down, dragging Morton off the mat... and getting a right
hand to the gut!]

GM:  Ohh!  Morton caught him on the way up!

[A second right hand to the gut knocks Cooper a couple steps back. 
Morton climbs to his feet, winding up again, and cracking Cooper in the
jaw with a forearm shot that sends Cooper falling back, a few steps
closer to the VU corner where Haynes tries to take a swing at him as
well...]

GM:  Morton's on his feet!  Trying to get there!

[Another right hand is on the way when Cooper blocks it with his left
hand and then SLAMS his forearm into the left shoulder of Morton,
sending him staggering backwards towards the wrong corner...

...which is where Cooper sends him with a handful of trunks!]


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  SHOULDERFIRST TO THE STEEL POST!!  MY STARS, THAT MIGHT DO IT!!

[Cooper waits, hands on knees, shouting "COME ON!" at Morton as he slips
free from the buckles, stumbling out...

...and getting hoisted into the air by the upper thighs, rotating...]

GM:  SPINEBUSTER!!  SPINEBUSTER!!  SPINEBUSTER!!

[Cooper swings his arms out in a "it's over" gesture as he applies a
lateral press.]

GM:  WE'VE GOT ONE!!  WE'VE GOT TWO!!  WE'VE GOT THR-

[But the American Murder Machine is not done yet!]

GM:  Morton kicks out again!  He won't stay down!  He will not stay
down!

[Cooper immediately gets up, frowning at the official as he reaches over
and slaps the hand of Eric Matthew Somers.  The big man steps in,
pulling Morton off the mat...

...and THROWING him down with a thunderous bodyslam near the ropes!]

GM:  Big slam by Somers and-

BW:  LANGSETH WANTS THE TAG!!

[At the shouts of Joe Petrow, Mark Langseth sticks out his hand.]

GM:  Mark Langseth is FINALLY willing to tag back into this match!

[With a nod, Somers slaps the hand of Langseth.  The former World
Champion grabs the top rope with both hands as Somers and Cooper each
grab the top rope as well...]

GM:  What in the-

BW:  CATAPULT!

[The two members of the National Tag Team Champions tug the rope hard,
propelling Langseth over the ropes...

...and DOWN onto the knees of Danny Morton!  HUUUUGE CHEER!]

GM:  MORTON GOT THE KNEES UP!!  HE GOT THE KNEES UP!!

[Langseth rolls off Morton, clutching his torso as Morton rolls to his
knees, crawling across the ring quickly...]

GM:  He's getting there!  He's on the way!  He's-

[BIG CHEER!]

GM:  TAG!!  TAG!!

[Jackson Haynes charges through the ropes, yanking Mark Langseth right
up to his feet by the hair.]

GM:  Haynes pulls Langseth off the mat...

[The Hammer hurls the former World Champion into the buckles, charging
across...]

GM:  CLOTHESLINE IN THE CORNER!!

[Grabbing the arm, Haynes fires him across again, charging after him...]

GM:  ANOTHER ONE!!  CORNER TO CORNER CLOTHESLINES BY THE HAMMER!!

[As Langseth stumbles out of the corner, Haynes sidesteps...

...and DRILLS Langseth in the back of the head with a clothesline that
resembles a Louisville Slugger to the noggin!]

GM:  OHHHHHHH!

[Haynes uses his boot to flip Langseth to his back, dropping into a
cover.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THR-

[Fearing the worst, Joe Petrow reaches in before the three count can
come down, dragging Haynes out to the floor...]

GM:  PETROW YANKS OUT HAYNES!!  

[And the Royalty mastermind starts reading Haynes the riot act, shouting
at him, jabbing his finger into the chest...

...and gets CLOCKED with a left hand between the eyes, knocking him
flat!]

GM:  HAYNES FLOORS PETROW!!  They had this thing won, Bucky!

BW:  Prove it!

[The Hammer rolls back into the ring, grabbing the rising Langseth by
the back of the hair.  The official steps in, protesting the hairgrab,
getting tangled up with the grapplers...

...which allows Langseth to DRIVE his foot back into the groin of
Haynes!]

GM:  OHHHH!  LOW BLOW!!

[Langseth shoves off, dashing to the ropes...]

GM:  NO SWEA-

[The swinging neckbreaker keeps on going, all the way around...

...and DOWN into the backslide!]

GM:  BACKSLIDE!!  ONE!!  TWO!!  THRE-

[Dave Cooper slips in, burying a boot to the ribs of Haynes to break up
the backslide.  The Professional stays in the ring, ignoring the
official, and drops down boot after boot to the head and neck of
Haynes...

...which brings in a hurting Danny Morton, charging across the ring...]

GM:  In comes Mort- OHHHHHH!

[The crowd ERUPTS as Morton leaves his feet, connecting with a flying
shoulderblock that sends Cooper sailing THROUGH the ropes and all the
way out to the floor!]

GM:  MORTON CLEARS COOPER!  MORTON CLEARS COOPER!!

[Climbing back to his feet, Morton DRILLS Somers with a forearm shot
before he can get into the ring.  He grabs a handful of hair, throwing
right hand after right hand to the skull, trying to batter Somers off
the apron...]

GM:  MORTON'S HAMMERING AWAY ON SOMERS!!

[Jackson Haynes drags Langseth off the mat, pulling him into a standing
headscissors...]

GM:  Oh my!  He's got Langseth set up!  He's got-

[With a roar, Haynes powers Langseth up into the air, holding him high
for a second...

...and then THROWS him down violently to the canvas!]

GM:  POWERBOMB!!  HE PLANTED HIM!!!

[Haynes throws himself across Langseth's chest, reaching back to hook a
leg.]

GM:  HE'S GOT HIM!!  ONE!!  TWO!!  THRE-

[Joe Petrow again acts out of desperation, this time pulling the referee
under the ropes and out to the floor!]

GM:  HE PULLED OUT THE REF!  PETROW PULLED OUT THE REF!!

[The official is shocked, shouting at Petrow who balls up a right
hand...

...and gets shoved right down on his rear by Marty Meekly!  BIG CHEER!]

GM:  MEEKLY SHOVES DOWN PETROW!!

[And with authority, Meekly shouts, "YOU!  YOU'RE OUTTA HERE!" to
another huge roar from the crowd!]

GM:  He just ejected Petrow from ringside!

BW:  WHAT?!  On whose authority?!  

GM:  The AWA Championship Committee!  

BW:  He's a licensed manager!

GM:  Who has interfered TWICE to keep his clients from losing this
match!

[An angry Jackson Haynes climbs back to his feet, calling over Danny
Morton as Haynes drags Langseth up to his feet.  Outside the ring, a
screaming and protesting Joe Petrow is heading away from ringside,
stopping to whisper something to Dave Cooper as he does so...]

GM:  Get him out of here, ref!

[The American Murder Machine backs off, lowering his fist down into a
three point stance as Haynes steadies the Hall of Famer...]

GM:  HERE!  HE!  COMES!

[But as Morton charges, Eric Matthew Somers gets into the ring, shoving
Langseth aside and taking the brunt of the football tackle himself,
knocking him backwards and into the ropes where he falls back, his arms
getting trapped in between the top and middle ropes!]

GM:  HE'S CAUGHT IN THE ROPES!  HE'S CAUGHT IN THE ROPES!!

[Jackson Haynes spins around, wrapping his hands around the throat of
Eric Matthew Somers as Danny Morton pulls Langseth off the mat, wrapping
his arms around the waist...]

GM:  He's going for the Backdrop Driver!  He's going for-

[Suddenly, Dave Cooper slides back in, rearing his right hand
baaaaaaaaack...]


"CRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!"
"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  WHAT THE HECK?!  HE HIT MORTON WITH-

[Danny Morton collapses to the mat, Mark Langseth falling on top of him
as Cooper rolls back out, pointing out the situation to the official who
is still trying to force out Joe Petrow...]

GM:  LANGSETH'S ON TOP!!  ONE!!  TWO!!  THREEEEEEEE!!!


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


PW:  Ladies and gentlemen... here are your winners...

ROOOOOOYALLLLLTY!

[Dave Cooper seizes the moment to pull Mark Langseth from the ring, the
alleged King barely able to stand on his own as Somers rolls out as
well.  The three come together in the aisle, joining a laughing Joe
Petrow as the quartet starts to back down the aisle towards the locker
room.]

GM:  Royalty stole this one, Bucky!  Even you have to admit that!

BW:  Are you kidding me?!  It's another glorious moment for Mark
Langseth, Joe Petrow, and the National Tag Team Champions!  Langseth
just pinned one-half of the National Tag Team Title Number One
Contenders!  He truly is the King of Wrestling, daddy!

GM:  Joe Petrow slipped that... was it his cell phone again?!  He
slipped that in to Dave Cooper who used it to great effect on Danny
Morton!

[A furious Jackson Haynes kneels down next to his partner, glaring down
the aisle at their retreating rivals who are mockingly waving at
Haynes.]

BW:  Well, I guess we won't need to talk about that title match for 'em!

GM:  This isn't the end of this one, Bucky.  You can be guaranteed of
that!

BW:  I kinda thought you might say that.

GM:  Fans, we've got to take another break - we'll be right back with
more Wrestlerock action!

[Fade to black.

And then back up on an animated Jason Dane... no, he's not just moving a
lot.  He's LITERALLY animated - like Porky Pig style.]

JD:  They say I'm the man with all the answers.

[A cut to a different angle of animated Dane.]

JD:  They say I'm the man who gets all the scoops.

[Another cut.  Another angle.]

JD:  They say I'm- is all this really necessary?  It's not like I'm
Geraldo, guys.

[A voice off camera shouts "CUT!" and animated Jason Dane walks off a
green screen set through a crowded studio.]

JD:  I'm not the "most feared man in America," fans.  What I am is a
pretty good reporter who has an eye for the stories you're gonna want to
know about.  That's why AWA Access has been one of the most downloaded
apps ever and that's why the AWA gave me permission to start my own
website!

I'll be bringing you the hot news, the big stories, and the stuff not
fit to air.

[Animated Dane strokes his animated chin.]

JD:  Maybe I AM the most feared man in America!

[A "BZZZ!" sound of electricity is heard as animated Jason Dane fades
away and a title graphic appears.]

"JASON DANE - COMING TO A BROWSER NEAR YOU!"

[Fade to black.

And then back to live action where we join our announce team at
ringside.]

GM:  Welcome back to Wrestlerock, fans!  Up next we have footage shot
earlier in the week.  And before we show this footage, I want to go on
the record.  I am strongly opposed to showing this footage.

BW: Then it's either a 35mm black-and-white reel of your bachelor party,
or it's Monosso's segment.  Tell ya what, Gordo. You go tell James
Monosso that the First Amendment don't apply to him.  We already know
how THAT would turn out... we almost saw it happen once already!

GM: Advocating that, Bucky Wilde?

[Bucky pauses for a moment, and when he answers, he sounds a bit...
hurt?]

BW: No, no, no.  Gordo... man, ya got me all wrong.  I do NOT wanna see
anything happen ta you!  That's why ya gotta be more careful about what
you say!  James Monosso don't care.  I don't mean that he don't care
about you, or don't care about wrestlin'... I mean HE DON'T CARE, FULL
STOP.  There is nothin'... NOTHIN', daddy... more dangerous than a man
who don't care. 

GM: I will not be cowed by a lunatic.  That man should be fired, if not
arrested and reinstitutionalized!  This week, he did it again!

BW: Uh oh.  What'd he do?

GM: James Monosso's indefinite suspension is on hold as of tonight, but
he is still barred from interview time.  That is because Jason Dane
threatened to quit if he had to interview Monosso, as did I.

BW: Ya can't blame Dane for that.  He's Tood Michaelson's
brother-in-law!  Monosso might decide ta warm up on him, or ta make an
example of him.

GM: Exactly.  Now, we've all seen the WrestleRock "rap" promos that the
AWA has put together.  They're not exactly high art, but they were never
meant to be... just good clean harmless fun.

BW: Oh Lordy... don't tell me some idiot in the marketing office sent a
cameraman ta try an' get a rap from Monosso?!

GM: That is exactly what happened.

BW: When's the funeral?

GM: Thank heavens Monosso showed at least THAT much restraint, but he
commandeered the camera and proceeded to make some highly disturbing
comments.  If you are easily upset, I would not listen to this.  Here is
the footage from earlier in the week...

[We cut to... a brick wall.  It is dirty and in minor disrepair.  For
the first few seconds, the camera is shaking, making anything else hard
to distinguish.  Then it stabilizes with a sudden soft THUMP as it is
put down on a flat surface, and immediately a large figure walks into
view from behind the camera.  It is clearly James Monosso, wearing black
jeans and one of his cutoff pale green "PROPERTY OF STATE MENTAL
INSTITUTION" T-Shirts, which reveals his muscled-yet-battlescarred
physique. His stringy black hair is wetted down and pulled back,
revealing that his hairline is starting to recede, and his roots are
greying.  There is a severe glare on Monosso's wide, flat, clean-shaven
face that is unusual to see on him... normally wild-eyed and displaying
little semblance of self-control, Monosso's gaze is tight.  He appears
to be focused... very focused.  And this is unlike anything we've seen
from him yet.

The wide-shouldered madman seats himself in front of the camera, and
speaks into it with a low menacing voice.]

JM: Don't worry.  I just shoved the cameraman into a closet.  I didn't
even hit him.  I'm saving all of that for Todd Michaelson.

Todd, let me ask you the question you need to be asking yourself.  Why
do you put so much faith in that dumb kid Preston? Don't you see?  Don't
you see that it's over for him?  The first sign is the headaches.  The
next sign... those little breaks. Breaks in "character"... he suddenly
snaps and does something you didn't think he'd do.  He changes.  And the
next sign after that will be his memory.  He'll start forgetting things,
like his keys or wallet, like a show date, like... the names of his
family and loved ones.  And then?  Then they lock you up.  Either in a
hospital or a prison or an asylum, depending on how you make it clear
that you don't fit in society no more.  Eric Preston is already well on
the road, Michaelson.  He's already lost; he's already ruined.  He could
pin me again, and it wouldn't matter.  He could win the National Title
next week, and it wouldn't matter.  Because he's already on the road,
and do you know where the road goes?

[Monosso twirls a finger in a wide circle.]

JM: All the way around...

[His twirling motion stops with him pointing at himself.]

JM: ...to here.  To me.  To BECOMING me.

And when he sits up out of his twenty-dollar cot with missing springs,
stands up trying to remember what the day is supposed to bring but the
only thing he can remember is that he's destitute, has no job skills,
and needs about fifty thousand dollars of surgery just to deaden the
pain that screams through every nerve in his body... when he sits up and
reflects as he looks in that broken mirror.  He'll know that it wasn't
seven years of bad luck that brought him to nothing; it was Todd
Michaelson.

And you're going to do it again and again and again.  To victim after
victim after victim.

[He shakes his head slowly.]

JM: No.  No, we're done here.  You're done here.  And the funny thing
is, for as smart as you think you are, and as dumb and mindless as you
seem to think I am... I've already won.  It doesn't matter what happens
now, because you've already handed me the victory.  I heard you,
Michaelson.  heard you boast about how you were
HHHHAAAAAARRRRRRRRDDDDDDDCCCCCCCOOOOOOOOORRRRRRRREEEEEEEE.

[Monosso drags the word out with an obvious mocking disdain.]

JM: HHHHHAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRDDDDDDDDDDCCCCCCCCCCOOOOOOOORRRRRRRREEEEEEEE. 
_Extreme_, you called it.  Do you know who brags about being
HHHAAAAARRDDDDCCCOOORRRRREEEE or ECKS-TREEEEEEEEEEEEME?  People with no
concept of reality.  I don't do what I do for a badge of honor, for
anything resembling pride or dignity, or for the approval of ten
thousand nameless faceless sheeple chanting the name of some dead
territory.  I do what I do just to survive.  All these other clowns that
you trot out from the Combat Circus are here for glory, fame, and
whatever useless garbage that dumb kids are programmed to believe.  But
if I don't win I starve; if not now, then when I can't wrestle anymore. 
And that's what you want to do to me.  You want to put me out for good. 
You want to consign me to the living Hell of post-career homeless
disability alongside most of the other wrestlers that have suffered
through long careers.  You want to end it all for me, and make all my
fears into reality.  

And maybe you can, Michaelson.  Maybe you can.  It is inevitable.  I
hear every tick of the clock.  Every second of every minute of every
day, I hear my life tick-tick-ticking away.  It is only a matter of time
now; one of these days, my body will finally give out altogether.  And
in that day, I will die a living death unlike that which most of these
zombies can imagine.  Each and every day, somewhere in the world, a
wrestler dies this death.  Sometimes in a hotel room, sometimes in what
passes for a home, sometimes in a car speeding across state lines in a
desperate attempt to make it to some barn to get the twenty-dollar
payoff they need so that after gas money they can get a can of tuna fish
so they can eat that night!  The living death that comes when you
realize that you can't work anymore.  You can't wrestle.  And thanks to
wrestling, you can't do anything else either... nothing but suffer and
die.  That is a living death; for the lucky ones, it is a physical
death.  Have you noticed just how many lucky ones there are, Michaelson?

But that's not what you have for me, is it?  No.  If you have your way,
I will be a doorstop in some alley, unable to work, unable to provide
anything useful to society, because wrestling took everything I had or
was or ever could have been!  And if that happens at your hands,
Michaelson... do you know what I will say to you?  Do you know what I
will say, as they cart me out of the ring to rack up the hospital bills
I'll never be able to pay?

"Thank you, Todd Michaelson.  Thank you... for proving me right.  Thank
you for showing all of 'your kids' how this always ends."

And that's exactly what you're gonna do.  And if you fail, here comes
Predictable Preston to try and do the same.  And it really doesn't
matter.  Because in the end?  Everything I stood up for... every reason
I did all the things you're fighting me for... _justified_.  You can't
win, Michaelson... and you still don't get why.

Because.  I.  Am.  RIGHT.

You can't fight the truth!  All you can do is lie and lie and lie; to
deflect and distract and hope no one notices.  The Gordon Myers Method. 
And you think I attacked him "for no reason"?  That's funny.  You all
don't understand me.  You say I'm 'crazy' and 'insane' and 'unstable',
as if I just roll dice to see what I will do next.  You never
understood, Michaelson, and that is how you got here.  Because you never
realized the one thing you really, really needed to know about me:

I DON'T DO _ANYTHING_ WITHOUT A REASON.

And so, Michaelson... I have you now.  You.  The billion-dollar prize. 
You're the one I wanted.  Yes, because you're so self-absorbed, you
never gave a single thought to how you are the worst criminal of all! 
Because you were the luckiest one of all! You already HAD money!  You
never needed to wrestle in the first place!  So you can get along just
fine in your "retirement", and you show yourself off to the world. 
"Look at me, I am a wealthy success story; this is what wrestling can do
for you!"  It's the biggest lie of them all, Todd Michaelson, and it is
unforgiveable.  You are responsible for what will happen to Preston. And
all these other dumb kids you hooked in.  

In fifteen-to-twenty years, when Eric Preston's walking corpse shambles
to the ring for the last time, his dead empty eyes staring at the young
idiot who will put the final nail in his coffin... it will be too late. 
No one will remember that I told you so. No one will see him suffer for
the rest of his life.  Because the brainwashed zombies that fill the
arenas have short attention spans, and can't even remember what happened
two years ago, let alone twenty.  I used to be on top of the wrestling
world... higher than Hamilton Graham... and when I came here nobody knew
who I was!  No, Eric Preston is a wasted object lesson. But YOU...
Michaelson.  You're ripe for the picking.  You're the one who tricked
them all into thinking you could walk away! And now I can show them all,
in one shot, that nobody makes it out alive.

So you come to this match wanting revenge.  Fine.  What I want...

...is the tortured screaming of a dying man.

[The corners of Monosso's mouth turn upwards, ever so slightly.]

JM: I am going to end your life, Todd Michaelson.  Horribly.  Painfully.
 And permanently.  And before you start thinking that this is empty...
whatchacallit... hyperbole; no, you need to understand what I mean. 
You'll probably still be breathing when I get done.  You'll be alive
physically.  But your life as you know it will be over.  Your spine...
oh, you think you have a 'bad back' now?  Wait until the only thing you
can feel is the fragments of bone from what used to be a spine all stuck
in your kidneys.  Wait until all the vertebraes get compressed into
jelly, until your spinal cord is torn, until you realize that you'll
never feel your legs again.  Wait until you have to look your wife in
the eye each morning, knowin' that she just spent all night hearin'
those screams in her nightmares... those tortured screams of a dying
man... an' wishin' that I would have broke her eardrums when I had the
chance!

An' even you... even YOU won't be able to pay those medical bills!  See,
Stegglet made this match _unsanctioned_... I know you got insurance
because you're front office, but NOW?  AWA ain't gonna pay you squat;
it's unsanctioned!  Stegglet signed your life away!  You'll end up down
with the rest of us.  They'll take it all away, and in front of the
whole world, the billion-dollar illusion will be shattered.  All those
dumb kids will see what happened, they'll hear those screams.  And then
they'll know.  They'll go do something productive and learn real jobs,
while you and I... and Preston... suffer until we croak.  

But at least I'll go out with a clear conscience.  You?

You'll be the only one left who gets it when Preston takes his final
walk down the aisle.  And you'll look into that same broken mirror that
Preston will, look at your wrinkled face and hollow eyes, and you'll
wish you had enough strength left to hold a pistol up to your face.

You'd have to be INSANE to think otherwise.

...and in the end, you'll realize just how insane you are.

[With that, we cut back to the arena.  Gordon is pale with revulsion,
while Bucky is taking a step back to get a breath.  He mouths 'wow' as
Gordon starts.]

GM: I CAN'T BELIEVE HE SAID THAT!

BW: "The tortured screaming of a dying man"... talk about gettin' your
money's worth!  You made the right choice tunin' into WrestleRock!

GM: THAT IS NOT FUNNY!  He threatened to kill a man!

BW: No, he threatened to destroy his life.  There's a difference.  And
Michaelson is threatening the same thing!

GM: And he had the gall to talk about a clean conscience?  To paint
himself as the HERO?!

BW: He clearly "thinks otherwise", Gordo.  Just sayin'.  But ya know
what I got out of that?  Didja see his eyes?  His whole... aura.  He was
different, Gordo... he was FOCUSED.  Can you imagine that?!  Can you
imagine a focused James Monosso? He might off Michaelson for real!

GM: That was a different demeanor, to be sure, but it was the same
Monosso.  Insane, no accountability, blaming this sport for his own
shortcomings and circumstances, and seeing the world from some demented
angle.  He said he always has a reason to do what he does, and that
might be true, but when your reasons are insane...

BW: All I care about is that ripoff, the Money Pit, is about to go off
the air for keeps.  The Call Of The Wilde is gonna be the only show in
town.

GM:  Fans, let's go backstage to Jason Dane standing alongside Todd
Michaelson who just watched the same video we did.  Jason?

[We crossfade back to the locker room area where Dane and Michaelson are
standing in front of a television monitor.  Michaelson is clad in a
green full length robe with streaks of white tearing down it.  Dane
looks quite concerned as Michaelson is simply shaking his head back and
forth.]

JD:  Todd... you just saw the same thing that our fans at home saw. 
What's going through your mind right now?

[Michaelson smiles.]

TM:  For a lot of years now, I've stood right there where you are now,
Jason, and I've asked people that question.  Until right now, I never
really thought about how hard it is to answer that question.

You see, people expect me to say that I'm thinking about how dangerous
of a match this is and how I've been staying up nights worried about
what I got myself into... that kinda thing, right?

[Dane doesn't answer.]

TM:  But in reality, after watching that video for...

[Michaelson checks a watch that doesn't exist.]

TM:  How long now?

[Dane shrugs.]

TM:  In reality, the only thing going through my mind right now is -
somebody REALLY needs to shut that guy up.

[Michaelson grins, looking over to his brother-in-law who isn't
smiling.]

TM:  What?

JD:  How can you act like this?

TM:  What are you talking about, kid?

[Dane shakes his head, turning to the camera.]

JD:  I didn't- I wasn't going to... Todd, do you even understand what
you're doing out here tonight?  Do you get what you've gotten yourself
into?  This is James Monosso - the man is quite possibly criminally
insane - and he'd love nothing more than to wheel you out of here on a
slab tonight.  And to top it off, it's an Unsanctioned match so he can
do whatever the f... heck he wants!

[Dane looks down.]

JD:  What are you doing, man?

[Michaelson stares at his brother-in-law for a long, long moment.]

TM:  You think I don't understand this whole thing, Jason?  You think I
don't know EXACTLY what you're saying?  You think my phone hasn't rang
off the hook for an entire week with people telling me EXACTLY what you
just said?  Steggs called me.  When that wasn't enough for him, he
showed up here tonight and tried to talk me down.  Eric called.  Hell,
even Devon called.  Not a single soul that I've ever met wants me to get
inside that ring tonight with Monosso.

And hell, kid... deep down?  I probably don't want to do it either.

[Michaelson shakes his head.]

TM:  But I NEED to get in there, kid.  Someone needs to.  Someone needs
to step up and stop this guy once and for all.  Someone needs to show
the entire world that Monosso... he's NOT right, Jason. 

