<UWF> Saturday Night Rampage - 7-23-05 Hour One

[Cygnia]

[Fade up from black, into the opening sequence for Rampage with new
music, as Good Charlotte's "Just Wanna Live" comes in over top of video
clips...]

# I need an alarm system in my house #
# So I know when people are creepin' about #

[First shot we see is of Daniel Kidd blasting Alex Martinez in the
kneecap with a lead pipe from the end of last week's show as Scott
Daniels scrambles back to his feet.]

# These people are freakin' me out (these days) #

[The Hands of Death emerge from the Gates of Hell.]

# It's getting hectic everywhere that I go #
# They won't leave me alone #
# There's things they all wanna know #

[Chad Grimsson hurls his brother Erik over the top ropes with a gorilla
toss on top of the Privateers.]

# I'm paranoid about the people I meet #
# Why are they talkin' to me #
# And why can't anyone see #

[Sierra Browne stands with the women's championship title over her
shoulder, the Misfits standing behind her arms folded.]

# I just wanna live #
# Don't really care about the things that they say #
# Don't really care about what happens to me #
# I just wanna live #

[Marcus Nuit hi-fives an irritated looking Fatality.]

# Just wanna live #

[Chronic Jumble Jaw from Andrew "Flash" Tucker.]

# Just wanna live #

[Hands-free dive to the outside by Ryu Osawa.]

# Just wanna live #

[I.A.C. as applied by Naomi Ishikawa.]

# Just wanna live #

[Coffin Breaker II by Sabbath.]

# Just wanna live #

[Vyolynce's reflective mask glints in the light.]

# Just wanna live #

[Trey DaMann flashes a trillion dollar smile at the camera.]

# I rock a law suit when I'm goin' to court #
# A white suit #

[Donna Tetreault delivers a surprising low blow on Simon O'Neal.]

# when I'm gettin' divorced the black suit #

[Chris O'Brien stands on the middle turnbuckle pointing out at the
crowd.]

# at the funeral home in my birthday suit #
# when I'm home alone #

[Victor Frost and Papa Legba unleash hell upon one another with a huge
fistfight in the aisle.]

# Talkin' on the phone #
# Got an interview with the Rolling Stone #
# They're sayin' "Now you're rich and now you're famous #
# fake ass girls all know your name and #

[John DeWolfe makes out with Brianna Landis, giving everyone else the
creeps in the process.]

# Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous, #
# Your first hit, aren't you ashamed #
# Of the life, of the life, of the life you're livin" #

[Brett Greene puts Derek Martin down with a Brett Bomb, then a quick
flash and Martin replies with a Dead End on Greene.]

# I just wanna live #
# Don't really care about the things that they say #
# Don't really care about what happens to me #
# I just wanna live #

[Luke Kinsey splits Jamie Underwood wide open with a vile chairshot
across the face... Alex Martinez hoists another poor soul up for a
Firebomb Chokeslam... Hotspot triumphantly hoists the World Title up
for
all to see...

Dissolve into the opening graphics for the show...]

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\_____/ 07-23-2005
Hour One

[Dissolve through the graphics and into the Bradley Center, the
jam-packed crowd on it's feet with a bevy of fireworks and explosions
raining down upon them. Constant flashes of light throw shadows all
over
the building as the music continues in an instrumental fashion, all as
the voice of the UWF, David Rogers, speaks over top of it with his
traditional welcome.]

DR: Hello everybody! Welcome to the Bradley Center, the home of the
Milwaukee Bucks but tonight it's also the Wrestling Capital of the
World!
Welcome to SATURDAY... NIGHT... RAMPAGE!

[The Unitron wall relays images to the crowd while the new entrance
portal has been formed in the middle of the stage area, lined with
steel
beams and small video panels that constantly flash and strobe. The
music
begins to fade away slowly.

The stage still forms something of a T shape, as the double wide ramp
joins it in the middle and leads down a short aisleway to ringside. The
ringside area is framed by navy blue dasher boards, while the actual
ring
is framed by a black apron cover with the UWF logo on each of the four
sides, and has a slate grey canvas with white ropes and red ringposts.

Unannounced, 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.]

DR: Well, this should be interesting.

SS: Shouldn't he be still at home resting from that hellacious beatdown
he received courtesy of Luke Kinsey and the mighty Illuminati?

AM: Hey Sam, quick question for you- Since when did you turn your back
on
Jamie Underwood; a guy you often referred to as not just the UWF's but
your very own "Savior"?

SS: The day he got too big for his boots, that's when. Oh, and when the
great Edmond Winston the Fourth kicked his scrawny little ass. That was
beautiful!

AM: Hypocrite.

SS: Turns you on, doesn't it?

AM: Bite me.

SS: Whereabouts?

DR: Children, behave.

[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 Milwaukee's Bradley Center.

The often cocky and arrogant twenty-five year old looks more sombre in
his expression tonight, 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, not much at all. The vast majority of the fans in
attendance tonight are still unsure how to react to TAFKA "The Savior".
Sure, some fans applaud and cheer his arrival, whilst there are a
decent
number who are jeering and booing him out the arena. But, in general,
the crowd are more silent than usual; than you'd expect them to be
normally to seeing Jamie Underwood.]

SS: Boy, he certainly knows how to kill a crowd don't he?

DR: The fans seem rather confused here, Sam. They've sat back and
watched as Jamie Underwood has made popular superstars such as "The
Walking Contradiction" Sabbath's life hell by having Sabbath's son Alex
taken away from him.

AM: The less we say about that the better.

DR: They've also watched as Underwood got Sonya Benedict suspended from
the UWF. Not to mention tune in week after week and witness him be the
right-hand man of the loathsome, now-retired Edmond Winston the Fourth.
So although most of these fans may feel that the horrific assaults he
received a few weeks ago by his former mentor and the Illuminati was a
little overboard, they're still not one hundred percent behind the
charismatic star.

AM: You make a good point, David. I'm not his biggest fan either, but I
will say... he's looking a lot better with that face stubble he's got
going on now.

SS: Easier to hide the bruises.

[Underwood, who as Amy stated moments ago, now sports "designer
stubble",
paces down the aisle, limping slightly as he does so, obviously still
feeling the effects of the hellacious beatdown he received weeks ago
courtesy of EW4 and the Illuminati.

Once reaching the ringside area, Jamie, who is dressed in a pair of
denims, a sleeveless black and red "Metallica Rules" t-shirt and boots,
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,
instead immediately requesting a microphone which he is awarded.]

JU: Okay, okay, that's enough Axl Rose for the time being...

[Jamie waves his hand across his throat, signalling for his music to be
cut off, which it is.]

JU: So here we are, it's official. Jamie Underwood is back on Saturday
Night Rampage, still a little groggy and shaken up from events that
took
place on this very broadcast a few weeks ago, but back nonetheless. And
with my return comes a series of questions that I'm sure all of you,
and
the millions of people around the world are just dying to ask.

_Why_ Jamie are you back after the beatdown you received by your former
mentor, Edmond Winston the Fourth and the Illuminati?

_What_ are your feelings towards the Illuminati and towards your former
mentor after their savage and brutal attack?

And _Why_ ... have you grown stubble?

[Jamie smirks, stroking away at his new-found stubble.]

SS: That's the one _I_ wanna know right there!

AM: Idiot.

JU: People, I'll be honest with you. When I was sitting in the hospital
bed three weeks ago, having fifty stitches inserted into my face,
nursing
a broken nose, three broken ribs and a severely battered and bruised
vertebrae, I admit, I had second thoughts about stepping foot back
inside
a squared circle ever again. Let's face the facts, what'd be the point?
My closest road-dog, the man who I aspired to be, the man who reached
out
to me and took me from being a nobody and turned me into a somebody, my

b
oss and friend... Edmond Winston the Fourth...

[The crowd jeer at the sound of the former World Champion.]

