<UWF>Brawl From The Mall 6 (Hour 2)

[Cygnia]

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|: | |____________________
|::.|:. | !Live! |
`--- ---' August 6th, 2005 | ________
| The Eaton Centre | / _____/
| Hour Two | / __ \
|____________________| \ |__\ \
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\/

["Life In The Fastlane" fades away, replaced with the voice of David
Rogers.]

DR: Welcome back to the Eaton Centre folks! We're kicking off hour two
as you can see with another visit to the Greene Room!

[We open to a scene we first saw two weeks ago on Rampage. In the ring,
a
thick, dark green carpet has been rolled out to cover the mat. Three
padded office chairs sit on the carpet, behind a long mahogany coffee
table. On the table sit a small metal water jug, a number of paper
drinking cups, a stack of old magazines, and curiously enough a vintage
1997 autographed Pride toaster. On three of the four turnbuckles are
signs reading "Welcome to the Greene Room" and on the fourth, the
corner
nearest our announce trio, is a sign lit up in red, reading:

"ON AIR"

In the centre of the ring stands the man who is rapidly becoming the
most
beloved talk show host in the entire UWF... Brett Greene. Greene wears
a
dark black sports jacket, matching slacks, and a canary yellow dress
shirt, missing only a sharp tie to be dressed to the nines. Let's call
it
"dressed to the eights". Greene smiles as the positive crowd reaction
to
his presence slowly dies down.]

BG: Toronto!

[With just one word, the crowd in the mall starts cheering loudly
again.
Apparently, Brett found a store that had a sale on heat, because he
just
got a lot of it real cheap.]

BG: Welcome... to the premiere show on UWF TV! Welcome to the show
where
we ask the hard questions, and get the answers YOU need! Welcome... to
the Greene Room!

[The crowd continues to cheer for the veteran star from the South, and
his body language shows just the right mixture of mild modesty and
justifiable pride to keep the cheers coming.]

BG: I could talk your ears off ?bout my problems with Derek Martin,
but I
have some very pressing business to get down to, and I intend to get
directly to it. My guest tonight is perhaps the best, undoubtedly the
biggest guest in the short history of the Greene Room. He is the number
one contender to the World Heavyweight Title...

[If you thought they were cheering for Brett, stop and listen to the 50
decibel increase at the mere mention of "The Last American Badass".]

BG: ...he is the man who will face Scott Daniels at Gold Rush... ladies
and gentlemen, Alex Martinez!

["Battle Without Honor or Humanity" blares across the loudspeakers, the
instruments barely piercing through the roaring ovation of the crowd.]

AM: Here he comes...

SS: Don't say it.

DR: C'mon Sam, you know she's going to say it.

AM: He's my favorite...

[Martinez steps out into the entranceway. He's dressed in a battered
black leather jacket, a white t-shirt and faded blue jeans. As the
lights gleam off his mirrored sunglasses, the big man pauses, looking
out
over the screaming fans.]

AM: Because he's the man with my initials!

SS: Dammit! Every time. I'm so sick of that!

[As Martinez steps towards Greene, the host sticks out a hand at his
much
larger guest. To the approval of the crowd, Martinez takes Brett's hand
and shakes it, exchanging some small talk as they do that is not picked
up by the microphone.]

SS: Oh, gag me with a spoon, Tweedle-dum and Tweedle-dumber are
friends.

AM: I think it's called being a professional, Sam. You might want to
look
into it.

SS: And you might want to look into a better razor for those bramble
patches you call armpits.

[SLAP!]

SS: Ow, that one hurt more than usual!

AM: I've been practicing on a punching bag.

[Back in the ring, Greene decides to begin the interview.]

BG: Alex, in just one week you walk into Detroit with a chance, I'd say
a
damn good chance, to become the top man in this company ? the World's
Heavyweight Champion. I've seen you wrestle, and last week I was even
your tag team partner. I learned that you're a stand-up guy, I learned
that you're a monster in this ring, and I learned that you have
everything it takes ? and more ? to win that title.

But I learned a long, long time ago what Scott Daniels is capable of.
In
case I forgot about it, he and that snake Martin reminded me. I took
two
Pride Breakers last week, Alex... I'm a former World champ, and those
two
Pride Breakers made me think about hangin' up my boots. It's that
painful
a move. Scott can strike from anywhere, he's devious, he's brilliant,
and
holdin' onto the World title means more to him than drawin' his next
breath. So my question is very simple. At Gold Rush... are you ready
for
what you're up against?

[Martinez holds the microphone up, and starts to speak, but the roar of
the fans drowns him out for a moment. The big man pauses, waiting for
the
chatter to quiet down.]

AM: Now, I ain't one to tell stories, and I ain't one to dwell on the
past. But let's look at the facts.

See, I ain't a guy that just walked in outta wrestlin' school. I ain't
some wet behind the ears punk with stars in his eyes. I've been up and
down the road, and all ya gotta do is look at the scars on my body to
know that I've been to hell and back.

And along the way, I've been to the big show. I've climbed the top of
the mountain, and I've done it more than once. I know what it means to
be top dog. I may wake up every mornin' with an ache in my knee and the
sound of my crackin' back fillin' my ears. But the only thing that pain
means is that I've spent a lifetime fightin' the odds, and more often
than not, comin' out on top.

And when you're talkin' ?bout Scott Daniels, well hell, there's one
thing
ya can't forget.

[Martinez yanks off his sunglasses, and the camera zooms in on the
intense look in his eyes.]

AM: I've already beaten ya once.

But ya didn't ask me for a history lesson, did ya.

No, you're askin' if I'm ready to beat Scott Daniels. You're askin' if
I
can pry the most precious thing in the world from the clutches of a
very
dangerous man. You wanna know if I can fight against the odds, and if,
one more time, I can make it to the top.

[Martinez chuckles.]

AM: You're damn right I can!

[Huge crowd pop!]

BG: You know what, Alex... I was hopin' you'd say that. I think you can
take the title from Scott, and there might only be one or two men in
the
entire damn world I'd say that about. You're pretty much the top of
that
list. And what's more... after what that sonuvabitch did to me last
week... friendship be damned, I'm rootin' for ya big man.

But you have to know it ain't just Scott that's gonna be your problem
in
Detroit. The Pride exists for one reason, and one reason alone ? to
keep
the power, the money, and the gold in their control. That's the way it
was in '97 when they were doin' it for me, and it's the way it is now
when they're doin' it for Scott. You've already seen what lengths the
Pride will go to... so my next question is, what's your plan to
neutralize them at Gold Rush?

AM: Well, momma Martinez didn't raise no Rhodes scholar, but she didn't
raise no jackass either. You'll understand if I keep the specifics to
myself. You wanna know how I'll deal with the Pride?

Come to Detroit and find out.

I'll tell ya this though. Its gonna involve blood. Mine, and theirs.

BG: Last question, Alex. We all know you're hurtin' in that knee. That
limey bastard Kidd did a number on your leg ? heck, he did a whole
math
textbook's worth a' numbers on it. Are you physically ready, are you a
hundred percent ready to go for Gold Rush?

[There's a pause, as Martinez becomes slightly somber.]

AM: Everyone knows that this left knee is gimpy. Hell, I'm sure you've
seen me limpin' around backstage, or packin' it in ice. Is my knee 100
percent? Hell no it ain't. Am I physically ready? Hell no I ain't.

But I got somethin' more important than a knee. I got heart, and I got
soul. And I ain't never less than 100 percent when it comes to heart
and
soul.

Am I ready? Greene, I was born ready, and every minute that I don't get
what I want, I just get more pissed off. And when I get pissed off...
people end up in traction.

[The last question answered, Martinez turns to leave the ring, and
starts
walking away. Greene, however, raises the mic and addresses the
departing
number one contender.]

BG: Hold on there, big man, hold on just a darn minute. I said I'd
asked
my last question. I didn't say I was done talkin' to ya.

[Surprised, Martinez turns back around. There is suddenly a hard look
on
his face, as he is clearly not pleased by the unexpected interruption.
For their part the fans buzz excitedly, not entirely clear what is
about
to happen next. Martinez shoots an intimidating stare at Greene, but
Brett just returns the look.]

DR: I'm not sure what's going on here... but it certainly seems to be a
tense situation in the ring!

[Indeed it does, Dave. As Brett begins to speak once again you can cut
the tension with a knife.]

BG: You see, I already asked my questions, but I got one statement I
wanna make to you. I already said I think you can beat Scott Daniels
for
the title. Hell, I think you might just be the favorite in that match.
And I already talked about how tough an hombre you are. But I want you
to
know one thing. If you do win that title... if you do take that strap
off
Scott at Gold Rush, I'm tellin' you right now, man to man...

I want a shot at you.

[The crowd cheers loudly, reacting to the idea of two fan favourites
locking horns and at the idea of the World title perhaps leaving the
waist of the hated Scott Daniels and instead being contested by these
two
honourable men. Martinez stares long and hard at Greene. The big man's
eyes narrow, and he seems ready to throw the first punch. But instead,
he very slowly raises the mic to his hands.]

AM: If I win the belt Greene. I give you my word, right here, right
now,
that if you want a shot, all you gotta do is give me a time and a
place,
and its yours.

[Brett smiles, and nods his head at the number one contender.]

BG: All right then, Alex, now I'm done. You go kick some ass at Gold
Rush.

AM: You bet your ass I will. And Brett?

[Martinez cracks a grin.]

AM: I'll be seein' ya soon.

DR: What a matchup that would be.

AM: Well, we're going to see it in the not too distant future.

SS: Keep dreaming.

[The camera cuts to Rick Marley standing in front of a white tiled
wall.
The former Rampage Champion is wearing a black leather jacket, white t
shirt and blue jeans. He brushes his long dark hair from his face, as
he
stalks back and forth. Looking over at the camera with an irritated
sideways glance, Marley nods, but continues his short travel circut.]

"You breathe, you fight...what a load of horse[BLEEP]."

[Marley shakes his head in disgust as he continues his pacing.]

"The Youngbloods aren't about fighting. The Youngbloods are about a
numbers game. They're no different than the Illuminati, or Pride, or
any
other group of thugs that manage to put their heads together long
enough
to come up with a nickname, a secret handshake, a catch phrase and a
merchandising plan. They're nothing special...just an more geriatric
version of the kids that hung around in a clump at school recess.

What they fail to remember during their little hazing ceremonies and
mutual masturbation meetings is that not everyone in the locker room
starts shaking at the idea of stepping into the ring against them, even
if it means being outnumbered."

[Marley stops, turning to look into the camera for the first time, his
disgust obvious from his expression.]

"Drake, you decided to pick this fight for no good reason...up till you
pushed it, I didn't have an argument with you...Merc's been more than
enough of a hemorrhoid to me...I wasn't particularly interested in
finding another one.

Instead of leaving well enough alone, you decided to push, and push and
PUSH. Now you get to see what happens when I push back.

You want to threaten me with a hospital stay?

Done it.

You want to fire off insults on my accomplishments?

Been there.

You want to ignore what I can do?

Your funeral.

I haven't been here anywhere near as long as you...and I don't terribly
care about that. The simple fact is that I'm not terribly happy with
the
way things have gone for me over the past stretch here, and you're the
perfect opportunity for me to vent some of that. I'm not here for a
wrestling match, Drake. I'm here for a fight.

And if I have to stop your breathing to show you what that means...
well... welcome to the next level, [BLEEP]tch".

[Marley turns and stalks offscreen as the scene fades to black.

Cut to the first level of the mall, where we find several shops where
one can get whatever tasty junk food they want... Starbucks, Mrs.
Field's
Cookies, Baskin-Robbins, The Pretzelmaker. It's The Pretzelmaker that
commands our attention, as this is where we find three members of the
Youngbloods... manager Allison Ivey and The Privateers, Edward and
Jacob
Drake. Edward is dressed in a white polo shirt and khakis and Jacob
wears a black Youngbloods T-shirt and dark pants. Allison stands with
her arms folded as Edward receives a cinnamon pretzel while Jacob
receives a garlic and cheese pretzel. The Youngbloods manager shakes
her
head as she watches them receive the food.]

AI: You two just have to satisfy your taste buds, don't you?
Edward: Lay off me, Allison. I'm not the one who has a bloody match
tonight.

[Jacob has already taken a large bite out of his pretzel.]

AI: You may not, Edward, but he does. [pointing to Jacob] So why the
hell
is he snacking on junk food when he should be getting ready for his
title
defense.

[Jacob swallows his food before speaking.]

Jacob: There's plenty of bloody time for that, and besides, it's just
Rick Marley... you know, the guy that plays around with the [BLEEP]
that
amounts to what his career has been lately.

AI: Be serious, Jacob... Marley may not be that good, but he's no
slouch.
Jacob: Oh, come on, Allison, let's review... his first impact in this
place is beating Jamie [BLEEP]in' Underwood.

I'll repeat... Jamie [BLEEP]in' Underwood. Who _couldn't_ make an
impact
to start against some bloody fool like that?

Edward: That may be true, but regardless, Jacob, Marley has done more
than just beat Jamie Underwood.

Jacob: Yeah... he also lost to Marcus Nuit. Now that's a [BLEEP]in'
embarrassment... he loses to a guy who has a crush on Meltdown.

AI: Jacob, listen... it doesn't matter what Marley has or hasn't done
lately... it's who he is that makes the difference. And considering
Mercenary put him out for a few months and he's coming right back at
him,
you know he's not going to just back down from you either.