This business is tough.  This business is hard.  This business takes in
innocent kids and nine times out of ten, it spits them out with bum
knees, a bad back, and more concussions that the average person can even
imagine

But that one... that one out of ten...

That's a dream come true for someone, Jason.

That's where I was once upon a time... it's where you were... it's where
your sister was... it's where Eric is now... it's where all my kids in
the Corner are now...

This is for them, Jason.

[Michaelson grabs his brother-in-law by the shoulder.]

TM:  You understand that, right?

JD:  No!  No, I don't understand that!  This isn't your fight!  This
isn't-

TM:  That's where you're wrong, Jason.  This has ALWAYS been my fight...
I just didn't want to fight it.  I didn't want to be the guy who had to
stop Monosso because...

[A pause.]

TM:  I don't know if I can.

[Silence.]

TM:  But I'm damn sure gonna try.

[More silence as Dane looks down to the floor.]

TM:  Your sister show up?

[Dane raises his head slowly.]

JD:  Did you really expect her to?

[And with that, Jason Dane turns and exits the backstage area as we fade
back to the ring to Phil Watson.]

PW:  Ladies and gentlemen... the following contest is scheduled for one
fall with no time limit.  There are also no countouts and no
disqualifications as this match is UNSANCTIONED by the American
Wrestling Alliance.

In the ring at this time is the special official for tonight's
matchup... please welcome Scott Von Braun!

[There's a few cheers of recognition for the patriarch of the Von Braun
clan who raises a hand to salute the fans.]

PW:  Introducing first...

[The haunting piano solo from the main theme to "Halloween" that can
only mean trouble fills the air.]

PW:  From the State of Confusion... weighing in at 288 pounds...

JAAAAAAAAAAAAAMES MONOOOOOOSSOOOOOOO!

[The curtain parts with a violent twisting as the madman from Happy
Valley stomps into view.  James Monosso is a tall, wide-shouldered man. 
He wears a light green cutoff t-shirt over a black singlet, the former
of which says "PROPERTY OF STATE MENTAL INSTITUTION"  He glares out at
the jeering crowd, nodding approvingly.]

BW:  Where's Percy?

GM:  It is my understanding that Percy Childes was told that he would
not be allowed to be at ringside tonight in hopes that this issue will
be settled here tonight at Wrestlerock.

BW:  First Petrow, now Percy?!  This Championship Committee is really
full of themselves, aren't they?  I blame Stegglet.

GM:  Jon Stegglet is doing an excellent job as the Interim Chairman of
the Championship Committee in my estimation, fans.  I think this is a
very wise decision.  In fact, these managers in the AWA have been so out
of control lately, I say ship the whole lot of 'em off!

BW:  And deny them their opportunity to make a living?  In this
economy?!  Next you're going to suggest higher taxes on my mama's
fortune!  Maybe the AWA should fire us and bring in a couple of guys
from Mexico!  I'm sure some idjit can make half as much money as I do
shouting "AYY, PAPI!"

GM:  Bucky!  Fans, I apologize for the offensive comments of my partn-

[Having reached the ringside area, Monosso has approached the announce
table.]

BW:  Uh oh.  Gordo, don't move.

[The veteran play by play man attempts to do exactly that as Monosso
glares down at him, sharp exhales blowing his shoulder-length stringy
hair away from his face.

And then with something resembling a smile, Monosso pats Myers on the
back before rolling under the ropes into the ring.]

BW:  Whew.  That was a close one.

GM:  That guy's a bully, Bucky.  Plain and simple.  I've done NOTHING to
him yet he continues to try and torment me physically and mentally!

BW:  If he's the class bully, Gordo, then Michaelson's about to be the
class idiot who decides to stand up to him... and believe me, he won't
be standing up for long.

[Monosso paces around the ring, glaring at referee Scott Von Braun a few
times

GM:  The man is six and a half feet tall and nearly three hundred
pounds, very much outsizing the man who is about face him in this very
dangerous encounter, Bucky.

[The music changes, starting to fade into Ennio Morricone's "The Ecstacy
Of Gold" to the huge cheers from the AWA faithful...]

PW:  And his opponent...

[The song slowly continues to build, an angry Monosso getting more and
more impatient with every moment, shouting "COME ON!!  GET ON WITH IT!!"
a few times in the direction of... well, no one really.]

PW:  He hails from Beverly Hills, California... weighing in tonight at
248 pounds... ladies and gentlemen...

TOOOOOOOOOOOODD MIIIIIIIIIIIIICHAELLLLSONNNN!!!

[The crowd EXPLODES into cheers as the main part of the song kicks in
and Michaelson walks into view, a single spotlight shining down upon
him.  The former World Champion is dressed in a green robe with streaks
of white running down it from head to toe.  He stands, head bowed at the
top of the aisle for a long moment, soaking up the roaring cheers from
the crowd...]

GM:  There he is, fans... the man who has a date with destiny inside
this ring right here tonight.  He will attempt to do what many believe
is the impossible - to put down the monster himself.

BW:  Michaelson believes he's the line of defense that keep the invading
beast back.  It's like a Godzilla movie, Gordo.  There's always some
dude who thinks he can stop the monster... but unfortunately for all
these people, he usually ends up getting eaten.

[Michaelson waits a few more moments, sending Monosso into a further
rage inside the ring.]

BW:  He's just making Monosso more angry!  Why would you do such a
thing?

GM:  Perhaps it's part of his strategy.

[Suddenly, Michaelson shrugs off the floor-length robe, revealing a
surprising sight underneath - a black "REAL MEN DO IT EXTREME!" t-shirt
along with blue jeans and a pair of cowboy boots.]

GM:  Whoa!  Todd Michaelson has not come to Durham, North Carolina to
wrestle fans... Todd Michaelson has come to FIGHT!

BW:  It's Unsanctioned!  You can wear what you want, you can bring what
you want, you can do what you want - and at the end of the day, it's all
legal, daddy!

[Michaelson stays at the top of the aisle, slowly lifting his right arm
to point dead at the madman pacing back and forth inside the ring...

...and then walks swiftly down the aisle as his music starts to draw
near the crescendo.]

GM:  Here he comes! 

[Michaelson reaches ringside, rolling under the ropes...

...and immediately getting caught in a hailstorm of stomps from the big
man from the Unholy Alliance.  Special referee Scott Von Braun signals
for the bell to start the match.]

GM:  We're underway already - and I'm guessing Scott Von Braun will have
a difficult job here tonight.

BW:  Seriously?  I think it'll be the easiest night of his life. 
There's no rules, Gordo!  All he has to do is stand back and count pins.

GM:  A very good point.  I stand corrected.

[Monosso drops to his knees, balling up his fist and just hammering
Michaelson into the canvas with a fury.]

GM:  Look at Monosso!  There's no technique there, no precision, he's
just using his arm like a club to hammer Todd Michaelson repeatedly.

[After a moment, Monosso climbs to his feet, dragging the ambushed
Michaelson up by the arm.]

GM:  Both men back to a vertical base now, Monosso with a whip...

[Again balling up his fist, Monosso throws a hard - but sloppy -
standing clothesline that Michaelson ducks under on the rebound, putting
on the brakes and spinning around as Monosso turns...]

GM:  BOOOM!

[A hard forearm shot to the jaw of Monosso seems to stun the big man,
knocking him back a step.  Michaelson continues the assault, stepping up
to deliver a second forearm to the jaw!]

GM:  Todd Michaelson with a second forearm!  And those seem to be doing
the trick, Bucky!

BW:  Michaelson - retired or not - is one of the hardest hitters in the
history of our sport.  As many know, he once was one of the finest
technicians in the world, relying on suplexes and various
Japanese-influenced slams and drivers but the back injury that he
suffered at the hands of Colt Patterson in 1997 forced him into early
retirement.  The few times he has ventured out over the years has shown
a different style to the mat.  More striking and HARD striking at that. 


[Grabbing the stringy long hair in his left hand, Michaelson puts his
right to use by repeatedly hammering Monosso in the jaw with forearm
smashes that backs the madman all the way into the ropes where the
Combat Corner instructor continues to hammer away, finally knocking
Monosso down to a knee, and then all the way down to a seated position!]

GM:  Oh yeah!  Get 'im, Todd!

BW:  Gordo, you're supposed to be unbiased!

GM:  Any chance of that went out the window when James Monosso
threatened me physically, Bucky.  Now I just want him to see get some of
his own medicine shoved right down his insane throat!

[Michaelson turns away, throwing down his arms with a roar that the
crowd echoes before he turns around, charging back in...

...and DRILLING Monosso with a running bootscrape using the cowboy
boots, a blow that takes Monosso between the middle and bottom ropes,
knocking him out to the floor!]

GM:  Out to the floor goes Monosso - and listen to these fans in Durham,
Bucky!  They've been waiting a long time to see James Monosso get the
fight taken to him for a change!

BW:  It's still early, Gordo.  Don't start planning a tickertape parade
quite yet, daddy.

GM:  Monosso's down on the floor... and Michaelson's coming out after
him!

[The crowd roars as Michaelson steps out to the apron, grabbing the top
rope as he delivers stomp after stomp to the head of the rising Monosso,
knocking him back a few steps...

...and then leaps off, a double axehandle aimed for the skull!]

GM:  AXEHAND- NO!

BW:  He caught him!  Monosso caught him in his arms in a-

GM:  NOOO!

[Monosso LUNGES forward, DRIVING the small of Michaelson's spine into
the hardest part of the ring - the apron!  Michaelson howls in pain as
Monosso ragdolls him back and forth, flinging him down to the floor with
reckless abandon.]

GM:  My stars!  Todd Michaelson just had that back - the back that
caused his career to end abruptly that you just mentioned - DRIVEN into
the hardest part of the ring.

BW:  And that might do it right there.  That was nearly three hundred
pounds putting Michaelson's back into the apron, Gordo.  Can Michaelson
even get UP from that?

[Monosso stalks away from the downed Michaelson, reaching over the
ringside barricade where a handful of fans scatter out of fear.]

BW:  Look at 'em run, Gordo!  This man's put the fear of God into these
nine-to-fivers!

GM:  You say that like it's a good thing.

BW:  It's not a bad thing.  No one likes signing autographs at Denny's
at two in the morning.

[Monosso picks up a momentarily-abandoned steel chair, folding it up in
his large hands...]

GM:  No, no... this can't happen...

[The big man walks back towards his injured prey, lifting the metal
weapon over his head, rearing waaaaaay back...]

GM:  Somebody stop this!

BW:  Michaelson got into this on his own!  This is his own fault, Gordo!
 It's his own-


"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!"
"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  GOOD GOD!!!

[The crowd roars in shock and disgust as Monosso stands over Michaelson,
having just delivered a bone-crunching steel chairshot onto the
aforementioned injured back, leaving Michaelson howling with pain down
on the outfield grass.]  

GM:  Listen to... my stars, that's hard to hear, Bucky.

BW:  It is but you've gotta remember, this was Michaelson's idea.  He
wanted this match!

GM:  He did not!  He was just a man trying to do the right thing!

BW:  Who is he - Spike Lee?!  He was a guy who should've stayed on the
sidelines and let the young lions take the fight on.  And I'm guessing
he might be thinking the same thing right now.

GM:  And you just have to wonder what in the world James Monosso is
going to do to him next, fans.

[Shoving the chair under the ropes, Monosso pulls Michaelson up to his
feet.]

GM:  I don't like this... not one bit...

[Dragging the hurting Michaelson closer to the ringside railing, Monosso
pulls him into a powerbomb position...]

GM:  Wait a second!  What the heck is he thinking about?!

BW:  He's gonna powerbomb him on the railing!  

GM:  That's the steel railing that got broken apart in our last match! 
We've already seen a bodyslam on that thing have devastating results and
now he's going to POWERBOMB a man on it?!

BW:  Not just any man!  A man with a bad back!  Monosso's out to put
Michaelson in a wheelchair here tonight in Durham, Gordo!  Anyone who
didn't believe him when he said that earlier was sadly mistaken!

[Michaelson slumps to a knee, trying to avoid the big slam.  An angry
Monosso backs off, slamming his arm down across the injured back a
handful of times before yanking Michaelson back into position...]

GM:  No, no... this can't happen... ring the bell, referee!  Stop this
thing right now!

[But before Scott Von Braun can do anything, Michaelson simply stands
up...

...and flips Monosso over his head, sending him SMASHING down onto the
leaning piece of metal!]


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  MICHAELSON BACKDROPS HIM ON THE STEEL!!  GOOD GRIEF!!!

[The effort proves to be more than Michaelson can handle, slumping down
to a knee as the crowd roars for the effective counter.]

GM:  Todd Michaelson may have just saved himself from a wheelchair,
Bucky!

BW:  No doubt, Gordo... no doubt at all.  But the key phrase you didn't
mention there is - "for the moment."  He's saved himself from a
wheelchair for the moment!

[Michaelson forces himself to his feet, throwing himself on top of the
steel barricade, balling up his fist and just hammering away at Monosso
with right hands.  The madman from Happy Valley lifts his arms, rolling
to the side to try and cover up.]

GM:  Michaelson's hammering him on the railing!  He's out for blood!

[Grabbing two handfuls of the stringy hair, Michaelson pulls Monosso's
head back from the steel...

...and then SLAMS his face back into the railing!]

GM:  OHHHH!

[Monosso's head bounces off the steel before he slumps back down on top
of it.  Michaelson looks around at the cheering crowd, shouting "ONE
MORE?!" before pulling Monosso's head up for a second time...

...and SLAMMING it into the steel again!]

GM:  Good grief!

BW:  Having your head slammed into unforgiving steel is a heck of an
easy way to end up with a concussion, Gordo.  Monosso needs to get out
of this position.

[Michaelson helps him do exactly that, dragging him up off the railing,
pulling him back towards the ring...

...where he SLAMS Monosso facefirst into the wooden timekeeper's table!]

GM:  OHHH!  INTO THE WOODEN TABLE!!

[The former World Champion from the land of Extreme waves the timekeeper
and Phil Watson out of the way as he pulls Monosso up by the hair and
SLAMS his face down into the wood again!]

GM:  Todd Michaelson is willing and able to use EVERYTHING out here to
win this match!

BW:  He talked about knowing how to get extreme and Monosso mocked him
for it.  I'm not sure James is mocking him right now, Gordo.

[Reaching over onto the table, Michaelson scoops up the metal ring bell,
scampering back up onto the ring apron with it...]

GM:  Michaelson's got the bell - what's he gonna do with it?

BW:  I think he's gonna ring it... on Monosso's head!

GM:  You may be right.

[Up on the apron, Michaelson shouts, "TURN AROUND, YOU FREAK!"]

GM:  He's waiting for Monosso...

BW:  And this how Michaelson got his back driven into the apron to begin
with!  Why would you try it again?  This could be a major mistake in
judgment on the part of Todd Michaelson!

[Monosso slowly turns around, looking up at Michaelson who leaps off the
apron...]


"CLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANG!"
"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!


GM:  HE RANG HIS BELL!

BW:  Did you really just say that?

GM:  Michaelson cracked Monosso over the skull with the ring bell!  Good
grief!

[Monosso immediately sails backwards, sprawling out over the entire
timekeeper's table as Michaelson stands on the infield dirt, ringbell
still in hand.  He flings the bell aside, shouting something at
Monosso...

...and then tugging the timekeeper's table away from the ring!  The
crowd ROARS!]

GM:  What the-?!

BW:  Todd said he was gonna get extreme tonight but I don't think any of
us thought he'd go this far!

GM:  Maybe he has to, Bucky!  Maybe this is what Todd Michaelson has to
do to stand a chance of putting the monster down once and for all!  He's
gotta fight fire with fire!

BW:  HE'S GONNA USE FIRE?!

[With one more tug of the table weighted down by Monosso's near three
hundred pounds, Michaelson nods his head as he pulls himself back up on
the apron.  The former World Champion backs down the apron, coming to
rest against the ringpost.  He nods his head at the cheering crowd,
taking a deep breath or two...

...and LEAPS!]

GM:  OHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

[The crowd echoes the response of Todd Michaelson as he sails through
the air, SMASHING down on top of Monosso with a flying splash off the
apron...

...but simply bounces off him, unable to put him through the table as he
had intended!]

GM:  The table didn't break!  Michaelson tried to put Monosso through
the table off the apron but the damned table didn't break, Bucky!

BW:  Someone check that table!  Make sure Bulldog Brown's not painted on
it!

GM:  Huh?

[Michaelson lies on the dirt, clutching his ribcage in pain.  He shakes
his head at the sight of Monosso still sprawled out over the wooden
table as he reaches up, grabbing the ropes to pull himself back to his
feet...

...and back up onto the apron!]

GM:  He's gonna try it again!  Michaelson's not satisifed until he puts
Monosso THROUGH that table like he wanted to do to begin with!   This is
Todd Michaelson reliving his days in Los Angeles, Bucky!

BW:  It certainly is.  Hide yo' bricks, hide yo' weedwhackers - 'cause
they gettin' Extreme all up in this place!

[Up on the apron again, Michaelson leans against the ringpost, visibly
wincing with every breath.]

GM:  He's having a hard time there on the apron, Bucky.

BW:  And who knows what's causing it.  The ribs, the back - it could be
anything to cause him to have trouble breathing like that but
Michaelson's very obviously in a lot of pain!

[Michaelson seems about to leap again when he pauses, shaking his
head...

...and pushes himself up to a seated position on the top turnbuckle!]

GM:  Michaelson's on the top rope!  Todd Michaelson is sitting on the
top rope!

BW:  Well, this'll do it!

GM:  It certainly will!  Michaelson's gonna put Monosso through the
table!  He's gonna-

[But suddenly, like a monster in a horror movie, James Monosso rises
from the brink of doom, stalking towards the ring where he reaches up,
throwing a big right hand to the ribs of Michaelson, stunning him for a
moment...

...and then reaches up with his left hand, grabbing Michaelson by the
shirt!]

GM:  NO!!  NO!!  DON'T DO THIS!!

BW:  WHY NOT?!  MICHAELSON WAS GONNA!!

[Monosso nods his head at the suddenly-terrified Michaelson...

...and HURLS HIM OFF THE APRON TOWARDS THE TABLE!!]



"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"



BW:  HE MISSED!!  HE MISSED!!!

GM:  MY GOD IN HEAVEN, HE THREW MICHAELSON _OVER_ THE TABLE!!

[Apparently not knowing his own strength, Monosso's attempt to throw his
opponent through the table fails miserably when he hurls him OVER the
table, sending him smashing spinefirst down onto the solid infield
dirt!]

GM:  MICHAELSON'S BEEN CRIPPLED, BUCKY!!  HE'S BEEN CRIPPLED!

[An unmoving Michaelson on the infield dirt lends some believability to
that statement.  A grinning Monosso leans against the ringpost as the
crowd buzzes with concern for their fallen hero.]

GM:  James Monosso tried to put him through that table but what we just
saw, I believe, is far, far worse, Bucky!

BW:  The infield dirt is no concrete floor but if you've even fallen
trying to dive for a hot shot to the hole, you know it's not exactly
soft either!  Todd Michaelson's spine - that injured spine - just
SLAMMED into the infield dirt and I'm not sure he can get up from that,
Gordo.

GM:  Scott Von Braun just rolled out here to the floor.  He's kneeling
down next to Michaelson, trying to find out if he can continue.  I don't
think he can, Bucky.  I think this match needs to end right here.

[The referee asks Todd if he can continue a few times that are audible
on the camera feed.  Getting no response, Von Braun rises, shaking his
head as he moves towards the ring announcer...

...and gets a massive hand wrapped around his throat!]

GM:  WAIT A SECOND!!

BW:  Monosso's got Von Braun by the throat!

[The madman from Happy Valley shakes his head at the elder of the Von
Braun clan, waggling a finger in Dikembe Mutombo style at him.]

GM:  Monosso's telling him not to stop the match!  He can't do that!

BW:  He's doing exactly that!  He's telling Von Braun that if he stops
the match, he's gonna flatten him!

GM:  He can't do that either!  He'll be-

BW:  What?  Disqualified?!  This is Unsanctioned, daddy!  Monosso's been
given free reign by the entire AWA to do whatever the heck he wants to
do to ANYONE out here... including you by the way.

[Monosso shoves Von Braun down to the floor, pointing a warning finger
at him as he stalks towards the downed Michaelson, dragging his limp
form off the dirt by the hair.]

GM:  Michaelson can't even stand, damn it!  Stop the damn match!

BW:  Gordo, get ahold of yourself before I have to apologize for your
language like you're always doin' for everyone else!

[The madman from Happy Valley drags Michaelson towards the ring
entrance, shouting at the ringside fans.]

"THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT!!  IT'S ON YOUR HEAD!  YOU DROVE HIM TO THIS!!"

[Monosso shakes his head at the spewed insults in response, reaching
down to hoist Michaelson into the air...]

GM:  What the-?!

BW:  He's got him up!  He's pressing him up!

[Breathing heavily, Monosso holds Michaelson high overhead...

...and RUSHES forward!]

GM:  NO, NO, NOOOOOOOO!

[Monosso shouts the trademark accompaniment for this move.]

"GET OUT OF HERE!"

[The big man LAUNCHES Michaelson through the air, sending him several
feet towards the ring where he SMASHES down onto the infield dirt once
again!]

GM:  Good grief... this is... this is getting difficult to watch if
you're a fan of Todd Michaelson like I am and like all of these people
here in Durham are, Bucky.

BW:  Just imagine if you're his wife!  Hi Lori!

GM:  You're a sick man, Bucky Wilde.

[Monosso grins at the hate-filled reaction of the fans as he walks over
to the downed Michaelson, using his boot to see if the Money Pit host is
even conscious still.  He toes Michaelson over onto his back, leaning
over him...]


"How 'bout you, hero?  Had enough?"


[A weakened Michaelson reaches up, throwing a right hand to the jaw that
excites the crowd...

...but does little to Monosso other than to piss him off.  He violently
stomps down on the upper body of Michaelson a handful of times before
reaching down, dragging him off the ground, and rolling him under the
ropes into the ring.]

GM:  And we're heading into the ring for the first time since the
opening bell.

[Monosso rolls under the ropes as well, climbing to his feet.  He
strides across the ring to where he deposited the barely-moving Todd
Michaelson...

...and LEAPS into the air, bringing his near-three hundred pounds down
in a King Kong kneedrop across the lower back of the former World
Champion who howls in agony from the blow!]

GM:  Big kneedrop by Monosso!  That might be it!

BW:  I think any of the stuff over the past few minutes could have been
it, Gordo.

[Monosso rolls Michaelson to his back, planting an open palm on the
chest as Von Braun dives to count... quickly.]

GM:  ONE!! TWO!! THRE-

[The crowd ROARS in shock as Michaelson weakly throws a shoulder off the
mat.]

GM:  My stars... Todd Michaelson kicked out, Bucky.

BW:  You idiot!  Just stay down!

GM:  I tend to agree there.  James Monosso, as you said, will settle at
nothing but putting Todd Michaelson in a wheelchair PERMANENTLY if he
forces the issue here tonight.  Michaelson should just stay down and
take the loss and hope that Monosso moves on from him.  But that's not
the kind of man Todd Michaelson is!  That's not the kind of warrior that
Todd Michaelson is!

[An angry Monosso gets up...

...and scoops up the steel chair he put into the ring earlier in the
evening.]

GM:  Oh no... no, don't do this...

[Gripping the chair in both hands, Monosso stands over Michaelson,
booting him in the ribs to drive him onto his stomach...

...and then DRIVES the edge of the chair into the lower back, causing
Michaelson's entire body to convulse in agony before falling silent.]

GM:  Good god.  Can someone just stop this thing?  Please!  Somebody
stop this thing!

[And suddenly, the crowd ERUPTS at the sight of a concerned-looking Eric
Preston coming through the entrance!]

GM:  ERIC PRESTON!!  ERIC PRESTON IS COMING TO THE RING!!

BW:  Remember, it was supposed to be Preston in this match with Monosso
but he wisely dropped out.

GM:  That's not how it happened at all, Bucky!  Eric Preston was injured
- a head injury - during a brutal sneak attack ambush at the hands of
James Monosso and he was medically restricted from competing in this
match tonight!

[Preston reaches the ringside area, pacing back and forth as he shouts
"COME ON, TODD!" into the ring.]

GM:  Preston's out here trying to inspire his friend and mentor but... I
don't know if that's the right decision, Bucky.

BW:  It's not.  Preston should beg someone to ring the bell if he wants
to help Michaelson now.

[Monosso has now spotted Preston as well, a sick grin on his face.]

"Come to watch him pay the price for you?"

[Monosso nods, unfolding the chair and setting it up in the middle of
the ring.  He points to the chair with an open hand.]

"Have a seat, Eric.  Come watch me put your teacher in a wheelchair."

[He chuckles ominously as he pulls an unmoving Michaelson up by the
hair, scooping him up under his armpit for a side slam...]

GM:  Don't do it, Monosso!  Don't do it, you sick fre-


"CRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASH!"
"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  OHHHHH!  SIDE SLAM ON THE CHAIR!!

[The seat of the steel chair is immediately mangled by the body of Todd
Michaelson being SLAMMED down upon it, bending it terribly...

...and Eric Preston immediately dives into the ring, throwing himself
over the downed Michaelson, waving his arms as the referee does the
same, calling for the bell!]