DR: He's been gone for weeks now, but these fans certainly haven't
forgotten about the Billionaire Bastard.

SS: How could they? He owned them for months!

JU: ... he had turned his back on me. Deemed me lousy, useless,
unworthy
of having the New Era bestowed upon me. I'll tell you folks, to hear
those words come out of his mouth, that I was an embarrasment and
hadn't
lived up to his high expectations... that hurt me ten times more than
the
ass-whooping I received moments later.

SS: I doubt that, kid. You got killed!

JU: For months, I had been the loyal servant. I had been there day in,
day out sticking my neck on the line for the New Era; at the forefront
of
Marshall Law when no one else would've dared. In short, _I_ was
Winston's right-hand man. _I_ was the one who deserved to take over the
reigns of the New Era and continue its' legacy as the most dominant
force in professional wrestling. _I_ was the future headliner who would
follow in the footsteps of the great Edmond Winston the Fourth, selling
out arenas, raking in the dollars, fronting magazine covers and having
Match of the Year contests!

I _was_ until a certain egotistical mother[BEEP!] from down South came
into the picture.

[The fans boo, they're not daft, they know who Jamie's talking about.]

JU: But we'll get to him later...

SS: Who?

AM: Don't act the fool, Sam. Though in your case, I know it's possible
it's not an act.

SS: What?

JU: Rewind the clock back to Eve of Destruction, December thirty-first,
two thousand and three. _I_ was the flavor of the month. Brought into
the company by Miss "Fatality" Jessica Marshall, it was _me_ who was
deemed the chosen one, the man who'd take the global juggernault that
is
the Universal Wrestling Federation and steer it in a new direction,
take
it to levels it had never reached. _I_ was the man who would lead the
UWF into the year two thousand and four and beyond. And for awhile,
that's what looked to be the case.

Face it people, I was hot. Better yet, I was smoking hot! Every man,
woman and child was talking about "The Savior" and his alliance with
then-World Champion, Edmond Winston the Fourth. The sky was the limit
for me, as awards, accolades, victories and even a championship belt
became an attachment of yours truly.

DR: Jamie was definitely on a roll, there's no doubting that.

SS: Yeah, but it soon came to a grinding halt.

JU: But, as they say, all good things must come to an end. Something,
or
should I say, _someone_ was brought into the equation for reasons
unbeknownst to me, and a rift began to come up to the surface. From
that
moment onwards, no longer was I relied upon as much as I once was. No
more was I considered in the highest regard by my colleagues and more
importantly, my boss. Three weeks ago, my world was turned upside down.

[Jamie drops his head to the canvas, shaking it from side to side
before
continuing.]

JU: So why return?

[Jamie pauses again, as he looks direct into the lens of the camera.]

JU: For the first time in my life, I looked at myself in the mirror and
realised I was missing something. Sure, I have the looks...

[Another cheeky wink.]

JU: ... Yes, I have the physique.

[A quick flex of the muscles.]

JU: But you know what was missing from my impressive arsenal? A pair of
_balls_!

SS: WHAT?

AM: Balls?

[Jamie shrugs his shoulders.]

JU: It's true, I admit it. Some weeks ago, I was given a wake-up call.
The beatdown I received by Edmond Winston the Fourth, and to a lesser
extent, the Illuminati was in fact a blessing in disguise. For far too
long now, I have been the follower. Playing the sidekick, the
right-hand
man. But those days are well and truly over. It's now time for Jamie
Underwood to stand on his own two feet, be his own man, and tackle any
and all obstacles and challenges that I must face head on. Now is the
time for the rest of the wrestling world to sit up and take notice as
Jamie Underwood _finally_ realises his true potential and becomes the
_true_ global superstar that he so truly deserves to be. That, my
friends, is a fact.

DR: Fighting talk by Underwood, and a few of these fans seem to be
enjoying his honesty.

SS: Yeah, I can hardly hear myself speak.

DR: Very funny, Sam.

SS: What? You're allowed to talk absolute crap, and expect me not to
follow suit?

AM: That's never stopped you before.

JU: So, with that being said, the first names on my agenda for a slice
of
retribution are the newest group to form and claim to be the guys that
will revolutionise the business and "take over" the UWF.

Yep, we've heard it all before folks, and apparently, no we're not sick
and tired of the boring out-dated routine yet. Of course, I'm talking
about the Illuminati.

[Major jeers echo around the arena.]

JU: Now, when you talk about a tired act; a same ol' same ol' clichéd
routine look you need look no further than Andrew "Flash" Tucker and
Mike
"Money Driven" Sebastien.

[Another round of boos.]

JU: Arguably wrestling's most successful, most famous and _decrepid_
tandem at a combined age of two-hundred and sixty eight!

Strictly Business? More like Strictly _Ancient_!

Seriously fellas, give it up already; it's becoming embarassing. What
was once a feared and respected combo, are now becoming the laughing
stock on the wrestling community. Shame on you "boys".

[Jamie shakes his head whilst shaking his index finger from side to
side.]

JU: Be honest with yourselves, guys. There's only so much plastic
surgery, body enhancement and hair dye you can use before you become so
hideous you'll turn into the wrestling equivalent of Mickey Rourke!

SS: Mickey Rourke?!

AM: He makes a good point there. From Hollywood heart-throb to well,
ugly hasbeen. Yummy to yucky.

JU: So in closing... Tucker and Sebastien, I just have one thing to say
to you.

Move bitches, get out the way!

[Small pop, Jamie looks a little surprised, smirking nonetheless.]

JU: This isn't 1998 anymore. Bill Clinton no longer runs the White
House, Seinfield _isn't_ TV's premier sitcom and watermelons definitely
_aren't_ made the way they used to be!

[Insider comment~!]

JU: Don't worry, they know what I mean.

[Cheeky wink number twenty-four!]

JU: Then there's L. Dan Dee...

[The camera cuts to a sign in the crowd which simply reads "Who?" We
turn back to Jamie who shrugs his shoulders before continuing.]

JU: No "mega-force" in wrestling is complete without its' resident
Cruiserweight member and _that_ is the job of L. Dan Dee. So, uh...

[Jamie looks a little lost for words as he begins pacing in a circle.]

JU: Yeah, 'nuff said.

SS: Hey! How dis-respectful! He's the one who kicked your ass the most,
chump!

AM: Steady there, Sam.

JU: Which brings me to the organ grinder of the group. The
self-proclaimed "Loose Cannon" of pro-wrestling. The UWF's "Hired
Gun"...

[Sarcastically] The One and Only. Mister Luke Kinsey.

[As soon as his name is mentioned, a chorus of boos scowers around the
arena. Jamie smirks, before continuing.]

JU: It's funny. Ever since this c[BEEP!]muncher first arrived on the
scene, he's been running around doing his utmost to make an impact.
From
day one onwards, he's been jerking around stirring s[BEEP!] up left
right
and center in an attempt to get people talking. And well, to be fair,
it's worked. He's done his job and he's succeeded in his quest to grab
the viewer's attention and in doing so, has rightfully won the accolade
of becoming the company's most overhyped, overpaid and overrated
superstar since the days of the "Top Dog" and a certain "Legend Killer"
himself.

SS: Uh, I don't think we need to go there.

AM: Is he still alive?

DR: Unfortunately.

JU: Fact is, this egotistical piece of crap is so caught up in his own
hype, he doesn't realise that he's actually nothing but a small fish in

a
very large pond here in the UWF. This guy is so hellbent on causing
controversy and is always craving to make headlines around the
wrestling
world that, hell, he'd piss on his _own mother_ just to get a rise out
of
the crowd and to get approval from the "boys".

Sure, I've done some pretty low things in my time, things that some
people may have found inappropriate or offensive, but that was because
at
the time the actions brought me enjoyment. This guy here, he does it
for
the exposure; to satisfy his overbearing cravings.