Jacob: [shrugging] That may be so, but if Marley was smart, he would
have
been paying attention to what I've been doing. After all, I took that
bloody fool One-Winged Angel down quite a few pegs and you haven't
heard
a peep from Amity since then, have you?

[Edward has been eating his pretzel as he has been listening.]

Edward: Amity may have learned a lesson, but the only reason they were
taught such a lesson was because you came prepared. If you don't come
prepared for Marley, then you'll go in at a disadvantage, Jacob.

AI: Exactly. Michael Augustine doesn't think much of Marley, but that
wouldn't stop him from coming prepared.

[Jacob finishes another bite of his pretzel, and then just shrugs.]

Jacob: Don't worry... there's no way I'm letting Marley come in with a
single [BLEEP]in' advantage. Not a chance. You just leave everything to
me.

[He then starts to walk off as Edward and Allison confer.]

Edward: Maybe I need to keep an eye on him.

AI: If you say so. Meanwhile, I better find Michael.

[Edward nods as he heads off after Jacob. Allison again shakes her
head.]

AI: Junk food before a match... I don't get it.

[Fade out.]
_______ ___ __
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|. 1 / _| _| |
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|: 1 \ Writer: MB
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'-------'

FOR THE CRUISERWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP OF THE WORLD:
Jacob Drake[c] versus "Showtime" Rick Marley
........................................................................

DH: The following contest is scheduled for one fall, and is for the
CRUISERWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP OF THE WORLD...

Introducing first...

# Look... if you had... one shot #
# Or one opportunity #
# To seize everything you ever wanted... #
# in one moment #
# Would you capture it.. or just let it slip? #

# Yo... #

[The mall lights dim as laser lights begin to play around the roof of
the
arena in time with the music. Suddenly, a pair of white pyro bursts set
in time with the bass drum light up the entry way as the remainder of
"Lose Yourself? by Eminem floods the PA system.]

DH: From Allentown, Pennsylvania, weighing in at two hundred and
fifteen
pounds...

"SSSSSHOOOWTIIIIIIIIIIIME" RRRRRRRRIIIICK MAARRRRRRRLEEEEEEEEY!

[As the audience's eyes adjust to the light level again, they see
"Showtime" Rick Marley making his way to the ring. The fair skinned
light heavyweight has his long dark hair pulled back in a pony tail and
wears a midnight blue set of long legged trunks with the word
"Showtime"
stitched across the butt. White spotlights trail up from his black
boots
and cascade up the pant legs.

Marley slaps hands with the fans at ringside until he is about 15 feet
from the ring, at which point he sprints the distance, sliding under
the
bottom rope, striding across the squared circle to climb to the second
rope where he raises both hands to the crowd... and motions as if
trying
to reach up to the levels of the mall above him as well.]

AM: That man could be cruiserweight champion in a matter of minutes.

SS: He could also be dead meat. The Youngbloods like this place,
remember? Augustine scored one of his first major victories at a BFTM
show.

[The first guitar riff of the "Below the Belt mix" of Billy Idol's
"Flesh
For Fantasy" kicks in over the speakers. And then, the Unitron sees a
British flag zooming up toward the screen, and when it hits it, it
shatters and freezes at that instant, the words "THE PRIVATEERS"
flashing
over it in yellow lettering. The fans let out a heel pop as Jacob Drake
steps out from the back, Allison Ivey by his side.]

DR: You almost get the feeling Jacob doesn't even realize what he's got
right now. He pulled off a gigantic upset when he defeated the
One-Winged Angel, and to him it's as if Rick Marley is just another
wrestler and he's untouchable.

SS: He's ready, Dave. Trust me.

DH: And accompanied to the ring by Allison Ivey, he is the current
Cruiserweight Champion of the World...

JAAAAAAAACOOOOOB DRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAKE!

[Jacob has long black hair, slicked back and just touching his
shoulders,
an arrogant sneer on his face, and wears black wrestling trunks that
come
down just above his knees with the words "PRIVATEERS" on the backside,
plus wrestling boots just like Edward's, and a black T-shirt with the
words "THE PRIVATEERS" on the front in yellow lettering over a British
flag. He has the UWF cruiserweight title around his waist.

Jacob and Allison make their way down the aisle, Jacob's facial
expression changing from that arrogant sneer to a pissed-off look,
although the sneer does return as the fans boo as he walks down the
aisle. Upon reaching ringside, Jacob steps between the ropes and raises
his fists in the air to the booing crowd, before removing his T-shirt
and
unstrapping the belt from his waist.]

DR: Here we go! Marley and Drake exchanging punches already, I wouldn't
expect this one to be civil for too long.

SS: Don't expect this one to go long, period.

[Drake stuns Marley with a roundhouse kick to the jaw and tries to
catch
him for an irish whip, but Marley reverses it and ducks to send Jacob
crashing to the mat with a backdrop. The Privateer rolls to the ropes
and gets back up, Marley tries to run in with a shoulderblock and the
champ jumps up and lets the challenger run shoulder-first into the
ringpost.

Marley drops to his knees and Jacob climbs the turnbuckles, smirks and
jumps off to drive the point of his knee into the middle of Marley's
back. Showtime lies flat out on his stomach, writhing in pain as Drake
grabs him by the arms and proceeds to put him in a camel clutch-type
hold. Rick grabs for the nearest ropes and fights for the break, and
the
referee pulls Jacob off of him. As he does, the crowd is surprised to
hear a familiar voice come over the PA system.]

JFM: WHOA... WHOA... WHOA...

AM: Oh great, what's this about now?

DR: I don't know, but your sister is on her way out here to ringside
for
some reason.

[The crowd boos loudly as Fatality makes her way out into the aisle,
and
inside the ring both Drake and Marley stop to turn and look at her.]

JFM: See, I realized something sitting back there watching this show
unfold, that something was missing tonight! This is Brawl From The
Frigging Mall! Where Annis tried to maim somebody once by stuffing them
in a trash compactor!

[HEEL POP!]

Where we saw a match begin here at the mall and end up all the way over
at the CN Tower!

[ANOTHER POP!]

It's where we saw Michael Augustine and Scott Daniels bleed buckets...
and then that pervert stuck his head up Allison Ivey's shirt. Hey Ally,
you're kinky... I kinda like that. But I digress...

[Fatality smirks as Ivey yells loudly up to her: "Get to the damned
point!" Jessica folds her arms across her chest as the crowd gets into
it, chanting "Slut! Slut!" repeatedly. Finally, she gets impatient and
addresses the crowd again.]

JFM: Alright, just shut up a minute and let me make your evening just a
bit better.

SS: Wet T-Shirt Contest!

AM: Shut up.

JFM: Tonight, we're missing the brutality. The bloodshed. So that's why
I've decided to use my position of authority to call an audible on this
match...

AND MAKE IT FALLS COUNT ANYWHERE.

[ENORMOUS POP! Fatality smirks, and turns to walk back as Marley shrugs
and looks at the referee in the ring, while Jacob Drake immediately
heads
to the floor to talk things over with Allison Ivey.]

DR: MY GOD! Falls Count Anywhere, right here and now! This match just
got a lot more interesting!

AM: I'm not sure who this plays into the favor of exactly, they're both
known to take risks. Then again, god knows where the other Youngbloods
could be hiding.

[The ref calls for the bell to restart the match, and Marley
immediately
breaks into a run, forgetting the pain in his back for at least a few
seconds to leap and flip over the top rope with a somersault plancha
dive...

Smashing into not only Drake but Allison as well! HUGE POP!]

AM: IT'S ON NOW!

SS: AAAHHH!

DR: The plancha took out everybody, all three are down and nearly out!

[Marley is the first of the three to get back up, and drags a dazed
Jacob
back to his feet to throw him into the steel guardrail. Jacob crashes
into them backfirst and collapses again, but has enough strength to
shoulderblock Marley in the stomach and deposits him into the crowd
with
a slow backdrop of his own.

Ivey returns to her feet, enraged and dazed, cheering on Jacob as he
gingerly climbs into the audience and gets the people to part, clearing
a
path back through the crowd. Trapping Marley in a headlock Jacob drags
him through the audience and back towards the Coles bookstore, feeding
him shots to the head as they go until Marley is able to shove Jacob
off
of him and into the big glass window. Thankfully it does not break,
rather the champion just bounces off of it and turns around into a
lunging clothesline that drops him cold. The referee, trailing behind
is
just in time as Marley drops and tries to cover Jacob then and there on
the mall floor.

1!

Shoulder up!]

AM: Thank goodness for these monitors here, because I've lost sight of
them already. We might be able to overlook the ring, but they didn't
mention anything about Coles.

DR: The first pinfall and the champion escapes, and it appears Rick
Marley has the intent to go book shopping.

[Marley drags Drake on his hands and knees inside the store, whipping
him
right into the first display he comes to, a large pile of books with
"Best Sellers" hanging above it. Marley picks up an errant book and
smacks Drake across the face with it, then looks at the cover.]

SS: Hey, the DaVinci Code. I've been meaning to read that.

AM: Why do I have serious doubts about that?

DR: Probably the lack of pictures in the center of it.

[Jacob gets up and staggers over to the wall, trying to regain his
senses
and Marley comes charging back at him again with the DaVinci Code again
only to get kicked in the groin, causing him to drop it. As Rick
doubles
over, Jacob sets up and quickly hits a suplex on him that sends the fan
favorite crashing into the window display! The Privateer leaps on top
of
Marley and begins to feed him shot after shot to the head, and Rick can
only cover up and absorb the punches before the champ tries a quick
cover.

1!

Shoulder up!]

DR: Not even close, Marley and Drake will have to inflict a lot more
punishment on each other before they get a win in this type of match.

AM: Well in a falls count anywhere match that's almost a certainty.

[Drake grabs Marley by the hair and soon pulls him out of the store and
back into the mall itself, whipping him headlong so that Marley
stumbles
and crashes into the glass railing overlooking the escalators headed
down
to the lowest level of the mall. Rick sits up, leaning against the
railing... and a baseball slide dropkick from Jacob leaves him slumped
over! HEEL POP!]

AM: Wow, that had to be painful. That's reinforced glass he smacked his
head against, I'm surprised Marley's still conscious...

He's taking him towards the escalators!

DR: Marley isn't putting up much of a fight, they're headed down to the
lower level of the Eaton Centre...

SS: Maybe Jacob's in the mood for a frozen yogurt.

[The quick-thinking cameraman jumps on the escalator to follow them as
Jacob presses Marley's face along the rubber handrail, essentially
burning his opponent's face until they come to the bottom and Marley
falls over to the ground. Jacob kicks him in the ribs as the referee
comes down the escalator, followed by Allison Ivey and then about a
dozen
fans eager to keep up with the action.

As Jacob tries to pull Marley to his feet, Rick suddenly jerks the
champion forward and sends him right into the fountain at the base of
the
escalators to a huge pop from the crowd watching it on the video screen
back at ringside!]

AM: I'm willing to bet that's his first bath in quite a while.

SS: No way, from what I hear the Youngbloods had a champagne-filled
hottub when he won the title.

AM: That doesn't sound like the Youngbloods. Malt liqour maybe.

DR: Marley's holding Jacob's head under the water! All three inches of
it apparently...

[Sputtering and coughing as he finally climbs out of the fountain,
dripping wet, Jacob Drake walks into an atomic drop by his foe and is
then carried across his shoulders into the Disney Store. A loud pop
goes
up, as the familiar location for destruction is spotted by the
audience.]

AM: Oh this is not good.

[CRAAAAAASH!]

SS: There goes the Mulan display. I guess Marley doesn't like the Asian
chicks.

AM: SAM!

[Rick Marley sends Jacob Drake into a pile of Disney t-shirts and lays
him across the table, then starts to choke him out with a pink
Madagascar
t-shirt. A thumb to the eye saves the champion though, who gets up and
pitches Marley into a CD display and causes the entire thing to
overturn.
Allison comes over and hands Jacob a big glass mug with the Disney logo
on it, and the Privateer looks at it with glee before smashing it
across
Marley's forehead!

CRASH!]

SS: Just like the barfights back at home in Merry Old England.

DR: Here's a cover...

One!

Two!

Thr- NO!

[Marley escapes the count, and Jacob picks him and begins to assault
him
with more lefts and rights. They each return to their feet and continue
the fistfight as customers attempt to get out of their way. A kick to
the stomach allows Jacob to hook Rick and execute a devastating tornado
DDT off of the sales desk into the ground! Another quick cover...

1!

2!

KICKOUT!

With Marley not sure of where he is, Drake takes advantage by clamping
on
a front facelock and dragging him out of the Disney Store, next door to
the Athlete's World Superstore. Drake tries to lift Marley up into a
suplex but Rick counters it and flings Jacob into another rack of NBA
jerseys, then starts to throw running shoes at him one after another.]

SS: As if that would ever be a suitable offense in a wrestling match.

AM: Hold on a second, since when did the Athlete's World start selling
campfire equipment?

[Amy is referring to a rather large mannequin display set up not too
far
from where the two wrestlers are, dressed in camping gear and standing
next to a big canoe. As Marley dodges a shoulderblock and Jacob knocks
over another display the mannequin suddenly begins to move, picking up
the canoe over his head.]

DR: Did I just see what I thought I did?

SS: Those things really are lifelike aren't they?