GM:  That's it!  This one's over, fans!

[Monosso stands over the downed Michaelson, Eric Preston draped over
him.  Referee Scott Von Braun immediately consults with the ring
announcer, making his decision official.]

PW:  Referee Scott Von Braun has ruled that Eric Preston has submitted
on behalf of Todd Michaelson and therefore, your winner of this
Unsanctioned matchup as a result of a submission...

JAAAAAAAAMES MONOSSSSSSSOOOOOO!


GM:  Thank the stars this one is over, fans.  Todd Michaelson put up a
heck of a fight but he was in no position to beat James Monosso here
tonight.

BW:  He certainly wasn't.  And now... who knows how much damage has been
done now, Gordo.

GM:  That's for sure.  And at the same time, we should be thankful for
Eric Preston and Scott Von Braun for having the courage to stop this
match.  You know that Todd Michaelson would not have wanted this match
stopped but... well, the alternative is just too painful to think about,
fans.

[Monosso leans over Eric Preston, pointing a finger at him like a gun.]

"You're next, old friend."

[Monosso "pulls the trigger" before backing away from Preston, stepping
through the ropes to the apron and making his way back up the aisle,
soaking up the roaring jeers from the AWA fans.]

GM:  James Monosso with a clear message for Eric Preston as well.

BW:  He's next?  If I'm Preston, I'm researching flights out of the
country right now.

GM:  Eric Preston won't do that, Bucky.  Eric Preston will NOT back
down.  If James Monosso wants a fight with Eric Preston, he's damn sure
gonna get one and he'll get one very soon, I'd imagine.  Fans, I think
we're going to need some medical help out here for Todd Michaelson. 
We're- yes, they're on the way out here right now I'm being told so
we're going to take a quick break and come back with more action here at
the AWA's Wrestlerock so don't you dare go away!

[The camera holds on Todd Michaelson being tended to by Scott Von Braun
and Eric Preston for a long moment before we fade to black.

We fade to 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 the ringside area
where our announce duo is standing.]

GM:  Welcome back, fans.  During the break, Todd Michaelson was taken
from the ring on a stretcher and we understand that he is in the process
of being loaded onto an emergency vehicle for immediate transport to a
local medical facility.

BW:  A whole lot of that happening tonight, Gordo.  Hope everyone's got
their insurance paid up.

GM:  Eric Preston will be accompanying him to the hospital and as soon
as we have any indication of Todd Michaelson's condition, we'll be sure
to bring you that news.  Now, coming up nex-

[But before Gordon can continue...

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!

[Sounds of gunfire reverberate throughout the arena as the opening
guitar part starts up to "One" by Metallica]

GM:  And that particular piece of music can mean only one thing, Bucky
Wilde.

BW:  Yep, it means we're going to put the last patch of dirt on the
coffin of the career of Alex Martinez!

[A single spotlight hits the entranceway, bringing a huge mixed reaction
from the North Carolina career.  Jeers for what the man has done in
recent weeks but cheers for what he means to his hometown fans.  The
spotlight stays focused there for a few more seconds as the song gets to
James Hetfield's voice.]

#I can't remember anything, can't tell if this is true or dream.
#Deep down inside I feel the scream, this terrible silence stops me.
#Now that the war is through with me, I'm waking up I can not see.
#That there's not much left of me, nothing is real but pain now

[Some of the hometown crowd joins in on...]

#HOLD MY BREATH AS I WISH FOR DEATH... OH PLEASE GOD WAKE ME!

[Out from behind the curtain, steps out Jeff Matthews, decked out oddly
enough in a black REDEMPTION t-shirt, blue jeans and black wrestling
boots.  Jeff's gaze stays fixated on the ring as he makes his way down
the aisle... oblivious to the world.  Jeff slides in underneath the
bottom rope... hops up and grabs the mic from Phil Watson as he motions
to cut the music...]

JMM:  You know, Alex...

I remember when you were younger, faster, stronger.. .and I'd say
smarter...but I'm not sure you were ever smart to begin with. 

[The crowd responds solidly mixed - damn those hometown fans.]

JMM:  I'm not going to stand here and tell our story one more time. I'm
not going to stand here and tell you why I've come out of retirement.
Because quite frankly, that gets old quick. 

I know you Alex... you're capable of making me come out here every
week.. and letting me down... letting the fans down... letting our
history down.  You were never a man who was able to face his problems
head on. So I wouldn't be shocked if my words continued to fall on deaf
ears.  I wouldn't be surprised if by walking out here tonight.. I've
wasted my time.

I'm not hiding, Alex...

[Matthews walks over to the ropes and leans on them... looking towards
the entranceway...]

JMM:  As a matter of fact... I'm not leaving this ring until you show
yourself. Maybe I just can't wait another second longer. I've waited too
damn long for you, Alex. 

Back in the Killing Box... I didn't get to take out all my pent up anger
and frustration towards you. I didn't get the opportunity to bash your
skull in much like I did Caleb Temple. 

That match should have been the finale... I should have walked away
forever because I was to accomplish everything I ever wanted. But that
wasn't the case, Alex. You weren't even a factor in that match because
all my pain, suffering... was directed elsewhere. Now I have that
chance.

[He sits on the second rope and extends the ropes away from each
other... inviting Martinez to the ring..]

JMM:  Come down here now, Alex... and get your ass kicked from pillar to
post...

[The fans are quiet, all eyes turned to the entrance.]

GM:  Fans, I apologize for the langua-

BW:  What's HE doing out here?

[The reaction is muted. The fans are happy, but surprised. They want to
know just what has brought the Interim Chairman of the Championship
Committee, Jon Stegglet, through the curtain.  Stegglet does not look
quite right.  Distracted perhaps?  Upset?]

BW:  Jon Stegglet has no business interrupting this!

GM:  We've been over this, Bucky.  He's the Interim Chairman of-

BW:  Blah, blah, blah - abuse of power if you ask me.

GM:  Jon Stegglet doesn't look his usual self out here but considering
he just saw his best friend loaded into an ambulance, I guess I can
understand that.

BW:  Well, if he's out here to talk business, he needs to shove aside
the personal stuff, Gordo.

[Stegglet steps through the ropes, a mic handed to him by a ringside
attendant as Jeff Matthews paces back and forth, finally glaring at the
executive.]

JMM:  Where is he?

[Stegglet raises a hand, clearing his throat before speaking.]

JS:  Jeff, we've known each other for a long-

JMM:  WHERE IS HE?!

[Stegglet nods, a little surprised by the sudden change in mood.]

JS:  Alright, Jeff.  If that's how you want to do it.  The facts are
these - I have had security on standby all day, waiting to see if Alex
Martinez would show up here at the stadium but as of right now, he has
not been spotted, Jeff.

[Matthews glares at Stegglet, shaking his head.  He says something
off-mic that we don't pick up.]

JS:  However, earlier this afternoon, a letter was delivered by courier
to my office.  The courier instructed me that I was not to open this
letter until I was standing here...

...with you.

[Matthews looks confused as the crowd begins to buzz.]

JS:  If I may?

[Stegglet doesn't wait for a reply, tearing the envelope open.]

JS:  And I quote... "To Jeff... from Alex..."

[Stegglet pauses.]

BW:  Well, there's a shocker!

GM:  What do you mean?

BW:  Who knew that Alex Martinez could read and write?!

GM:  Would you stop?

[Stegglet continues.]

JS:  The body of the letter says...

"As everyone knows, I'm hurt and I'm hurt real bad.  Steggy saw to it
that officially, I'm on a medical leave of absence.  I'm not supposed to
return to the AWA until a doctor clears me.  And I'll be honest with
you, Jeff, I haven't found a doctor yet willing to clear me."

[The crowd boos this announcement.  Stegglet pauses to let them finish
before continuing.]

JS:  It continues...

"So, thanks to Monosso, Langseth, the Minion, and especially you, it
looks liek you're getting what you wanted."

[The crowd boos louder as Stegglet tries to go forward.]

JS:  "The thing I love most in life, wrestling, appears to be over for
me.  You wanted me to pay for my sins?  Well, now you've got what you
wanted."

[Matthews looks confused as Stegglet continues.]

JS:  "You were there at the start of my career..."

[Pause.]

JS:  "...and now it looks like you're the one to end it."

[Stegglet looks down, the crowd jeering loudly at the announcement.]

BW:  YES!  THIS IS WONDERFUL NEWS!!

GM:  Bucky, we may be witnessing the end of one of wrestling's most
decorated and legendary careers!  Try to show a little bit of cla-

[Stegglet speaks up again.]

JS:  I'm sorry.  There's more.

"The thing is, Jeff... I might have been willing to walk away... if it
was just me.  But then... you went and threatened to make others pay for
what I'd done..."

[We can hear a buzz growing in the crowd but the camera shot stays tight
on the ring's occupants.]

JS:  "No one is ever going to have to pay for the things that I've
done... except me."

[Big cheer!]

JS:  "Jeff, you want to try to put me on the shelf?  Well, that's
alright.

But you go after other people?  Well, that's going to make me just...
what's the phrase?"

[Stegglet looks up with a grin.]

JS:  "Just a little crazy."

[The crowd EXPLODES in cheers as the camera quickly pulls back to show
Alex Martinez has torn through the crowd, hurdled the barricade, and
slid headfirst into the ring!]

GM:  MARTINEZ!!  MARTINEZ IS IN THE RING!!

BW:  NOOOOO!  HE'S SUPPOSED TO BE GONE!!

[Perhaps.  But there he is nonetheless.  Dressed in a black t-shirt and
jeans, his hand is heavily bandaged and his knee is in a large black
metal brace.  But, despite all the damage he's taken, the Last American
Badboy is here, spinning Matthews around, and dropping him with a
haymaker on the jaw!]

GM:  MARTINEZ DROPS THE MADFOX!!

[Matthews quickly scampers back up, returning fire with a shot of his
own.  Seeing a brawl breaking out, Jon Stegglet gets the heck out of the
ring, waving like a madman towards the locker room as Matthews and
Martinez stand in the center of the ring, trading haymakers.]

GM:  We've got a toe-to-toe battle unfolding inside the ring and-

[Matthews slaps aside a right hand, grabbing the arm under his own and
trying to muscle Martinez down into a Fujiwara...

...but Martinez counters by hoisting Matthews off the mat, and DROPPING
him down in a side slam!]

GM:  He slammed him!  That's one way out of the Fujiwara!

[Martinez takes the mount, grabbing a handful of hair to hammer away at
his long-time friend and rival...

...but then the Madfox flips it over, taking his opportunity to do the
same to Martinez!]

GM:  It's breaking down out here!  These two are going to town on each
other and-

[Suddenly, a swarm of AWA security hits the ring, grabbing Matthews
around the torso, dragging him off the downed Martinez.  The seven
footer quickly scrambles up, looking to get back into the fight.]

GM:  Security has hit the ring!  They're trying to keep these two apart!

BW:  Why?  Let 'em fight!

GM:  I'd imagine it has something to do with Alex Martinez still being
technically under medical restrictions!  He's not supposed to be out
here to get physically involved in anything!

BW:  Where was all this security when Eric Preston hit the ring?  He's
under medical restrictions too!

GM:  But he wasn't trying to get physically involved in things!

[The crowd boos as the members of security, being ordered around by Jon
Stegglet, manages to get Alex Martinez out to the floor, holding the big
man back from getting at his rival...]

GM:  Get them both under control, guys!  This isn't the time!  This
isn't the-

[Suddenly, Matthews breaks away from the mob holding him, rushing the
ropes where he FLIPS over the top in a somersault dive...

...and LANDS atop the pile including Alex Martinez, taking them all down
as well!]

GM:  WE'VE GOT A FIGHT ON OUR HANDS!!  MATTHEWS AND MARTINEZ!!  THEY'RE
TRYING TO TAKE EACH OTHER DOWN ONCE AND FOR ALL!!  

[Matthews climbs atop Martinez, raining down blows on him as security
regroups and swarms yet again...

...and we abruptly crossfade to footage marked "EARLIER TODAY!"  We cut
into the dugout where Stevie Scott, dressed in his ring attire, sits on
the upper bench with his feet resting on the lower one.  For a man about
to enter the TOWER OF DOOM, he looks pretty nonchalant.  Standing to his
right is Jason Dane.]

JD: AWA fans, I am here with Stevie Scott as he will join Supernova,
Corax, Tyler Lee and Big Jim Watkins in the Tower Of Doom in one of
tonight's main events.  Stevie, the AWA fanbase is abuzz talking about
your decision to join up with Supernova in tonight's match.

[The St. Louis native rolls his eyes, looking exasperated with the
question/leading comment.]

HSS: Look, Danish.  Like I said last week, this ain't got nothing to do
with _anything_ other than having a chance to slap around that trio of
bald-headed, past-their-prime ham-and-eggers who seem to forget Russia
stopped being relevant in 1991.  I don't care about their war, I don't
care about the whole patriotism theme running through this match.  I'm
not here to wave a flag and I'm not here to chant "USA!"  I'm here to
make sure Vladimir Veliwho doesn't forget what happens when you cross
Stevie Scott, even if it was three years ago.

JD: So you don't feel any loyalty to Supernova after he saved you from
the attack by The Mercenary?

[Stevie pauses, looking at Dane with a "What did you just say"
expression.]

HSS: First of all, Stevie Scott didn't need saving, Danish.  Give me
another 15 seconds and The Mercenary would have had the shortest stint
in the history of the AWA because the Hotshot had a Heetseeker ready to
aim at his fat head.  It was a nice gesture and all by Paintilicious,
but let's not forget that he didn't want to see his partner...

[Again, Stevie pauses, rubbing his chin.]

HSS: Correction.  His guaranteed ticket to _victory_...taken out before
the match.  He knows what's up.

JD: Speaking of The Mercenary-

[The Hotshot holds up his hand in the face of Dane.]

HSS: Ah ah ah ah!  Not another word from you, Danish.  Because let me
tell you what the Hotshot's gonna do to The Mercenary.

[The former National Champion turns and points at the camera.]

HSS: First, I'm gonna whip everyone's buttockses that gets in my way. 
I'm gonna go through the first trap door, the second trap door - and
slap Ivan Kostowhat in the side of his fat head on the way down - and
then, I'm gonna walk my two-time National Champion self out the cage
door before anyone else.  I'm gonna go find that briefcase that you hit
me with and I'm taking it back into the halls of this two-bit stadium.

And then, after you've left the Tower O' Doom and taken the
butt-whipping that you so richly deserve...I'm gonna find me a nice,
comfortable chair and I'm gonna wait for you.  And when you come walking
by?

I'm gonna hit you in the face with that briefcase so hard that your nose
will shoot right out of the back of your skull!

[Dane looks shocked by the threat.]

HSS: Oh, and in case you weren't aware...

...ask your partner Kolya how Stevie Scott swings a briefcase.

[STEVIEGRIN~!  Followed by a few seconds of awkward silence before
Stevie smacks Dane on the arm.]

HSS: Well?  Do your job and take us out of this thing!

[Dane, obviously confused because he was just told NOT to talk, takes a
brief moment to reply but does, rather uncomfortably.]

JD: Oh...um... back to... uhh... well, whatever...

[We crossfade from the grinning Stevie Scott to live footage backstage
where we find the trio of Supernova, Tyler Lee and Jim Watkins standing
in front of an AWA backdrop. Lee is dressed in his usual wrestling
attire and, instead of his trademark Louisville Slugger, he holds an
American flag. Supernova is dressed in somewhat different attire... he
wears his usual vest, but he wears black tights with the flames in red,
white and blue and he wears white wrestling boots with a small American
flag on the sides. "Big" Jim Watkins is dressed for a fight in blue
jeans and a "MADE IN AMERICA" t-shirt.  He's got his "equalizer" piece
of lumber hanging over his shoulder.  Jason Dane is with the three men.]

JD: Fans, in just mere moments, these three men will join Corax and the
man we just heard from, Stevie Scott, in entering the Tower of Doom to
face the Foreign Legion and The Mercenary. Gentlemen, I can certainly
tell the spirit of America is something you are proudly displaying...
how do you think that's going to help you tonight?

TL: Jason, no truer words were spoken by Jim Watkins when he talked
about what it means to be an American. I took every word he said to
heart and that's why I'm not gonna let anyone down, from my teammates to
all the great fans out there who believe in us, believe in the AWA and
believe in Old Glory here! Sharif... Russians... Mercenary... understand
one thing... we're out for blood, we're out to kick some tail and we're
out for victory for ourselves and unconditional surrender from you!
Bathwaite, I guarantee you we're gonna make you unlock that door and
admit that nobody can beat Team USA... big boy!

JD: But how can you be certain that Bathwaite will unlock that cage? And
more importantly... how can you be certain you can trust Stevie Scott?

S: Jason, Bathwaite may tell everyone there's no way he unlocks the cage
door... but he says a lot of things and seldom can he ever back them up!
The fact is, you are looking at three men who some might say can get a
little wild... heck, I watched some of Watkins' matches, I know he
always came to fight, and tonight is no different!

[He slaps Watkins on the shoulder.]

S: And I know he can get just as wild as Lee and myself... and yeah,
like Corax, although Corax does it in his own way! So Bathwaite may
think he's not gonna unlock that door for us, but once we get unleashed
on the Foreigh Legion, he'll find he has no choice but to accept that
unconditional surrender that Lee talked about!

[On that remark, Lee salutes the camera.]

S: And as far as Stevie Scott goes, all I want to find out is what kind
of man he is. He doesn't have to like me or anyone else on the team...
he just needs to be there for the team, because when I extended the
offer, he accepted it. All I ask is he stand by us tonight and show me
that he is the man that I truly believe he can be!

JD:  Jim Watkins, it's been a long time for you to climb into a ring and
even longer since you got into something like this Tower of Doom.

JW:  A REAL long time, JD!  And I've gotta be honest with ya, when this
ol' cowboy hung up the boots way back when, I didn't really envision a
time when I'd be strappin' 'em back on for war.

But then again, I didn't envision the ghost of Big Jim past comin' back
to haunt me neither.  

Velikov, Kostovich... this ain't the first barn dance we've been to with
one another and I want ya to know, there's a damn decent chance it ain't
gonna be the last either.

See, I made a little pact with myself recently...

[Watkins grins, rubbing his hands together.]

JW:  I decided that since there ain't no grave that can hold this old
body down, that I'd keep comin'... and keep comin'... and keep comin' to
knock your skulls together until you get the point through your thick
Commie skulls.

This is America, boys.

[Supernova nods, slapping Watkins on the shoulder.]

JW:  It's the land of the free, the home of the brave, and tonight,
we're gonna show just how brave we get when we climb up into that tower
and bloody your filthy... STINKING... YELLA... COMMIE SKULLS UP AND DOWN
THE WHOLE DAMN THING!  YEAAAAAAAH!

[Watkins slaps himself across his reddening face as he tears out of
view.  Supernova chuckles, shrugging at Jason Dane as he follows behind.
 Tyler Lee takes a moment to wave the flag one more time.]

TL:  This?  This is somethin' that we show the world tonight that you
DON'T tread on... big boy!

[And Lee storms out to join his partners as Jason Dane shakes his head.]

JD:  A very fired up Team America heading into the Tower... but what
about the other side of this match, fans?  What about the Foreign Legion
and the Mercenary?  I went to get the answer to that very question
earlier today when I talked to the men who will be on the other side of
that intimidating Tower.  Let's take a look...

[We cut back to footage marked "EARLIER TODAY" where we find ourselves
near the back of the growing crowd, near the wall of the stadium. The
green grass of the baseball field can be seen here, and Jason Dane
stands by with a rather large group of people. The crowd is already
booing, because this is a rather distinctive group: Sharif, Sudakov,
Velikov, Kostovich, and the Mercenary.

In front of the assemblage is Count Adrian Bathwaite. The Count is
wearing a bright red sequinned dress shirt, grey slacks, and holds his
cane in one hand while brandishing a large skeleton key in the other. A
big grin is entrenched on the face of the silver-haired Eurasian
manager, revealing his very British teeth. Near him, nodding in
approval, the bisht-and-kaffiyeh-draped form of Sultan Azam Sharif.
Besides the reddish-brown robe and white headdress, Sharif has an even
larger Iranian flag than usual, so he's like a mountain of cloth right
now. His neatly trimmed mustache and goatee are visible as he's smiling
in aticipation of the event. 

The Russians look like they're ready for war already - all three men
clad in black singlets with a red and gold hammer and sickle splashed
across the chest.  Their boots follow a similar coloring scheme.  Ivan
Kostovich looks quite confident but Vladimir Velikov and Kolya Sudakov
are quietly arguing as the camera falls upon them.

Rounding out the group is a rugged looking individual. Dressed in a
black t-shirt, camouflage pants, well worn black army boots and sporting
a pair of silver aviator shades over his well worn face, is the best at
what he does, the man known and feared all around the wrestling world, 
the one and only Mercenary. And as always, he has a silver Haliburton
suitcase with a green dollar sign adorning it in one hand.]

JD: Count Adrian Bathwaite, tonight you are holding the key to escape in
the big Tower Of Doom match! How on Earth could anyone trust you to be
impartia... OW!

[The expected Angry Old Man Cane Jabbing(tm) does not disappoint.
Bathwaite silences Dane with the annoying jab between the ribs, and
starts speaking.]

CAB: Shut your yap, you needle-necked serf!  I don't have to be
impartial, because these five men are going to totally destroy the
Facade Squad!  Those lowborn cretins will never make it to the lower
ring, I assure you.  But if somehow any of them do, as long as they
don't accost my noble personage, I'll let them out.  I am an honorable
man!  And if any of them decide to flee from the cage like a bilge rat
abandoning a sinking ship, all they have to do is get on a knee and beg
me to let them run for their weedy little lives, and I'll happily let
them expose their best side to the entire world, as they run screaming
into the night never to show their faces again!

JD: So you'll unlock the door for Supernova's team, as long as they beg
you to.

CAB: That's their proper place, commoners that they are.  But enough
about the commoners!  You are surrounded by blooded men, Jason Dane! 
Sultan, tell them about it!

[And here goes the barely intelligible rantings of Sharif, who stops
waving his enormous flag long enough to put up a single index finger.]

SAS: Mistair Jahsun Dan, its just like dot vat Mistair Count Batwaite
say!  But two week ago, Mistair Steefie Scott hod deh shance to help us,
un he diddunt do it!  Now you gonna be in vid deh cruminals, Steefie
Scott!  Un Coorvax, you cowaird, I hope you brought dot chicken in deh
ring vid you, because I vas gunna shop its head off un make fesenjan out
of it!  Un you vus gunna be even worse den dot!  Tylair Lee, you big
jehbronie, you diddunt efen belong in deh ring with Mistair Vladmir
Velkupff, un he gonna show you dot tonight!  Jumm Vatkin, you vere
curupt!  Un now dot Mistair EEvon Kostovich got you out of powair, you
gonna pay for dot vat you did!

But Supairnova... you vere deh one dot started all of dis!  Un REMEMBAH!

[Sharif whips off his kaffiyeh, revealing his neatly trimmed black hair
and his rather intense eyes.]

SAS: I come from deh oldest country in deh vurld, Shiraz Iran, un ve
alvays finished vat deh othairs start!  Dot is vhy mulleniums of
countrys came and gone, but ve're still here!  Un I'm still here!  You
vant to punch old man, you vant to think you're a hero ven you are a
thug!  Terooh fein ya sa'look bein el-molook!  Un you did a lot of
hairm, you hurt my managair, you ombarrus me, BUT RAMEMBAH!  Illi yaakul
min Halawitha, yitHammil mararitha!  Un tonight, in front of
tousan-tousan peepell in dis crickut field, ve gonna give you dot vat
you been osking for!  UTbukhi ya garya, kallif ya siidi!

JD:  Mr. Kostovich?

[Ivan leans over the mic.]

IK:  What he just said is what you pathetic Americans would say as "He
who dances to the music must pay the piper.

Does that sound like these people to you?

[Nods all around.]

IK:  You people have brought this upon yourselves.  We gather here today
on the site of a field that houses what they call America's game -
professional baseball.  

[Kostovich snorts.]

IK:  But to me, America's TRUE game is the art of lying - the art of
deceit, of deception, of weak and pathetic cowardice.

Of corruption.

Corruption like YOU, Jim Watkins, who stood on judgment of us for months
while holding this black hatred towards us.  But now, Jim Watkins, you
have been exposed for who you truly are.  A corrupt, weak, flag-waving
American.

You speak of how long it has been for you to be inside a ring.  It has
been longer for myself.

[Kostovich grins.]

IK:  But at the end of the day, whether I'm eight years old or
eighty-eight years old, I still have this...

[Kostovich joins his hands together in the Russian Hammer.]

IK:  And I still have the rest of this historic team, coming together on
America's birthday to show the entire world that the United States of
America is the useless, hollow sham that we've always said it is!

[Bathwaite pulls the mic back to him.]