Fact: Luke Kinsey _needs_ people's attention. He _must_ be the center
of
attention, and the man every man woman and child is talking about. When
you think about it, it's really quite pathetic. It's sad to see a guy
who claims to be the man that will "take over" the UWF, so insecure and
in need of approval. "Puppy Dog" Kinsey would be a more appropriate
persona for our Luke, it's much more fitting than the bulls[BEEP!] he's
trying to put himself across as.

Whether you like me or you don't, the bottom line is that I would never
lower myself to his levels of desperation just to get myself "over".
Then again, what more could you expect from a guy who thinks he has
everything... when in reality, he has f[BEEP!] all!

[A few fans applaud, most just sit and listen not knowing what to think
of what they're hearing.]

JU: Why else would the guy surround himself with talentless losers such
as Corporate Leverage and Joey. No, wait, that's JOEY~!

SS: Yeah, you better recognise.

AM: Since when did you become street?

JU: Truth is, Luke Kinsey _needs_ these people around him. He _needs_
to
have them stroke his ego, remind him just how great he is, reassuring
him
just how unbelieveably well he's doing, or so he likes to believe.
Reality check, Kinsey. Look around, we're not in St. Louis. This is not
Los Angeles. This, bitch, is the UWF and _you_, Mr Illuminati, are
nothing! So why don't you do us all a favor.

Grow up, shut up and get back to something that you _are_ good at...
like
licking Langseth's _ass_!

DR: Well, there's a lawsuit.

SS: What did he just say? He can't say that... can he?

AM: I think he just did.

[A sadistic grin forms across Jamie's face as the camera zooms in.]

JU: UWF... Your Savior has spoken! Now it's time to take out the trash,
starting with the biggest s[BEEP!] of all. Illuminati, I'm coming to
get
'ya.

[And with that, Jamie drops the microphone down onto the canvas as
"Nightrain" by Guns n Roses re-plays over the PA system. Cut to the
announcer position ringside.]

DR: Well, quite a way to begin tonight's show off. Jamie Underwood is
back, and his sights are set on the Illuminati. He'll face off with L.
Dan Dee later tonight, and you have to think a collision with the rest
of
them isn't too far off either.

SS: And then an even longer hospital stay.

DR: We've got a big main event tonight also, with the teaming of Alex
Martinez and Brett Greene as they take on common enemies Daniel Kidd
and
"Dead End" Derek Martin.

SS: You assume Martinez is even gonna be able to wrestle with that leg
of
his.

AM: I talked to Alex earlier today, and come hell or high water he's
going to be in the ring looking to take apart the Pridesmen.

DR: Even on one leg the Pride had better take note of the Last American
Badass and what he's capable of tonight. But for the moment, we've got
Moe Owens standing by backstage with a man who pulled a huge upset last
week on SNR as he dethroned the One-Winged Angel to become the brand
new
Cruiserweight Champion, Jacob Drake of the Privateers.

[Cut to backstage. UWF reporter Moe Owens is standing next to the
reigning UWF Cruiserweight champion, Jacob Drake. Jacob wears a black
Youngbloods T-shirt and white shorts, the title belt slung over his
shoulder.]

MO: Jacob Drake, you surprised everyone last Rampage after you defeated
One-Winged Angel for the cruiserweight title... now you are coming off
a
win against Zero-G... what are you looking ahead to as you begin your
reign as the UWF Cruiserweight champion.

[Jacob just chuckles.]

MO: Um, Jacob... can you answer the question?

Jacob: Why? Because you asked it?

MO: Well... that's my job.

Jacob: [chuckling] So it bloody well is... well, what if I don't want
to
answer your question? What then?

MO: Well... I...

Jacob: I've got a better idea, Moe... why don't you ask me how felt it
to
teach those bloody mother[BLEEP]ers in Amity what happens when you mess
with the Youngbloods?

MO: Well... there is no word when One-Winged Angel will return to
action,
I know that.

Jacob: And whenever he does decide to return to action, we should all
hope he and his bloody buddies will know better than to cross the path
of
the Youngbloods, right?

[He then turns to the camera before Moe can say another word.]

Jacob: As a matter of fact, that goes for anybody who tries to cross
the
path of the Youngbloods! Zero-G found out what happens when he faced me
on Meltdown... and if anybody else is [BLEEP]ing foolish enough to
think
they can take this belt from me, then they can just...

[Jacob is interrupted as...former Rampage Champion "Showtime" Rick
Marley
walks across the back of the camera shot, drawing Moe's attention
briefly. Drake follows Moe's gaze, his expression darkening as he sees
Marley talking quietly on his cel phone...

The Youngblood member shoots a cross look at Marley.]

Jacob: Excuse me.

Rick: [Still on his phone, not looking up] One second...this is the
only
place in the arena with decent reception...

[Marley looks up and sees the cameras rolling, then shakes his head
sheepishly.]

Rick: Oh...you're interviewing. Sorry 'bout that...I'll clear out for
you. I'll just finish the call later.

[As Rick turns to walk off, Jacob grabs him by the shoulder, spinning
him
around.]

Jacob: No, you don't understand something... when you decide to cross
paths with a Youngblood, you don't just get off with a bloody apology.

[Marley's expression now darkens in turn as he stares down Jacob,
trying
not to lose his temper with a fake smile fixed on his face.]

Rick: Youngblood...right. Whatever. I don't go past sorry on the first
date. Too bad for you, chuckles.

[Jacob then pokes a finger in Rick's chest.]

Jacob: Wait a minute, I recognize you... you were the one playing
around
with sewage last week, weren't you? Fitting, because your wrestling
career basically amounts to the same [BLEEP] that you put in
Mercenary's
humvee.

[Marley's smile vanishes as he reponds, his face twisting into an angry
mask.]

Rick: What the hell is your problem? Are you so insecure that you need
to build up some sort of imaginary conflict between us, Jakey? There's
nothing there, man...just air. Have you been sniffing the fumes off of
Augustine's boots or something? Are you THAT brain damaged?

[Now Jacob gets a serious look on his face, and he and Marley lock
eyes.
Poor Moe Owens can only stand by and watch.]

Jacob: Really... well, tell you what... I'm just in the mood to find a
bloody fool stupid enough to face me for this belt I have right here.
And
you look bloody foolish enough to be the one.

Rick: Foolish? Maybe you're forgetting, but you won't have the rest of
the gang in that ring with you to give you a testicular transfusion,
Drake. You wanna dance? Fine by me. I never need an excuse to go after
guys like you.

Jacob: Good... just think about this... you know how you spent three
months off after Mercenary took you out?

You'll be spending three times that time off after I get through with
you. Then maybe you can say hi to the One-Winged Angel and share rehab
tips with him.

Rick: It'll take more than a sawed off needle-[BLEEP]ed piece of
sh[BLEEP] like you to pull that one off.

Jacob: We'll bloody well see about that, won't we?

[Jacob then walks off camera as Rick stares after him for a moment
before
turning to Moe and shaking his head.]

Rick: I guess that means I can finish my phone call after all, huh?

[Fade out.]

DR: It didn't take very long for Jacob Drake's ego to grow after his
upset victory last week, Rick Marley and he will apparently square off
on
next week's show.

AM: Jacob better remember what happened the last time Rick got a title
shot with little to no warning. I know Jamie Underwood does.

[And cue the lights cutting out. As the fans give a "whoo, the
darkness"
pop...

*BONG*

*BONG*

*BONG*

...it turns into a hard, loud, vocal round of booing.]

AM: And now it looks like Jacob's buddy is joining us.

SS: Hush, Amy. Just sit back and enjoy...

AM: ...the booing? Actually, yes, Sam, I will sit back and enjoy the
booing.

SS: Wait...I didn't mean...oh, never mind.