AM: There's something familiar about it, isn't there?

[The mannequin adjusts the canoe, and for a brief flash the camera
shows
its face... revealing it to be the one and only Mercenary! Merc begins
to swing the canoe around wildly, unable to see who he's targetting as
he
walks closer to Marley and Drake...

...but Rick ducks, and Jacob catches the canoe square on in the face!]

AM: That big dummy just nailed the wrong man!

SS: It's not a dummy, it's the Mercenary!

AM: I know what I said.

DR: Marley has a canoe oar- OH! And just caught Merc between the legs
with it! The big man is out of control!

[Marley watches in amusement as Merc stumbles around the store,
knocking
over rack after rack of clothing before he trips and lands with the
canoe
still on top of him. Before Drake can recover, Marley takes the oar and
puts it under his chin, and uses it as an exclamation point on a
russian
legsweep. He rolls over for the cover...

...

...

And finally the referee reappears, counting verbally as he balances a
hot
cup in his hands.

"ONE!"

"TWO!"

"THR- NO! Only two!"]

AM: Wait a second, why does the referee have a cup from the Bubble Tea?
Did he actually go and buy a drink in the middle of the match?

SS: All the walking must have made him thirsty.

[Marley gets up and drags Jacob along with him, leaving the Athlete's
World and the downed Merc behind. They return to the escalators and
head
back up to the next level of the mall, Jacob offering a shot to the
stomach just as they reach the top and a short spear tackle knocks them
both back to the floor. A short scuffle through the crowd again sees
them head for another set of escalators, this time the ones headed up
to
the next level.]

SS: Hey, they're coming up here!

AM: Suddenly I fear for our table's well being.

DR: Drake with a kick to the groin on the way up-

OH GOD, HE'S TRYING TO THROW RICK MARLEY OVER THE SIDE OF THE
ESCALATOR!

[Marley fights to keep himself from going over the side, and despite
Jacob's attempts they reach the top before tragedy can ensue. Marley
gets to his hands and knees to take a knee right to the face, and the
referee again follows behind them sipping on his tea. They head towards
the entrance to Sears, with Jacob continuing to pound on Marley but
Marley suddenly manages to trip him to the ground and locks on an STF
type hold right in the middle of the mall! As a chant of "Tap! Tap!"
rises, Jacob suddenly finds some help as his brother Edward emerges
from
the crowd of people and kicks Marley sharpely in the side of the head!

HEEL POP!]

AM: COME ON, WHERE DID EDWARD COME FROM?

SS: England!

DR: The Privateers are ganging up on Rick Marley here in the middle of
the match and there isn't anything he can do about it! There aren't any
rules here!

[The Drake brothers regroup, and as Edward lifts Marley up across his
shoulders Jacob executes an elevated inverted neckbreaker right into
the
ground. Together they drag him by the feet towards Sears and into the
retail store, with the referee now blowing on his tea in an effort to
speed up his enjoyment of it. The former tag team champions set Marley
up for a double suplex and hit it, sending the challenger on top of a
tableful of sweaters. Edward begins to climb up onto a display as Jacob
sneers and rubs Rick's face in a particularly itchy, wool sweater.

And then as Drake starts to set up for the Keelhaul, his jaw drops and
soon the camera swings around to pick up what he's staring at.]

SS: WHO THE HELL ARE THOSE GUYS?

DR: I don't know, but whoever it is they're attacking Edward Drake
without mercy!

[Having been pulled down off of the display, Edward is in the process
of
being beaten down by two men in street clothes, one with sandy brown
hair
and the other with dark hair, both cut fairly short. As they turn
towards the camera...

HUGE POP!]

DR: OH MY GOD... THAT'S...

THAT'S DEBONAIR! THE TAG TEAM OF DEBONAIR IS HERE AND THEY'RE ATTACKING
THE PRIVATEERS!

[Jacob looks on in shock from afar, knowing he can't do anything to
help
his brother at the moment... when suddenly Marley comes to and breaks
free of Jacob's grasp, then turns and grabs the cup of tea out of the
referee's hand and fires it at Jacob, catching him in the face! Jacob
screams in pain, cursing a blue streak, then Marley scoops the stunned
champion up across his shoulders and...

CRADLE SHOCKS HIM THROUGH THE GLASS DISPLAY!

"HO-LY SHIT! HO-LY SHIT! HO-LY SHIT! HO-LY SHIT!"

"HO-LY SHIT! HO-LY SHIT! HO-LY SHIT! HO-LY SHIT!"

"HO-LY SHIT! HO-LY SHIT! HO-LY SHIT! HO-LY SHIT!"

"HO-LY SHIT! HO-LY SHIT! HO-LY SHIT! HO-LY SHIT!"

Jacob lies unconscious in the glass and metal, unable to offer
resistance
as Marley collapses on top of him.

1!

2!

3!

GIGANTIC POP!]

DH: Here is your winner...

AND NNNNNNEEEEEEEEEW CRUISERWEIGHT CHAMPION OF THE WORLD...

RRRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIICK MAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRLLLLLLLLEEEEEY!

DR: We've just witnessed the crowning of a new cruiserweight champion!
My god, what else are we going to see tonight?!?

[Marley crawls out of the Sears on his hands and knees, attempting to
return to his feet and barely does, getting a head of steam as he heads
for the escalators. The crowd pops as Marley comes down the escalator
and goes to the ring to pick up the cruiserweight championship belt.]

SS: I can't believe that jerk won the belt because of a cup of hot tea!

AM: Come off of it, there was a lot more at play than just that Sam.
Neither of them was expecting this to get turned into a falls count
anywhere match... and the Privateers sure as hell weren't expecting
Debonair to show up tonight!

[The shot quickly returns to the Privateers, who are still down and out
in the Sears store. The two members of Debonair however, are nowhere to
be seen, having fled the scene.]

DR: Fans, you never know what to expect with a show like this. We'll be
back in a- wait, a minute, what? Oh my god, you're kidding...

[The scene opens to a close-up of Moira Faith, eyes closed and her
mouth
taped. A muffled murmur emanates from her lips and her eyes slowly open
as the camera pans back.]

Voice: Ah, you're awake.

[Moira is seated in a chair and still clad in her wrestl ing attire.
Her
arms behind her and restrained, as are her feet. From the looks of
things, it appears that she's in a darkened bathroom, judging by the
stalls behind her. Moira's eyes fully open and she turns, surprised to
see Leanna Love, sitting in a chair across from her, a katana blade at
her feet. There's a cold look in Leanna's blue eyes as she stands to
her
feet, scooping the blade in her hand, and walks over to her restrained
rival.]

Leanna: I was almost afraid that you'd miss all of the fun.

[Moira struggles but finds herself fastened tightly.]

Leanna: Don't even waste your time. Trust me. Those restraints are
quite
tight.

[Leanna taps the blade against the palm of her hand.]

Leanna: I'm sure you're wondering why I decided to bring you here.
Well,
it seemed that you and Myra had so much fun, putting my sister through
Hell, that I thought I'd get in on the action too. You don't mind do
you,
Moira?

[Leanna's eyes narrow in contempt as she moves closer and kneels down,
coming face to face with Moira. She locks eyes with Faith, the hatred
nearly tangible.]

Leanna: Not that I actually give a _damn_ what you think. I don't know
why you and your partner decided to target us. Maybe you thought we'd
be
easy prey. After all, it isn't like we've been lighting the women's tag
division on fire lately. After we lost to the Bod Squad, I'll be the
first to admit that things have been rocky for us. Maybe you and Myra
took note of that and decided that you'd make your UWF names at our
expense.

[Leanna chuckles.]

Leanna: It's just too bad that you didn't do your research fully,
because
you've just screwed with the wrong women. Sure, my sister's probably
the
sweetest girl in this business. Probably too much so for her own good,
although I'm not sure how much of that is still true after what you
bitches did to her.

[Suddenly, Leanna lashes out, punching Moira flush in the face! Faith's
head snaps back from the impact of the move and drops. But Leanna grabs
her by the hair, yanking her roughly and forcing her to face her
again.]

Leanna: Me, on the other hand? Well, I'm a completely different
creature.
I don't know how schooled you are on my background, but I wasn't always
the woman that I am today. When I first started out in this business, I
was probably one of the biggest bitches you'd ever seen. I once married
a
rival's husband, helped him take custody of their children away from
her,
and then broke her neck simply because she looked at me funny. I put
Susan Davis on the shelf because I didn't like how she was dressed. And
I'm the same woman that attacked Sierra Browne simply because I could.

Lately, that side of me has been buried, thanks to the intervention and
influence of my sister. She's always wanted me to be a better person.
But
that part...that evi l bitch...is still there, just waiting for the
right
push, the right moment to come out. Unfortunately for you and your
partner, that time is now.

[She suddenly yanks back on Moira's hair, snapping her head back and
exposing her neck. Leanna's features are twisted in an angry sneer. She
lifts the blade, pressing the edge against Moira's neck. A trickle of
blood escapes as Leanna speaks through gritted teeth.]

Leanna: You hurt my sister...one of the few people that I care
about...and you enjoyed it. Both of you. Now, it's my turn. I just wish
yo...

Voice: Leanna, please. Stop.

[Leanna turns to see the aforementioned Lolita Love, standing before
her.
Lolita is clad in a tank top and blue jeans, her long, blonde hair
pulled
back in a ponytail. The effects of her torture are still evidenced, her
face bruised, puffy, and bandaged.]

Leanna: What are you doing here?

Lolita: Please, Leanna, I want to stop you from making a mistake.

Leanna: [her gaze again focused on Moira.] Go away, 'Lita. This is
exactly what this trash deserves.

[Lolita shakes her head slowly.]

Lolita: You've come so far and I don't want you to do this. I don't
want
you to stoop to their level.

[Leanna removes the blade and turns to face her sister, letting out a
frustrated sigh.]

Leanna: Are you crazy!?! These two tried to kill you and probably would
have, i f they could have gotten away with it! This turn the other
cheek
stuff has to stop, 'Lita! These bitches have to pay.

[Lolita lowers her gaze, speaking softly.]

Lolita: I know but I don't want you to do this. Please, if you love me,
let it go. Just this once. Let it go.

[Leanna opens her mouth to respond but lets out another furstrated
sigh.
She turns to Moira, who smirks back as best she can through the tape.
Leanna then growls and slams the end of the sword into the side of her
head. Tossing the sword aside, Leanna storms off in a huff, brushing
past
her sister.]

Lolita: Leanna...

Leanna: [growls] Save it.

[She exits the room, slamming the door behind her. Lolita lets out a
small sigh and walks over, carefully picking up the blade.]

Lolita: She just doesn't understand. She's done so good for herself and
come so far. I can't let her toss it all away on revenge, especially
when
it's on my behalf.

[Lolita shakes her head and turns to face Moira, who lets out a low
chuckle and nods.]

Lolita: Besides, that's my job.

[Moira's expression is one of surprise for just a moment... Then she,
again, smirks as best she can as Lolita advances upon her, the blade
clutched in her hands. Lolita straddles the seated Faith, bringing the
edge of the katana to her cheek. Lolita's face is emotionless, a dead
look in her blue eyes. Joy lights up the blue colored contacts over
Moira's eyes.]

Lolita: You liked my screams, Moira. I remember that. Let's see if
yours
are as good as mine.

[The scene fades to muffled screams.]

DR: Oh... uh oh.

AM: After everything she's been through, I'm not totally sure she's not
justified.

DR: Let's just hope this doesn't turn into another tragedy this
evening.
Speaking of which, on the last Meltdown we saw the Pride attempt to
knock
Alex Martinez out of the main event at Gold Rush once again when a
familiar old foe decided to assert himself and lend a hand, none other
than Youth Gone Wild.

SS: And as usual, might makes right.

[Backstage after the last Meltdown, shortly after a Dan Kidd-led
assault
left Youth Gone Wild laying, the former World champion is sitting
backstage with medical personnel, holding an icepack to his head. He's
also... laughing?]

YGW: Nice job, Danny. Gotta admit, didn't see that coming. You see, I
try to tell myself that I haven't forgotten anything, but that's just
not
true. I'm not talking about forgetting moves, or holds, or anything
like
that. I still got more of those that you've ever seen, Danny. That guy
you always looked up to, before you even came to the UWF, who you
wanted
so much to be like, but could never quite climb that high? I'm still
that guy, Danny. And you still can't climb this high.

[Wild stands up. He winces, briefly, but recovers and continues.]

YGW: What I forgot was how quickly things get personal. You have a
match here and there, and you forget what it's like to be in somebody's
way. Especially someone like you, Danny. Someone who doesn't care how
they get what they want. Someone who knows they're standing across the
ring from a better man. Like Alex Martinez earlier. Like...well,
modesty forbids.

[Another humorless chuckle, then...]

YGW: I forgot how angry that can make a wrestler - and how low they're
willing to stoop. How many lines they're willing to cross. It's true,
Danny - I'd forgotten how vicious things can get, when it's personal.

[YGW turns to walk away, then faces the camera again, an evil smile on
his face.]

YGW: But Danny? I remember now.

[Wild walks off, shoving aside several offers of assistance.]

AM: Just like the old days.

SS: You mean Wild getting his ass kicked? Here here.

[Moe Owens stands in the back with Paul Wong. Wong is still winded
from his match, with a towel wrapped around his neck.]

MO: Tough loss tonight, Paul.