CAB: That's right... I suspected that Stevie Scott was going to show his
real nature.  He's a commoner who thinks that he's earned nobility
because he had a bunch of better men help him hold a title for over a
year!  But you can dress a commoner in the finest clothes, feed them the
finest food, give them the best education; they will always be common
until the nobility grant them access to the upper class!  Stevie Scott
exceeded his birthright, and he could have founded a bloodline!  Think
of it!  Think of what that common fool threw away, because he thought he
had arrived when he hadn't even started the engine!  I knew he'd do it. 
He's the pig that returns to it's slop, the dog that eats it's own
vomit.  And that is why I made other arrangements.  And I don't settle
for second-rates.  I don't do "Plan B".  I made the very best
arrangements that money can buy!

[Bathwaite points his cane at the Mercenary, who looks up from the wad
of greenbacks that he was thumbing through.]

JD: And about that "arrangement"... Mercenary.  You are infamous across
this sport as being the ultimate hired gun.  But... to join with THESE
men?  On the Fourth Of July weekend?!  That's too much... how could any
amount of money be worth THAT?!

Merc: Worth what? It's not like I'm a huge supporter of the United
States and it's policies. If you knew anything about me and my past,
which obviously you don't, you would know that just because I make my
living in the States, it doesn't mean I love the place. The money that
these men have paid me is just as good as anyone else's. And unlike
what's-his-name, who said he'd help these fine gentlemen, and then
turned on his back on them, I do what I say I'm going to do. And what
I'm saying, is that I am going to pummel each and every one of our
opponents into a pulp and leave them laying in a pool of each other's
blood. I won't be here in the AWA for a long time, but I am definitely
going to be remembered.

[Kostovich, Velikov, and Bathwaite laugh loudly at this proclaiment.]

IK:  You see, Jason Dane, it is quite simple arithmetic that even you
can manage.  You add one face-painted goon, one flag-waving goof, one
freak with a bird, one old man... and then subtract the man that no one
trusts.  

What is the sum, Dane?

[Jason looks puzzled.]

IK:  The sum is total failure at the hands of a REAL team, Dane.  

And that's the kind of math that even your pathetic American audience
with their plummeting test scores can do.

Let us go, gentlemen.

[There is laughter all around as the rulebreaking group leaves Jason
Dane behind.]

JD:  Let's go back to ringside for the Tower of Doom!

[And that's exactly what we do, cutting back to the ringside area where
we find the final touches being put on this massive structure.  The
crowd is buzzing at the sight of three steel cages - each smaller than
the one below it - being stacked on top of one another.  We stay on it
for a bit, exploring the massive structure and then cut to ringside
where Mark Stegglet is standing.]

MS:  Fans, in just a moment, I'll be going over the rules for this Tower
Of Doom match but before that, earlier in the week, it was announced
that we would be hosting a very special guest here at Wrestlerock - a
man that to many who follow the world of Mixed Martial Arts, needs no
introduction...

[Stegglet walks over to the barricade where we see two figures seated. 
The one closest to Stegglet is a very large, recognizable man. One of
the greatest modern mixed martial artists in the world. The man large
man is bronzed and stares into the camera through a pair of piercing
blue eyes. He is wearing a black Affliction t-shirt with a grey, faded,
picture of the grim reaper rolling down the left side from shoulderblade
to the bottom fringe of the shirt. The man playfully holds both fists up
in his mock signature stance, smiling into the camera.]

MS: Ladies and gentlemen, it's my honor and priviledge to welcome to
Wrestlerock a man who needs no introduction.. currently he is the number
one contender to the Heavyweight championship in MMA International..
arguably the most dangerous man in the world... Daniel Grayson!

[Some of the fans, those familiar with MMA International, cheer.]

MS:  Daniel, it's great to have you with us here tonight.

[Sitting next to Grayson is a bald gentlemen in a business suit sans
tie. To wrestling fans he may go unnoticed but in the world of mixed
martial arts he is well-known promoter, manager and close confidant to
Grayson... Donovan Tate. Tate leans in and whispers something in
Grayson's ear before Daniel speaks.]

DG: Thanks, Mark. It's great to be here tonight enjoying the incredible
wrestling action that the AWA has to offer. I'd like to thank them again
for having myself and Donovan on such a special occasion. They truly
have spared no expense in making this one of the most enjoyable personal
appearances I've had the priviledge of being a part of. Tonight has been
a real treat.

[The crowd cheers Grayson's polite words.]

MS: While you're more well known for your prowess inside the cage, it's
_also_ a well known fact that you yourself have spent some time inside
the AWA's own Combat Corner only for you to suddenly depart without much
explanation. Since we have you here tonight, care to comment on what
exactly led to your departure?

[Again.. Tate leans in and whispers in Grayson's ear before Daniel
speaks.]

DG: It's no secret that I'm a huge fan of professional wrestling, Mark. 
Heck, there are certain aspects of this sport that bleed over into mixed
martial arts. Aspects that I've used over the years to overcome some
tremendous obstacles. My time at the Combat Corner provided me
tremendous tools that I've been able to utilize in my profession as a
MMA fighter. 

As for your question..

[Grayson pauses.. choosing his words very carefully.]

DG:  I don't want to stir up gossip, or create speculation as to what
may, or may not, have led to my exit from the Combat Corner. Doing so
would be a disservice to the men I worked with there, as well as myself.
Instead, I'd like to take this opportunity to thank the great trainers
and athletes at the Combat Corner who gave me the opportunity to enhance
my skills and grown into not just the athlete, but also the man, that
I've become today. 

[More cheers for the polite words.]

MS: I know that you're currently in line to challenge for the MMA
International Heavyweight Championship but a very bitter, very open,
contract dispute has prevented the match from coming to fruition.. have
you ever thought about stepping into an AWA ring instead?

[Grayson smiles slightly.]

DG: Who HASN'T?

[BIG CHEER!]

DG:  Unfortunately, in regards to the contract dispute, that's something
left to more interested men than I. I really wish I could comment on it,
but I think there's already been enough gasoline thrown on that fire..
I'll let that sleeping dog lie for now. 

BUT... as far as AWA goes.. with fans like these.. 

[Grayson waves a hand around at the audience to a delighted response.]

DG:  ..and action like THAT...

[Grayson points at the ring.]

DG:  ...you'd have to be a fool to not dream of it someday.

[Stegglet smiles, pursuing the line of questioning.]

MS: How do you think you'd fair if you WERE to ever cross over and step
into an AWA ring?

[Tate leans in to whisper in Grayson's ear, but this time Grayson waves
him off as a confident smile brims to the surface.]

DG:  IF I were to ever get into an AWA ring.. and that's a big if at
this point, Mark.  Then I think that my blend of talent would be a
breath of fresh air that could turn the AWA on its own head. No
disrespect meant, but one of the areas where I personally feel that AWA,
and professional wrestling in general, falls flat is that its combatants
pigeonhole themselves into one area or expertise instead of challenging
themselves, and immersing in learning several different types of combat.


Take me for instance..

[Grayson holds up his hand and begins counting off, one for each
attribute.] 

DG:  I can stand with anyone. 

Roll with anyone. 

Choke out anyone. 

Knock out anyone.

[Grayson's holding all four fingers up now, before flashing another
quick smile.]

DG:  Heck, I can even talk with the best of 'em. 

Gotta promote after all, am I right? 

[Grayson leans back in his chair as Stegglet begins to wrap it up.]

MS: Well, it would certainly be interesting to say the least. Any final
thoughts before we get back to the action here tonight?

DG: I'm just excited to see what happens next, Mark.  It's been a great
night thus far and I'm sure it will continue to be one.  Thanks again to
the AWA and thanks to the fans as well for being so supportive during a
turbulent time. I'm looking forward to getting back out there and
putting on a show for each and every one of you as soon as this whole
thing is cleared up. 

Also, thanks to my sponsors who continue to support me.. and for anybody
looking for something to do later tonight, feel free to stop by our
afterparty at the Blue Horn Lounge where I'll be signing autographs and
hanging out with my great fans.  

MS: Ladies and gentlemen, Daniel Grayson!

[The crowd pops again as Grayson resumes his mock fighting pose, smiling
and appearing to have a great time.]

MS:  And I'm now being told that the Tower of Doom, the scene of the
crime for our next match, has been fully constructed.  So, let's take a
look at this thing and go over the rules for this match...

[The shot cuts to a wide shot of the stadium, showing off the three
story Tower of Doom in the shining spotlights, glittering as they pass
over its steel structure.  Two lengthy ladders rest on opposite sides of
the cage, leading all the way up from the floor to the ceiling.  There
are two referees in position - one next to the very small upper cage and
one kneeling outside the second cage, tugging at a lever.]

MS:  Alright, time to earn my paycheck, guys...

[Stegglet hands off the handheld mic to a ringside attendant, tapping on
a mic on his collar.]

MS:  Got me?  Okay, let's do this...

[The announcer approaches the ladder, looking up...]

MS:  It's a long way up there.  So, fans... as you know, we've got two
teams of five.  When the opening bell sounds, one man from each team
will scale this ladder... just like I'm about to...

[Stegglet slowly begins scaling the ladder, step by step to the cheers
of the fans.]

MS:  Man... this really is higher than it looks... 

[The crowd roars as Stegglet slowly climbs, not speaking for an extended
period of time as he nears the top, stepping off the ladder with the
help of referee Marty Meekly.]

MS:  Thanks, Marty.  Okay... so, once you make it to the top of the
ladder, you'll enter this door...

[Stegglet steps through the small opening into the top cage as Meekly
pulls a lever, snapping the cage door shut behind him.]

MS:  Watch it, Marty... almost lost a finger there.  Okay, so you'll
enter the top cage here... and as you can see, this cage is barely big
enough for... two people?  Three would be a stretch.  There's not much
room in here at all.  The cage is just a little bit taller than the
average AWA competitor... maybe seven or seven a half feet tall?

So, you'll battle up here inside this cage for two minutes, fighting
with the first man in from the other team.  After two minutes...

[A loud buzzer sounds as Stegglet grabs at his ear.]

MS:  Thanks for that, Marty.  Didn't need that ear anyways.

[Stegglet leans over, grabbing a trapdoor in the floor and pulling it
open.]

MS:  This trapdoor will free itself to be opened.  Now, the trapdoor
will only be open for fifteen seconds.  If you can't get through, you
have to stay in the cage for another two minute period.  So, it can get
pretty tight up here if you get stuck behind.,

So...

[Stegglet sits down on the floor of the cage, grabbing the mesh with his
fingers...

...and slowly lowering himself through, dropping a couple feet down onto
the middle cage, wincing a bit as he does so.]

MS:  Into the middle cage we go... the second tier if you will.  Now,
this cage is quite a bit larger than the top cage but look at this...

[Stegglet stomps his foot a few times.]

MS:  A steel floor, steel walls, steel ceiling!  This is VERY dangerous,
fans!  A lot of damage can be done in a hurry in this one.  So, the
battle will continue here...

Mickey, if you please...

[Mickey Meekly outside the second cage sounds the buzzer as well,
pulling the lever to open the trapdoor in the middle cage.  Stegglet
leans over, pulling it open...]

MS:  And then you go through this one... man, this is high... I'm not
sure...

[Stegglet touches his earpiece, nodding.]

MS:  Alright, let's give it a...

[Stegglet pushes off, dropping down into the ring for the bottom level.]

MS:  SHOT!  Whew.  That one stung a bit.  So, you reach the bottom level
and this is where you can escape the Tower.  Now, remember that Count
Adrian Bathwaite will be the Keeper of the Key down here.  He'll be
responsible for opening that cage door and allowing people to get to the
floor...

[Stegglet produces a key, opening the padlock on the door, and stepping
out to the floor.]

MS:  Remember, the first team to have their entire team make it through
the Tower to the floor will be the winner.

The Tower of Doom - very unique, very dangerous, and very exciting.

This is gonna be a lot of fun, fans.  Phil Watson, she's all yours.

[We crossfade to Phil Watson who is standing outside the Tower at
ringside.]

PW:  The following contest is the TOWER OF DOOM!

[HUUUUUGE CHEER!]

PW:  Introducing first... Team #1... 

[The sounds of the Russian National Anthem starts up to a HUUUGE
explosion of jeers.]

PW:  They are the team of...

SULLLTAN AZZZAM SHAAARIF!

[Sharif is the first one into the stadium, shouting unintelligibly at
anyone around him.  He marches down the aisle towards the waiting Tower
with Count Adrian Bathwaite walking alongside him.]

GM:  That hardly seems appropriate.

BW:  What?

GM:  Bathwaite has duties in this match that require him to be neutral!

BW:  Well, blame the Championship Committee for being dumb enough to
think that was likely to happen.

[Watson continues.]

PW:  IVAN KOSTOVICH, VLADIMIR VELIKOV, AND KOLYA SUDAKOV - THE
RUSSSSSSIANS!

[The trio is the next batch through, Sudakov reluctantly carrying the
Russian flag on a wooden pole.  Velikov has the heavy Russian steel
chain draped over his shoulders and neck as they make their way down the
aisle.]

PW:  And the final member of their team... THE MERRRRCENARY!

[The Mercenary emerges to jeers from the crowd, holding his Haliburton
high in the air.  He ignores their boos, joining his teammates in the
long walk down the aisle to the side of the Tower.  A pair of AWA
officials are arguing with Adrian Bathwaite when we catch up with the
team.]

GM:  Now what in the world is this all about?

BW:  Bathwaite wants to do his duties from the floor, I think.  Seems
fair.

GM:  What?!  He's the Keeper of the Key!

BW:  He can unlock the door from the floor, can't he?

GM:  That's not the rules of the match!  Get him in there, boys!

[On cue, the officials grab Bathwaite by the arms, physically dragging
him towards the cage while Bathwaite shouts, "GET YOUR HANDS OFF ME, YOU
FILTHY NEEDLE-NECK SERFS!"]

GM:  He's being forced in there!  Get in there!

[Bathwaite is pushed through the bottom cage door...

...which is then slammed shut behind him and locked.  An angry Bathwaite
kicks the bottom rope as the key is handed through the mesh to him.  He
goes to unlock it but a shout from one of the officials stops him
short.]

GM:  They just threatened to suspend him if he lets himself out!

BW:  ABUSE!  OF!  POWER!  These AWA officials tonight - including
Stegglet - are out of control!

GM:  They're trying to fight back!  Robert Donovan pointed out a week
ago that the front office had lost control of the wrestlers and this may
be an example of them trying to get control back.

[With a pouting Bathwaite harassing Phil Watson from inside the cage,
the ring announcer continues...]

PW:  And their opponents...

[The Marine Corps Anthem kicks in to an ENORMOUS CHEER!]

PW:  They are TEAM AMERRRRICAAAAA!

GM:  AMERICA!  Heck yeah!

PW:  CORRRRRAX!

[The AWA's dark shadow walks into view, pointing his baseball bat at the
Tower of Doom...]

PW:  TYYYYYLER LEEEEEE!

[Lee strides into view, the American flag swinging in the air to the
further roar of the crowd.]

PW:  BIG!  JIM!  WAAAAATKINS!

[The big man steps out in his street fight clothes to a huge reaction.]

PW:  "HOTSHOT" STEEEEEEVIE SCOTT!

[The former two-time National Champion walks out like it's no big deal,
no sign of patriotism anywhere to be seen.  All business as he walks
down the aisle towards the Tower that awaits.]

PW:  And the team captain... SUUUUUPERRRRNOOOOOVA!

[Supernova steps out through the curtain to an even bigger cheer,
wearing red, white, and blue facepaint.  His tights have the same colors
creating the flames on them.  We also can spot his white wrestling boots
with a small American flag on the sides.]

GM:  Team America is in the Durham Bulls Athletic Center and these fans
are going absolutely ballistic for them!

[The fan favorite squad reaches ringside, huddling up to plan strategy
as the rulebreakers do the same on the other side...

...and suddenly, "Hotshot" Stevie Scott breaks away from the huddle,
heading straight to the ladder where he begins climbing!]

GM:  Wait a second!

BW:  I guess Stevie Scott is going to be the first man in for his team.

GM:  It appears that way...

[We cut to ringside where Tyler Lee shouts up at Scott then looks at
Supernova who shrugs.]

GM:  And it doesn't appear that his team knew anything about that
decision.

[Scott quickly reaches the top of the Tower, standing outside the top
cage as the rulebreakers continue to chat...

...and then decide that Kolya Sudakov is the first one in for their
squad.]

GM:  Oh my!

BW:  How 'bout this, Gordo?  Two former National Champions are the
lead-off hitters for their teams!

GM:  The only two former National Champions in this match... and look at
the grin on the face of Stevie Scott.  You'd almost think he WANTED
another shot at Sudakov.

BW:  You heard the Hotshot.  He hasn't forgotten what the Russians did
to him three summers ago at WarGames.  And you can bet that Sudakov
hasn't forgotten what Scott did to HIM two summers ago on the 4th of
July!  It's two years ago TONIGHT that these two squared off for the
National Title.

GM:  It was a moment that completely changed the course of history for
the AWA - a moment where the Southern Syndicate was born and a new
champion was crowned.

[Sudakov reaches the top of the ladder, gripping the mesh with his
fingers.  He glares across the top cage at Scott, nodding his head as
the Hotshot returns fire with some comments.]

GM:  Man, I'd love to be able to hear what Stevie Scott has to say right
now.

BW:  We could send Stegglet back up there with the mic.

GM:  Heheh... I don't think Mark would appreciate that too much.

[Marty Meekly shouts to both men, making sure they're prepared...

...and then sounds the buzzer, opening the doors to the top cage!]

GM:  HERE WE GO!  IT'S TIME FOR THE TOWER OF DOOM TO BEGIN!!

[Scott rushes through the cage door, beating the bulkier Sudakov through
the slim opening.  The Hotshot charges into action, hammering Sudakov
with right hands to the ribs...

...but Sudakov shoves him off, powering his way into the smallest cage
as the door slams shut behind him.]

GM:  Both men are in!

[Scott tries to come back, throwing a haymaker...

...but Sudakov blocks it, returning fire with a right hand of his own. 
A second one knocks the Hotshot back against the mesh as Sudakov winds
up.]

GM:  Right hand!  Another!  Another!  He's hammering away at the
Hotshot!

[Sudakov grabs Scott by the hair, SLAMMING his face into the mesh to a
mixed reaction from the crowd!]

GM:  OHH!  FACEFIRST TO THE STEEL!

BW:  And that didn't take too long, Gordo!

GM:  It certainly didn't - the fight broke down into the steel right
away!

BW:  There's not even room to stand up there!  How the heck are these
two fighting?!

[Sudakov attempts another slam into the mesh but Scott plants both his
hands against the steel, blocking Sudakov's smash...

...and DRIVES his elbow back into the ribs of Sudakov.  A second blow
breaks the grip and allows Stevie Scott to return the favor, grabbing a
handful of head, and SMASHING Sudakov's face into the steel!]

GM:  OHHH!  SCOTT SENDS SUDAKOV INTO THE STEEL!!

[Sudakov stumbles away, falling back into another wall of the small
cage, the whole Tower rocking under the movement.]

GM:  This whole Tower is shaking with every thing these men do.

BW:  And that's gotta be unsettling for the men inside the cage... not
to mention the guys on the floor waiting to get in...

GM:  Not just the wrestlers, Bucky.  We've got two referees up there on
the Tower - we've got cameramen.  This should be hazard pay for all of
them.  Imagine someone falling off this thing?  I shudder to think about
it.

BW:  Then it's a good thing Monosso's not in it because he probably
would have tried it.

[Scott grabs Sudakov in a loose headlock, slamming a series of right
hands into the skull of the Russian.]

GM:  Like we said, there's not a ton of room up there so these guys are
taking advantage of doing whatever they can to do some damage to one
another.

[Sudakov HURLS Scott out of the side headlock, throwing him into the
mesh!]

GM:  OHHHH!

[The crowd buzzes as the Tower visibly shifts under the impact.]

BW:  I don't like the way this thing is movin', Gordo.  Usually, I like
sitting ringside but I wish our seats were a little further back
tonight.

GM:  I'm with you on that one.  Every time this gigantic metal Tower
shifts, I feel a little queasy to my stomach.

[With Scott leaning against the mesh, Sudakov wraps his fingers in the
steel, stepping to the side...

...and snapping off a side roundhouse kick into the small of the back!]

GM:  Ohh!  What a shot to the kidneys!

[Sudakov repeats the blow, causing that "SMAAAACK!" to echo through the
buzzing stadium...]

GM:  Those kicks are brutal, fans!  We can hear 'em all the way down
here and you just know they're doing damage.  Remember, Kolya Sudakov is
a former accomplished kickboxer and Mixed Martial Artist.

[The Russian, still holding the steel mesh, delivers a third kick,
causing Scott to slink down to his knees, one hand wrenching around to
grab at his kidneys as Sudakov steps behind him, grabbing him by the
hair.  The crowd roars at the sight of Scott about to have his face
driven into the mesh - some cheering, some booing.]


"BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!"


[The buzzer sounds and the men in the "on deck" circle, Tyler Lee and
Vladimir Velikov, enter the top cage.]

GM:  We've got the next two men and it's getting crowded up there in the
top cage!

[Lee rushes in and immediately drills Sudakov with a haymaker, breaking
his grip on the Hotshot.]

GM:  Lee knocks Sudakov away from the Hotshot.  And don't forget,
there's a fifteen second period here where the trapdoors are open!  This
is their chance to-

[The crowd roars as Stevie Scott, still kneeling, turns around and grabs
the trapdoor, flinging it open...]

BW:  I don't think you needed to remind the Hotshot!  He's getting out
of there!

[Scott quickly lowers himself through the door, reaching up to grab the
mesh...

...and SLAMMING it shut as he drops down to the second level!]

GM:  Stevie Scott is through!  He's down to the second level and-

BW:  And he didn't do Tyler Lee any favors, Gordo!

GM:  He certainly didn't.  Lee is now all alone in the top cage with
Kolya Sudakov and Vladimir Velikov - not a good position to be in,
Bucky.

[Velikov manages to hook a front facelock on Lee, holding him as Sudakov
smashes double axehandle after double axehandle down across the back.]

GM:  The Russians are hammering away on Lee...

[The shot cuts to the middle cage where Stevie Scott glances up, shaking
his head at the action above him.]

GM:  You know, I realize that the goal of this thing is to get through
the Tower and out to the floor but Stevie Scott put his team in a
serious disadvantage here by dropping down to the middle level.

BW:  But you said it yourself... this is the way you win!  You have to
go through the Tower.

GM:  I realize that.  I'm just saying...

[Up in the top cage, Tyler Lee has managed to wriggle free and is now
laying a haymaker beating on both Russians, drawing a big cheer from the
fans as he rallies back...

...and then SMASHES their skulls together in a double noggin knocker!]

GM:  OHHH!  A MEETING OF THE MINDS BETWEEN THE RUSSIANS!!

BW:  And the Louisville Slugger needs to keep it up.  He's still got
close to a minute up there before he gets a chance to get out of the top
chamber.  Can you imagine how bad it would be for Lee if he DIDN'T make
it through?

GM:  Somebody's GOT to make it through!  Three guys is way too many for
that small of a space.  There's no way that anyone else is gonna fit in
there with them, Bucky.

BW:  We may be about to find out.

[Lee grabs Velikov by the head, SMASHING his large skull into the
steel.]

GM:  Lee puts Velikov into the steel!  Those two have had issues for
some time now!

[Still holding Velikov by the head, Lee SLAMS his head into the mesh
again.  He spins Velikov around, driving a punch into the forehead that
knocks Velikov down to a knee...

...where Lee promptly sinks his teeth into the forehead of the big
Russian!]

BW:  AHHHH!

GM:  All is fair in this one!  It's all legal!


"BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!"


[At the sound of the buzzer, Stevie Scott quickly opens the trapdoor on
the second level, easily dropping down unmolested to the bottom cage,
slamming the door behind him.]

GM:  Stevie's through to the bottom cage!

[The shot cuts to the top cage where Tyler Lee leans over, pulling open
the trapdoor...

...and gets DRILLED with a short kick to the face by Sudakov!]

GM:  Ohh!  What a shot by the Russian War Machine!

[Sudakov quickly shoves Lee aside, dropping through the trapdoor, and
falling down to the middle level.]

GM:  Sudakov drops through to the second level!

[From outside the cage, Corax and the Mercenary slip through...

...and just before the trapdoor closes again, Tyler Lee makes a lunge!]

GM:  LEE'S THROUGH!!  LEE'S THROUGH!!!

[Lee's entire upper body is wedged through the trapdoor, trying to get
down to the middle cage while The Mercenary grabs his leg from the upper
level...

...and a HARD upkick to the jaw by Lee breaks the Mercenary's grip,
allowing Lee to slip through...

...and FALL straight down onto his upper back on the mesh of the middle
cage!]

GM:  OHHHH!  MY STARS, WHAT A FALL!!

BW:  He fell - what?  Ten feet?!

GM:  At least!  Tyler Lee was trying to get through to the second cage
and he fell some ten feet off that top cage down to the middle level! 
Right down onto the back of his head and neck on that mesh!

[From the outside of the top cage, Ivan Kostovich is screaming at
Sudakov, ordering him to assault the downed Lee.  Sudakov glares up at
his employer for a long moment before moving to follow orders.

The camera shot cuts to the bottom cage where Stevie Scott has gotten
Adrian Bathwaite to open the cage door with little protestation and has
exited the Tower.]

GM:  Stevie's out!  The former champ has exited the Tower and he's the
first to the floor, Bucky!