[As the slow hand of Angus Young plays the familiar open chord of
"Hell's
Bells," a white spotlight illuminates the entrance way. The UWF
faithful
know what's coming, and they increase their reactions as the drums kick
in, full force, and the man in question, the man they are waiting for,
the man everyone hates...

The Philadelphia Psycho himself, "Agony" Michael Augustine.

The boos are particulary harsh this week as Augustine stalks his way
from
backstage and begins the walk to the ring. His jaw is set, and his eyes
are locked straight ahead in that "neutral angry" look that is his
trademark. The young man is clad in black boots, black jeans, a
"YOUNGBLOOD LAW APPLIES HERE" black t-shirt, and his beaten and worn
black leather jacket.

Augustine makes it to ringside, and ignores the few scattered cheers
coming from the Children of the Evolution sitting along the ring
barrier.
He climbs into the ring, and snatches the microphone from the ring
announcer, who wisely and quickly vacates the ring.

Augustine stands in the middle of the squared circle as "Hell's Bells"
fades away and the lights come back on. He still has the sneer on his
face, and he looks out at the capacity crowd...

"COWWWWWWWWWWWWWARD!"

"COWWWWWWWWWWWWWARD!"

"COWWWWWWWWWWWWWARD!"

...who is getting on his case.]

DR: The fans here letting Michael Augustine know EXACLTY what they
think
of him!

AM: Well, if Augustine hadn't done the unthinkable and turned his back
on
a fight with Papa Legba last week...

SS: He didn't turn his back! He...um...

AM: Yes, Sam?

SS: ...okay, I got nothing.

DR: In any case, Michael Augustine, for the first time in the UWF, and
damn near in his entire professional wrestling career, walked AWAY from

a
fight! And you have to wonder if, for once, Michael Augustine is
speaking the truth when he says Papa Legba is the toughest man he's
ever
taken on.

SS: Dave, Michael Augustine ALWAYS speaks the truth! And in this case,
yes, maybe Legba is, but this is Michael Augustine! Legba being the
toughest man is like saying the French had the best army in Europe in
the
1930's! He'll steamroll!

AM: And now you're comparing Augustine to the Wermacht. It IS
fitting...

[Augustine doesn't seem to budge an inch as the fans continue to chant.
He's motionless, just standing in the ring, shoulders rising and
falling
beneath his jacket. The chant gets stronger, though, instead of fading
away, and this finally prompts the Philadelphia Psycho to speak]

MA: Yeah, all you Wisconsin [BLEEP]holes can just do yourselves a favor
and shut the [BLEEP] up right now.

[Of course, this has the opposite effect, and the fans boo even louder.
Augustine, though, continues to speak over the noise.]

MA: Call me a coward, call me a [BLEEP], hell, call me a Milwaukee
native...insults don't [BLEEP]in' bother me. Because what happened last
week...

[BLEEP], I don't have to explain it to a single person in this arena.
There's only one damn person on this planet I owe an explanation
to...and
he knows who he is.

So Papa Legba...

[The boos turns into very loud cheers for the mention of the North
American champion's name!]

MA: ...why don't you climb out of the soil and walk your ass down to
this
ring. I got some explaining to [BLEEP]in' do, and I only want to have
to
[BLEEP]in' do it once.

[Suddenly, the opening chorus to Method Man's "Judgement Day" kicks in
and the crowd roars its pleasure at the impending confrontation,
because
they know it means Legba is on his way.]

# 10...Let the countdown begin #
# 9... I was born from the mind #
# 8...cut the head off the snake #
# 7...Behold Armaggedon #

[Legba appears in the entranceway, sans fog and not in his ring gear.
He's dressed in civvies tonight: Loose-fit slacks with dress shoes, and
an over-sized silk shirt, left untucked. Various bandages and taped
areas
denote the battle he went through last Rampage. The North American
championship belt is secured over his left shoulder, and he's got a mic
in his right hand. Looking around the arena at his fans, Legba smiles
but
motions for his music to stop. The production guys in the truck oblige
him. chuckling to himself, Legba raises the mic and begins to speak.]

PL: Augy, Augy, Augy...what you got to explain to me mon? What could
you
say that would adequately expose your reasons for backing down last
week?
You say I'm one of the toughest men you've ever faced in a ring, and
yet
when I offered you the chance to get in the ring and come get some, you
didn't. I had already been through hell with Douglas and his bastard
child DeSade...perfect opportunity for a self-professed asshole like
yourself to jump in and get me bloody. And yet you didn't....why?

[He looks around at the fans in attendance, who instantly start up
their
chant from before:]

"COWWWWWWWWWWWWWARD!"

"COWWWWWWWWWWWWWARD!"

"COWWWWWWWWWWWWWARD!"

PL: Hol' on, people, hol' on now!

[The crowd quiets a bit, and Legba begins walking towards the ring.]

PL: These folks tonight think they've got the answer, but I'm not so
sure. I mean, was it a sudden case of the honorables? You didn't want
to
get me when I wasn't 100% so there would be no excuses? Or maybe it was
this belt?

[As Papa reaches the ring apron, he raises the NA Championship in the
air, before going to the ring steps and then climbing through the ring
ropes to get face to face with Augustine.]

PL: Somehow I don't think so...I mean, you've been to the top of the
pile
mon, you've held the big strap...this would be slummin f'you, yah? Then
again, maybe it IS a lil bit of incentive...maybe it could add some
mustard to this hot dog, some spice to this curry chicken - maybe you
and
I should lock up for the title. Make it a real challenge for the both
of
us. One on one, you've been in the top three opponents that I've faced
so
far... it'll give me a chance to prove that I deserve this belt and
show
these fans that this North American Championship means as much to me as
it does to them.

[The likey very much the idea of these two warriors battling it out for
the belt, and they make their feelings known right away.

"P-P-V! P-P-V! P-P-V! P-P-V!"]

PL: But I don't want to put words in your mouth, seen? You called me
out
heah, so what ya got t'say mon?

[Augustine...has a smirk on his face. Not quite a smile, but still
someone more jovial then his usual "[BLEEP] the world" sneer.]

MA: Actually, Legba...or is it Papa? What the hell is your first name,
anyway?

PL: Xavier, Xavier DuBois.

[Augustine waves a hand.]

MA: No matter. No, Legba, you came pretty close to hitting the nail on
the head. It's not about kicking your ass for what you did to me. It's
NOT about that North American title you have over your shoulder. It's
NOT about me suddenly...what the [BLEEP] did you call it, 'getting the
honorables?'

No. None of those.

You see, Legba...I DO want to lock up with you. I always look for a
fight. I always look for a challenge. But you...

[Augustine steps away from Legba, one hand pointing at him]

MA: ...you're the one opponent that's made me lie awake at night.

[At this, Legba grins cheshire-like and gestures around the arena]

PL: See, alla these fans know it, I've been saying it for awhile now:
I-an-I see inta y'nightmares. It may not be on thousands of t-shirts
like
your slogans Augy, but they know. Now so do you.

MA: I've stepped into the ring with the best this business has to
offer.
Victor Frost. Quinn Brown. Scott Daniels. Joe Reed. Kyle Lee. Edmond
Winston. Shane Matthews. Kyle Backwood. Scott Rogers. Youth Gone
Wild. Rick Styles. Serge Annis. Alex [BLEEP]in' Martinez. Every
single person I just named, I wanted to fight them 24-7. In the ring.
Backstage. In the parking lot. If I came across them in a bar...

...well, I wouldn't fight Scott Daniels in a bar, since I don't go to
gay
bars...

But you, Legba. When I look at you...when I think about getting my
hands
on you...and beating you within an inch of your life...

I want to do it by the book. Right here. In the ring.

I want it to be official. I want it so that no one can say "Augustine
just wore Legba down outside the ring by attacking him." I want you
100%, fresh, rested, and ready to go. Not a worn out horse or a limping
solider. No, Legba...when I take you on and put you down, I want it to
be because YOU were at the top of your game...with no excuses, and no
reasons for you or ANYONE else to doubt just how [BLEEP]in' good
Michael
Augustine is...