PW: It's my first match back since my concussion. The Mercenary's a
tough opponent. I'm not thrilled with my performance, but once I get
the ring rust off I'll get a rematch.

MO: Not to mention being a little distracted. We saw the encounter on
Meltdown.

PW: 'Encounter'. Nice way of saying, 'Drunken Idiot beats up on woman
Half his size', Moe. Look, I've gone ten rounds with the Fraternity
Boys in The past. Hell, the only reason Brian's even on the team is
that
I injured the old partner. If he thinks he's going to go anywhere near
Stephanie at Gold Rush, he has another thing com...

VO: Aww, what's the matter, Paulie? Worried that your desperate
Housewife can't actually take the heat she tries to dish out?

[And cue the entrance of one grinning Donna Tetreault. She gives Paul a
little wave, hand clad in a familiar black fingerless glove.]

DT: I've seen ol' Harp go toe to toe with men before without her or you
bitching about it. Guess with Simon gone the way of the dodo, you need
to find a new lost cause to hitch your wagon to.

MO: Donna, if I may--

[No, Moe, you may not as the hapless reporter once again gets ignored.
Tetreault gets right into Paul's-- well, chest. C'mon, even on tiptoes
she can't reach his face!]

DT: Tell ya what...for equality's sake, I'll give you a free shot at me
right now!

[Wong's eyes narrow at that as Donna's grin grows larger.]

DT: Oh wait, that's right...you don't hit women anymore. But Stephie
Thinks she's so tough? Well Brian just gave her her wish! And he's not
going to get pushed around by you so-called saints anymore.

PW: Oh come on, Donna! I've seen you manipulate the smartest people in
the fed! Making a brain-dead moron like Brian jump at your command had
to be a piece of cake. [Shakes his head] He was a lot less tense when
everyone knew he was gay...

[*CLANG!*

Paul Wong staggers a bit, as behind him, Brian McKenzie raises his
steel
chair again...

*CLANG!*

...and slams it on the back on Wong's head, sending the big man
stumbling forward!]

MO: Oh my god!

[He tries to flee as Donna calmly grabs him by the arm.]

DT: Relax Moe, you're supposed to be a reporter...so report!

[Paul staggers and spins around, reaching out to grab Brian. But the
blows have stunned him, as Brian raises the chair...

...and brings it down square on the shoulder of Wong!

Wong swings anyway, enraged, which lets Brian slip around him...

*KER-ACK!*

...and slam the chair, face first, into Wong's left kneecap!]

DT: [fidgeting with the glove] See, this is what happens when people
rush their recovery from a concussion. They want to play Don Quixote...

[Paul stumbles a bit...]

DT: ...but this time, the windmills are fighting back.

[A little cocky, Brian pauses to blow a kiss to Donna before raising
the
chair and bringing it down...

... only for Paul Wong to raise his hands and catch the chair in
mid-air. For a second, neither man moves- then Paul wrenches the chair
out of Brian's hands!]

DT: Excuse me, Moe...I need to borrow this for a bit...

MO: Hey!

[Donna ignores Moe's protests as she snatches the mic away from him.
Paul sends Brian reeling with an uppercut. Meanwhile, Donna marches up
right
behind Wong and bonks him a couple of times in between the
shoulderblades with the microphone. Mind you, it does squat for damage.

But it does get Paul to turn around.]

PW: [rolling his eyes] Oh ple--

[Donna drops to one knee...

*THOCK!*

...and drives a now brass-knuckle laiden fist into Paul's groin! The
chair flies out of Paul's hands as he doubles over, and is easily a
victim of a DDT by Brian McKenzie. Brian spits on Paul, grabs the
chair, raises it above his head...

... and hands it to Donna.]

DT: [beaming] Such a gentleman...

[Donna now raises the chair...

*CRUNCH!*

...and SLAMS it down across the fallen Paul Wong's head. Wong groans as
Donna drops the chair.]

DT: Tell your little chickie, Paul...her "blind stipulations" match for
Gold Rush don't mean anything. She's still gonna get blindsided. Just
like she was on Meltdown and just like you now.

[Donna hooks a sneering Brian by the arm and kisses him on the cheek.
She then tosses the mic back to a stammering Moe Owens and grins.]

DT: Back to you, Moe!

[Suddenly, "Sea of Sorrow" by Alice in Chains kicks in over the the PA.
Out from the back storm Chad and Erik Grimsson, the Sons of Cacophony.
They pass by Marley, who limps to the back with the cruiser title over
his shoulder proudly, and as you could guess from the earlier events
tonight, both are in a very foul mood.]

DR: The Sons of Cacophony are not scheduled to be out here, but given
the
earlier events here this evening, I'm not the least bit surprised.

SS: They're playing with fire by coming out here Dave, and I guarantee
you someone is going to get burned.

AM: If Serge Annis wanted to get into the heads of the Sons of
Cacaphony
here tonight, he did it. But I don't think it's going as he had planned
because the Grimssons look like they mean business.]

[Chad is dressed in a pair of ripped and faded black jeans, black
leather
chaps, a white wife-beater with a red anarchy sign spray painted, and
black engineer boots leads the way, clutching a microphone in his right
hand. Erik wears a pair of ripped and faded white jeans with iron cross
designs printed on them, a black "Testament- Practice What You Preach"
long sleeve t-shirt, black Nike amateur wrestling shoes, and a pair of
leather shin pads, the one on the right sporting a large iron cross,
the
one on the left sporting the Norse pagan symbol of Thor's hammer. His
long, blonde hair worn down and straight, he follows Chad down to the
ring. Both men slide under the ropes and quickly get to their feet.]

Chad: Annis! Caliban! You want to attack our sister?! You want to
attack
our friends?! Well, why don't you get your asses out here and try to
attack the two of us?!

[Erik now takes the mic.]

Erik: No reason to wait for Gold Rush! Not when we're right here! Come
on
out and face us!

[Chad now takes the mic back.]

Chad: You heard my brother! And I couldn't agree more! Now get out and
let's get this going right now!

[Lights out.

Well... the lights around the ring area go out, but most lights in the
stores remain on. There is a loud gong that sounds out, which usually
means only one thing.]

SS: Burn baby burn, cue the Hands of Death!

[The Unitron comes to life, as we see an eye. A cold, evil eye. There
is
dried blood caked around the side of the nose. The eye just stares into
the camera and up on the Tron. Chad and Eric wave on the H.O.D, sick of
these parlor games.]

AM: The Sons of Cacophony have called out The Hands of Death, but it
appears Annis and Caliban are more intent on playing mind games with
the
Grimmsons, instead of meeting them face to face.

[Over the P.A system plays the sounds of children laughing. The eyeball
continues to oversee, as red crimson lights bathe the ring in a red
glow.
Eric and Chad Grimsson remain in the ring, calling on H.O.D. Two girls
speak, singing and rhyming slowly as if they were playing a game of
skip
rope.

"One two three four,
We see Grimsons knocking at the door,
Five six seven eight,
Which one shall we decimate?
Evil is as evil does,
Pain and destruction, just because,
Soon you journey into the cage,
Where no one can help you against their rage...

[Eric paces around the ring, growing weary of the mindgames. Chad just
stares at Annis' eye up on the screen.]

Be so bold and act so brave,
Steps closer towards the grave,
At Gold Rush you shall walk to the gates of Hell,
For your sakes, we far thee well,
If The Hands of Death are what you seek,
Through bloodshed and suffering shall you speak,
Heed our warnings, but dare not cry..."

[Once more, the lights go out. The camera on the screen pulls out to
reveal Serge Annis standing side by side with Caliban, both holding the
UWF World tag titles. We hear Serge's evil laugh. Erik now steps up
onto
the nearby turnbackle, signaling for the Hands of Death to come on out.

SA: Heh heh heh... Because at Descent Into hell... Heh heh... you two
shall fry...

[WHHHHHHHHOOOOOOOOOSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHH

The four ringposts explode with Serge's trademark flames. The bad thing
is, Erik Grimsson was still standing on the turnbuckle, and is singed
by
the flames as they shoot out into the air. The crowd gasps as Erik
flies
back to the mat!]

AM: OH MY GOD!

[The left sleeve of Erik's long sleeve shirt has caught fire, as his
eyebrows are surely singed from the close proximity to the fire. As
Annis
and Caliban laugh in the background, Chad quickly covers up his
brother's
arm with his own ripped shirt, trying to cut off the oxygen to
extinguish
the flames.]

SS: See? I told you someone would get burned!

DR: Just when I thought the Hands of Death couldn't stoop any lower,
they
go and do this. They could have killed him if he were a few inches
closer
to the fire!

[Back on the screen, Caliban stops laughing and looks hard at the
camera.
You can see the rage in his eyes, as he shakes when he speaks.]

Cali: Benedictus Dominus Deus meus qui docet manus meas ad proelium
digitos meos ad bel lum.

[Caliban pauses, while Chad pays no attention as he's checking on the
condition of his brother.]

Cali: Blessed be the Lord my God, who teacheth my hands to fight, and
my
fingers to war.

[The mall crowd pop as Chad helps his brother back up to his feet. His
sleeve has been ruined, but aside from the singed hairs, he appears to
be
all right.]

Cali: And trust us... these Hands know more about war than you will
ever
know. And at Gold Rush, we will prove it.

SA: See you in Hell boys... One of us won't be coming back alive... Heh
heh
heh...

[With that, the Unitron fades to black, and the lights all return to
normal. Wearing a look of anger on his face, Erik storms out of the
ring
and heading up the aisle with Chad right behind him.]

SS: The bluest eyes from Oakville are haunting me tonight.

AM: Huh?

SS: You heard me.

DR: Sam, you realize all of one person is going to get that reference
right?

SS: Sue me, this is for my own enjoyment.

AM: Let's just get back to the ring.
_______ ___ __
| _ \' _| |_.--------.
|. 1 / _| _| |
......................|. _ \__| |____|__|__|__|......................
|: 1 \ Writer: MB
|::.. . /
'-------'

FOR THE WOMEN'S TAG TEAM CHAMPIONSHIP:
The Psychommunity[c] versus The Misfits
........................................................................

DH: The following contest is set for one fall and is for the Women's
World Tag Team Championship! Introducing first...

[The main lights go down around the ringside area, and soon the crowd
is
bathed in twin sea blue spotlights as they swirl around the crowd.
"Deepest Bluest" by LL Cool J comes over the PA system, and the crowd
releases a mixed pop.]

DH: At a total combined weight of three hundred and sixty-six pounds,
the
team of MARISSA MONET... DALBELLO RAGE...

THE MIIIIIIIIIIISFIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIITSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!

[The fans begin to pop now as Monet and Rage step through the portal
and
out into the aisleway, dressed in their wrestling attire and being
followed down to ringside by Indigo and Sierra Browne, the sisters in
streetclothes. Sierra carries the women's title with her over her
shoulder, and Indigo has her ever-present camera in her hands. The
Misfits make their way to ringside and climb into the ring, then wait
as
"Alright Tonight" by Lullacry replaces their theme music to a loud heel
pop!]

# When I am... #
# ... in your heart tonight... #
# Everything's gonna be... #
# ALRIGHT TONIGHT! #

DH: And their opponents, they are the current Women's World Tag Team
Champions, at a combined weight of two hundred and fifty-seven
pounds...
"BATTLE PRINCESS" MISAKI ISHIKAWA... "THE QUEEN OF KAWAII" NAOMI
ISHIKAWA...

THE PSYYYYYYYYYYYCHOOOOOOOOOMMUNITYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!

[Misaki Ishikawa leads the way from the back to ringside, dressed in
black vinyl pants with pink fringe, along with a pink singlet and black
sports bra. Naomi follows in sporting a bizarre-looking pink and blue
outfit, and Rocko remains the caboose of the team, wandering behind
while
carrying the UWF World Women's Tag Team titles over his shoulders.

Misaki hops into the ring spryly, while Naomi climbs up onto the second
turnbuckle to salute the crowd. Rocko passes the belts into the ring to
the referee, as Naomi leaps from the outside of the turnbuckle into the
ring. As their backs are turned, Monet steps back into the ring
menacingly and approaches them, but Naomi wheels around quickly and
takes
up a defensive stance immediately.]

AM: Whoa, there's already a bit of friction between the two teams.

SS: Where there's gold, there's gonna be problems.

[The referee for the contest, Scott Ingraham, quickly gets in between
the
two teams and gets each of them to their corners. Then after the bell
rings, Naomi and Marissa come at one another as the legal participants
for their respective teams. Monet greets Naomi with a stiff chop to the
upper chest, and tries to shoot her into the ropes only to have the
diminutive wrestler slide between her legs, come back up and hit a
dropkick to the small of the back. It knocks Monet forward into the
ropes, but she turns back and catches Naomi with a catch into a
backbreaker down across her knee. As the smaller Ishikawa sister
twitches, Marissa grabs her and lifts Naomi up over her head with a
gorilla press and turns towards Misaki. But before she can drop her,
Naomi wriggles free and turns it into a sunset flip rollup, bringing
the
larger woman down into a cradle.

1!

Kickout!]

DR: Despite the major size difference, Naomi Ishikawa is trying to end
this match with haste.

SS: Against a monster like Monet, she damn well better. I'm surprised
they're not running around shouting 'Godzilla', you know.

AM: You never stop offending do you?

SS: If I do, then I'm not doing my job.