BW:  That means the so-called Team America needs to get four more out of
the cage.

[Out on the floor, Scott is confronted by Supernova who shouts at him,
pointing out the bad situation that Tyler Lee is in.]

GM:  Supernova is reading Stevie Scott the riot act!

BW:  What's he so upset about?  They're winning!

GM:  He's upset that Tyler Lee just took a potentially career-shortening
fall onto the second level of that cage and at some level, Stevie Scott
is at least partially to blame for it!

[Supernova and Scott exchange a few more words before the former
two-time National Champion simply shoves past his face-painted partner,
simply walking back up the aisle towards the locker room...]

GM:  Stevie Scott's leaving!  He's leaving ringside!

BW:  He did his job!  And apparently no one appreciates it!  So, why
SHOULDN'T he leave, Gordo?!

GM:  His team is still fighting in there!

BW:  He's got no loyalty to any of them!  We know that!

GM:  I can't believe this.  What kind of a man is Stevie Scott?!

BW:  I think you know the answer to that one.

GM:  I'm afraid I do.


"BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!"


[As the buzzer sounds, a well-prepared Kolya Sudakov easily drops down
to the bottom cage, slamming the trapdoor shut behind him.]

GM:  Sudakov's through to the bottom cage!

[From the top cage, the Mercenary holds down Corax as Vladimir Velikov
drops through into the middle level, joining the downed Tyler Lee who is
still hurting from his fall.]

GM:  Velikov's through and-

[The crowd jeers as the Mercenary drops down as well!]

GM:  The Mercenary's through too!

BW:  Uh oh!  That's HUGE, Gordo!

[The Mercenary reaches back up, slamming the trapdoor shut, leaving
Corax down on the floor of the top cage as Jim Watkins and Ivan
Kostovich come into the top cage, immediately throwing bombs at one
another to the roar of the crowd!]

GM:  IT'S THE 1980s ALL OVER AGAIN!!

BW:  Man, I wish.

[The announcers fall silent for a moment, letting the roar of the crowd
as seeing Jim Watkins hammer Ivan Kostovich relentlessly with blows to
the skull fill the air...

...and then the loud "CLAAAAANG!" of the steel cage as Watkins SMASHES
Kostovich's head into the mesh!]

GM:  What a shot!  Right into the steel!

[Dropping down to the middle cage with our camerawork, we find Velikov
holding a dazed Tyler Lee's arms behind him as the Mercenary batters him
in the forehead repeatedly.  Signalling to Velikov, each man grabs a
handful of Lee's head...

...and PROPELS him into the mesh wall!]

GM:  OHHHHH!  INTO THE STEEL GOES TYLER LEE!!

[Lee collapses down on the mesh as the Mercenary moves in, kneeling over
him him.  He grabs a handful of hair, hammering the forehead and soon
enough, a stream of blood starts to emerge.]

GM:  He's split open Tyler Lee!

[Cutting to the bottom cage, we see Bathwaite and Sudakov arguing.]

GM:  And what's going on here?

BW:  Sudakov's trying to leave the cage but Bathwaite's not having any
of it!

GM:  Why not?  The goal's to get out of there!

BW:  Yeah, but having Sudakov in the bottom cage gives the Foreign
Legion a good shot at stopping ANYONE who tries to get out!

[The argument is getting heated with Sudakov dropping a "I DON'T WORK
FOR YOU!" punctuated with a shove to the chest!]

BW:  Hey!  Don't you touch him, you filthy Commie!

GM:  Channeling our old friend Big Jim up there, Bucky?

BW:  Err... it slipped out.  My apologies.

[Bathwaite gets heated in response, shouting at Sudakov, jabbing a
finger repeatedly into his chest.

We crossfade back to the middle level where the Mercenary is dragging
Lee's face back and forth against the mesh, turning his forehead into a
bloody mess.  Vladimir Velikov shouts down to his nephew from the second
level in Russian.]

GM:  It seems like Velikov may be telling Sudakov to listen to
Bathwaite.  That's just gotta steam a man like Sudakov who wants to
fight his own battles and operate under his own power!

[With Lee down on the mesh, the Mercenary pulls up his t-shirt,
revealing a bandolier of bullets...]

GM:  What in the world is this guy...

[Strap o' bullets in hand, the Mercenary winds up...

...and LASHES the strap down across the back of Tyler Lee!]

GM:  OHHHH!

BW:  Tyler Lee is takin' a world class beating in that middle cage,
Gordo!

GM:  Thanks to Stevie Scott!

BW:  I don't know how the heck ya can blame Stevie for this kid's
stupidity.  He shouldn't have gotten himself into this mess by throwing
himself headfirst through the trapdoor!


"BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!"


[The crowd ERUPTS as the final two men enter the top cage which is
getting way too crowded.]

GM:  SUPERNOVA AND SHARIF ARE IN!!  AND THIS ALL STARTED WITH THEM!!

[The two hated rivals attempt to get at one another but they can't seem
to get past Kostovich and Watkins who are still tangled up as well...

Corax crawls through the cage, hanging from the top for a second before
dropping down into the middle cage where the Mercenary continues to
hammer away at Tyler Lee, preventing his escape to the bottom cage.

But not Vladimir Velikov who drops down to join his nephew in the bottom
of the Tower.]

GM:  Velikov's into the bottom cage!

[And the big Russian immediately marches across the ring, shoving his
nephew hard in the chest.  He points to Bathwaite, screaming at Sudakov
in Russian, and then shoves him a second time.]

GM:  Come on, Kolya!  Stand up to these guys!  Be your own man!

BW:  We've been through this before, Gordo.  He can't!  If he wants to
stay employed in this company, he can't do a single thing that Ivan
Kostovich doesn't tell him he can do! 

[Velikov shoves Sudakov again, shouting at him again...

...and this time, Sudakov shoves back, knocking Velikov down on his rear
to the roar of the crowd!]

BW:  WHAT THE-?!

GM:  YES!  YES!  DO IT, KOLYA!

[A quick cut to the middle cage shows Corax smashing The Mercenary's
head into the mesh, returning the favor for the downed and bloodied
Tyler Lee who has crimson pouring from his skull.

Then a cut to the top of the Tower where Jim Watkins and Supernova are
smacking Sultan Azam Sharif back and forth between them to the roars of
the crowd!]

GM:  Right hand by Supernova!  And one by Watkins!  Another by 'Nova! 
Another by Watkins!  They're battering Sharif back and forth like a
pinball, Bucky!

BW:  And Kostovich is down on the floor of that top cage... he can't
help at all!

[The camera cuts back down to the bottom cage where Vladimir Velikov
stumbles up to his feet, shouting at Kolya Sudakov from across the ring,
marching towards him...

...and shoving him with both hands in the chest again!]

GM:  Velikov shoves him back and-

[BOOM!]

GM:  RIGHT HAND BY SUDAKOV!

[The crowd EXPLODES at the sight of Kolya Sudakov knocking Vladimir
Velikov flat with a right hand.  The big Russian scrambles back to his
feet...

...and gets RUN!  RIGHT!  OVER!]

GM:  SICKLE!!  SICKLE!!  SUDAKOV HITS THE SICKLE ON HIS UNCLE!!

[The AWA fans ERUPT at the sight of the Sickle being used on Sudakov's
abusive Uncle, knocking him flat...

...and then Sudakov ORDERS Bathwaite to open the door which he quickly
does.]

GM:  Sudakov's leaving!  Sudakov walked out of the cage and just like
Stevie Scott, he's walking away from this match!

BW:  He exited the cage - we're tied at one!

GM:  But he's out of here!  He wants nothing more to do with this match!
 My stars, fans... I never thought I'd be so happy to see a Russian
Sickle from Kolya Sudakov!

[Sudakov storms back up the aisle, the fans cheering him as he makes his
exit.]

BW:  Sudakov just made the biggest mistake of his life, Gordo!  He's
done!  He's finished in this company!  Kostovich is gonna send him back
to Siberia for this!  What an idiot!

GM:  He's a man, Bucky!  He's a man who just made a choice regardless of
the consequences!


"BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!"


[The sound of the buzzer means a scramble for the trapdoors as they are
flung open on both levels.  From the middle cage, Corax continues to
hammer The Mercenary agains the wall of the cage, backing off...

...and then rushing back in, SMASHING his knee into the Mercenary's
head!]

GM:  OHHHHH!  CORAX DRILLED THE MERCENARY!!

[And Tyler Lee takes the chance to drop down to the bottom level, blood
still pouring from his skull.  He immediately falls to a knee, trying to
regroup enough to escape the cage.

The camera cuts to the upper level where Ivan Kostovich crawls through
the trapdoor, dropping down to the middle level...

...and Jim Watkins is right behind him, doing the same thing!]

GM:  Watkins is through!  Kostovich is through!

[And seeing an opportunity, Corax does the same thing, dropping down to
the lower level...

...where he quickly exits the cage, Bathwaite giving him a wide berth. 
The smirking Corax exits.]

GM:  Corax is out!  He went down to the bottom level and out to the
floor!  He puts his team up a man!

BW:  It'll be even whenever the heck Velikov can get up and out!

GM:  That may be a while after eating that Russian Sickle.

[The crowd roars at the sight of Supernova hammering Sharif against the
mesh of the top level.

And on the middle level, there's almost a mirror image as Watkins does
the same thing with Kostovich, hammering him with big soup bone right
hands to the skull against the mesh!]

GM:  We've got brawls all over this Tower!  This is insane!

BW:  All the men are in now, Gordo.  Now, it's just a matter of getting
out of this thing.

GM:  Remember, those trapdoors will still only open every two minutes
except for the bottom cage where Adrian Bathwaite holds the key to
unlock the door.

BW:  And the Count has done an EXCELLENT job so far!

GM:  He's been better than I expected, I'll give you that.

BW:  Don't give it to me, give it to him!  The Count is an honorable
man!

[Watkins grabs Kostovich by the ponytail, charging across the second
level...

...and HURLING him into the mesh, sending Kostovich staggering away
where he falls facefirst down onto the mesh of the second level!]

GM:  Watkins is on top of Kostovich up there and- look at this!

[The crowd ERUPTS at the sight of Jim Watkins getting down and dirty,
raking Kostovich's face back and forth across the sharp steel mesh,
ripping and tearing at the flesh of the wealthy Russian power broker.]

GM:  WATKINS IS TRYING TO RIP HIM WIDE OPEN, FANS!

BW:  This ain't right, Gordo!  Kostovich is a retired man!

GM:  So is Jim Watkins!  That doesn't stop him from bringin' the fight,
brother!

BW:  Brother?!  Who the heck ARE you, Gordo?!

[Watkins flips Kostovich onto his back, revealing a heavy flow of blood
pouring out of the skull of Kostovich.]

GM:  KOSTOVICH IS BUSTED OPEN, FANS!!

[Watkins takes the mount, grabbing a handful of hair to dish out right
hand after right hand to the skull of Ivan Kostovich...

...which leaves him completely unaware that The Mercenary is coming from
behind, grabbing Watkins in a front facelock, and DROPPING him down to
the side of Kostovich, DDTng him into the steel mesh!]

GM:  OHHH!  The paid assassin hits hard on Jim Watkins!

[We cut to the bottom cage again, this time as Vladimir Velikov finally
pulls himself off the mat.  Bathwaite points to the exit but Velikov
shrugs him off, delivering a pair of heavy boots to the kneeling and
bloodied Louisville Slugger.]

GM:  Velikov's going after Lee!

BW:  I think this might be a mistake.  He's frustrated, he's upset about
his nephew's betrayal and he's taking it out on Tyler Lee.

[Velikov drags Lee off the mat, shoving him back into the ropes...

...and lays in a heavy forearm smash across the chest!]


"BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!"


GM:  Ohh!  What a shot by Velikov!

[The big Russian pushes Lee back against the ropes again before SMASHING
another forearm down on the sternum.  Grabbing a handful of hair,
Velikov charges across the ring...

...and SMASHES Lee's skull into the mesh!]

GM:  Velikov puts Lee down again!  Good grief!

[And then, an angry Velikov gestures to open the cage door, making his
exit down to the floor.]

GM:  Velikov's out!  We're even at two!

BW:  Six men left in the cage, daddy!  Supernova, Watkins, and Lee on
one side.  Sharif, Kostovich, and the Mercenary on the other!

[A quick cut up to the middle cage shows the Mercenary stomping Watkins
relentlessly, waving Kostovich towards the trapdoor...

...but he doesn't get there as Supernova drops through to the middle
cage, cutting off Kostovich's path!]

GM:  SUPERNOVA'S THROUGH!!

[Supernova backs down Kostovich who is busted open, begging off as he
scoots backwards across the cage mesh...]

GM:  Ivan Kostovich does NOT want any part of Supernova, I can tell you
that much for sure!

[And the crowd cheers as the trapdoors lock, leaving Sultan Azam Sharif
trapped in the top cage!]

GM:  SHARIF GOT STUCK!!  He got stuck behind the trapdoor!

[Slowly getting to his feet, an angry Sharif kicks the cage repeatedly
with his horned boot.  He shouts at Marty Meekly, ordering him to open
the cage to no avail.]

GM:  Sharif wants through in the worst possible way but it's not
happening, fans!  Those trapdoors will only open every two minutes and
Sharif is stuck up there until that time runs out!

[The camera cuts back to the middle level, revealing the Mercenary
driving his knuckles into the bloodied forehead of Jim Watkins.]

GM:  Obviously, Jim Watkins has gotten split open in this one as well,
fans.

BW:  There's more blood in this one than the last horror movie I saw,
daddy!

[Speaking of which, we cut to the bottom cage where a weary Tyler Lee
crawls out of the cage to the floor, still obviously hurting from his
fall earlier in the match.]

GM:  Lee's out!  We're down to five men in the cage!  Four in the second
cage, one in the top!  Five men left in the Tower to determine the
winner of this one!

[Back in the middle cage, Supernova peels away from Kostovich, pulling
the Mercenary off of the bloodied Jim Watkins, drilling him with a right
hand.  A second one lands as well before Supernova grabs the Mercenary
by the arm, whipping him across the cage into the mesh wall!]

GM:  OHHHH!!  The Mercenary's back hits the steel!

[And as the paid assassin staggers out, Supernova hoists him into the
air...

...and SLAMS him down on the steel!  BIG CHEER!]

GM:  SUPERNOVA SLAMS HIM ON THE STEEL!!

[The face-painted fan favorite throws his head back, howling to the
crowd as he pounds on his chest.]

GM:  He slammed the paid assassin on the solid steel mesh!

[Supernova backs off, takes three steps and leaps, and SMASHES down atop
the Mercenary with a big splash!]

GM:  OHHH!

BW:  I think the steel just buckled!  He almost splashed him THROUGH the
steel!

[Supernova takes the mount, hammering the Mercenary with right hands to
the skull.]

GM:  We're getting close to those trapdoors opening up again.  

BW:  And keep an eye on Ivan Kostovich.  He looks like he's gonna make a
sprint for that door when it opens up, Gordo.


"BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!"


[And just as Bucky advised, Ivan Kostovich crawls as fast as he can for
the trapdoor as it swings open...

...but quickly finds Jim Watkins' hands wrapped around his ankle!  Big
cheer!]

GM:  WATKINS BLOCKS HIM!!  WATKINS IS HOLDING KOSTOVICH BACK!!

[Sharif drops down immediately, launching into another slugfest with
Supernova.  With the Venice Beach native tied up, the Mercenary uses the
time to crawl through the trap door, lowering himself down to the bottom
level as Kostovich frantically kicks at Watkins with his free leg,
trying to get loose...]

GM:  The Mercenary's in the bottom cage!

[The paid assassin stays down on the mat for a while, Count Adrian
Bathwaite moving to his side to speak to him.  He nods as Bathwaite
opens the cage door...

...and then quickly shuts it as Vladimir Velikov hands on in the
Mercenary's briefcase!]

GM:  What the-?!

BW:  Haha!  The Foreign Legion's got a plan!  Bathwaite just uncorked a
plan before our very eyes!

GM:  The Mercenary's got that Haliburton and- he's just waiting now...
waiting for someone to come through that trapdoor above him...

[With the Mercenary pacing back and forth, ready to strike, we cut to
the middle cage again where the trapdoor has closed and Jim Watkins is
hammering Kostovich with right hands.  A loud "CLAAAAANG!" fills the air
as Sharif whips Supernova into the steel...

...and then turns around, burying a hooked boot in the chest of Jim
Watkins!]

GM:  Ohh!  What a shot!

[Sharif stomps Watkins into the steel a few times before moving to help
the bloodied Kostovich to his feet.  Ivan nods his thanks to Sharif,
joining him in stomping Watkins into the steel mesh.]

GM:  We've got a two on one on Watkins here... look at Kostovich,
directing traffic in that middle cage...

[Sharif pulls the bloodied Watkins up as Kostovich moves to the opposite
side of the cage...]

GM:  Sharif with the whip...

[And Kostovich CRUSHES Watkins across the chest with the Russian Hammer
smashing squarely on his sternum!]

GM:  OHHH!  THE RUSSIAN HAMMER ON JIM WATKINS!!!

[Kostovich walks away, taunting the AWA fans through his blood-covered
vision, shouting at the fans as Sharif continues to stomp and kick
Watkins into the mesh as Supernova staggers across the ring, spinning
Sharif around...

...and popping him with a right hand!]

GM:  Big right hand by Supernova on Sharif!  And another!  And a third!

[Supernova lashes out with a boot to the gut, doubling up Sharif.  He
grabs Sharif by the back of the head, leaping into the air...

...and SMASHES his face into the steel!]

GM:  OHHHHHHH!  ONE HANDED BULLDOG!!

[Supernova climbs back up to his feet, spinning around...

...and pointing a finger right at Ivan Kostovich.]

GM:  UH OH!!

[The crowd roars as Supernova approaches Kostovich who again has his
hands up, begging for mercy...

...and gets DRILLED with a right hand on the jaw!]

GM:  OHHH!  DOWN GOES KOSTOVICH!!!

[Supernova leans over, grabbing Kostovich by the legs...]

GM:  He's going for the Solar Flare!  He's gonna tie him up in that
submission hold and-


"BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!"


[The trapdoors open up again...

...and Supernova gets a face full of powder in the eyes as he attempts
to hook on the Solar Flare!]

GM:  OHH!  POWDER IN THE EYES!!

[With Supernova blinded, Ivan Kostovich again makes a run for it,
crawling to the trap door...

...where Jim Watkins is waiting!]

GM:  Watkins is trying to get through as well!

[Kostovich throws a few right hands but Watkins fires back with one of
his own...

...and SLAMS the trapdoor down on top of Kostovich's head!]

GM:  OHHHHH!


"THUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUD!"
"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  KOSTOVICH FELL THROUGH ONTO THE MERCENARY!!

[The crowd roars at the sight of Kostovich and the Mercenary tangled up
on the canvas as Jim Watkins lowers himself through into the bottom
cage...

...and picks up the Haliburton!]

GM:  HE'S GOT THE HALIBURTON!!  WATKINS HAS GOT THE HALIBURTON!!

[The Mercenary climbs to his feet, spinning around...]


"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!"


GM:  WATKINS DRILLS HIM!!  HE HIT THE MAN WITH HIS OWN SUITCASE!!

[With the Mercenary dazed, Watkins grabs him by the head...

...and ROCKETS him into the side of the cage wall!]

GM:  OHHHH!  INTO THE STEEL!

[Watkins turns around, blood pouring from his skull...

...and points right at Kostovich who is shouting at Bathwaite to open
the door!]

GM:  Kostovich is trying to get out of here!  He wants out in the worst-

[Watkins grabs Kostovich from behind, yanking him into a side waistlock
as he hoists him up...

...and DROPS him in a big atomic drop that sends Kostovich crashing into
Bathwaite, knocking both men down to the mat!]

GM:  THEY BOTH GO DOWN!!

[Jim Watkins makes a move for the cage door...

...and then pulls up short, looking up at Supernova!]

GM:  He's not gonna do it!  He's not leaving!

BW:  A smart move for the old man.  He knows that if he walks out that
door, he's leaving Supernova to a three-on-one situation!  He needs to
stay in there until the odds even out a bit!

[Watkins turns around, pulling Kostovich up off the mat, backing him
into the ropes.  He grabs the arm, firing him across...

...and hooks on a claw hold!]

GM:  BLACKJACK CLAW!!  WE HAVEN'T SEEN THIS IN YEARS!!

[Kostovich cries out in pain, flailing about as Watkins squeezes his
skull to the roar of the crowd...


"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!"


GM:  OH, COME ON!!

[Myers' outrage is not over the briefcase shot to the back...

...but who delivered it!]

GM:  ADRIAN BATHWAITE, THAT NO GOOD SON OF A GUN!!

BW:  Watkins attacked him first!  He threw Kostovich into him!

GM:  He hit Jim Watkins in the back with the briefcase and-


"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!"


GM:  AND A SECOND SHOT TO THE SKULL BRINGS JIM WATKINS DOWN!!

[Kostovich and Bathwaite take turns putting the boots to Jim Watkins as
The Mercenary regains his feet...

...and waves off what's going on in front of him, making his exit out to
the floor.]

GM:  The Mercenary's out!  We're tied again!

BW:  Down to four!  Kostovich and Watkins in the bottom cage, Supernova
and Sharif in the middle cage!

[Speaking of which, we cut to the middle cage where Sharif is putting
the boots to Supernova in the corner of the middle cage.  He yanks
Supernova off his feet, pulling him into a side waistlock...]

GM:   He's gonna suplex him on that mesh!

[Sharif powers him up, ready to drop him down...

...but Supernova backflips over the top, landing on his feet behind
Sharif!]


"BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!"


[At the sound of the buzzer, Supernova makes a break for the trapdoor,
flinging it open...

...and getting wrapped up in a rear waistlock from Sharif!]

GM:  Sharif hooks 'Nova!  He's got him around the waist and-

[The crowd ROARS in shock as Sharif powers Supernova into the air in the
waistlock, DUMPING him down on the back of the head and neck with a
German Suplex on the mesh!]


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  MY STARS!!  WHAT A DANGEROUS MOVE THAT WAS!!

[Sharif gets up, slapping his biceps as he shouts at Supernova, walking
towards the trapdoor.  He takes a seat, legs dangling through the
trapdoor, and slowly lowers himself down to the bottom cage!]

GM:  Sharif is through!

BW:  It's over, daddy!  Sharif's in the bottom cage!  So is Kostovich! 
Get out of there and ring the bell!

GM:  Sharif didn't shut the door behind him!  He didn't shut the door
behind him!  If Supernova can get through it, he might...

[A dazed 'Nova rolls over, pulling himself towards the trapdoor as
Sharif joins in on the assault of Jim Watkins, stomping and kicking the
downed former executive.  Bathwaite grabs his man by the wrist, raising
his hand in triumph to the jeers of the crowd.]

GM:  It's not over yet, Bathwaite!

[Supernova's dazed form gets a few feet away from the trapdoor when it
slams shut.  He smashes a hand into the mesh, glaring through the floor
at the action below him where Ivan Kostovich is mockingly waving at the
face-painted fan favorite.]

GM:  Why haven't they left the cage yet, Bucky?

BW:  I'm not sure, Gordo.  A victory lap maybe?

GM:  What is... Bathwaite's telling him something... he's telling Sharif
to...

[Sultan Azam Sharif nods, pulling Jim Watkins into position as he
settles in...]

GM:  Oh no!  He's going for the Camel Clutch!  Sharif's gonna sink that
Clutch in on Watkins!

[Sitting down on the back, Sharif hooks the beefy arms over his legs as
he cups his hands under the chin, pulling back hard!]

GM:  CAMEL CLUTCH!  CAMEL CLUTCH IS SUNK IN!!

[Sharif jerks and yanks Watkins' head and neck from side to side,
wrenching the upper body of Jim Watkins as he cries out in pain.]

GM:  They're trying to punish Jim Watkins here!  They may be trying to
put the man in the hospital right here!

BW:  With the amount of blood that Watkins has lost, I'll be surprised
if he's not going to the hospital anyways, Gordo!

[From the level above, Supernova pushes up to his knees, shouting out
support for the eldest member of his team.  He pulls at the trapdoor,
trying to yank it open but the locks hold.]

GM:  He can't get the trapdoor open!  There's several seconds left,
Bucky!

BW:  And that gives Sharif all the time in the world to put Watkins in a
hospital bed tonight!

GM:  But they should be getting out of there!  They should be exiting
the ring!

[Kostovich kneels down in front of Watkins, taunting his bloodied
rival...]


"SLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!"
"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  He slapped Watkins across the face!  Unbelievable!


"BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!"


[Supernova promptly RIPS the trapdoor open.  He lowers his legs through,
hooking his fingers in the mesh...

...and then kicks off, swinging through the door...]

BW:  What the-?!

[...and lets go, sailing a few feet through the air and DRILLING Sultan
Azam Sharif with a dropkick on the jaw!]

GM:  YES!!  YES!!  WHAT A SHOT BY 'NOVA!!

[Supernova pops back up to his feet, grabbing a fleeing Ivan Kostovich
by the arm, flinging him across the ring...]

GM:  Get him, 'Nova!

[Supernova backs to the corner, letting loose a howl before he charges
across, throwing himself into the air...