PL: Just how good YOU are huh? Well it may not look like it, but I'm
feelin' pretty damn good right now myself! You passed on it before, why
not take your chance right now? Nothing but air and opportunity here
seen?

[At this, Legba drops the belt behind him on the canvas, and begins to
unbutton his shirt. Dropping to a ready stance, he waves Augustine on,
as
the crowd comes to life again at the chance of this happening right
here
and now.

Augustine looks at Legba, head cocked to one side for a moment.]

MA: Legba, are you really THAT stupid?

PL: What? You wanna fight, and I'm giving you the chance. 'You breathe
you fight' right? You're breathin' a lotta hot air right now mon, so
let's do it!

MA: I don't want to fight you NOW. Not here in a street fight where
I'll
kick your black ass five ways to [BLEEP]in' Sunday.

PL: Y'know...you are tremendously confident for someone who walked away
from a fight, and continues to do so tonight. What's it gonna take mon?

MA: Legba, I want you in the ring...in a match. In a good old boring
ass
UWF, pinfall or submission matchup. I want you in the type of match
where you gave me a run for my [BLEEP]in' money, a match where it's
just
MY skill against YOUR skill. That's what I want, Legba. And I bet, deep
down inside, you want it too. A chance to step into the ring against
the
best with no gimmicks, no special rules...just you and me.

Here you go, Legba...here's your chance. Want to leave Sabbat Justice
behind for good? Want to prove you're the top dog around here? Then you
just step into the ring and try to do the impossible.

Kick MY [BLEEP]in' ass.

[At this statement, Legba takes a step back and seems to contemplate
Michael's words for a moment.]

PL: You know something? Y'right mon...I haven't had a match like that
in
a while, a match that'll have fans recording it and re-watching it
years
later. The type of match that cements the beginning of a legacy,
somethin' I can hang m'hat on, so to speak. I tell you what
though...somethin' like this? This deserves to be on a much bigger
stage.
These fans, they had a good idea.

[The crowd begins rumbling at the possibility of a forthcoming
announcement.]

PL: Whaddya say Mikey? Y'wanna dance at Gold Rush mon? For all the
marbles - even though it don't mattah if I had this belt ah not? Ready
to
take each other to their boundaries and beyond? Where are your limits
Augy? Shake on it now, and we get the papers written up latah to make
it
all official-like, yah?

[Legba sticks out his hand to Augustine...who looks at it for several
seconds. Tension builds in the arena as the Children of Evolution chant
for their hero.

"DO IT!

DO IT!

DO IT!"

Augustine goes to grasp Legba's hand, and as soon as he does Xavier
pulls
him in close so the two warriors are near nose-to-nose. The tension
rachets up another notch or two, as neither man will back down.]

PL: It's already started Augustine...I've been in ya nightmares, I've
seen what scares you. You wan' come f'test Papa Legba...at Gold Rush,
I-an-I make your nightmares come true!

MA: Legba...I wouldn't have it any other [BLEEP]in' way. I'll see your
punk ass at Gold Rush.

[The fans are cheering wildly as the two warriors stand nose-to-nose...
and finally, both men release the other's hand at the same time. Legba
backs up a few steps, holding the North American title into the air as
he
does so. Augustine simply responds with a nod, and Legba turns to climb
out of the ring.]

DR: Incredible! Another huge match is apparently set to go for Gold
Rush
now, "Agony" Michael Augustine will square off with Papa Legba for the
North American Championship! The show keeps getting bigger and bigger!

SS: Sweet, the Youngbloods get to add more gold to their collection.
First Jacob, now Mikey. I wonder if Edward could get a shot at Nuit or
something next week.

AM: Dream on.

[The scene switches to a large room backstage where several coffee
machines and a snack table have been set up for the workers and crew.
Standing in front of the table with a frown on his face and a coffee
cup in one hand is Jason Keening who seems to be looking for something
as he mutters underneath his breath.]

JK: Damn it, Tumaffi got all the good stuff again!

[From behind him, a male voice interrupts his vain search.]

V: Seems to me you could stand to lose a few pounds anyway, pal.

[Keening turns around and chuckles as he spots the new arrival, one
Sabbath by name. Sabbath steps up to the table and examines it with a
smile on his face as Keening looks down at his muscled abdomen.]

JK: Really, Michael? You think I've gained weight??

S: We really don't want to continue down this road while the camera's
on,
do we?

[Keening laughs quietly.]

JK: Nah, there's probably a bad steroid joke in there somewhere. Good
to
see you. We haven't had a jam session in years.

[Sabbath nods.]

S: Seriously.... we've had a helluva time last few weeks, brah.

JK: Yup. By the way, Michael, I wanna say something for the record... I
was really glad to see you regain custody of your kids and trash that
Underwood punk. As a father myself, I hated watchin' the way that was
tearing you up.

S: Thanks, bro... it's been hard. But guys like you and the Grimsson's
have been a great help.

JK: And now you're tangling with Frost? Even tho' I'm gonna enjoy
takin'
him and Augustine apart tonight, I'll admit that he's a pretty tough
customer, my friend.

[Sabbath's expression darkens.]

S: You know it... I felt like crap after our Chicago Cup match... but
ain't that the way it always goes?

JK: Too true. These days I've got my hands full trying to deal with
Extreme myself.

[Sabbath frowns at this.]

S: Extreme? Jason... is this really something you wanna go after? I
know you can take the guy... but the dude's one of us, right?

[This time it is Keening's turn to adopt a darker expression.]

JK: No, Michael. He'll never be on our side. He might be donning
sheep's clothing to fool people but underneath? He'll always be a wolf.
And I'm the damn sheepdog who'll rip his throat out!

[Sabbath seems taken aback at the vehemence in Keening's voice. He
lifts
an eyebrow, a little confused.]

S: Jase... where's this coming from? I know you guys have had your
problems in the past... but the guy's always been good to me back-
stage... never given me any grief.

[Eyeing his friend warily, the Contradiction continues.]

S: Look... far be it from me to interfere in your business, bro...
you're
an adult, and I've got all the love for you and your family in the
world.
But I've seen first hand what hate can do to you... it eats you up
inside, boss... it tears you apart.

[Before Keening can respond, a stagehand approaches.]

SH: Mr. Sabbath? One of the road agents would like to talk to you for
a moment, if you don't mind?

[Sabbath nods and turns to leave but before he does, he claps a
friendly
hand on Keening's shoulder.]

S: Just think about it, Jase... OK?

[Keening stares straight ahead, his jaw clenched tightly as Sabbath
follows in the wake of the stagehand. Speaking quietly through gritted
teeth, the Paiute wrestler's voice is taut with strain.]

JK: Trust me, Michael... I've been thinking about it a lot.

[While continuing to stare directly ahead, Keening's fist clenches
around
the Styrofoam coffee cup which implodes in a shower of white fragments
and hot java. The hot coffee streams through Keening's fingers but goes
unnoticed despite the pain it must be causing to his hand as he glares
at
the wall in front of him. After a moment, the scene switches back to
ringside.]
____ ___ __ _____________
| | \/ \ / \_ _____/
S | | /\ \/\/ /| __) SATURDAY NIGHT RAMPAGE
N | | / \ / | \.........................
R |______/ \__/\ / \___ / Writer:
\/ \/

RANDOM PARTNERS TAG TEAM CONTEST:
Miguel Quesada & Jason Keening versus Michael Augustine & Victor Frost
......................................................

DH: Introducing first, already in the ring at this time, from Northwest
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania...

"AAAAAAAGONNY" MICHAAAAAAAAAAAAAELLLLLL AAAUUUGUUUUUUSTIIIIIIIIIINE!

And his partner!