[Monet gets up with Naomi bouncing off the ropes first, hitting her in
the mouth with a dropkick and soon tries to clamp onto her with a cross
armbreaker. Marissa manages to heave herself back to her feet and with
an awesome show of power flings Naomi off with a power toss. Naomi
lands
near her corner, and tags out to Misaki as Monet dares her to come on.

Misaki enters the ring and looks at Marissa for a second, and then
charges straight at the challenger. Monet drills Misaki with a sharp
elbowsmash to the face and tries to pick her up for a backbreaker like
Naomi before, but Misaki deftly turns it into a russian legsweep and
snaps Monet off of her feet. A floatover into a cover is just a decoy
though as Ishikawa latches on with a kneeling wristlock and drops her
knee into the forearm of Monet. Marissa tries to turn over, but a
standing senton splash knocks her momentarily out of breath as the
champion now tries for a cover.

1!

2!

But as the crowded mall sighs, Monet gets a shoulder up in time. Misaki
tries to keep her grounded, but Monet's brute strength lets her shove
the
co-champion aside and as she staggers to her feet Misaki rushes in with
a
heavy knee to the gut. Monet bends over, but when Misaki tries to
execute a reverse neckbreaker Marissa traps her with a waistlock
applied
from behind and takes her up and over with a german release suplex.]

AM: Look at that incredible power! I don't like Monet, I'll probably
never like her or her attitude, but that is amazing.

DR: Monet now a kick to the ribcage of the Battle Princess, and a knee
pressed up against the back of her head as Misaki Ishikawa looks for
the
tag.

SS: Wrong corner, Missy.

[Naomi desperately leans forward over the ropes trying to reach Misaki,
but Monet drags her right over to the opposite side of the ring and
tags
in Dalbello Rage instead. Outside the ring Sierra and Indigo whisper
back and forth at one another as they watch the match, especially as
Dalbello springs into the ring with a slingshot over the ropes into an
elbowsmash. Misaki crumples and Dalbello immediately goes to work tying
her up into a crossface hold for a few seconds. Misaki fights to the
ropes and as she gets back to her feet Dalbello catches her with a
standing northern lights suplex, holding for the cradle...

1!

Shoulder off the mat! Mixed pop!

Dalbello returns to her feet and brings Marissa back into the ring, the
larger woman grabbing Misaki by the foot and yanking her rudely up off
the mat into a one handed choke lift only to drop Misaki violently and
swing her around into a makeshift dragonscrew legwhip! As the crowd
gasps, Misaki clutches her leg and tries in vain for the tag.]

DR: The challengers using every advantage they possess, I haven't seen
the Psychommunity face this much adversity before. Monet with another
kick right to the ribcage!

SS: Doesn't look good for Rocko's romantic life at this point. Heh.

AM: You're disgusting.

SS: What do you think they use the taser for?

AM: SHUT UP!

[Misaki crawls to the ropes as Monet again stalks after her, and the
Battle Princess takes the offense with a lunging elbow to the stomach
and
despite her own pain manages a jumping knee to the face of Marissa that
draws a pop from the crowd. Naomi, bouncing up and down on the ropes
urges her partner to act fast, and Misaki makes the lunge to tag out
and
bring in the Queen of Kawaii.

Naomi flies to the top rope and within mere seconds leaps off with a
flying missile dropkick that sends Monet facefirst to the corner
turnbuckles, where she slumps down and allows Naomi to rush in with a
somersaulting cannonball style attack! She rolls back up and flourishes
for the crowd, as Dalbello shouts an insult to Naomi. Monet staggers
back to her feet and down the length of the ring, tagging just as Naomi
grabs her and whips her off the ropes. As Naomi leaps up and starts to
go into the satellite headscissors Dalbello comes into the ring and
catches her midflight, driving her harshly into the mat with a HUGE
NECKBREAKER!

"HO-LY SHIT! HO-LY SHIT! HO-LY SHIT! HO-LY SHIT!"

"HO-LY SHIT! HO-LY SHIT! HO-LY SHIT! HO-LY SHIT!"

"HO-LY SHIT! HO-LY SHIT! HO-LY SHIT! HO-LY SHIT!"

"HO-LY SHIT! HO-LY SHIT! HO-LY SHIT! HO-LY SHIT!"]

DR: WHAT A COUNTER! Dalbello practically spiked her into the mat, and
now we have a cover!

ONE!

TWO!

THR- NO!

AM: She's tiny, but she may have the biggest heart on the roster.

SS: And now she's a smear on the mat. Got anymore witty little gems,
Red?

[Dissapointed, Dalbello picks Naom up by the hair and starts to set up
a
double underhook only to be fought the entire way. Naomi breaks free
and
runs into the ropes, leaps up and moonsaults back at Dalbello, catching
her picture-perfectly into a reverse DDT!

Sensing that Monet's still a threat, Naomi somersaults backwards and
snags the approaching Monet with headscissors and from a headstand
position, corkscrews around and sends her flying out to the mall floor
next to Sierra and Indigo Browne! HUGE POP!]

AM: What a response for Naomi Ishikawa here!

DR: She's used to hearing the cheers of the crowd, she's been a fan
favorite most everywhere she goes. The same can't be said for her
sister, however.

[Misaki receives a tag and climbs back into the ring as Dalbello gets
back on her feet, only to be caught by the tag team champions with a
double crescent kick to the jaw. She crumples to the mat and tries to
backpedal out to the floor, unaware she's heading for the corner and
accidentally crotches herself to the delight of the crowd.]

SS: I don't mind saying to a national audience, that was hot.

AM: [sigh]

[Handful of hair on Dalbello, Misaki drags her over to their side of
the
ring as Naomi climbs to the top rope and perches...

...then flies.]

DR: NAOMISM!

SS: If she can move like that, I say let's see a NAOMGASM.

[SLAP!]

SS: OW!

AM: That's the closest you'll ever get.

DR: Cover! ONE!

TWO!

THRE- MONET BROKE THE COVER!

[The crowd boos soundly as Monet drags Naomi off of her partner and
deposits her in the corner with a snake eyes, leading Misaki to come at
Marissa and attempt the jumping knee again. This time Monet is ready
and
catches her leg first, then turns around and executes a huge leg
capture
suplex to the mat. Naomi struggles back up and rushes forward,
intending
on a bulldog to Monet when suddenly she's sent crashing hard over the
top
rope with a hipcheck courtesy of Dalbello Rage!]

DR: Naomi goes to the floor, Misaki Ishikawa is isolated... what are
you
staring at, Sam?

SS: Dalbello... WHAT AN ASS! OH... MY... GOD!

AM: And you say _I_ use cliches?

SS: After that, I think we should all get down on our knees and thank
god
for Dalbello Rage's ass.

DR: Just when I think this show couldn't become any more
embarrassing...

[Misaki rises, only to be chopblocked from behind by Monet. Finally
Ingraham calls for her to leave the ring to restore order, but the
damage
is done as Dalbello grabs the knee and repeatedly drives shoulders into
it before standing up and applying a stretch muffler-style submission
hold. As Naomi climbs back up to her corner Misaki cries out in pain,
holding her hands just short of the ropes and Dalbello starts to swing
her around. She lets go and Ishikawa hits the mat, reapplies a toehold
and then a running leg snap with a flip over snaps the hamstring of the
champion and leaves her prone to another cover.

1!

2!

KICKOUT!

Dalbello picks Misaki up by the head when suddenly the Battle Princess
grabs her and in part desperation snaps Dalbello to the mat with a DDT.
Having bought herself a bit of time Misaki clutches her knee and rolls
slowly back to the Psychommunity corner, reaching out for the tag as
Dalbello does the same thing for Marissa. Both women get the tag at the
same time and rush into the ring, with Naomi avoiding a big boot from
the
much larger Monet and going low with a dropkick to the shin. Monet
teeters, and this time the satellite headscissors not only get a huge
pop
from the Toronto crowd but they also bring the monster to the mat!]

AM: Now's the time, come on Naomi! Finish her off!

DR: Naomi with a rushing forearm, drops Dalbello Rage off of the ring
apron! She's heading back to the top rope...

AND HERE COME THE PROPHETS OF RAGE!

AM: What?!? WHY ARE THEY COMING OUT HERE?

SS: Probably to get a closer look at Dalbello's ass.

AM: Sam, I swear to god...

[The crowd immediately begins to boo as Shadoe Rage comes down the
aisle,
his big brother following behind him. Both are dressed in street
clothes
as Misaki spots them and warns her sister, who's still up on the top
rope. Rocko tosses the taser up to Misaki but the referee sees it and
grabs it out of her hands. In the meantime, Derek Rage comes around the
ringpost and goes for Rocko instead, causing the manager to run for the
hills. In the meantime Dalbello spears Misaki off the ring apron and
both fall hard to the outside of the ring as Monet stops Naomi from
leaping off with a hard closed fist to the stomach. With her doubled up
Monet grabs her and lifts her off of the turnbuckles, in a vertical
suplex position except with Naomi folded up into a musclebuster
position.
The referee is still dealing with Rocko and Derek Rage as Shadoe slides
into the ring...]

DR: Wait a minute...

NO!

[THUMP!]

A SPIKED MISCHIEF MAKER! SHADOE RAGE AND MARISSA MONET DROVE NAOMI
ISHIKAWA PRACTICALLY THROUGH THE MAT!

[Shadoe slides back out of the ring as Marissa covers the motionless
Naomi, and Indigo flails her arms to the referee to get the attention
of
the ref to the cover.

1!

2!

3!

And as "Deepest Bluest" hits the PA system again, the crowd unleashes a
mighty round of boos from the top levels of the mall downward.]

AM: I don't believe it...

SS: Those titles couldn't have found a more perfect ass to sit just
slightly above.

DH: Here are your winners... AND NNNNEEEEEEW WOMEN'S TAG TEAM
CHAMPIONS...

THE MMMMMMIIIIIIIIIIIIISFIIIIIIIIIIITSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!

[Dalbello crawls back into the ring and embraces Marissa, and soon the
two are joined by the Prophets of Rage for a family embrace. The
referee
hands the gold belts to them, and a celebration ensues as Indigo climbs
into the ring with her trusty camera to document the proceedings.]

AM: The Misfits could have won this match fair and square, why the hell
did they have to go and get the Prophets involved tonight?

SS: Speeding up the inevitable process, that's why. Hey, you think
Dalbello might do one of those cheesecake photo spreads wearing nothing
but the belt?

AM: Now just what are you going to do when the Prophets hear these
comments, Sam?

SS: I'll run.

DR: Wait a minute, why do they have Naomi Ishikawa by the arms... my
god,
Dalbello Rage just slapped her across the face! She's unconscious, this
is not necessary!

AM: None of it is necessary, but the goddamned Rage family thinks
they're
owed a ton of respect just because of their name! Look out, Misaki
tried
to save her sister but now they've got her too... Ugh! And a paintbrush
across the face, nothing but disrespect.

DR: Well where did Sierra Browne go? I haven't seen the women's
champion
for a few minutes now, not since before the end of the match.

SS: Here she comes...

AM: And she doesn't look happy.

[As the new champions continue to humiliate the Psychommunity with
Rocko
unable to get to the fallen Ishikawas, Sierra Browne heads back down
the
aisle from the back again with a look of sheer disgust on her face as
she
surveys her allies. Monet holds up her tag title at Sierra and gestures
for her to join them in the ring, but Browne refuses, hands on hips.
Now
Indigo tries to urge her sister to join the party, exiting the ring and
grabbing her by the hand. But Sierra jerks herself free, and soon the
sisters get into a heated argument.

Until a Truth superkick ends the argument cold.]

SS: WHOA!

AM: Sierra just superkicked her own sister!??! MY GOD!

DR: This is getting out of control! Sierra's heading up the aisle to
the
back again, and the Prophets and Misfits are stunned! Folks, we'll be
right back!

[From off in the distance, the sounds of screeching tires, shrieking
voices, and furious security guards are quite evident. It kinda makes
sense, except for the screeching tires part. We are inside a mall,
aren't
we? The camera pans up to the top of the Toronto Eaton Centre. Yup,
there's a ceiling alright. So what the hell is going on? When the
camera
returns to ground level, the pieces start to come together a little
bit.
A beautiful 2006 green Ford Mustang convertible sits right in the
center
of the pavilion, as if it was being given away by the establishment as
part of local promotion. But it clearly is not, as the driver turns off
the ignition and jumps over the door in one fluid motion. The smell of
burning tires takes a few moments to catch up with the apparent source
of
this mayhem, followed by about a thousand screaming teenage girls,
several television cameras, and way behind, nearly a dozen
out-of-breath
security guards wielding the most powerful flashlights and
walkie-talkies
they could be assigned by law. Trey DaMann, unfazed by this whole
scene,
snaps his fingers high in the air and signals for his crack team of
associates to storm the scene and create a barrier between himself and
the frenzied mob. He straightens his familiar black-and-gold Armani
suit
and prepares to address all those who he believes have congregated in
his
honor. He's partly right. Trey tilts his head high into the air.]

TD: The Star Of The Show.....

[Trey quickly looks down at the camera filming all the ruckus.]

TD: Wait.....I forgot where I was .I'll start over.

[He prolongs the clearing of the Trillion Dollar Trey DaMann Throat!]

TD: The Star Of The COUNTRY Has Arrived!!! The Dark Ages for Canada are
now OVER!!!