...and SMASHING Kostovich in the corner!]

GM:  OHHHH!  HEAT WAVE IN THE CORNER!!

[Supernova peels away from Kostovich, pulling Sharif off the mat.  He
hammers Sharif with right hands, battering him back into the corner. 
Grabbing an arm, he fires Sharif across from corner to corner...

...and then charges in after him, leaving his feet again!]

GM:  HEAT WAAA-


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  BATHWAITE PULLED SHARIF CLEAR!! 

[The crowd jeers as Adrian Bathwaite steadies his charge, having
successfully pulled him out of the way of the corner splash.  Bathwaite
quickly moves across the ring, unlocking the cage door...

...and essentially SHOVING Kostovich out it to the floor!]

GM:  KOSTOVICH IS OUT!!

BW:  One more, Gordo!  If they get Sharif out, it's over!

[Bathwaite attempts to do exactly that, dragging his man towards the
corner where the door is open...

...and finds an exhausted and bloodied Jim Watkins standing in front of
it, shaking his head!]

GM:  WATKINS BLOCKS THEIR PATH!!  JIM WATKINS AIN'T GOIN' OUT LIKE THAT!

BW:  He's... he's what?!  Gordon Myers, what is WRONG with you tonight?!

[Watkins has his fist balled up, shaking his head more now, trembling
with rage...

...and then lashes out!]

GM:  BOOM!  HE DROPS BATHWAITE WITH A RIGHT HAND!!

[And then starts throwing at Sharif, a series of haymakers to the jaw...

...and then FLOORS him with a big swinging uppercut, knocking him off
his feet before he turns and exits the cage, slamming the door behind
him!]

GM:  WATKINS IS OUT!!  WE'RE DOWN TO TWO!!

BW:  It comes down to Supernova and Sharif!  Just like it started!  One
of these men will exit the Tower and win the match for their team and
the other has to taste bitter defeat for their 4th of July barbecue,
daddy!

[Sharif slowly gets back to his feet...

...and finds Supernova staring dead in his eyes!  The crowd EXPLODES at
the final showdown!]

GM:  We're down to two and this is how it should be!

[Sharif shouts in Supernova's direction, spewing insults at him, and
then striking a double bicep pose...

...just a moment before Supernova creams him with a right hand!]

GM:  Big right hand by Supernova!  And another!  And another!  He
pummels Sharif all the way back into the ropes... irish whip...

[And Supernova sends him SAILING overhead and down to the canvas with a
backdrop!]

GM:  BIIIIIIIIIIIIG BACK BODYDROP!!!

[Supernova throws his head back in a howl, reaching down to grab the
legs of the dazed Sharif...

..and gets DRILLED from behind with a double axehandle by Bathwaite!]

GM:  Ohhh!  Come on!

[The fans jeer as Bathwaite lays in a few kicks to the ribs of the
kneeling Supernova and then backs off as Supernova climbs back up to his
feet, slowly turning to face his attacker.]

GM:  Oh yeah!  Take it to him, kid!

[Bathwaite begs off at first...

...and then lashes out, throwing a right hand to the jaw!]

BW:  Big right hand by Adri- no!

[The crowd roars as Supernova simply holds his ground, shaking his head
at Bathwaite!]

GM:  It was like a fly!  A gnat!  He didn't even feel it!

[Bathwaite winds up again, throwing a second right hand...

...and again finds Supernova glaring at him, shaking his head.  He
strikes a big double arm pose out in front of him, pounding his own
chest with a howl before lashing out with a right hand that knocks
Bathwaite flat!

And leaves him exposed to a knee to the lower back from behind by
Sharif.  Sharif grabs Supernova by the trunks, rushing the corner...

...and HURLING Supernova through the ropes, CRASHING skullfirst into the
steel mesh!]

GM:  OHHHHH!  GOOD GRIEF!!

[Sharif stands over Supernova for a moment, again shouting at him in
foreign tongues.  The Iranian pulls Supernova off the mat, firing him
into the corner.  He points at him, striking a double bicep pose before
backing up...

...and hammering his own chest with open hands before cupping his hands
together and letting loose some kind of weird shout.]

GM:  He's mocking Supernova!

BW:  Supernova attacked Bathwaite AGAIN!  He's lucky Sharif doesn't cut
his hand off!

[Sharif charges across the ring, barely getting off the mat as he leaps
up, and smashes Supernova with a corner splash!]

BW:  HEAT WAAAAVE!  HE NAILED IT!!

GM:  He did not!  That was-

[Sharif backs off, taunting the fans with another double bicep pose...

...and doesn't notice Supernova shaking off the effects of the weak
corner splash.  Sharif turns around to the roar of the crowd...]

GM:  BOOM!  RUNNING CLOTHESLINE TAKES DOWN SHARIF!!

[Supernova leans down, slapping the canvas as he straightens back up,
charging across as Sharif rises...

...and flattens him again!]

GM:  ANOTHER CLOTHESLINE!!

[Supernova pulls Sharif to his feet, spinning him around and back into
the corner where he grabs the arm, flinging him across the ring...]

GM:  Supernova sends Sharif across!

['Nova backs down, sprinting across, leaping high into the air...]

GM:  OHHHHH!  HEAT WAVE IN THE CORNER!!!

[Supernova crushes Sharif in the corner, turning to throw him down to
the middle of the ring...

...and then points at the staggering Bathwaite who is leaning against
the buckles!  He shouts at him.]

"OPEN THE DOOR!"

[Bathwaite backs off, hands raised, shaking his head.]

"OPEN!  THE!  DOOR!"

[The manager continues to refuses, shaking his head again...]

GM:  He won't do it!  It's the moment of truth and Bathwaite won't do
it!

[Grabbing Bathwaite by the arm, Supernova fires him across the ring to
the opposite corner.]

BW:  NO, NO!  THIS CAN'T HAPPEN!

[Supernova points at Bathwaite with both arms, nodding his head to the
roars of the crowd...

...and sprints across, leaping into the air!]

GM:  HEAT WAVE!!  SUPERNOVA HITS THE HEAT WAVE ON BATHWAITE!!

[Bathwaite collapses to the canvas under the impact.  The fan favorite
reaches down into Bathwaite's pocket...

...and pulls out the key for everyone to see!  He looks back, spotting
Sharif crawling across the ring towards him...]

GM:  Sharif's coming!  He's trying to get there in time!

[And with a shake of his head, Supernova moves to the corner, unlocking
the padlock holding the door shut, swinging the cage door open...

He pauses, taking another look back at the crawling Sharif...

...and then walks down the ringsteps, stepping onto the floor!]


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


GM:  THEY DID IT!!

[The crowd ERUPTS as the Marine Corps Anthem starts playing once again. 
Supernova stumbles around the corner of the ring, joining Tyler Lee,
Corax, and Jim Watkins in celebrating their victory.]

PW:  Here are your winners... TEAAAAAAM AMERRRRICAAAA!

[The celebration continues on the floor amongst the bloodied, battered,
and beaten - all of which are still standing tall with their victory. 
Jim Watkins stumbles over to Phil Watson, snatching the mic...]

JW:  DURHAAAAAAAM!

[HUUUUGE CHEER!]

JW:  THAT!  THAT WAS FOR... aghhh... THAT WAS FOR YOU!

[Another huge cheer!]

JW:  And the rest... of the... UNITED!  STATES!  OF AMERICA!

[The cheers keep on coming!  The camera cuts to ringside where a
bloodied Watkins is standing, holding the flagpole with the American
flag held up in the air.]

JW:  Now... get up... everybody up...

[With the flag held high, Watkins throws a hand over his heart.]

JW:  I PLEDGE ALLEGIANCE... TO THE FLAG... OF THE UNITED STATES OF
AMERICA...

[The crowd speaks the Pledge along with Watkins, filling the air with
patriotism.]

JW:  AND TO THE REPUBLIC... FOR WHICH IT STANDS... ONE NATION... UNDER
GOD... INDIVISIBLE... WITH LIBERTY... AND JUSTICE... FOR ALL!

[Watkins throws the mic down, falling into an embrace with Supernova as
a "U-S-A!" chant starts up and we fade to black.

And then back up on an animated Jason Dane... no, he's not just moving a
lot.  He's LITERALLY animated - like Porky Pig style.]

JD:  They say I'm the man with all the answers.

[A cut to a different angle of animated Dane.]

JD:  They say I'm the man who gets all the scoops.

[Another cut.  Another angle.]

JD:  They say I'm- is all this really necessary?  It's not like I'm
Geraldo, guys.

[A voice off camera shouts "CUT!" and animated Jason Dane walks off a
green screen set through a crowded studio.]

JD:  I'm not the "most feared man in America," fans.  What I am is a
pretty good reporter who has an eye for the stories you're gonna want to
know about.  That's why AWA Access has been one of the most downloaded
apps ever and that's why the AWA gave me permission to start my own
website!

I'll be bringing you the hot news, the big stories, and the stuff not
fit to air.

[Animated Dane strokes his animated chin.]

JD:  Maybe I AM the most feared man in America!

[A "BZZZ!" sound of electricity is heard as animated Jason Dane fades
away and a title graphic appears.]

"JASON DANE - COMING TO A BROWSER NEAR YOU!"

[Fade to black.

The camera fades back in on a green band preview header.  This preview
is approved for all audiences.  This feature is rated R.

The green fades, replaced by a black screen with red lettering fading
into view "AWA Pictures Presents..." as a repetitious, pulsing chorus of
strings plays lightly in the background on a closeup shot of waves
crashing onto a lonely beach.  They follow a wave in as it crashes over
a prone figure lying on the sand, his dark hair obscuring his features.]

Voice: There's one thing you should know about me.  I specialize in a
very specific kind of wrestling.

[The shot cuts to a shot from behind the figure as he walks down a
hallway, sliding back a Japanese paneled door and entering a room...the
cuts to a shot of the figure sitting at a table, speaking to a man in a
suit sitting across from him...]

Voice: Dream-like wrestling...

Executive: You mean the kind that delivers ratings?

[Cut to a shot of a dark arena, the empty ring standing vigil in the
center of the floor as the pace of the string music picks up and grows
louder.  The camera
circles the ring faster and faster until it becomes a blur, then stops
suddenly to a riot of color and noise in the now full arena.  Fans cheer
as they point to the ring, the figure stands in the center with his arms
raised over his head, his features blocked out by the bright spotlight
directly behind him, only offering a silhouette.]

Voice: We create the world they dream of.  We populate it with their
dreams... their hopes.

Executive: And you can do this?

Voice: I found a way home...and this job is how I get there.

[Cut to a series of rapid shots in high speed, the figures blurring. 
Flying headscissor takedowns, hurricanranas, planchas, superkicks,
dropkicks...all in rapid successions.]

Executive: You mustn't be afraid to dream bigger...

Voice: I'll show you how real the dream can get.  You plant an idea and
it comes to define you.  To take over who you are.  But it needs to be a
simple, powerful idea.

Executive: And you have this idea?  The one that will define you?

Voice: I do: Greatness.  I dream of greatness...

[We crossfade to a countdown clock slowly ticking backwards - 

74:07:16:23

Fade.  The featureless mask of the West Memphis Assassin fills the
screen and the camera pans out to see the Assassin, wearing black pants
and a black shirt, as the words "EARLIER TODAY" pop up in the upper left
hand corner. The Assassin holds the microphone and stands in front of a
plain "AWA" banner, that shows the two blue and white wrestling figures
from the Saturday Night Wrestling intro, on a white background.]

WMA: I demanded this time alone, without Jason Dane or that Stegglet boy
patronizing me. This is a serious matter and requires adult
conversation, so those two are clearly not needed. 

I've heard that the AWA is about to see the darkness fall, or something
that sounds like the catchphrase for a Michael Bay movie. Bad men to the
left, bad men to the right, we're stuck in the middle with Juan. But I
beg to differ. Way I see it, the AWA is about to have the darkness lift
and see the light of day again. Juan Vasquez is a cancer. A selfish, ego
driven manipulator who has used and abused a lot of people, so he can
tell himself how wonderful he is. And maybe at one time I would have
trusted the people to see through the facade, but it's obvious they've
bought stock in the Juan Show too.

But read between the lines, amigo, and you'll start to see that not all
is well. There are people who want to see you hurt, people who want to
see you flat on the mat for all the world to see, life and title beaten
out of you.

Turns out I'm one of those people. 

[The masked man points to the AWA logo.]

WMA: The wrestling world is littered with people who'd jump at the
chance to knock you down a peg or ten. There are lines of people who'd
pay to exact just a sliver of revenge against you, and you can count me
as one of them. I've been wronged by Juan Vasquez, just like the rest of
them, and if you think _real_ hard you'll figure it out. We used to be
friends... or whatever you call people that you use to advance your own
interests, and desert at the right time.

Oh wait, hold the phone now... that describes a whole lot of people,
doesn't it?

So many of us have taken the blame or taken the fall, or more
accurately, taken the beating that you were owed, just so you could put
yourself up on a pedestal and satiate your massive ego. But you reap
what you sow, Vasquez, eventually the world catches up with you.

WrestleRock is that time, WrestleRock is that place. On July 4, we
celebrate America's independence, and the AWA celebrates the rejection
of Juan Vasquez. Your time is running out, those more angry than me,
those with a greater thirst for vengeance and retribution than me have
decided that. You can manufacture rage and indignation, but when the
people rise up in the streets to protest something, when even the
lowliest farmer grabs his pitchfork and joins the revolution, well...
you can't hold that down. 

[A soft chuckle.]

WMA: That's real. That's something the AWA gestapo can't control,
because it's not something to be financed and marketed. The outcry and
outrage is real. Juan Vasquez must go.

I'm just the man who was elected to swing the final axe and serve as
executioner. And don't worry, though you won't be able to see it... I'll
be smiling on the inside. The darkness _must_ be lifted. The darkness
_will_ be lifted.

[The masked man points his finger at the camera and goes deadly still.]

WMA: Consider yourself warned.

[And with that, we fade yet again...

The words "RECORDED EARLIER TODAY" flash across the bottom of the screen
as we open to a shot of AWA National champion, Juan Vasquez, standing
inside Durham Athletic Park. Behind him are rows of empty seats, the
fans not yet having entered the stadium. Juan is dressed in a tailored
black suit, with the AWA National title cradled in his right arm. He
seems to be standing above ground over the camera, as the footage is
shot at an upwards angle towards him.]

JV: You say you ain't Juan Vasquez, amigo?

[A chuckle.]

JV: Damn right, you ain't.

[He loosens his tie slightly and sighs.]

JV: I've always said that wrestling is a cutthroat profession filled
with liars, cheats, scoundrels and thieves...and the "West Memphis
Assassin" ain't no different.

[The camera pulls back, showing that Vasquez is standing atop the roof
of the home team's dugout.]

JV: You wanna' paint me as a user and an abuser? As a fraud? As a man
with dark secret just waitin' to get out and ruin me forever?

[He shakes his head.]

JV: I've been wrestling for fifteen years. 

Fifteen years of toil and struggle; failure and disappointment; triumph
and glory; ...and my story's out there all in the open. We know my past
ain't squeaky clean and I ain't always been a perfect little angel, but
there ain't no bones in my closet. There ain't no great, big lie and
there ain't no 
dirty, little secret.

There ain't a single _damn_ thing fake about Juan Vasquez.

[Juan takes a few steps forward, standing on the edge of the dugout
roof. He stares straight down, looking like a colossus standing before
us.]

JV: But what secrets are *you* hiding, amigo? 

[Juan lowers his head and narrows his eyes at the camera.]

JV: What's gonna' happen when I rip that mask off your face and show the
world just exactly what you are? There'll be nowhere to run and nowhere
to hide. _Your_ secrets will be exposed for the world to
see..."hotshot." 

[There's clear anger in Juan's voice as he says the last word in
disgust. There' no mistaking who Juan thinks is the West Memphis
Assassin.]

JV: But it's obvious that _you_ don't get it. When I won the National
title and the Southern Syndicate was finally dismantled once and for
all...when we finally saw that better and brighter tomorrow...that
wasn't MY victory.

That was _the AWA's_ victory.

[He holds up the National title close to his face and kneels down,
motioning for the camera to zoom in.]

JV: Do you see this? _This_ is the legacy of everyone that rose up and
took that stand against The Southern Syndicate with me! Do you
understand? I wouldn't have been able to win this title without them! I
haven't forgotten a single one of'em!

[Suddenly, Juan puts down the title and removes his suit jacket,
whipping it through the air and into the dugout. He picks up the belt,
pointing a menacing finger at the camera.]

JV: That's why I put up the National title in our match! I wanted you to
see it with your own eyes! I wanted to get it through your thick skull!
I wanted a coward like you to _know_ that every time I step into the
ring, defending this title, every time I fight against one of the "evil
forces"...I'm not just fighting for myself...I'm fighting for the AWA!

[He settles down a bit, lifting his head and glancing down angrily with
some restraint.]

JV: They've said that I've been on borrowed time holding this title
since I won it, but I'll guarantee you this much, amigo..._not_ to you.

[A cold, angry glare.]

JV: _Not_ tonight.

[Fade out to black...

...and then back up to ringside where Gordon and Bucky are standing,
pieces of the Tower Of Doom still assembled behind them.]

GM:  Welcome back to Wrestlerock, fans.  We are about to break past our
third hour of action here on WKIK and we want to thank our network
partner for their dedication in making sure you folks see EVERYTHING
that goes on here tonight.  We will be presenting the remainder of
tonight's show with no more commercial interruptions and we will be
staying right here until we know the result of tonight's Main Event.

[Gordon gestures behind them.]

GM:  But, as you can see, our ring crew is having a little bit of
difficulty getting the Tower of Doom taken down and-

[Suddenly, a voice rings out.]

"I'm done.  I'm finished."

GM:  What's that?

[The voice calls out again.]

"The brass told me I had to sit around in the back and wait for the
incompetent ring crew to finish getting this cage torn down.

I told them to go to hell!"

[The crowd jeers as they finally spot the man behind the voice.]

GM:  It's the West Memphis Assassin!  What the heck is he doing out
here?

BW:  Maybe if you listened, you'd find out, Gordo.

[The masked man's voice rings out again as he gets closer to the ring.]

WMA:  You people think you can buy your hero some more time to get ready
for what's coming for him tonight?  You can buy all the precious minutes
and seconds you want and it ain't gonna save everyone's favorite golden
boy.

The time is over where you can protect him, boys.

Now, he belongs to me.

[The Assassin strides up the ringsteps, shoving down a ring crew member
who is struggling with a fastener.]

WMA:  Leave it, baw.

[The ring crew member protests, shaking his head...

...and gets DROPPED with a right hand to the jaw!]

GM:  Oh, come on!

[The Assassin glares at the downed crew member.]

WMA:  I said, leave it...

[The ring crew quickly backs off.]

WMA:  Hey, Vasquez... what do you say 'bout givin' these sheep a little
extra treat tonight?

You.  Me.  Cage.

[BIG CHEER!]

WMA:  Hey, the sheep like it too.  

I'm sick of waiting, amigo.

Bring me my belt.

[The masked man throws down the mic, settling back against the
turnbuckles, the bottom ring still surrounded by the steel cage.  A
quick zoom back reveals that the top cage has been taken apart - the
giant ladders gone.  But the majority of the middle cage remains as well
as the bottom cage.  The Assassin tugs at the ropes, nodding as he
waits...]

GM:  It looks like... my stars, we're getting a CAGE match for our Main
Event?!

BW:  The Assassin's done waiting!  Get Vasquez out here so we can crown
a new champion!

GM:  We don't have a referee out here... we don't have-

[The steady beat of snare drums fill the air.]

GM:  What in the...

[The camera shot changes to the right field area where the wall is
literally opening up...]

BW:  Gordo, the wall is opening!

GM:  I can see that.

[After a moment, from behind the wall, marching in step, is a marching
band!]

BW: The heck is that?

GM: I'm being told that that's the Jordan High School marching band,
from right here in Durham, North Carolina!

[The snare drums continue to play, until the band has formed two
complete rows, leading towards the ring. It is then, that the drums stop
playing and the band suddenly begins to play an instrumental version of
"They Reminisce over You", bringing out Juan Vasquez from behind the
outfield wall to a huge roar from the crowd!]
 
GM:  And there's Juan Vasquez!
 
[The National champion is dressed in his usual white tracksuit w/ black
trim.  As he walks down the makeshift aisle formed by the band, holding
the National title belt high into the air, each member begins to fall
into formation, following him to the ring, as the crowd continues to
cheer their hearts out!]

GM:  What an entrance for Juan Vasquez!  What an entrance for the AWA
National Champion!

[Vasquez stands in front of the band, still playing his music.  He
glares up inside the cage where the West Memphis Assassin is waiting for
him.  Vasquez nods his head at his challenger...

...and THRUSTS the title belt into the air with both hands to a HUUUUGE
roar!]

GM:  There he is, fans!  The AWA National Champion who has held that
belt since SuperClash II last November!  He defeated "Hotshot" Stevie
Scott on that night to win the title and has dominated the competition
since then!  But tonight is something different.  Tonight, the champion
is defending against someone he doesn't even know!  He doesn't have a
clue what he's gotten himself into tonight!

[Vasquez hands the title belt off to AWA Senior Official Michael Meekly
who has made his way down the aisle to the ring as well.  Meekly holds
the title belt in the air, handing it off to the timekeeper as the
champion climbs the ringsteps, glaring across the ring...]

GM:  This isn't first time that Juan Vasquez has competed inside a steel
cage in the AWA, fans!  We all remember his epic showdown against
Raphael Rhodes inside the cage at No Escape two years ago.  And of
course, he also competed last year in WarGames.  No stranger to the
steel at all.

[Vasquez steps through the ropes into the confines of the cage...

...as the West Memphis Assassin dashes across the ring, leaping up and
slamming his knee into Vasquez' ribs, smashing him against the buckles!]

GM:  Ohh!  Vasquez has been Pearl Harbored by the Assassin and we're off
and running in this one...

[Spinning Vasquez' back into the buckles, the Assassin throws high
precision punches to the left ribcage before grabbing the arm, firing
the champion across the ring.  With the corner clear, Michael Meekly
steps into the cage, ordering the door secured behind him...]

GM:  The cage is shut, the door is locked, and this one is underway!

[The Assassin stalks across the ring towards Vasquez who is leaning
against the buckles.  A hard kick to the ribcage connects, knocking
Vasquez down to a knee in the corner.  Grabbing a handful of hair, the
Assassin measures his man and DRILLS him with a right hand over the
eyebrow.]

GM:  Ohh!  Hard shot in the corner by the Assassin!

[The Assassin grabs Vasquez under the arms, pulling him back up to his
feet.  He pulls down on his head...

...and CREAMS him with a European uppercut!]

GM:  Ohhh, what a shot there!

BW:  Vasquez may need to check his dental work after that one, Gordo.

GM:  He pulls Vasquez' head down... right into another one!  Nice
execution on the uppercuts and he's got the champion in trouble early on
in this one.

[Grabbing the champion by the arm, the Assassin fires him across the
ring...

...where Juan deadleaps to the middle rope and blindly leaps back,
catching the Assassin squarely across the chest with a crossbody!]

GM:  CROSSBODY!!  ONE!!

[But Vasquez doesn't even hold the pin attempt, rolling off to hammer
the masked skull of the Assassin with right hands!]

GM:  VASQUEZ IS ALL OVER HIM!!

[Holding the mask with his left hand, the champion pummels with his
right, rage covering his face as he throws the heavy blows.  The
official stays back, simply watching the action unfold.  The Assassin
tries to scamper away, covering up with both arms, but Vasquez just
keeps swinging for several moments before he springs to his feet,
roaring to the crowd who echoes in response!]

GM:  The champion is on fire here tonight in Durham!

[Vasquez stalks after the crawling Assassin, shouting "GET UP!" at him
as the masked man reaches the corner, using the ropes to pull himself
back up to his feet.  Reaching the corner, Vasquez delivers a boot to
the gut of his challenger, doubling him up...]

"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!"

GM:  Ohh!  Clubbing forearm across the back!

[An angry Vasquez delivers a second... then a third... then rains down
forearms with both the right and left arm, whipping the crowd into a
frenzy as he hammers the masked man down to a knee on the canvas...

...and then HURLS him back into the buckles!]

GM:  Vasquez has got him cornered, seated in the buckl- OHH! 

[The crowd roars along with Gordon as Vasquez LUNGES forward, smashing
his knee into the masked man's face.  A second one connects as well and
soon, the crowd is counting along as Vasquez delivers lunging knees to
the masked skull.]

"THREE!"
"FOUR!"
"FIVE!"
"SIX!"
"SEVEN!"
"EIGHT!"
"NINE!"
"TEN!"

[And after the tenth knee, Vasquez dashes to the opposite corner,
charging back in...

...and CREAMS the masked man with a running knee to the skull that has
the crowd groaning in a bit of sympathy!]

GM:  Good grief!

BW:  The champion's got something under his skin, Gordo.

GM:  It's this Assassin!  Juan Vasquez had to listen to this run him
down last week - disparage his character - and it natually has angered
the National Champion.  Now, the Assassin has to cover the check his
mouth wrote a week ago and I'm not sure he can do it!