# I HAVE NO RIVAL #
# NO MAN CAN BE MY EQUAL #

[Even before "Demonoid Phenomon" starts up, we hear Victor Frost's
voice
over the PA.]

VF: Ja, ja, cut my music, I got something to say!

[Frost appears at the head of the aisle to a chorus of boos, wearing
his
ring attire. Above his eyes, is head is covered in bandages.]

AM: Oh, look, it's "Cueball" Victor Frost.

SS: That is not funny, Amy. You do not mess with a man's hair.

AM: I remember you cheering on Kinsey last week when he took the
scissors
to Alex Kidd.

SS: Since when do I think of Kidd as a man? He's a runt.

[Frost, mic in hand, walks towards the ring. Behind him Roxy Mayhem has
entered the arena. She is wearing a hooded sweatshirt obscuring her
features and black leather pants. Augustine stands on one side of the
arena floor, jawing with some fans.]

VF: I guess in the past few days you all had your fun with the news
about
me. All this stuff about "Frost losing his hair", "Frost polishing his
skull", "Frost turning from sexual predator into a joke".

AM: Sexual predator? I want to gag.

[Frost has reached the ring and ascends via the ring steps.]

VF: I do not take that crap kindly, you know. I am proud of my looks
and Sabbath messed them up. Never mind that that powerbomb on the
concrete might have given me permanent brain damage ... it is this
humiliation that really eats away at me.

So congratulations, Sabbath. You have _my_ attention now. And boy, will
you regret that. You wanted to tangle with the big leagues, you retard?
At Gold Rush, I will give you that opportunity. Say goodbye from the
rats
that you call your children, make your peace with your wife because I
am
going to make you pay with blood and guts, freak! No one mocks me and
gets away with it!

[He points at Roxy on the outside. Slowly, she pulls back her hood to
reveal...]

DR: Good god ... she is bald as well.

SS: Is it contagious?

AM: That ... pig! Frost forced her to shave.

DR: We don't know that ...

VF: That's right, Roxy thought my ... state ... was amusing and I made
her do this to herself! No one involved in this affair will get away
scott free. And as far as Keening and Quesada are concerned ... they
have
really drawn the short straws tonight.

I am in the mood to mutilate and the two of them are the perfect
victims.
I do not even mind sharing the prey with Augustine tonight. Let him
have
some fun as well. After all, he gets to destroy Papa Legba in a couple
of
weeks, an intent I support with all my heart.

So, bring out the others. Let the blood flow!

[Augustine stares at Roxy in disbelief until she makes a move to come
after him, but the Youngblood just bursts out into laughter as he rolls
back into the ring. Frost shakes with anger as Augustine continues to
chuckle...]

DH: And their opponents!

[The crowd surges to its feet and begins to cheer in recognition as the
opening chords to Audioslave's "Your Time Has Come" begin playing over
the P.A. loudspeakers. From the back steps not only Jason Keening, but
also Miguel Quesada.]

# Now one fell asleep in the street and he never woke up #
# And now one died in pieces in his bed with a mouth full of bones #
# And one threatened me long ago #
# I saw him melt in the bright light of day #
# And one laid to rest in a field under stories and clones #

DH: ...hailing from Los Angeles, California and Miami, Florida,
respectively...

[As Chris Cornell's howling vocals transition into the chorus,
brilliant
fireballs erupt on either side of the entrance portal. Keening and
Quesada hi-five one another, and advance down the ramp quickly.]

# I've been wanderin sideways #
# I've stared straight into the sun #
# Still I don't know why you're dying #
# Long before your time has come #
# Your time has come #

DH: The team of JAAAAAAAAAAAASOOOOOOOOOOOOOON KEEEEEEEEEEENIIIIIIING...

[Keening heads down to the ring wearing buckskin pants with leather
fringes along the outside of the legs along with black-dyed tall
moccasins. A simple brown leather strap with Paiute beadwork sewn into
it circles his head as long, straight black hair cascades down around
his shoulders. Quesada wears a long-sleeved fishnet shirt and a pair of
black cargo jean pants, and slides headlong into the ring.]

# Now one took some bullets in the chest in a deal gone wrong #
# And one got a little too depressed and he went and jumped the gun #
# One got shot right in the face and he somehow survived #
# But he doesn't know my name or who I am and I'm not surprised #

DH: and MIIIIIIIIGUEEEEEEEEEEEEEL QUUUUUUEEEEESAAAAAAAAAADAAAAAAAAAAA!

[The music fades away as Frost and Augustine begin to stomp away on
Quesada before he can get to his feet, and Keening makes a run the last
several feet to the ring and likewise dives in, tackling Augustine by
the
legs. The Youngblood and the former Screaming Drillbit roll around
exchanging punches while Quesada attempts to get up even with Frost
still
clawing and punching away. A low blow to the German draws a pop from
the
crowd, but nothing from the referee who is too distracted trying to get
order to the start of the match.]

DR: We're already underway here, Frost and Augustine make quite the
unpredictable duo. Augustine with a kneelift on Jason Keening, sends
him
into the corner but Jason puts on the breaks, and in goes Augustine
himself!

SS: Where's the bell, this thing hasn't even started yet.

[Quesada takes the shaven Frost and throws him into the far ropes,
ducking his head for the rebound but Frost grabs him and with a jarring
effect sends Quesada skull-first to the mat, then stomps him in the
midsection for effect. Outside the ring meantime comes Allison Ivey
down
to ringside, and takes up a position not far away from Roxy Mayhem.]

DR: The official in the middle of that thing, Dale Simpson, trying to
gain control of the situation and directing Jason Keening to the far
corner for his team- and a lariat from behind on Miguel Quesada by
Augustine!

SS: Before you know it, Vic and Mikey'll be hi-fiving one another! This
could be the start of a beautiful friendship.

AM: I doubt it very much Sam, it wasn't too long ago that they were
trying to pound the daylights out of each other. I guess that's the
only
way to get Augustine to like you, to beat him senseless.

[Already having done the damage on Quesada, Augustine ducks out to the
apron at the referee's insistence. Frost hits the smaller Quesada with
a
bodyslam in the center of the ring, then drops a sharp knee into his
temple before trying for a cover without a hook of the leg.

1!

Kickout! Frost's eyes light up with anger as he grabs Quesada with a
chinlock and slowly drags him back to his feet, but a couple of quick
shots to the stomach frees Miguel and lets him shoot Frost into the
ropes
again. This time Quesada doesn't drop his head, and gets a standing
dropkick on Frost instead that knocks the former NA Champion to the
corner. Quesada rolls to his feet and charges right in, leaps up and
goes for a monkey flip...

Only to be caught by Augustine on the apron and viciously driven down
into a hotshot on the top rope while Allison distracts Dale Simpson
from
the outside. HEEL POP! Augustine punctuates the injury with insult:

"Don't you have a lawn to go mow? I'm sure you and Alex Martinez could
start your own lawn care service if you could find eight other Mexicans
to cram into the back of a Corolla..."]

DR: Augustine sticks his nose in, now Frost with another cover!

ONE!

TWO!

AND MIGUEL WITH A SHOULDER UP!

[POP!]

SS: The guy's like a cockroach, he just won't die.

DR: Quesada keeps escaping the pinfalls, and his partner is trying to
get
the crowd behind him.

[Keening begins to clap for Quesada, which slowly gets the crowd to do
the same thing and soon it's a thunderous rhythm going as Quesada
fights
back to his feet and begins to stagger Frost with punches to the head
alternating with chops to the upper chest. Quesada tries to get to his
corner for the tag but Frost reaches out and grabs him by the hair,
then
clamps down with a sleeperhold. Miguel struggles to reach out for
Keening only to be pulled back after getting within inches...

And Quesada suddenly changes direction as he reaches back and grabs
Frost
around the back and top of his head, jumps up and comes down with a
HUGE
jawbreaker that causes the German to bounce back up and fall back, his
grasp totally broken and Quesada lunges to the corner to tag out to
Jason
Keening! HUGE POP!]