[Oh lord, here we go. He's revving up. Mile-A-Minute-Speak
begins.....wait for it....wait for it.....NOW!!!]

TD: Of course you all know that nobody would be here today if not for
the
actions of my father, who many years ago saved the city of Toronto from
falling into financial ruin by gracing this place with his presence. He
and his never-seen-before natural wrestling skill demonstrated on a
regular basis in this area triggered an economic boom the likes of
which
saved all of Canada from falling apart and preventing this country from
having to apply to the United States to be their 53rd state. That was
avoided all due to my father, the 25-time World Heavyweight champion
Derrick DaMann. Otherwise, there would no longer be a Toronto, as it
would now be known as West Buffalo and/or North Detroit. It still
wouldn't be as cool as anywhere in beautiful and sunny Southern
California, but that's because it's always freezing cold, there are no
beaches, your women are rather homely, and everyone here talks funny.

[Is there such a thing as an "Eh?" Pop? Who asked you, hoser!]

TD: I, Trey DaMann, while not really having any desire to wrestle in
front of you for your 50-cents-on-the-American-dollar money, have been
called upon by your king and queen to once again help the nation of
Canada out of another financial jam. Clearly with the loss of hockey,
which obviously still has yet to return to this area by the looks of
your
last-place Toronto Maple LEAVES, that blue stuff that you call beer,
and
the decline of Pamela Anderson's movie career, your economy needs yet
another jumpstart that only a DaMann can provide.

[Trey looks to one of his associates.]

TD: Now where do I have to go?

[The associate, while still helping to hold back the angry mall
security
guards, points towards Greece...aka the CareerBuilder.com job fair!
Trey
begins to walk in that direction, where a middle-aged man, the
organizer
of the job fair, stands there waiting.

Yes, a middle-aged man.

Let's be honest, folks, Greece's heart is in the right place, but
remember that whole "which one is the any key joke?" Yeah. These people
would try to put a floppy disk into an iMac.

A 5 and 1/4" floppy at that.]

O: Welcome, Mr. DaMann. I'm glad that you could jo...

TD: Let's speed this up. I already have a feeling that I am wasting my
time. I don't know how my father tolerated this place for so long.

O: Indeed, Mr. DaMann. What you have been asked to do is to demonstrate
to all of your fans how easy it is to use the CareerBuilder.com service
to get a job.

TD: My fans already have jobs. They love, worship, and obsess over me
and
every move I make. That's a 25-hour, 10 day-a-week occupation if there
ever was one.

O: But do they get paid? What do they do for money?

TD: They sit around waiting for rich family members to die.

[The organizer looks at Trey, very much speechless.]

TD: Anyway, so about saving the entire Canadian economy? That's what I
had been told the king and queen had asked for me to come here to do.
Let's get on with it.

O: Ummm, okay. If that's what you were told. The first part of the job
obtainment process is to assess the individual's skills and interests.
Mr. DaMann, what would you say you bring to a job?

[Trey doesn't even have to think before answering...not like he usually
does or anything.]

TD: The lineage of a champion. Wrestling talent beyond all others. The
aptitude to defeat anyone that crosses my path. The greatest finishing
move in wrestling history. The ability to outshine everyone else in
this
business. The knowledge that I will be the legend that redefines the
term...

[Having had enough, Trey is quickly cut off. The vomit returns to the
stomach of the organizer.]

O: Okay, confidence is certainly a marketable quality in a job
applicant.
Now as far as personal interests, what kind of job would you like to
have?

TD: 30-time UWF World Heavyweight champion. Which will be accomplished
before I turn 25, and then I will move into acting, directing,
modeling,
politics, Fortune 500 CEO, publishing, producing, and being an
astronaut.

[The job fair organizer shakes his head and wipes his brow. Why
couldn't
they have just sent Jason Keening instead? Or even Apocalypse?]

TD: Who's that?

[Exactly]

O: Umm, having lots of varied interests is good too. Do you have a copy
of your resume to post online?

TD: What's that?

[The job fair organizer looks at Trey like he has several extra heads.]

O: A resume? What's a resume?

[Trey becomes a little flustered at how difficult it seemingly has
become
to rescue an entire nation's economy. Noticing this, the organizer
quickly changes the topic.]

O: Okay, we can piece together a resume at a later time using your PR
people and DVD collection. Let's just tape the public service
announcement for broadcast on Canadian television. Are the cameras
ready?

[As the local production staff moves into place, the organizer points
out
the teleprompter to Trey.]

TD: Well if you don't mind, I'd like to treat this as I do on my
soon-to-be hit reality television show "Palo Alto: The Real Laguna
Beach." Just sit back and tape, and I'll deliver...just like I plan to
at
Gold Rush when I become UWF World Heavyweight champion for the very
first
time.

O: (exasperated) ...fine.

[Trey looks directly into the CBC camera, holding back his trademark
smile with every bit of strength he can muster. ROLL IT!]

TD: Of course you know me, I'm Trey DaMann and the next UWF World
Heavyweight champion.

[BAM! The floodgates break and it's time for a shameless TRILLION
DOLLAR
TREY DAMANN SMILE! Those who had this box in the pool shall come
forward
afterwards to collect their money.]

TD: Now I've heard that there are some of you out there who
unfortunately
have nothing but HEALTHY rich relatives. That sucks for you. Unlike me,
who was born into unbelievable wealth and is handed multi-billion
dollar
opportunities just for having my last name and beautiful physical
features that everyone else in the world would die for, perhaps you may
have to demean yourself and take a job. Once again, that has to suck
for
you. But better you than me.

[Trey pauses to admire his own spontaneity.]

TD: Jobs can include cleaning up after one of my parties, making me my
5-star/7-course meals, washing my cars after every use, turning away
girls who aren't worthy of my attention, and keeping track of my many
trust funds. I know these opportunities are all rewarding and highly
prestigious, and maybe you can work your way up the ladder to these
positions someday.

[Trey begins to show a more serious look towards the camera.]

TD: But unfortunately, you are more likely to be hired at one of these
pathetic little stores or stands in this wannabe-Rodeo. I'm sorry, but
there would be no "Tim Hudson" doughnut shops on Sunset. Or Melrose.
I'm
sorry, but you all should just spend the majority of your waking hours
daydreaming about what your lives would have been like had you been
lucky
enough to have been born in wonderful Southern California.

[Trey reminisces about the good old days of earlier this week, when he
didn't have to consider wearing a jacket.]

TD: So in conclusion, use whatever website this is and pray that
someone
will hire you. If not, you could always be hookers, panhandlers, or
drug
dealers. You're welcome for the advice. I am Trey DaMann, the next UWF
World Heavyweight champion, signing off. Time to head back to the
United
States, and not a moment too soon.

[With the escort of his many associates, Trey sprints back to his car,
still parked in the middle of the mall. He jumps over the door, turns
the
ignition, and begins to speed through the corridors with little regard
for any of the shoppers, ravenous groupies, security guards, job fair
patrons, CBC employees, or anyone else for that matter.

Shot comes to the South Food Court of the Eaton Centre, sometime
Saturday afternoon some many hours before the big Brawl From The Mall
show. Among the crowd of fast-food diners, the shot focuses in on one
person. A tray full of some Manchu Wok-ness greatness in hand, a duffel
bag on the opposite shoulder, and a "UH..." hoodie & jeans, it could
ONLY... and I mean ONLY be the "Renegade of Rampage", the "Master of
Meltdown" and the Unified Television Champion Marcus Nuit. He looks
around at the court and looks for a seat, finding known as he answers
his
cell phone.]

MN: Uh... Hey?

[Nuit waits and looks around the smallish food court.]

MN: Yeah, hey. Just uh, you know, regular stuff. Finding a seat in the
mall. You know...

[Nuit slightly shakes his head.]

MN: Uh, well, no. I mean, it's not like "regular" thing, you know?
Just,
uh, well... I don't know. I, um...

[Nuit walks around the court, looks for any open table as he continues
his phone conversation.]

MN: Well, yeah... Wow, I mean, yeah! Yeah!

[Yes.]

MN: Can you believe that? Main event? THE main event? THE ONLY main
event? It's not like one of those cop-out fake "double main events"
where
I'm really just the lesser main event! No! NO! This is like... THE main
event!

[Nuit nods as his head darts towards an open table! He races!]

MN: Uh...

[The Unified TV Champ comes in just a bit too late as an old couple
gets
the table before him. In the process, some of his rice has shuffled
about
his tray.]

MN: Dang... Oh, no, nothing... Just missed a golden opportunity.

[Nuit nods.]

MN: Yeah, a seat. I'd kill for a seat, you know?

[Marcus looks around as he listens and somewhat nods.]

MN: Ok, yeah, not kill, but you know... maybe beat somebody up, right?
I
mean, did you see that last Rampage? Did you see me out there!?! I beat
the one and only ORIGINAL Fraternity Boy left in wrestling! Man,
beating
the second to last guy left from the Road to the Gold... That, uh... It
makes me, uh... I don't know... Something like a better than Frat Boy.
Maybe like... Frat Guy? Or whatever... I mean, me! I beat the COB! Me,
the Master of Meltdown! The Renegade of Rampage! The... The... Total...
Tot...

[Nuit trails away as he creeps towards a table whose members are
getting
up.]

MN: To.... to...

[Nuit grabs a chair the split second the group leaves and raises his
other hand in triumph!]

MN: Totalitarian of the TV!

[The people around the Unified TV Champ look annoyed by the odd
behavior.]

MN: Oh, what? Come on, that took me all last night to come up with! I
mean, sure, Television Champion or WORLD Television champion's fine,
but
that's not, uh... Like... Well, total? You know?

[Nuit nods and sets down his duffel bag gently on the chair beside him
and then puts his tray down.]

MN: Yeah, I guess. But, I think it's great! But hey, I had some things
to
think about besides that last night. I mean, geez... Geez... Yeah,
really! Man...

[Nuit sips at his soda.]

MN: Tigress! Yeah, again! I mean, still you know? Still that chick
freaks
me out. I mean, wrestling women ain't my thing, you know? Especially
chicks carrying swords!

[Nuit rolls his eyes.]

MN: Haha, very funny. Ver-y fun-ny... But really, it's... it's tough!
And
in a mall! A mall! Last time I wrestled in the mall, I was... Well, I
never wrestled in a mall... I don't... I don't think?

[Nuit shovels some slop-err, Manchu Wok-ness into his mouth...ness.]

MN: Oh right! I never did! But wow, it'll be wild, you know? If I win
this and keep my great, wonderful,
better-than-everything-ever-in-the-whole-wide-world... WORLD Television
title?

[Nuit pats his duffle bag.]

MN: I'll be the, uh... Uh, brawlingest brawler in the mall! I'd be
the...
Uh...

[Nuit bites his lip.]

MN: The... Brawl... Brawl... Hmm... Uh...

[Nuit nods and eats a couple more chopstick-gathered food.]

MN: Um... Brawler of the Mall... The Brawling Mall... The... Brawling
Ma... Maller? The Brawling Maller!

[Nuit's eyes light up and a big smiles forms on his face.]

MN: Yeah! The Brawling Maller! That's gold! I mean, man... That's
something fierce, you know?

[Nuit looks confused.]

MN: You know, fierce. Yeah... Uh...

[Marcus listens.]

MN: No, it's not. It's not!

[Marcus... eats!]

MN: No, no... Anyway, look, I got to get to some of these stores before
this show, ok?

[Marcus... sips!]

MN: Yeah, hoodie selling. Can you believe some nitwit's been trying to
sell some second class hoodie in the mall today?

[Marcus... pads his mouth with a napkin! Neatness, people.]

MN: Something stupid. "Perfection Comes Naturally"... Seriously, what
IS
that? I mean, you know... Perfection's like... THE World Unified
Television Championship! I had to put that thing together - that wasn't
natural.

[Nuit nods.]

MN: Yeah, I know, it's stupid. Really stupid... Really! Well, anyway,
this thing's on TOO long -

[Nuit looks over towards the camera and breaks the fourth wall down!]

MN: Yeah, yeah, see ya... or... something...

[As Nuit flips his cell phone closed - in slow motion, for that
dramatic
effect - the shot fades away... slowly!]

DR: That match is still to come folks, our main event of the evening
with
Marcus Nuit and Tigress battling it out over the Unified Television
Championship once and for all.

AM: Great, we just got through seeing one of the most dysfunctional
families in wrestling, now we've got Tigress coming up. Now there's
another family that needs a team of psychiatrists.

[And the evening just wouldn't be complete without the intro chords of
"Cochise" by Audioslave, which start playing as the lights in the mall
dim.]

DR: And here comes the champion.

[The Eaton Center let Scott Daniels have it as the World Champ walks
into
the aisle with the World Heavyweight title wrapped firmly around his
waist. Accompanying him is Kari Stevens, the Pride's lioness. Both are
clad in their street clothes. Daniels is sporting beige khaki's and a
black Pride Wrestling shirt.]

SS: The champ... is here!

AM: Shut up.

SS: But it's true, that's not just a catchphrase. Scott Daniels is here
at Brawl From The Mall, and he's about to set the record straight.

[Pausing at the head of the entrance, Daniels raises a hand high in the
air and then his index finger (signifying who #1 is), while grasping
the
title with the other. Stevens stops at his side and strikes a pose as a
wall of sparks flows behind the Pride duo. Pausing long enough to soak
in
the usual reception he gets, the champ makes his way to the ring.]