[Grabbing the masked man by the arm, Vasquez pulls him up and promptly
FIRES him across the ring, sending him crashing hard into the corner
where he collapses back down to the canvas.  The National Champion
shakes his head, muttering to himself as he marches across the ring.]

GM:  I don't know when the last time is we've seen Vasquez quite like
this, Bucky.

BW:  It has to be at SuperClash last year.  The Assassin really has him
riled up, daddy.

[Pulling the Assassin off the mat, Vasquez hoists him in the air for a
bodyslam...

...but leans forward, tying him upside down from the buckles, dangling
helplessly as Vasquez backs off.]

GM:  The champion's got him tied to the Tree of Woe!

[Vasquez delivers a trio of kicks to the trapped Assassin before
choosing to scale the ropes instead.  He's standing on the middle rope,
looking out to the cheering crowd...

...and then places his right foot directly on the groin of the Assassin,
grabbing the cage to steady himself as he puts all his weight on the
masked man's nether regions!]

BW:  AHHHHH!

GM:  My... that's gotta be... umm... uncomfortable.

BW:  YA THINK?!

[The referee encourages Vasquez to get down but stops short of counting
as there is no disqualification inside the cage.  Vasquez instead grabs
the top rope with both hands...

...and then kicks his legs out, using the rope to swing back in, DRIVING
both feet squarely into the face of the masked man!]

GM:  OHHHHHHHH!  My stars, what a move!

[Yanking the masked man to his feet again, Vasquez delivers a pair of
hard chops across the chest before grabbing the arm again, firing the
masked man from corner to corner...]

GM:  The Assassin hits the corner hard...

[And with a charge, Vasquez comes barreling across the ring, throwing
himself into a spinning leg lariat...

...but coming up empty as the Assassin dives out of the way, causing
Vasquez to hit the corner, tangling himself up, and falling DIRECTLY
down on the back of his head and neck on the canvas!]

"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

GM:  My stars!  A hard fall in the corner off the missed kick!  Vasquez
got twisted up and fell really hard down on the back of his head and
that could be a major turning point in this matchup, fans.

[The Assassin crawls across the ring, trying to regroup a bit as the
referee steps back, watching both men.  The masked man uses the ropes to
pull himself up to his feet in the adjacent corner, eyeing Vasquez as he
drags himself to a seated position, hands behind his head to grasp the
back of his skull...]

GM:  The Assassin's moving back in, hanging onto the ropes for now...

[Reaching the corner, the masked man lays a boot into the side of
Vasquez' face... and again... and again, driving his upper body through
the ropes so that his head is resting against the steel mesh...]

GM:  The Assassin is stomping the hell out of Vasquez against the ropes
over there...

[Sliding his leg through the ropes, the Assassin places his foot against
Vasquez' cheek...

...and SCRAPES his boot across the face!]

GM:  Ohh!  A vicious move by the Assass- ohh!  He does it again!

[With the crowd jeering wildly, the Assassin repeatedly delivers
bootscrapes up against the steel mesh, raking Vasquez' face across the
mesh time and time again....

...and then much like Vasquez did moments ago, the Assassin sprints
away, hitting the far ropes, rebounding back...]


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  MY STARS, HE JUST DROVE VASQUEZ' HEAD TO THE STEEL!!!

[The Assassin grabs Vasquez by the ankle, dragging him away from the
ropes to apply a lateral press.]

GM:  The Assassin covers for one!  He's got two!  But that's all!

[The National Champion immediately rolls to his stomach upon kicking
out, avoiding any further pin attempts.  The Assassin climbs back to his
feet, delivering a pair of stomps to the back of the neck.]

BW:  And this is exactly what the Assassin should be doing, Gordo.

GM:  What's that?

BW:  Vasquez hurt his neck on that missed spinning leg lariat in the
corner, I'm sure of it.  The Assassin should target the neck and maybe
set him up for the Spike.

[Glaring down through the mask, the Assassin measures his man and snaps
off an elbowdrop to the back of the neck.  He quickly gets back up,
setting up, and dropping a second.  The third one has the most impact as
he leaps high before dropping it...

...and then promptly rolls him into another lateral press.]

GM:  Cover for one!  For two!  But again, that's all he can get.

[Quickly back to his feet, the Assassin stomps the ribs of Vasquez,
forcing the champion to grab at them.]

GM:  Remember, it was also the ribs of Juan Vasquez that were giving him
trouble in recent months.

BW:  And if you know that, you can be sure the Assassin does.

GM:  How do you know that?

BW:  You think this guy planned all this out to come in here without
knowing a thing about Vasquez?  I'm guessing this guy knows EVERYTHING
about Vasquez.

[The Assassin hauls Vasquez up off the mat by the hair, delivering a
European uppercut that snaps the head back and sends him falling back
into the corner again...]

GM:  Vasquez is hanging onto the ropes, trying to stay on-

[The Assassin quickly charges in...

...right into a pair of raised boots to the mush!]

GM:  OHHH!  WHAT A COUNTER!!

[Vasquez steps out of the corner, turning around...

...and deadleaps to the top rope, steadying himself for a moment.]

GM:  MOONSAU-

[But the Assassin is ready for it, lunging forward to shove Vasquez'
legs out from under him, getting them tied up under the ropes as Vasquez
falls back into the Tree of Woe, his knee violently jerking under the
torque.]

GM:  Ohh!  A great counter by the Assassin!  

BW:  Did you hear Vasquez scream when his knee twisted right there?!  It
might be torn right out!

[The Assassin seems to think so, promptly delivering overhead elbow
after elbow to the twisted knee.  He backs off, delivering a hard high
kick to the leg as well that makes Vasquez shout in pain.]

BW:  I don't get this Assassin completely, Gordo.

GM:  What do you mean?

BW:  He goes after the neck, the ribs, the knee.  It's like he just
wants to physically take apart EVERY part of the National Champion.

GM:  Maybe he does.

[Moving back to the opposite corner, the Assassin shoves Michael Meekly
aside as he backs into the buckles...

...and breaks into a full sprint, tearing across the ring, and leaping
into the air, smashing his own knee into Vasquez' trapped and twisted
knee, sending a howl of pain up from the champion.  Grabbing the leg,
the Assassin frees him from the ropes and dumps him down to the canvas.]

GM:  Another cover for the challenger gets him one!  Gets him two!

[Vasquez simply slips his non-injured leg over the ropes to break the
pin effort.]

GM:  He was too close to the ropes.

BW:  That might be a sign of too much emotion from the challenger.  He
was so fired up in wanting to win that title, he couldn't see the big
picture of where things are at inside the ring.

[Climbing back to his feet, the Assassin unleashes a storm of kicks and
stomps to the injured leg, causing Vasquez to cry out on more than one
occasion as he crawls towards the ropes.]

BW:  And here is where the steel cage causes a problem for the champion,
Gordo.  In a regular ring, Vasquez could roll out to the floor here and
try to get some recovery time for that bad wheel.  But in the cage? 
He's got nowhere to run and nowhere to hide.  He belongs to the Assassin
now, daddy!

GM:  We'll see about that.

[Grabbing the injured leg, the Assassin drags him away from the corner,
turning the leg over into a spinning toehold...]

GM:  Figure four on the-

[But Vasquez reaches up, grabbing the head and pulling the Assassin into
an inside cradle!]

GM:  INSIDE CRADLE!  ONE!!  TWO!!  THR-

[The crowd deflates as the Assassin just BARELY gets a shoulder off the
canvas in time.  Both men try to scamper up to their feet ahead of the
other, the challenger getting up first...

...but holding back just long enough for Vasquez to get up!]

GM:  What's he-?

[The Assassin HURLS himself forward, SLAMMING his shoulder into the back
of Vasquez' injured knee!]

GM:  Good grief!  

BW:  Throw the flag, that's clippin', Gordo!  Illegal in the NFL but
completely, perfectly, one hundred percent legal here in the American
Wrestling Alliance, daddy!

GM:  You're absolutely right about that.

[The Assassin pushes up to a knee, looking down at a writhing Vasquez. 
He crawls closer, leaning in to whisper something...

...and gets caught with a right hand from a on-his-back champion!  Big
cheer!]

GM:  The champ is fighting back and-

[The Assassin decides that the champ is NOT fighting back with a series
of clenched fists to the skull of Vasquez, ending with a big shove that
knocks him back down to the mat.]

GM:  And at this point in the contest, you would certainly have to say
that the National Champion's reign is in serious jeopardy, fans.

BW:  I think that's an understatement, Gordo.  Juan Vasquez' CAREER is
in jeopardy at this point in the matchup!

[Moving to the corner, the challenger hops up to the middle rope,
holding his fist up...

...and leaps off, smashing his fist down between the eyes of the
champion!]

GM:  Fistdrop!  On the money!

[The challenger shoves Vasquez back down to the mat, applying another
sloppy lateral press.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  

[But again, Vasquez fires the shoulder off the mat.]

GM:  You know, for someone trying to win the National Title here
tonight, the lateral presses of the West Memphis Assassin are certainly
lacking in execution.

[The Assassin slowly gets up and promptly drops a knee down on Vasquez'
own knee, causing him to cry out in pain, sitting up.  The masked man
grabs him, throwing a pair of right hands and shoving him back down to
the canvas yet again.]

BW:  You get the distinct feeling that the Assassin's actually ENJOYING
this, Gordo.  He's punishing the National Champion and he likes it. 
This is quite obviously about more than the National Title.

GM:  The Assassin has said as much.  Don't forget - he didn't even ASK
for a title match.  It was Juan Vasquez who offered it to him because
he's a fighting champion, Bucky.

[The challenger gets back to his feet, a little more swagger to his
movements now as he pulls Vasquez off the canvas, tugging him into a
front facelock...

...and nearly snaps the man out of his boots with a hard suplex!]

GM:  Ohh!  Snap suplex by the Assassin!

[Holding the front facelock, the Assassin pops his hips, rolling them
both back up to their feet, hoisting Vasquez into the air...

...and this time, leaving him hanging up there for a bit before bringing
him crashing down to the canvas again!]

GM:  From the snap suplex into the vertical suplex and... more?!

[The challenger rolls them both back up again, reaching back to hook
Vasquez' injured leg...

...and brings him over HARD with a fisherman's suplex, actually
releasing the hold and not bridging for the pin attempt.  The Assassin
pops up to his feet, spreading his arms wide and going into a slow spin,
drawing the jeers of the fans as he gestures to himself, doing the
"belt" gesture.]

GM:  This man is quite full of himself, Bucky Wilde.

BW:  He's DOMINATING the National Champion!  Why SHOULDN'T he be?!

GM:  Things can change very fast in this sport, Bucky.  You should know
that as well as anyone.

[The jeering crowd seems to get to the Assassin who waves them off,
reaching down to grab the National Champion.  He flings him towards the
corner, the champion's back slamming into the buckles.  The challenger
steps in, refusing to let him fall from the corner, and instead,
deposits him in a seated position on the top buckle...]

GM:  Look out here...

BW:  We could be about to get a superplex!

GM:  We could.  You're right about that.

[The challenger scales the ropes as well, delivering a pair of right
hands to the stunned champion.  The Assassin hooks a front facelock,
slinging Vasquez' arm over his neck...]

GM:  Oh my stars!  You called it, Bucky!  He's going for a superplex!

BW:  If he hits it, we might have a new champion!

GM:  You may be right about that as well!  The challenger's got him
hooked and-

[Up on the ropes, desperation sets in for the National Champion who
responds with a pair of right hands to the exposed ribs.]

GM:  Vasquez is fighting back!

[The Assassin releases the front facelock, throwing a pair of right
hands of his own...

...and gets ROCKED in response with a Vasquez headbutt!]

GM:  OHHH!  One of the biggest weapons in the champion's arsenal just
hit and hit hard right there, fans!

[With the challenger stunned, Vasquez uses the cage to pull himself to a
standing position on the top rope as the challenger staggers off another
right hand, grabbing the side wall of the cage as he steps to the
adjacent ropes...]

GM:  What in the...

[Seizing the moment, Vasquez leaps high into the air, wrapping his legs
around the head of the stunned challenger, both men twisting out towards
the ring...

...and the West Memphis Assassin getting HURLED up, over, and DOWN to
the canvas with a desperation flying rana!]

GM:  OHHHHH MY STARS!

BW:  Where the heck did THAT come from?!

GM:  Juan Vasquez reached way down into his gut - and WAAAAY down into
the playbook - to come up with something we haven't seen from him in a
long, long time!  Juan Vasquez has come to fight, fans!  He's not going
down without the fight of his life!

[Crawling across the ring, Vasquez throws an arm across the stunned
challenger's chest!]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  

[But the masked man easily kicks out of the loose pin attempt.]

GM:  Just a two count there!  Vasquez may have saved himself from the
superplex but he's going to need more than that flying headscissors to
save his championship tonight here in North Carolina!

[Vasquez pulls himself to his knees, grabbing the masked man in a loose
side headlock, hammering his skull with right hands...

...and then sinking his fingers into the left eyehole of the mask,
pulling hard at it!]

GM:  HE'S TRYING TO TEAR THE MASK OFF!

BW:  What?!  That's terrible sportsmanship, Gordo!

[The Assassin panicks, flailing his arms, and wriggling away.  He's
crawling towards the ropes when a kneeling Vasquez catches his ankle,
preventing his escape...

...but a hard kick from the challenger breaks the champion's grip,
allowing him to crawl to the corner where he drags himself back to his
feet, watching as the National Champion winces his way to a standing
position.]

GM:  Both men are back up... Vasquez is moving on him...

[The challenger suddenly lunges out at the incoming champion, sticking a
thumb into the eye!]

GM:  Cheap shot!  Come on, ref!

BW:  Seriously?!  It's a cage match!

[Grabbing a handful of hair, the Assassin SLAMS Vasquez' face into the
buckles before wrapping his arms around the waist, reaching down to hook
a leg as he hoists him up...]

GM:  Shinbreaker coming up...

[And suddenly, the Assassin LUNGES forward, JAMMING Vasquez' knee into
the buckles!]

GM:  OHHH!  A modified shinbreaker by the challeng-

[Still holding the leg, the challenger whips him down to the mat with a
leg lace takedown...

...and fluidly, without a pause, hooks in a figure four leglock!]

GM:  FIGURE FOUR!!  WE'VE SEEN THIS FROM THE ASSASSIN BEFORE!  In his
debut, he used the figure four to gain a submission victory and now it's
locked in inside the middle of the steel cage!

BW:  I STILL can't believe they're fighting inside the Tower of Doom!

GM:  Neither can I.  This has certainly been an unpredictable evening of
action.

[The Assassin cranks back on the figure four, sending jolts of pain
through the injured limb of Juan Vasquez.  The official is on the scene,
repeatedly asking Vasquez if he wants to submit.]

GM:  The title could change hands right here, fans... but the champion
is shaking his head!  He's refusing to give up!

BW:  The challenger may be about to put him in a wheelchair!  Give it
up, chump!

GM:  Vasquez is hanging on!

[The referee asks again but Vasquez simply grits his teeth, shaking his
head, his arms pumping furiously to try and find a way out.]

GM:  The champion is trying to fight this punishing hold!  He's trying
to roll it!  Trying to get to the ropes... something!

BW:  Does the ref call for a break if they're in the ropes?  They're in
a cage!

GM:  That's a good question.  I suppose it might be the referee's
discretion.

[Vasquez tries to roll to his left, pumping his arm in the air as the
crowd roars, trying to cheer him into the counter...

...but his arm eventually starts to slow.]

GM:  The arm isn't moving as much!  Vasquez may be losing consciousness
from the pain shooting through his leg!  There's been a tremendous
amount of damage done to it and-

[Suddenly, Vasquez slumps back to the canvas, shoulders down as the
official dives to the mat...]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THR-

[But Vasquez sits up with a jolt, shouting "NOOOOO!" as he grits his
teeth again, fighting hard...

...and somehow reaches out, connecting with a right cross that knocks
the challenger back!]

GM:  OHH!  WHAT A SHOT!!

[The blow manages to free Vasquez from the figure four as he crawls
towards the ropes, trying to get away from the challenger who, stunned
from the right cross, is crawling in the opposite direction.]

GM:  Both men trying to get away from one another... trying to get a
chance to recover...

[The crowd roars as the two men use the ropes and cage on their
respective sides of the ring to drag themselves to their feet, leaning
against the mesh, breathing heavily...

...but it's the challenger who is the first to act, tearing across the
ring!  The Assassin nears the corner, arm outstretched...]

GM:  CLOTHESLI-

[But Vasquez manages to get his good knee up, causing the challenger to
run facefirst right into it!]

GM:  OHHH!

[With the challenger dazed from the counter, the National Champion steps
out of the buckles, hooking him under the arm...]

GM:  Wait a second!

[Facing the wrong way, Vasquez decides to go for it anyways, and HURLS
the challenger upside down into the buckles with a hiptoss!]

GM:  OHHH!  INTO THE CORNER HARD GOES THE CHALLENGER!!

[The champion reaches down, pulling him off the mat...]


"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!"


GM:  Ohh!  Big chop in the corner!

[With his arm past the challenger's head, he cocks his arm and SLAMS his
elbow into the jaw of the masked man, sending his arm back into position
to throw the chop again!]

GM:  Good grief!  

[Vasquez is a blur of motion, chopping one direction and then elbowing
back across the man's masked face the other way...

...and then grabs the top rope, delivering a headbutt to the skull...
and another... and another... and another, knocking the masked man all
the way down to a seated position in the corner!]


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  WHAT A BARRAGE OF BLOWS FROM THE CHAMPION!!!

[Grabbing the leg of the challenger, Vasquez tugs him out of the corner
several feet from the corner...

...and then points to the buckles!]

GM:  Are you kidding me?!

BW:  The man can barely stand and walk!  How the heck is he going to
climb the ropes?!

GM:  I have no idea!  Absolutely no idea!

[A determined Vasquez grabs the ropes, forcing himself to stand on the
bottom rope... then to the middle rope...

The camera zooms in on his wincing face, biting his lip as he grabs the
steel mesh, looking at the top rope, and somehow hops up to it, using
his hold on the cage to steady himself...]

GM: My stars!  Juan Vasquez is up top!  Juan Vasquez is standing on the
top rope!  He can barely put any weight on that bad leg but somehow,
someway he made it all the way up to the top rope and-

[Vasquez steadies himself, breathing deeply as he holds onto the cage...

...and somehow leaps off of one leg, flipping backwards, and CRASHING
down across the chest of the West Memphis Assassin!]

GM:  ONE-LEGGED MOONSAULT!!  YOU'VE _GOT_ TO BE KIDDING ME!!

[A desperate champion reaches back, hooking a leg.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THRE-

"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

GM:  My stars, I thought he had him, Bucky!  I thought he had the match
won right there!

[Vasquez sits up, head buried in his hands.]

BW:  I don't think you're alone in that.

GM:  Juan Vasquez risked it all right there!  There was no way he should
have been able to hit that moonsault off the top rope on one leg but
damn it, he did it!  Juan Vasquez thought he had this thing won right
there!

[An angry Vasquez rolls to the ropes, grabbing them to pull himself up
to his feet...

...and points at the downed Assassin, stumbling a few steps and throwing
himself into one of the ugliest sentons ever!]

GM:  Backsplash!

BW:  And that was so bad that not even Tommy Stephens would claim it!

[Vasquez takes a while to cover...

...which allows the Assassin to reach up, scissoring the right arm with
his legs while he hooks the left with his own arms, rolling Vasquez onto
his shoulders with a crucifix!]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THRE-

[The crowd breathes a collective sigh of relief as Vasquez fires a
shoulder off the mat just before the three count comes down!]

GM:  So close!  So clos-

[A furious Vasquez rolls on top of the masked man, hammering away at his
skull with big right hands again...

...and then pulling at the eyehole of the mask again, ripping and
tearing at it.  As the challenger covers up, Vasquez reaches for the
back of the mask, tugging at the laces on it!]

GM:  HE'S TRYING TO GET THAT MASK OFF AGAIN!!

BW:  He's got it loose!

[The challenger fights him off with a flurry of punches but the laces
hanging loose from the back tell that Vasquez was partially successful
in what he was trying to accomplish.  The champion struggles to his
feet, wincing as he hobbles across the ring to the corner where the
masked man is trying to adjust his disguise...]

GM:  The champion's moving in on him, pulling him back to his feet by
the mas-

"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

GM:  LOW BLOW!!  THE ASSASSIN KICKED HIM LOW!!

[The blind mule kick catches Vasquez in the groin, stunning him in time
for the Assassin to spin around...

...and bury his right thumb into the side of the champion's neck!]

GM:  SPIKE!!  HE'S GOT THE SPIKE!!

[Vasquez IMMEDIATELY plants his feet and DRIVES backwards, smashing the
Assassin into the corner, breaking the hold before he gets a chance to
really get it locked in.]

GM:  The champion counters it!  He's got the challenger dazed in the
corner!

[Leaning over, the champion powers him up over a shoulder...]

GM:  He's setting for the City of Angels!

[Vasquez staggers out of the corner, ready to smash the back of the
challenger's head into the mat...

...but the wriggling Assassin frees himself, rolling through into a
sunset flip!]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THR-

[But Vasquez rolls through it at the last moment, grabbing the legs of
the challenger, and flipping through into a double leg cradle!]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  TH-

[The Assassin powers up, bridging up to his feet off the canvas, rolling
through the move and hooking in a backslide, pulling the champion down
to the canvas...]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THR-

[Vasquez kicks out JUST in time, scampering to his feet as quickly as he
can...

...and THROWING the right cross at a kneeling Assassin who somehow
slides to the right to avoid it, pulling the off-balance Vasquez down to
the canvas in a crossface hold!]

GM:  WHOA!  WHOA!

BW:  Where the heck did THAT come from?!

[Vasquez slips his good leg underneath him, rolling out of the crossface
submission hold, sliding to his feet...]

GM:  Back up agai-

[The champion throws the desperation right cross again, again coming up
empty on a sidestep that turns into the Assassin wrapping his arms
around the waist from behind, smashing Vasquez facefirst into the
corner, and rolling back into a rolling reverse cradle!]

GM:  BRIDGE!!  ONE!!  TWO!!  THRE-

[Vasquez JUST barely fires a shoulder up again, exasperation on his face
as he tries to get back up...

...and gets trapped in the arms of the challenger, hooking him in a
bearhug type hold.  The champion grabs for the mask just as the West
Memphis Assassin pops his hips, taking the champion up and over,
releasing the belly-to-belly throw in mid-attempt...]

GM:  Vasquez slipped out of the belly to belly!

BW:  No he didn't!  The Assassin let him go!

GM:  But why would he-

[And suddenly it becomes apparent why he let him go as Juan Vasquez gets
up...

...with the mask gripped in his hand!]

GM:  He's got the mask!  He's got the-

BW:  Gordo!  LOOK!

[The camera zooms in as the formerly-masked man lowers his arms from his
face...

...to reveal a very familiar face.]

GM:  MARCUS BROUSSARD?!

[The FIRST AWA National Champion smirks as he stares across the ring at
a wide-mouthed Vasquez whose first word is the same that we're all
thinking.]

"YOU?!"

[Broussard nods, still smiling...

...a grin that quickly vanishes when Vasquez sucks down the pain in his
injured leg, charging hard, and SPEARS a shocked Broussard nearly out of
his boots, hammering him with unforgiving right hands!]

GM:  WHY?!  WHY WOULD MARCUS BROUSSARD DO THIS?!

BW:  For all the reasons he said, Gordo!  It was Vasquez who dragged
Marcus out of retirement last summer... and for what?!  For the greater
glory of Juan Vasquez!  He USED him to win that WarGames and then left
him high and dry when the Shark needed him!  Of course!  It all makes
sense!  It all makes perfect sense!

[An angry Vasquez batters Broussard for several more moments before
pulling off, shaking his head in rage.  He stands, hands on hips for a
moment...

...and then reaches down, dragging Broussard up to his feet, tossing him
over his right shoulder!]

GM:  He's going for the City of Angels!  He's gonna drop the Shark on
his traitorous skull!

BW:  TRAITOROUS?!  You've got a lot of nerve, Myers!  Marcus Broussard
did EVERYTHING to help Juan Vasquez last year and where the HELL did it
get him?!

GM:  Right now, it got him up in the City Of Angels - right where he
belongs if you ask my opinion!

BW:  Nobody asked for your opinion, Myers, 'cause it doesn't mean sq-

[A male voice fills the arena, sarcastically rapping... If you can call
it rapping...]

"Our National champ, his name is Juan,
He doesn't quite know his reign is done.
The trap is sprung, the doors he can't unlock,
He meets his end here at Wrestlerock..."

GM:  What the... who is that?  Who is that talking?

[Vasquez freezes in his tracks as well, looking for the source of the
voice...

...and then he spots him.

Standing at the entranceway is one Louis Matsui, wearing a dark blue
suit, lavender shirt, red tie, black-framed glasses, and his signature
smirk. He's got a mic in hand.]

GM:  MATSUI?!

BW:  The plot thickens!

[Matsui, still grinning, speaks.]

LM: Did I not tell everyone that they will rue the day they decided to
make Louis Matsui an afterthought?  Most of all you, Vasquez, you whom I
thought I had humbled, but instead of giving props to my client who
pushed you to your limits and made you a better champion, you grew more
cocksure and thought you were done with MAMMOTH Mizusawa and the Matsui
Corporation. 