AM: JASON INTO THE RING, RUNNING KNEELIFT TO FROST!

DR: Augustine halfway into the ring, and a running kneelift to him as
well! Augy falls to the outside apron, Jason scoops Frost up onto his
shoulders... running powerslam!

[Jason pops back up as Frost groans and rolls onto his stomach, and
Keening grabs him with a front facelock, preventing Victor from rising.
Switching up into a side headlock Jason slowly brings his opponent back
to his feet and hangs on as Vic tries to send him to the corner. But
once again the referee's attention is taken away, this time by Roxy
Mayhem and Augustine trips Keening up, pulls him half out of the ring
and
drills him in the forehead with a hard fist.

"Here y'are, redskin."

And another shot leaves Jason dazed, while Frost crawls along the ropes
and tags out to the Youngblood. Michael ducks into the ring and
immediately drives his knee into the small of Jason's back, grabs him
by
the face and starts to tear away at his face with what could best be
described as repeated fishhooks.]

AM: Come on, first he spouts off with the racial comments and now he's
blatantly cheating!

SS: What are you, new? This is Michael [BLEEP]in' Augustine!

[Augustine delivers repeated rabbit punches to the back of Jason's head
to keep him off-balance, and after a quick suplex floats over for a pin
attempt.

1!

2!

Shoulder up! As the crowd cheers, Augustine grits his teeth and brings
Keening back up to his feet, tries to trap his arms for a headbutt but
Jason traps Michael instead... only to take a knee to the crotch. As
Jason gasps for breath, Augustine grabs him by the hair and looks right
into his opponent's face, addressing him:

"Here's what my ancestors did to your ancestors..."

And throws him over the ropes and out of the ring... hair first.]

SS: HAH! Give that man a talk show!

DR: Augustine abusing the rules of the match, and so far this has been
mostly in favor of Augy and Frost. Neither team has experience working
together, but they seem to have gelled a little more than Jason and
Miguel- oh, knee to the side of the head keeps Jason from returning to
the ring!

[Augustine smirks as Jason tries again to slide under the ropes, but
Augustine once again drives his knees into Jason's head and leaves him
dizzy on the outside of the ring. With his concentration on Keening,
Augy leaves himself open to Miguel Quesada, who runs and blasts
Augustine
in the back of the head with a running enzuigiri kick, and Jason
Keening
finally makes it back into the ring just under the count of ten. Frost
comes into the ring to grab Quesada, but Miguel catches him by surprise
with a drop toehold across the middle rope and pops up, quickly running
to hit the 305!

On the other side of the ring is his partner, grabbing the taller
Augustine by the side of the head and Keening stuns the Philly Psycho
with a vicious headbutt to the forehead. Shifting his grip into a front
facelock, Keening grabs Augustine and lifts him upside down into the
air.
But instead of falling backwards, Keening drops Augustine's legs across
the top rope so that the strands bounce him back upside down into the
air
where the former "Screaming Drillbit" then drops him onto the top of
his
skull with a devastating slingshot brainbuster.]

DR: Augustine's down, and a cover by Jason!

ONE!

TWO!

THR-

AM: Frost with a shot across Jason's back! Damn you!

SS: Whew! They really do make a great tag team.

[Frost tries to grab Keening by the throat but Quesada drives a knee
into
the German's ribcage, leaving him gasping for air on his hands and
knees
and then to the awe of the crowd Quesada jumps up to stand on Vic's
back
and balance for a moment, leaps up and turns it into a moonsault
elbowdrop!

"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!"

Quesada gets up and drags a reeling Frost along with him, and Jason
soon
rises as well. Stopping Frost dead in his tracks with a kick to the
stomach, Keening grabs him in a front facelock and drops the German
onto
the top of his head with a quick DDT. Rolling to his feet, Keening
backs
into his corner and tags out to Quesada, gesturing that the smaller man
climb up onto the top turnbuckle. Quesada obliges and Keening lifts him
high over his head with an impressive Gorilla Press while Frost slowly
rises. As Frost turns to face them, Keening hurls his tag team partner
through the air so that Quesada lands across the German's chest,
knocking him back and over the ropes to send both men crashing to the
floor!]

AM: ROCKET LAUNCHER FOR THE GOOD GUYS!

DR: That cleared the deck for Jason, running lariat on Michael
Augustine
as Frost tries to get disentangled from Miguel Quesada!

SS: Here comes Mikey!

[A somewhat-recovered Augustine swings a wild punch at Keening's head
but
the shorter man blocks it and buries his own fist into the Youngblood's
stomach, driving the air from his lungs. As Augustine doubles over,
wheezing for breath, Keening traps him in a standing headscissors and
holds up three fingers to the crowd. He then leans forward and pulls
the
taller Augustine up onto his shoulders before hurtling him down
back-first into the canvas with a powerful folding powerbomb.
Maintaining his grip on Augustine, Keening repeats this maneuver two
more
times before surging to his feet and pumping his fist triumphantly into
the air.]

AM: Triple Powerbomb!

DR: Actually, with the flourish he made there at the end I think that
was
Jason Keening paying tribute to Bobby Whitestar, a fellow Native
American
wrestler. The Trail of Tears Powerbomb, to be exact.

[Augustine rolls onto his stomach, but Keening grabs him and hauls him
back to his feet as outside the ring Roxy leaps onto the back of Miguel
Quesada and leaves him open to a kick to the gut by Frost, then after
she
jumps off Frost drills him into the floor with a DDT!]

DR: Jason's hoisting Augustine up for a Drillbit Driver!

AM: Allison's up on the damn apron, the referee's not looking and here
comes Frost!

[Jason is forced to drop Augustine after a forearm smash to the back,
and
Frost spins Jason around and up onto his shoulders...]

DR: SPIKED DEATH VALLEY DRIVER!

[The crowd unleashes a torrent of boos as Frost rolls from the ring and
returns to kicking the barely conscious Quesada at ringside, and
Allison
Ivey finally climbs down off the apron as Augustine grabs Jason and
pulls
him up for a quick facelock, then into a cradle and drops Jason on his
head with a cradle brainbuster! A hook of the leg, and...

1!

2!

3!

"Hell's Bells" hits the PA system, and the audience is on the verge of
revolt.]

DH: Here are your winners...

THE TEAM OF MICHAEL AUGUSTIIIIIIIIIIINE AND VICTOR
FROOOOOOOOOOOOOSSSSST!

[Frost grabs Quesada and hurls him under the ropes into the ring, then
backs up slowly to the entrance portal with a large grin on his face
and
arms raised in victory despite chants of "Cue-Ball!" Augustine rolls
from the ring and also raises his arm to the crowd, then starts to
follow
Frost to the back.]

DR: A dissapointing way to open up Rampage this evening, at least if
you're a fan of Jason Keening or Miguel Quesada.

AM: This wasn't a fair match from the start, not as long as it's a four
on two situation with those two witches outside the ring.

SS: Or maybe they're just both losers, the boyscout and the hoodrat.

DR: SAM!

[The camera cuts to the Bradley Center's backstage area. The scene is
odd, as the particular hallway that is brought into view seems almost
deserted. And with good reason, as the camera focuses in on one half of
the UWF Tag Team Champion Hands of Death, Caliban. A snarl on his face,
Caliban seems to be searching for his locker room...]

Voice: Now I've gotcha!

[Before Caliban even has time to turn, "Heavy Metal Hero" Erik Grimsson
has punced upon his back, locking one arm around the freak's neck and
using his other hand to cover the face of Caliban with what looks to be

a
handkerchief. Caliban thrashes wildly, doing everything he can to
dislodge Erik, but the lone Son of Cacophony has him in a death grip.]

Erik: Nap time, freakboy! And the more you struggle, the quicker you'll
be out, so keep it up, man.