DR: Not the popular sort, that Scott.

[Daniels climbs into the ring and holds the ropes open for Miss.
Stevens
who follows him in. Kari presents Hotspot with a microphone after
"Cochise" fades out.]

SD: Well what's a Brawl From The Mall without words from the champ?

[Daniels smirks and runs a hand through his greasy hair.]

SD: Brawl From The Mall. One of UWF's finest traditions. Dating back to
the days of yesteryear... The good ol' days!

A time... Before Alex Martinez.

You see ever since you stepped into a UWF locker room Alex, all I've
heard is Martinez. Martinez.. Alex F'ing Martinez. Do you know how sick
and tired I am of hearing about that seven foot granola cruncher?

For years and years, Alex Martinez was set up by the fans as someone to
be feared. I've heard the comparisons. And you know what Kumquat? It's
not just you. It's the Casey James' from EMWC. The Juan Vasquez's of
the
RCW. All the two bit, no talent hacks that get the precious media
coverage all because of self promotion. Well you know what? I resent
you
Martinez. Because my ego demands that I be the best. And I am just
that.
But you know what I didn't get? The props. The hype. The reputation for
being the best. That went to the guys that least deserved it...

You know where I was when IIWF was folding under the table? I was
kicking
ass in UWF. When EMWC pissed itself into a hole in the ground, I was
here, doing what I am still doing today. And don't even get me started
on
the MBC.

[Hotspot gets a disgusted look on his face at the mere mention of that
league.]

For nearly ten years I have been at the top of the Universal Wrestling
Federation, and no man has taken me down. But look around this locker
room. Let's name names. Alex Extreme. Chris Douglas. Corey Irons.
One-Winged Angel. Luke Kinsey. And yes, you Martinez. Do you know why
you
are all in the UWF right now?

Because of me.

I've bled for this promotion, to make it number one. I have carried UWF
to the top. And now that we're up here, I take a moment to look around
us, and what do I see?

[Daniels pauses for dramatic purposes.]

SD: Nothing. No one. There's no one left. So like rats jumping a
sinking
ship, all those people in the back have come here. And not because they
love this league, or take pride in its' success. They're here because
we're all that's left. It's just a job. I've worked too damn hard to be
a
second thought or a last chance for some two-bit hack that couldn't
draw
money anywhere else...

[Scott takes a moment to pause, and collect himself. Kari Stevens rubs
his back for him as the crowd in the Eaton Centre let him have it with
boo's and jeers.]

SD: You know what? I'm getting off track here. Alex Martinex, I'm sure
you're asking someone to explain to you how this all comes back to you.

Well it's real simple.

I don't like you.

I never have.

I probably never will.

For reasons that aren't even necessarily your fault, I hate your guts.

And you know what gets me?

You walked into my goddamn home and you beat me.

You beat me at Gold Rush.

[The look of anger starts to swell on the champ's face.]

SD: Gold Rush Alex... Gold Rush.

[He clenches his fist.]

SD: You walked into the biggest show of the year and you beat me, one
two
three.

[The crowd cheers. They remember.]

SD: It burns me up inside Alex. That was the single most embarrassing
moment of my career, and I owe it all to you.

And now, a year later, it looks like you're all set to do it again,
aren't you?

And this time, the stakes are much much bigger...

[Daniels rubs that gold belt once more.]

And they tell me... Look out. Alex Martinez is coming. Alex Martinez is
hungry. You want this gold title here more than just about anything in
this world, don't you Alex?

[Daniels unclasps the belt and raises it up in the air.]

SD: But not as much as me Martinez. Not as much as me. That's why I'm
telling you right now that I will do absolutely everything in my power
to
make sure that history doesn't repeat itself.

I will not lose.

I don't care what it takes, or how I do it...

I will not lose this title.

[Daniels slowly lowers it down, resting it on his shoulder.]

SD: So bring everything you have Alex Martinez. Do your very best.
Because I owe you one, and you know what they say about payback...

[Before Daniels can close that line, he is interrupted by the punchy
opening to "Authority Song" by John Mellencamp and a huge pop from the
crowd! The UWF's president, Becky Byers, walks out from backstage and
into the aisle holding a microphone. Stevens and Daniels glare at
Byers,
not appreciating the interruption.]

BB: Excuse me for a moment Scott, but I had to come out here and
interrupt you because I promised the fans that I would have a huge
announcement concerning Gold Rush, and unfortunately your longwinded
tirade has just about sapped up all of that airtime.

[Burn. The champ doesn't appreciate it either.]

BB: But it's okay though Scott, because this announcement concerns you.

[That gets Scott's attention. Daniels rests his hands on the top rope
as
he stares down Byers.]

BB: I've learned a lot during my tenure here in the Universal Wrestling
Federation, and I know when I see a set up. I firmly believe you when
you
say that you will do anything to retain that title. Anything. That
includes cheating and surely, some Pride interference.

[Now Stevens has had enough of it. The Lioness of The Pride wants to
march up that aisle and have it out with Byers, but a surprisingly calm
Scott Daniels grabs his wrist and holds her back.]

BB: This match is the main event of the biggest show that the UWF has
ever produced. There is far too much invested in it for the evening to
be
ruined by the usual Pride antics. So Scott? Your match at Gold Rush
against Alex Martinez, for the World Heavyweight title?

The Pride are officially banned from ringside.

[HUGE pop from the crowd. Now Daniels goes back to being the irate one
as
he screams at Byers.]

BB: There's good news too Scott. In the interest of fairness, and also
because God only knows who else you will pay off to do your dirty work,
I
am banning ALL wrestlers from ringside for the main event of Gold Rush.

The main event will be competed under LOCKED... DOOR... RULES.

[Big pop again, and Scott is nearly ready to tear his own hair out over
this. But the president is still not finished, as her expression
remains
business-like.]

BB: And one other thing Scott. Given the volatile nature of your
matches
I have decided that Jim Junas or Scott Ingraham won't be able to cut
it.
So I've decided to appoint a SPECIAL GUEST REFEREE to the main event as
well...

[HUGE POP! But again, Byers doesn't seem to be finished.]

And Scott, I have to say, that not even your ego compares to his.

[As Becky's music hits again, Hotspot proceeds into his full-on
meltdown
inside the ring. Kari attempts to calm the champion down, but it's of
no
use as we cut quickly to a pre-recorded segment, taped obviously prior
to
the show this evening.

We're at the staging area set aside for the wrestling ring. In the
background, technicians are setting up the ring and dasher boards,
testing lights, setting up ringside chairs and other "getting ready"
tasks.

In the foreground, Tigress is seated at a conference table. All around
her, different UWF superstars are seated with similar lines, but
Tigress's seems to be the most orderly. The fact that Harley is laying
under the table chewing on a stuffed animal with a squeaky toy in it
probably has something to do with it.

Said stuff animal is wearing a miniature "Um..." t-shirt. Tigress
steals
a pat on Harley's head before addressing the next person in the growing
line in front of her.]

TIGRESS: And who do I make this out to?

[A small boy gets on this tiptoes so he can get a better look at the
Resident Psychobitch.]

BOY: Toby.

TIGRESS: T-O-B-Y?

[The boy nods. Tigress scribbles something on a framed photo of herself
and hands it to him.]

TIGRESS: Here you go. Be a good boy.

[The next group comes up. A father and girl of about 8 years old. The
girl is slighty chunky, with long blond hair and glasses.]

GIRL: Hi, Tigress! Your birthday is in a few days!

TIGRESS: _Hola, chiquita_. And, yes, it is.

[Tigress gives a perplexed look at the father, who is similarly pudgy
and
bespectled. He looks suitably embarrassed.]

FATHER: Yeah... She's a huge fan. She knows everything about you.

GIRL: Are you getting anything special for your birthday?

[Tigress pretends to think for a moment.]

TIGRESS: I suppose my title shot tonight can be considered something
special.

GIRL: But you don't care about titles!

TIGRESS: Okay, the opportunity to beat on Nuit, then.

[Tigress winks at the little girl, who nearly faints with joy. She
picks
up the T-shirt the little girl has laid down and picks out a glitter
paint pen.]

TIGRESS: So who do I make this out to?

GIRL: Morganna.

TIGRESS: I see your parents are fans of King Arthur.

[Again, the father has the decency to look embarrassed as the girl
nods.]

TIGRESS: Good, the best kids are the corrupted ones.

[Tigress hands the girl the T-shirt. The girl promptly pulls it on over
her turtleneck and grins.]

TIGRESS: Are you staying for the show?

[The girl nods vigorously.]

TIGRESS: Enjoy it then.

GIRL: One more thing.

TIGRESS: Eh?

GIRL: [shyly] Can I pet your kitty?

TIGRESS: Sure.

[The girl eagerly reaches under the table to pat Harley on the head,
eliciting a greatful purr from the tiger. Fade.]

SS: The Loves acting like psychotic sword-wielding lunatics, and
Tigress
signing autographs for her fans. This place _IS_ Bizarro-Land!
_______ ___ __
| _ \' _| |_.--------.
|. 1 / _| _| |
......................|. _ \__| |____|__|__|__|......................
|: 1 \ Writer: MS
|::.. . /
'-------'

MAIN EVENT, FOR THE UNIFIED TELEVISION CHAMPIONSHIP:
Marcus Nuit[c] versus Tigress
........................................................................

DH: Ladies and Gentlemen, here is the MAIN EVENT! It is one fall, with
a
one hour time limit, and is for the UWF UNIFIED TELEVISION
CHAMPIONSHIP!

[Cheers from the mall viewers as the lights dim.]

DH: Introducing first... weighing one hundred and forty pounds and
hailing from Cape Fear, North Carolina. She is a former Meltdown
Champion. Led to the ring by Harley, here... is...

TIIIIIIIIIIIIIIGRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!

[As the beginning notes of Midnight Syndicate's "Alternative Therapy"
plays over the mall's PA system, localized white and gold strobe lights
blink sporadically around the ring. Pushing through the crowd, with pet
tiger Harley in tow, is Tigress. Both she and her pet jump over the
guardrail. At a single command, Harley lays on her tummy beside the
announcer. Tigress jumps on the the ring apron, then flips over the
ropes
to await the bell's ring.]

AM: Tigress, hoping to defeat Marcus Nuit and become the second
Television Champion.

DR: Nuit defeated Tigress to unify the Meltdown and Rampage Titles, so
there is a revenge factor in play as well.

DH: And her opponent... is the UWF UNIFIED TELEVISION CHAMPION! Hailing
from Dover, Delaware and weighing in at two hundred and twelve pounds,
here is...

"THE SSSSSSSTAAAAAAAATEWIDE SSSSSSSENSATION" MAAAAAAAAARRCUS NUUUUUIIT!

["I Hate" by A Breed Apart plays over the speakers of the mall as the
fans give out a loud cheer for the Unified Television Champion, Marcus
Nuit. The champ wears one of his prides, his "UH..." hoodie, as well as
his usual black & red shorts/guards/boots attire. Nuit also still
sports
his clear protective face mask as his nose hasn't completely healed
yet.

As Nuit gets to the ring (carefully sidestepping Harley), he walks
around
it and faces the fans at each side, patting his Unified TV Title around
his waist each time. After a couple of minutes of this showmanship,
Nuit
finally gets up the sets and enters the ring. Once in, he carefully
hands
over his title to the ref, making sure the ref has a safe hold on it.]

DR: Nuit is still injured, as the face mask shows, but he is in better
shape than last week.

AM: Nuit defended the title against Chris O'Brien last week. This week
he has Tigress.

DR: Nuit won last week by waiting on O'Brien to make mistakes. Tigress
is more methodical- I don't see that same game plan working for Nuit.

SS: I don't see Marcus Nuit ever having a game plan, let alone one that
actually works.

[Nuit and Tigress lock up, and Nuit quickly grabs Tigress in a
headlock.
Tigress shoves him off, and delivers a knife-edged chop as he rebounds
off the ropes. An armbar takes Nuit down, and Tigress capitalizes with
more knife-edged chops to Nuit's chest.]

DR: Tigress taking the battle to Nuit early.... those chops are already
leaving marks on Nuit's chest.

SS: Well, with anyone else I'd make a crack about rough foreplay... but
it's Nuit. We all know there's no point.

[Nuit gets back to his feet, and drives the smaller Tigress to the
corner.
He Irish Whips her to the opposite corner, then charges in- Tigress
steps
out of the way, and as Nuit hits the corner, she delivers a spin kick
to
Nuit's head. Climbing up, she grabs Nuit and monkey flips him out of
the
corner, then kips up. As Nuit starts to stand, she catches him in a
headscissors and takes him back to the mat.]

DR: Tigress using her speed to control the match.

[Tigress grabs Nuit's left leg and grapevines it, falling back to add
pressure and attempt to wrench the knee out of it's joint. She gets
back to
her feet and drapes Nuit's leg over the bottom rope, then leaps up and
drops
her weight on his knee, adding more pressure. She starts stomping away
at
his exposed knee, drawing a four count from the referee.]

AM: Tigress concentrating on Nuit's leg- Nuit's a quick wrestler, but
Tigress has him on speed. If she can slow him down with attacks on his
knee
and leg, she'll increase her advantage.