Let me tell you this, Vasquez, you can forget MAMMOTH, but you will NOT
forget what's about to happen to you tonight. Your victory over my
client nearly cost me and my Corporation everything!

Thankfully, I know my business and Louis Matsui always pays his debts...
But what is going to happen to you, Juan? 

It's far from business. This is as personal as it gets.

[A struggling Broussard breaks free from Vasquez' grip, throwing a right
hand to the jaw.  The champion retaliates, the fight breaking loose
inside the ring as the two men go to town on one another.]

GM:  What the heck is he talking about?  What's going to happen to Juan
Vasquez?!  What is going to-

BW:  WHOA!  

[The sudden exclamation from Bucky Wilde happens as someone sprints past
the announce position, having entered the ringside area from the crowd,
dashing up the ringsteps where he promptly unlocks the cage door,
rushing into the ring...]

GM:  NENSHOU!!

BW:  But he ain't alone, Gordo!

[Percy Childes is quickly to ringside as well, shutting the cage door
behind his charge as Vasquez wheels to defend himself against the
incoming Asian Assassin!]

GM:  Vasquez is in a fight for his life here!

[Vasquez catches the incoming Nenshou with a right hand to the jaw.  A
second one staggers him as well.  Grabbing the arm of the engimatic one,
Vasquez fires him across the ring...]

GM:  Nenshou off the ropes...

[But he ducks under a clothesline attempt, rebounding off with a
dropkick that strategically hits the injured knee, knocking Vasquez down
to his knees!]

GM:  Ohh!  He takes out the knee!

[Childes shouts something in Japanese to Nenshou who stands over the
kneeling Vasquez...]

BW:  How many times, Gordo?!

GM:  What the heck are you talking about?!

BW:  How many times have you seen Juan Vasquez standing over someone on
their knees like this, ready to deliver that right cross?!  He ain't
doin' that right now, is he?!

GM:  You shut your mouth, Bucky!

[Nenshou suddenly grabs at his throat...

...and then SPEWS green mist point blank into the eyes of the National
Champion!]


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  MIST!!  HE SPRAYED THE MIST INTO THE EYES OF THE CHAMPION!!

[Vasquez collapses down to his back on the canvas, rolling back and
forth as he screams in pain at the blinding fluid just spat into his
eyes.  Marcus Broussard immediately jumps on him, hammering his skull
with right hands over and over again.]

GM:  I don't understand what the heck is happening here, Bucky!  What in
the world does Matsui have to do with this?!  And what is Nenshou doing
in there with Marcus Broussard?!

[The camera pulls back, showing Nenshou and Broussard working together
to stomp the heck out of the National Champion, Nenshou taking care to
focus on the injured knee of Vasquez as Childes shouts encouragement
from ringside.]

GM:  We're going to need some help out here!  We need to get some help
from the back!

BW:  WHO!?  Who's going to come save your precious champion, Gordo?! 
Think of the body count we've seen tonight!  Think of all the people who
had to go to the hospital or who got tossed from the building!  The
Rockstars, Armstrong, Fierro, Lee, Watkins, Michaelson, Martinez!  NO
ONE'S HERE!  NO ONE CAN SAVE YOUR HERO!

GM:  There's gotta be someone!

[Suddenly, Louis Matsui, now at ringside climbs up on the timekeeper's
table, crossing his arms in a "X."]

GM:  What the heck is this guy doing now?  Get him down from there!  Get
him-

[The camera abruptly cuts, showing another man hurdling over the
ringside barricade and making a beeline for the ring where Percy Childes
lets him enter.]

GM:  Who in the world is that?

[The smallish young man tears off a black sweatshirt, jerking a thumb at
the Combat Corner t-shirt he's wearing.  He shouts something at Vasquez,
kicking his neck a few times before dragging him to his feet...]

BW:  Wait a second!  I know who that is!  

GM:  You do?!

BW:  That's Pedro Perez!

GM:  WHAT?!

BW:  PEDRO PEREZ!  He got piledriven by Stevie Scott when Scott was
trying to send a message to Vasquez!  I heard he hasn't wrestled since
then!  

[Perez tugs a blinding Vasquez into a standing headscissors.]

GM:  Oh no... no, you can't do this, Pedro!

BW:  Of course he can!  He wants Vasquez to suffer just like he did for
all these months!  Do it, kid!  Make yourself famous!

[The youngster attempts to get Vasquez off the mat and up into the
piledriver...

...but Vasquez blindly stands up, tossing the youngster over and down to
the mat in a backdrop!  The crowd cheers...

...but the cheers quickly fall silent thanks to a thrust kick under the
chin by Nenshou, knocking the champion flat to the canvas where
Broussard grabs the leg, twisting it around into a spinning toehold,
dropping back into a figure four leglock!]

GM:  Broussard hooks on the figure four again - and look at Nenshou and
Perez, stomping the knee, kicking the knee!  They're on a mission to
take out Juan Vasquez here tonight!

BW:  Wow.  Thanks for that insightful analysis!

[The crowd is roaring, pleading for someone to help their hero as he
suffers under a three-on-one beating.  Nenshou shoves Perez aside,
deftly scaling the ropes...

...and leaping backwards, crashing down across the chest of Vasquez with
a moonsault off the top while he's still trapped in the figure four
leglock!]

GM:  OHHH!  MOONSAULT BY NENSHOU!!

BW:  This is great!  I never DREAMED this is what the Assassin- excuse
me, Marcus Broussard - was talking about!

GM:  This is NOT great.  Is there really NO ONE back there who can
help?!

[An abrupt camera cut finds us running towards the entrance curtain.  As
the cameraman dashes through, we find both Antons already sprawled out
on the ground with the Moonshiners standing over them, kicking them into
the floor.  Jug grabs a nearby metal trash can...

... and SLAMS it down over Alex Anton's skull as a sea of AWA officials
and security are rushing into the shot, trying to break things up!  The
camera abruptly turns to the side, finding Robert Donovan struggling to
get past the combined might of Ebola Zaire and Polemos who seem to be
keeping him at bay.]

BW:  Haha!  Now THIS is a plan, Gordo!  They've thought of everything!

GM:  I can't believe what we're seeing here.  I can't even believe this
is-

[Matsui's voice cuts in again.]

LM:  Look at that! AWA's white knight... The people's hero... You'd like
us to think of you as squeaky clean, Vasquez, but we all know what you
are capable of. We all know of the careers you've ruined. We've heard
and seen what you can do when you're not in Texas, John-boy! You know
it, I know it, but no one, nobody knows it better than this man!

[Matsui's waving arms brings another person over the railing, rushing
towards the cage where Childes is standing...

...and just happens to pick up a steel chair on his way in!]

GM:  What the-?!

BW:  EPSTEIN?!

GM:  THAT'S ALEX EPSTEIN!  It is!  He and Juan Vasquez have a serious
history from their battles in the Toronto territory!  What in the heck
is he... did Matsui bring HIM here for this too?!

BW:  Isn't that obvious?!

[Epstein throws the chair down, diving atop the trapped Vasquez who is
still trapped in the figure four.  He hammers away at him, battering him
with rights and lefts with animalistic aggression...

...and then wraps his hands around the throat, strangling the air out of
the National Champion!]

GM:  Come on, Matsui!  Call off your goons - enough is enough!

[Matsui smirks at the nearby Myers.]

LM:  Oh, you haven't BEGUN to see enough, old friend.

Alex, show our good friend, Gordon, what "enough" might start to look
like...

[With a nod, Epstein peels away from the chokehold, retrieving the steel
chair as Broussard breaks the figure four.  Pedro Perez grabs the foot
of Vasquez, stretching the leg out to full extension...]

GM:  No, no... they can't do this!

BW:  Tell them that!

GM:  MATSUI!  STOP IT NOW!  THIS IS TOO MUCH!  YOU'RE GOING TOO FAR!

[Matsui's voice can be heard chuckling over the PA system as Epstein
winds up with the chair...]


"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!"


[It would be tough to say what is a more disturbing sound - the
sickening "CRACK!" that is heard when Alex Epstein unleashes the brutal
chairshot down across the extended leg of Juan Vasquez, the stunned
silence of the AWA faithful as they realize what's going on before them,
or the howling pains of anguish from Juan Vasquez as he grabs at his
now-presumably broken leg.]

GM:  My god... my god in heaven...

BW:  This has nothing to do with God, Gordo!  This has EVERYTHING to do
with Juan Vasquez THINKING he's God!

[Matsui is cackling - just flat out cackling - on the mic as Vasquez
rolls back and forth in agony on the canvas, screaming in pain...

...and then screaming louder as Epstein delivers a second chairshot,
right down across the limb!]

GM:  GOOD GRIEF!

[Another abrupt camera change to the locker room area reveals Sweet
Daddy Williams and the Lynch Brothers as they dash by, sprinting past
the brawling taking place beyond the curtain...]

GM:  YEAH!  COME ON, GUYS!!

[The foursome tears down the aisle towards the ring, hitting the
ringside area hard as Sweet Daddy Williams knocks Percy Childes down,
trying to get the cage open...

...but a hard swung chair by Alex Epstein keeps Williams from opening
the cage!  James Lynch jumps up on the side of the cage, trying to climb
it...]

GM:  Matsui's not so smug now!

[The manager certainly looks a little more concerned at this point,
shouting directions to the men inside the ring.  Nenshou quickly
obliges, climbing the cage wall and smashing the fingers of James Lynch,
knocking him back down to the floor.  An angry Jack Lynch grabs for a
chair, smashing the side of the cage himself as he shouts in a general
direction...

...when suddenly Anton Layton, Ebola Zaire, and Polemos arrive at
ringside!]

BW:  ALLIANCE!!

[Zaire goes straight for Jack Lynch, grabbing him around the throat and
tumbling over the ringside barricade.  James Lynch promptly leaps up on
the timekeeper's table, hurling himself off onto Polemos as Anton Layton
and Travis Lynch trade blows to the roars of the crowd!]

GM:  Sweet Daddy Williams is still trying to get in there!  He's still
trying to-

[The crowd EXPLODES in jeers as Vladimir Velikov arrives, promptly
BASHING Williams in the back of the head with the Russian chain.  Ivan
Kostovich, his head heavily bandaged grabs Williams...]


"CLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANG!"


[...and SLAMS his head into the steel cage!  Matsui cackles as he waves
for the cage to be unlocked again.  The Russians enter along with Matsui
and a dazed Percy Childes.]

LM:  Might be a little safer in here, Percy.  

[With a gesture from Kostovich, Velikov offers half of the Russian steel
chain to Broussard.  Perez flings Vasquez towards them...

...where they nearly decapitate the National Champion with a steel chain
assisted clothesline!]

GM:  Good god... this is... fans, this is awful to watch.  If this
wasn't such a newsworthy event, I'd tell the truck to take us off the
air.

BW:  Don't you dare!  I want to watch this tape again for the rest of my
life!

[The rulebreakers are standing around the motionless Vasquez, high-fives
and laughs being shared all around.  The cage starts to become useful
protection for them as bottles of water and cups of soda begin showering
the ring, smashing into the steel and then soaking the canvas as well as
those inside it.

A quick cut to the crowd shows a pair of young children - a boy and a
girl - clinging to their mother's leg.  Tears are running down the
girl's cheeks as she watches her hero be destroyed before her very eyes.
 A loud "SMASH!" is heard from off-camera, a blow that causes the boy to
shield his eyes behind his mother.]

GM:  Come on!  I can't believe this!  I can't believe this is happeni-
I'm begging someone, anyone, we need help out here!  Anyone who can hear
my voice, please stop this right now!

[HUUUUUGE CHEER!]

GM:  SUPERNOVA!  SUPERNOVA!  COME ON, KID!!

[The face-painted fan favorite dashes to the ring, immediately rushing
to the cage door...

...where Alex Epstein is still standing, slamming the chair into the
door to keep the good guys from getting in.  Supernova desperately looks
around, trying to find another way in...]

GM:  Climb the cage, damn it!

BW:  Oh, it worked real well for Lynch!

[Supernova sees no other choice, trying to do the same thing.  He digs
his fingers into the steel, climbing bit by bit up the cage wall. 
Vladimir Velikov whips at the climbing fan favorite with the chain but
Supernova does not give up, still inching his way up the wall!]

GM:  He's getting up that cage!  Supernova is scaling the cage!

BW:  Then what?!  He's got a ring full of people to deal with!  You're
cheering this kid to get in there into the SAME situation that Vasquez
is in!

[Supernova reaches the top of the cage, pulling himself up onto the
small area between the two cages.  He leans down, pulling the lever to
unlock the trap door between the middle and bottom levels of the Tower
of Doom before quickly moving over to the door, flinging it open...

...and dropping down inside, raining down blows on anyone in sight!]

GM:  RIGHT HAND!!  RIGHT HAND!!  RIGHT HAND!!

[Supernova is hitting anyone and anything anywhere near him, trying to
clear some space.  A spinning right hand sends Velikov stumbling away. 
He turns around...]

BW:  MIST!!

[A second blast of the vile green spray catches Supernova right in the
eyes, knocking him down to the mat where the rulebreakers swarm him,
stomping and kicking the fan favorite to the jeers of the crowd.  An
angry-looking Broussard pulls Supernova up, tugging him into an inverted
facelock...

...and swings him around, DRIVING him facefirst into the canvas!]

GM:  OHHH!

BW:  GODSEND!!  Man, I haven't seen that in ages!

GM:  I've never seen anything like this!

BW:  Maybe Taylor in Toronto?!  Epstein in... wherever the heck he was
when he got destroyed!  This is the worst thing we've ever seen here in
the AWA!  Worse than Ron Houston!  Worse than Vernon Riley!  Worse than
everything!

[There's a few more stomps and kicks to the downed Supernova and Vasquez
as the gloating continues.  Matsui raises the mic again, chuckling as he
taps the top of it to make sure it's still working.]

LM:  Heck of a night, huh?

[The crowd jeers loudly.  A well-thrown cup of beer hits the cage, the
liquid splashing in onto Matsui.  He looks disgusted for a moment,
wiping his brow clean before a smile comes back.]

LM:  Not even YOU idiots can spoil this night.  There's too much hard
work that went into this night to let ANYONE spoil it.  See, these...
Arrangements... They were tough to pull off, even for a genius like
Louis Matsui. 

Hey Juan... you listening?

[He chuckles to himself.]

LM:  You see, Juan... Don't get me wrong; there's no shortage of people
who hate you in this sport... But I will admit, even the best of minds
needs some help sometimes. So I had to reach out to someone with as
devious a mind, if not more so, than yours truly. A fellow mastermind,
if you will...

And well... he kept telling you that you should...

Consider.  Yourself.  Warned.

[The crowd EXPLODES in jeers as one more person hurdles over the
barricade, racing up the ringsteps...

...and immediately shakes hands with Louis Matsui!]

GM:  It can't be!

BW:  IT IS!  HE'S BAAAAAAAAAAACK!

[The camera zooms in, catching the grinning face of the "Agent To The
Stars" Ben Waterson for the first time.  He takes the offered mic from
Matsui.]

ATTSBW:  Well...

[The crowd EXPLODES in jeers again before he says a word, bottles and
cups being thrown even in larger quantites towards the ring at this
point.]

ATTSBW:  Can't say I missed you guys but...

I warned you, Vasquez.  I warned you not to cross me.

[Waterson looks down at the unconscious Vasquez.]

ATTSBW:  This is no fun.  Pick him up, boys.

[Broussard and Perez quickly oblige, each holding an arm to keep him on
his feet.  Waterson inches closer, staring at the motionless National
Champion with a grin on his face.]

ATTSBW:  You took everything I had in my life and left it a pile of... 

[He snaps his fingers.]

ATTSBW:  Wouldn't want to get fined my first night back, would I?

[He smirks...

...and then SLAPS Vasquez across the face!]

ATTSBW:  Did you feel that?!  God, I hope so.  I hope you felt all of
this.  The figure four... the mist... the chain... I hope you felt every
single bit of it.  

Because it's just a taste, Juan.  It's just a taste of what you've got
coming to you. 

When Louis called me, I knew I had to be a part of this...

[He spreads his arms on "this."]

ATTSBW:  Because this is the start of a new chapter in my life, Juan. 
The chapter that ends with you... NEVER... WRESTLING... AGAIN!

[The crowd boos wildly as Waterson draws closer to his rival.]

ATTSBW:  See, Juan... most of the people in this ring... they don't want
you to come back from this.  They're hoping you never come back from
this.

[He shakes his head.]

ATTSBW:  I'm different.  I want you to come back.  Because I want to do
this again... and again... and again... and again... until there is
nothing left of you to do this to.

This is a moment, Juan.  A moment in time that changes everything.

[He nods.]

ATTSBW:  Thanks for having me here.  Wouldn't have missed it for the
world, champ...

[Waterson turns to walk away as Broussard throws Vasquez back down to
the canvas.  But suddenly the manager stops, shaking his head...]

ATTSBW:  Hrm.  Something doesn't sound right about that.

[He scratches his chin for a moment and then snaps his fingers again.]

ATTSBW:  I knew I was forgetting something.  I've got a promise to
keep...

[A grin.]

ATTSBW:  ...to an old friend.  Maestro?

[A spotlight erupts, illuminating the stage where the post-show concert
will be held.  Only the stage is currently filled...

...with ZZ Top who look nervous about what they're about to do
considering what Joe Petrow pulled on them earlier.

And suddenly, the sounds of ZZ Top's "Sharp Dressed Man" kicks in to one
of the loudest shocked responses in AWA history...]

GM:  No, no, no.  This can't be true!  This can't be happening!

[The spotlight shifts over the ring entrance...

...and lights up Calisto Dufresne, standing in the middle of the Hell
that the darkness has brought to the American Wrestling Alliance. 
Dufresne nods his head, quickly powerwalking up the aisle before anyone
else can come out of the locker room.]

GM:  Calisto Dufresne has returned!

BW:  And you know what this means!

GM:  I don't... oh my stars, you don't think-

BW:  OF COURSE!

[Dufresne quickly enters the cage, looking around at the wretched hive
of scum and villainy surrounding him...

...and points to the corner.]

GM:  Who is he pointing at?

[The wrestlers near the corner step aside, revealing a cowering Michael
Meekly who isn't even looking at what's going on.  Dufresne waves and
Pedro Perez grabs Meekly, dragging him over...]

CD:  Needless to say... I have a title shot I'd like to use, good sir.

[Dufresne winks at a shocked Meekly who stands stoic until Waterson
shoves him from behind - "RING THE BELL, IDIOT!"  Meekly signals for the
bell as Dufresne grins, dragging Vasquez off the mat...

...and into a front facelock.]

GM:  NO!  There's no need for this!  If you want to, just pin the man
but don't add anything else on top of this!  Don't-

[Dufresne's face suddenly goes cold as he hoists Vasquez horizontal to
the mat, lifting him up...

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


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


BW:  WHAM, BAM, HELLO WORLD CHAMP!

GM:  I... not like this...

[Dufresne drops down to the mat, planting a single finger on the chest
of the motionless National Champion...

...and orders a shocked Meekly down to the canvas.]

BW:  COUNT, YOU IDIOT!

[Meekly raises his hand, slapping the mat once.]

GM:  Don't do it, Mike!

[He raises his hand again, slapping the mat a second time.]

GM:  Juan... come on, kid... come on...

[Meekly raises his hand a third time, looking around at the intimidating
face all around, closes his eyes...

...and SLAPS the canvas a third time, immediately rolling aside to call
for the bell.]


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


GM:  This can't be happening... it's like... this is some kind of
nightmare, right?

BW:  We ain't in Dallas, daddy!  THIS is reality!  We've got a new
National Champion, daddy!

GM:  No, no... it can't be true...

[Waterson picks up the mic again.]

ATTSBW:  I got a feeling no one else can do this justice, champ... lemme
take a crack at it...

After an epic encounter... one of the most grueling matches in AWA
history... 

[Laughs all around inside the ring.]

ATTSBW:  Here is your winner...

...and NEWWWWWWWW AWA NATIONAL CHAMPION...

CAAAAAAAAAALIIIIIIISTOOOOOO DUUUUUUUFRESNNNNNNNE!!!

[Outside the ring, Ivan Kostovich snatches the title belt off the
timekeeper's table, walking back into the ring...

...where he hands it over to the Ladykiller who eagerly accepts it.]

GM:  Calisto Dufresne... my god, fans... Calisto Dufresne is the new AWA
National Champion!

[The crowd falls to a hush for the most part, shocked and horrified by
what they just saw.  Calisto Dufresne looks down at the title belt for a
long moment, and then lifts it, hoisting it high into the air!]

GM:  That can't be his!  This whole thing - this just can't be
happening, Bucky!

BW:  Oh, it's happening, Gordo!  And it's the greatest night in AWA
history!  

GM:  This can't be!  This is impossible!

[The Ladykiller stands tall, soaking up the explosive jeers from the
Durham, North Carolina crowd, the title belt held above his head like
some kind of a statue as trash begins to fly even fiercer now.]

GM:  I can't believe it!  I can't believe any of this!  We've got a new
National Champion... and his name is Calisto Dufresne!  When this night
began, I never DREAMED we'd see this!  How can this have happened?!  How
can any of this have happened?  

BW:  Calisto Dufresne just became the most powerful man in professional
wrestling, Gordon Myers - and you'd better get used to it!

GM:  Fans, I don't- I don't know what else to say!  We're out of time! 
We've gotta go!  For Bucky Wilde and the rest- 

[Suddenly, the crowd ERUPTS once more - but in a strongly mixed reaction
as they see who is standing at the top of the aisle.]

GM:  What the-?

BW:  Oh hey!  I forgot he was still here tonight!

[The camera cuts to the top of the aisle, showing "Hotshot" Stevie Scott
in street clothes looking the long way down the aisle where there's a
victory celebration in process.]

GM:  We're being told that Stevie Scott HAD left the building but just
came back here!  He literally JUST pulled into the parking lot of the
stadium and walked straight out here!

[Finally, Ben Waterson notices Scott standing there, staring down the
aisle.]

ATTSBW:  Well, well, well... talk about a welcoming committee... thanks
for showing up, old pal.  Good to see you too.

[Waterson looks around at the carnage in the ring.]

ATTSBW:  To be honest, buddy... the way you've been acting around here
lately, I wasn't sure if you'd want a part in this or we would have
invited you... but if you're up for it...

[The "Agent To The Stars" points to the still-motionless Vasquez.]

ATTSBW:  The guy who STOLE your title and tried to END your career? 
He's right here waiting for ya.

[The shot cuts back to Scott, an arched eyebrow as he considers the
offer...

...and then starts the long walk down the aisle to the ring.]

GM:  Please... no more.  Juan Vasquez can't take any more of this, fans.
 He simply can not take any more physical punishment out here tonight. 
This is just-

BW:  Oh, be quiet.  Your bleeding heart disgusts me.

GM:  Didn't I tell you to shut up once already?!

[Scott climbs the steel ringsteps, eyeing the surroundings as he steps
into the cage.  Vladimir Velikov IMMEDIATELY steps up to him but Louis
Matsui intervenes.]

LM:  This ain't the place for old grudges, Vlad.  We start new...
tonight.  It's a new era, baby.  You got your shot at the chump, let the
man take his shot too.

[Velikov reluctantly steps back, allowing Scott to walk out to the
center of the ring, standing over Vasquez.

The former two-time National Champion looks down on his most hated
rival...

Then up to the man who led him to the National Title, a grinning Ben
Waterson...

And then finally to the man who stood by his side for months as a member
of the Southern Syndicate, Calisto Dufresne...

...the man now wearing HIS title belt.]

GM:  Stevie Scott, it's your moment of truth.

[A grin crosses the Hotshot's face...

...and he suddenly spins to the right, DRILLING Waterson with a right
hand that knocks him flat!  The crowd ERUPTS in a deafening cheer!]

BW:  WHAT?!  WHAT?!

[The Hotshot spins to the other direction, tackling Calisto Dufresne off
his feet before the other shocked rulebreakers can intervene.  The
former two-time champ gets a chance to lay in a half dozen hard shots to
the skull...

...before Vladimir Velikov smashes him in the back fo the head with a
forearm smash.  He kicks Scott as well, pulling him up...

...where the Hotshot DRILLS him as well, knocking him flat!]

GM:  STEVIE SCOTT IS TRYING TO FIGHT 'EM ALL OFF!!

[Scott dishes out right hands to Nenshou, Perez, and even Broussard
before turning back around...

...and getting SMASHED between the eyes with Calisto Dufresne's
newly-won National Title belt!]

GM:  OHHHHHH!

[The crowd jeers as the rulebreakers encircle the downed Scott, dishing
out a beating to him as well!]

GM:  VASQUEZ IS DOWN!  SUPERNOVA IS DOWN!  SCOTT IS DOWN!

BW:  What a glorious night!

GM:  This is perhaps the WORST night in the history of the AWA, fans!  

BW:  THE ERA OF THE LADYKILLER HAS BEGUN!!

GM:  May the heavens help us all.  Good night, everybody.

[The beating of Scott is cut off short as Dufresne seems to just want to
celebrate with his title belt, mounting the midbuckle inside the cage as
the crowd continues to jeer...

...as we fade to black.]