[Tigress grabs Nuit by the ankle and somersaults forward, flipping Nuit
backwards. Tigress gets back to her feet and walks over to grab Nuit-
but a
shot by Nuit stuns her, and a DDT takes her over! Nuit quickly covers,
but
she kicks out before the one count. Nuit picks Tigress up for a
bodyslam,
then follows up with a sidewalk slam.]

DR: Power moves by Nuit taking over for him.

SS: Yeah, I'll bet Marky-Mark is a proud man, beating up a woman half
his
size.

AM: I wouldn't call it 'beating up'. Tigress is giving as good as she
gets.

[Nuit whips Tigress to the ropes, and on the rebound goes for a
clothesline.
Tigress ducks underneath. On the rebound, she launches a dragon leg
screwhip, catching Nuit in the face and taking him to the ground.]

AM: See what I mean?

SS: You're right. I'll be he's real proud, getting beat up by a woman
half
his size.

AM: *Frustrated sigh*

[Tigress grabs the ankle and slides out under the bottom rope. She
drags
Nuit over to the corner, and wraps the leg around the cornerpost,
drawing a
howl of pain from Nuit. She repeats it, then attempts to lock in a
figure-four leglock around the ringpost. As she tries to lock his legs,
Nuit brings his free leg in and rolls out of the ring, landing on the
floor
outside. Tigress starts landing kicks and stomps on him as he gets up.]

DR: Tigress with an Irish Whip... Reversed... and Tigress crashes into
the
guardrail!

[As Tigress stumbles away from the guardrail, Nuit follows up with an
Irish
whip, sending Tigress flying into the stairs. Nuit limps over to pick
up
Tigress and throw her back into the ring, then follows in himself.]

AM: Nuit back in the ring... and climbing the ropes.

DR: He's still favoring that leg, and his climbing is slow.

SS: Nuit is slow.

AM: Marcus Nuit is one of the faster wrestlers in the UWF.

SS: Oh- you mean physically. Never mind then.

[As Nuit gets to the top turnbuckle, Tigress rolls up and gets to her
feet.
Nuit leaps...]

DR: Spinning leg lariat from the top rope! Tigress is down!

[Tigress lays on the mat, but Nuit is unable to cover right away, still
favoring one leg. He finally rolls over and hooks the leg...

1...

KICKOUT!]

AM: Not even a two count for Tigress! She starts to get back to her
feet!

[And Marcus Nuit greets her with a series of stomps and kicks of his
own,
trying to keep her on the mat. Still favoring the left leg, he starts a
series of elbows on the back of Tigress, delivering 1... 2... 3...]

Crowd: 4! 5! 6!...

DR: The crowd is clearly behind Nuit here!

Crowd: 9! 10!...

[Nuit grins, then...]

Crowd: 11! 12! 13! 14!

SS: When the hell did this group learn to count in double digits?

[Finally, after 16, Nuit rolls Tigress over for a pinfall...

1...

2...

KICKOUT!]

AM: Nuit in control! He picks up Tigress... powerbomb! Here's a lazy
cover...

1...

2...

KICKOUT!

SS: Marky-Mark's getting a little cocky with that lackadaisical cover.

DR: Nuit with a sidewalk slam... and another lazy cover...

1...

2...

AM: Small Package by Tigress!

1...

2...

...

KICKOUT!

DR: A close call- Nuit got a little sloppy and underestimated Tigress,
and
nearly cost himself the belt.

[A startled Nuit goes to grab Tigress, but a kick doubles him over, and
Tigress takes him down with a headscissors. Tigress grabs Nuit by the
hair,
throws him into the corner, and delivers a series of chops to his
chest,
before running out with a bulldog. She makes the cover...

1...

2...

KICKOUT!

Tigress grabs Nuit's leg and turns him over into a half crab. Nuit
yells in pain, and the referee asks if he wants to submit.]

DR: Tigress has been working on Nuit's leg whenever she's been in
control, and its working. Even if Nuit doesn't submit, he'll be
handicapped the remainder of the match.

[Nuit reaches out with his left arm and grabs the ropes, forcing the
break. Tigress starts laying in kicks on Nuit as Nuit pulls himself up
using the ropes, then delivers a series of chops to Nuit's chest.]

AM: Tigress is a more experienced brawler than Nuit. Despite Nuit's
size advantage, he might be in trouble if this breaks down into a
fight.

SS: Translating... Nuit is a wuss.

[Tigress continues to press the attack, driving Nuit against the ropes-
until Nuit grabs Tigress by the back of her head and drives her head
into his knee twice, then levels her with a clothesline! He makes the
cover...

1...

2...

KICKOUT!]

DR: Nuit back in control! He's still favoring that leg, but continues
to press the assault.

[Nuit picks up Tigress in a butterfly suplex, then doesn't hesitate
before grabbing Tigress and driving her into the mat with a cradle DDT.
Another cover...

1...

2...

KICKOUT!

Nuit goes to pick up Tigress, who fires back with some savate kicks,
but
a kneelift doubles her over, and Nuit picks Tigress up into a Lyger
Bomb.]

AM: Marcus Nuit showing some aggressiveness here.

SS: He's going up against a woman with a Tiger in her control.
Agressiveness is required here.

[Nuit picks Tigress up and whips her to the opposite ropes. On the
rebound, he goes for a clothesline, but Tigress ducks underneath. As
she bounces off the ropes...]

DR: Dropkick by Nuit!

AM: But he hurt his leg! He's on the mat, clutching his leg in pain
and not able to make the cover!

[Both wrestlers are on the mat, and the referee starts to make a
double-countout. At three Tigress gets to her knees, breaking the
count. A moment later, Marcus Nuit gets back to his feet... only to be
taken back to the mat thanks to a dragon screw legwhip. Tigress rolls
Nuit over to his stomach and crosses his legs at the ankles.]

AM: She's going for the Majara Mallaka! If she locks this in, Nuit
might lose his title.

SS: And then we'd never see him on television again, right?

DR: That's not how the television title works, Sam.

SS: Damn. Well, one can hope...

[Tigress puts her knees on Nuit's back and attempts to lock in a camel
clutch. Nuit starts struggling to escape the hold, and manages to keep
Tigress from locking in the hold. He rolls over to his back, escaping
the hold but leaving him exposed to the elbowdrop by Tigress. Tigress
scampers up to the corner and climbs the ropes, leaping off with a frog
splash...]

DR: Connects! Tigress goes for the cover...

1...

2...

....

KICKOUT!

AM: So close! Tigress pounds the mat in frustration, and picks up
Nuit.

[Tigress sets Nuit on the top corner, and climbs up herself. She grabs
Nuit in a front facelock, and lifts for a superplex, but Marcus Nuit
grabs the top rope to hold on. As Tigress relents on the lifting, Nuit
stands up himself, and both struggle for leverage as both stand
precariously on the top rope.]

DR: Both are struggling... Nuit picks up Tigress...

AM: RYDEEN BOMB FROM THE TOP ROPE! Tigress landed on the mat hard, and
Nuit rolls over to make the cover...

1...

2...

...

...

DR: KICKOUT! At the last second, Tigress kicked out!

AM: Neither one wants to lose this match, and it shows.

[Now it's Nuit's turn to pound the mat in frustration. He signals for
the 51st Drop, and picks up Tigress- but the female grappler grabs Nuit
by the head and applies a cradle neckbreaker.]

DR: Poacher's Woe! Tigress rolls over for a cover...

1...

2...

KICKOUT!

DR: That didn't give Tigress the win, but it did buy her time to
recover.

[And Tigress is the first one to her feet. Marcus Nuit is still
struggling to get back up as Tigress runs to the ropes, bounces off...]

DR: Nuit picks Tigress up over his shoulders.... CRADLE SHOCK! He
dropped Tigress on her neck, and makes the cover...

1...

2...

...

3!

["I Hate" comes over the PA system to a loud pop from the crowd.]

AM: Nuit retains the belt! It was a close match that could have gone
either way, but in the end Nuit managed to pull out a close victory!

DH: Here is your winner...

MAAARCUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUS NNNNNNNNNNUUUIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT!

[Nuit takes the championship and holds it over his head as Tigress
rolls
from the ring, still hearing a few cheers as she leaves the spotlight
to
the champion. Nuit exits soon after, hi-fiving his way up the aisle to
the back.]

DR: Well fans, we hope you've enjoyed this exciting night of action
here
at the Eaton Centre. We've got new women's tag team champions as well
as
a new cruiserweight champion of the world, and Gold Rush 2005 is now
just
a matter of days away. It should be one amazing show, top to bott-

["Killing in the Name of" hits as Olivia and L. Dan Dee make their way
to the ring.]

DR: What on earth is this? I haven't got anything else on my format for
tonight...

SS: Ssh, that's when things usually get good.

[The duo gets to the ring as Olivia produces a mic.]

OM: Cut the music.

[Sound guy obeys.]

OM: What we witnessed here last time was a _travesty_ of justice.
Millenium Sports represents the _very best_ in sports. We don't
represent losers!

[Crowd boos. Olivia turns to L. Dan Dee.]

OM: That means this, luchador. If you lose tonight? You're _fired_!

[LDD stands there, the mask hiding his facial expressions. Olivia turns
back to the entrance way.]

OM: You've just been challenged tonight, Jamie Underwood! Are you a man
or are you a coward!?

[The opening chords of "Nightrain" by Rock legends, Guns 'n Roses
begins
playing over the PA system as the fans instinctively turn their
attention
to the curtain.]

AM: Jamie Underwood isn't one to ignore a request like that.

SS: When did you become president of his fan club?

AM: I'm far from it, but unlike you I won't call him 'my savior' one
minute and call him a punk the next. He's at least trying atone for
some
of his sins, unlike a lot of people I could name.

[The music continues to play for a little longer... before the man
himself, Jamie Underwood, steps out from the back, through the curtain
and into arena.

The often cocky and arrogant twenty-five year old looks ready, as he
stands arms down by his side tilting his head from left to right at the
capacity crowd who, in all honesty, greet him with... well, a bit of a
pop. Consider the alternative in the ring.]

DR: Despite an obvious limp, he's not wasting any time.

AM: I hope he's not thinking this is going to be a cakewalk just
because
of the results of last week. That ego is his mail failing.

[Underwood still sports "designer stubble", paces down the aisle,
limping
even less than before.

Once reaching the ringside area, Jamie, who is dressed in his ring
attire, paces up the steel ring steps, before entering the ring
in-between the top and middle ropes. A spotlight shines brightly down
on
him as the music continues, however Jamie appears not to be in a
showboating mood.

LDD gets out of the ring as Jamie Underwood gets right into Olivia's
face. The two start exchanging words. LDD grabs a chair and slides back
in under the ropes as the crowd screams for Jamie to turn around.]

SS: Figures, he's just going to try and beat up a woman! First it was
Sabbath's kid-

AM: You supported him on that!

SS: -ancient history, Red.

[LDD stands up and winds up. Underwood spins at the last second and
delivers a swift boot to LDD's midsection. LDD drops the chair and
staggers back. He's dropped to the mat courteousy a clothesline from
Underwood. Underwood reaches down and grabs the chair as Olivia moves
over, screaming at LDD to get up. Underwood looks at the chair, at LDD,
and then at the crowd who is roaring their approval for some head
trauma
to the "luchador."

Underwood winds up to strike. LDD grabs Olivia by her arm and pulls her
into the way of the oncoming chair. The crowd gasps... ]

AM: MY GOD, NOOO!

DR: HE STOPPED! THANK GOD, HE COULD HAVE SCRAMBLED THAT YOUNG WOMAN'S
BRAINS! I can't believe L. Dan Dee just pulled his manager in front to
protect himself like that!

[Underwood forces himself to stop at the last second. Underwood stares
in disbelief as Olivia looks like a deer caught in headlights for a
second. She turns around to reprimand her charge...

___WWWHHHOOOOOOSSSHHH!!!___

The ring lights up as a Olivia gets caught dead on by a fireball from
L.
Dan Dee. Underwood has the chair up to protect him from the blast. The
crowd begins to boo immediately.]

DR: A FIREBALL! OLIVIA MICHAELS JUST TOOK A FIREBALL STRAIGHTAWAY TO
THE
FACE!

[LDD rolls out of the ring. Underwood looks at LDD, but immediately
drops the chair and waves down medical personel. They rush past LDD in
the aisle. LDD gets to the top of the aisle and stands there. Underwood
lets the medical team do their job. He points at LDD and starts talking
to him. Threats, insults, take your pick. LDD stands there at the top
of the aisle, you can just see the smirk under that mask.]

AM: That sick son of a bitch! Who the hell does he think he is to do
that?!? Thank god for the speedy response because Michaels needs
serious
medical attention out here, she got caught full on in the face by that
thing!

[LDD grabs his mask and gives it a tug...

_MASSIVE SHOCKED HEEL POP_!]

SS: ... no way.

[... and there stands "Hot Stuff" Brian Von Braun.]

DR: BRIAN VON BRAUN WAS L. DAN DEE!?!?

AM: THE INVADER IS BACK! OH MY GOD... WHAT DOES THIS MEAN?!?

[The camera pans in, as BVB stares right back at Underwood. He drops
the
mask at his feet. The camera pulls right up to him, allowing the
audience at home to hear his words.]

BVB: Play time's over.

[The camera stays on BVB as he smirks again. And then lets out the
characteristic cackle that hasn't echoed through a UWF arena in years.
Fade out as BVB points at Underwood and continues cackling.]