[Caliban continues to struggle, but soon, his thrashing begins to slow
down and after a little more time, his eyes roll back in his head and
shut and the thrashing stops. Erik releases, and now begins to hoist
the
Alaskan Enigma up onto his shoulders.]

Erik: I've got a little surprise for you and your buddy, Serge. And you
know what, I think the two of you are going to like it. What do you say
we go check it out, huh?

[With that, Erik quickly hurries on his way, with Caliban on his
shoulders as the camera cuts back to the announce team.]

DR: My god, Erik Grimsson's just kidnapped one half of the world tag
team
champions!

SS: He's got a deathwish, as soon as Caliban comes to he's going to
claw
the crap out of him! And that's if Serge doesn't get to him first!

AM: I think-

[All the lights in the arena immediately shut off, with the exception
of
one solitary gold spotlight that focuses on the entranceway.]

AM: What the hell?

[A few ear-piercing shrieks break the silence before a loud synthesizer
chord echoes throughout the building...the soon-to-be familiar first
note
of "Lovin' Every Minute of It" by Loverboy. A continuous wall of gold
sparks falls from the base of the Unitron to the floor as the music
goes
full blast. Upon hearing the first words spoken in the song, the pyro
ceases and immediately visible is a large figure with his arms spread
wide and head tilted towards the sky. He is positively glowing as he
emerges from the back and slowly lowers his head to reveal the
trademark
TRILLION DOLLAR TREY DAMANN SMILE!]

SS: Yes!

AM: Oh for the love of god, not this idiot.

[Trey, wearing his stylish black and gold-pinstriped Armani suit,
pauses
to bask in the crowd's reaction (positive, negative, neutral,
apathetic,
it don't matter) before making his slow journey towards the ring. His
confident blue eyes lead the way as the 20-year-old UWF soon-to-be
uber-superstar finally reaches the ring. He takes his time climbing the
steps to the apron and enters the ring with the huge obnoxious grin
that
never left his face. Trey runs his fingers through his short black hair
before making his way over to the ring attendant who waits with a
microphone.]

TD: The Star...Of The Show...Has Arrived!

[Once again, Trey takes a moment to enjoy the sound of his own voice
and
the quality of his new money-making catchphrase. The crowd does not
seem
to take as much pleasure in all this as Trey.]

TD: And yes everyone, the superior UWF programming may now begin.

[More self-indulgence, with a similar degree of audience indifference.]

TD: The first thing I have to say is.....My God, it is such a wonderful
day to be Trey DaMann!!!

[The grinning returns as Trey appears oblivious to the
less-than-endearing circumstances he is creating for himself inside the
arena.]

TD: Especially on a day like this where I will put fate and destiny
back
on the right path again.

[Trey flashes his familiar "You know I'm right" look to the camera, to
try to clear up any further doubt among those watching the broadcast.]

TD: I, Trey DaMann, am the RIGHTFUL UWF World Heavyweight champion.
Therefore, I came up with an ingenious plan for the last Saturday Night
Rampage, or as I like to call it, "Saturday Night DaMann where I
unfortunately have to share screen time with a whole bunch of other
guys
who are not even close to being in my league." I thought it would work
like an absolute charm. However, as I found out later that night, it
was
a plan that was not idiot-proof.

[Even though Trey is trying to insult "War Machine" Corey Irons, those
in
the crowd who realize the folly of signing an open contract start to
laugh at the person they perceive to be the true "idiot." Trey thinks
they are laughing with him and smiles.]

TD: That's right. What was his name again? Corey.....Corey.....Corey
Haim? Yeah. This Corey Haim guy signs his name onto the contract that
would have given me the UWF World Heavyweight championship match at
Gold
Rush. That contract was not meant for him, but he signed it anyway.

[A slight cheer arises from those who love to rain on Trey's parade.]

TD: But all those who love, worship, idolize, and name their kids after
me do not need to lose any more sleep. I WILL have my World Heavyweight
title match at Gold Rush where I will win and become the greatest
champion in the history of this sport!

[The sound of these words elicit another shameless grin and crowd
groan.]

TD: Now I know my lawyers have been in contact with this guy all week,
but he has yet to entertain any of the offers to withdraw himself from
the match. Please understand, tonight was SUPPOSED to be a night where
I
would take the opportunity to promote my upcoming championship,
subsequent celebrations in my honor, downtown parades, appearances all
over the talk show circuit, new reality show, ghost-written
autobiography, starring movie roles, and new UWF World Heavyweight
Championship-inspired clothing line.

[Trey begins to get really excited as he can just taste his first UWF
World Heavyweight championship reign. He takes a moment before
continuing.]

TD: But instead, I will take the time I allotted to myself tonight in
order to settle this and take my place among the greats at Gold Rush. I
have several ways planned, all of which can remedy this situation and
convince Haim to drop out of the match. First, I will take the
sympathetic approach.

[Trey pauses to muster the most understanding expression he knows how.
If
there wasn't skin and bone, he would be completely transparent.]

TD: Listen Corey, I understand that this whole thing is one big massive
mistake on your part. An accident. You didn't really mean to get
between
me and my UWF World Heavyweight championship. You don't know that you
don't belong in the same ring with someone of my caliber. You must not
have known what you were doing that night when you signed the contract.
That's okay. We can take care of this problem. All you have to do is
admit that you've made a mistake and withdraw from the match. This
would
allow me to take the contract to Scott Daniels and have him sign his
title away at Gold Rush. You would then be free to face someone on your
level, like one of those Rising Star guys. C'mon, we can help each
other
out. Hell, maybe we can be friends...at least for a few hours.

[Trey, the humanitarian, nods to the skeptical crowd.]

TD: Now if that doesn't work for ya, there's always my favorite
approach.
You've heard all the stories about the special thing I have in my
pocket.
Yes, there are so many myths about whether it really is as big as they
say it is. I can assure you that the stories are true. Women faint when
they see it! Hell, so do all the men who see it! That's right, a small
piece of what I have to offer can be yours if you do the right thing
and
quit the match at Gold Rush.

[Trey takes a moment to look around the Milwaukee crowd.]

TD: I know it will be the highlight of all these people's lives just to
see it. So without any further ado, I will take it out right now!!!

[Trey reaches into his front jacket pocket and reveals a
24-karat-gold-plated checkbook with his name etched on the cover. He
opens it up and flips to a specific page just out of the camera's view.
Even Trey can't believe how big his trust fund has grown in the past
few
years.]

TD: Yes Corey, that truly is the amount of money in my trust fund. You
didn't know so many numbers could be put on the same page, did you?
Yes,
it is more than what all the third-world countries have in total, and
more than what most of the second-world countries have as well. Now
what
I am offering you is a tiny piece of this incredulous amount to back
out
of the match and allow me to win the UWF World Heavyweight championship
at Gold Rush.

[Trey takes the checkbook and gets ready to write.]

TD: Just let me know how much you want to get this done.

[Trey begins to put pen to paper and looks directly into the camera.]

TD: Well now, perhaps you're noble and this may hurt your fragile
pride.
That would be too bad, because you could set yourself up financially
for
the rest of your life with this decision. If somehow money isn't for
you,
then I will attempt approach #3.

[Trey snaps his fingers in the air. A few moments later, one of his
impeccably-dressed associates comes running down the aisle holding a
plain white envelope. Trey walks over to the ropes and takes the
envelope, all the while with a huge smile across his face.]

TD: You see, I don't do this often, but I can easily make an exception
in
order to put destiny back on track.

[Trey carefully rips open the envelope and reveals.....a shiny Golden
Ticket?!?]

TD: That's right, Corey. This Golden Ticket is good for admission into
one of my WORLD-FAMOUS PARTIES!!! You could decide to go to a party
backstage at Trey's Lounge on the night of a UWF show, or...and I mean
this....you could go to the DaMannsion in beautiful Southern California
for one night at one of my reknowned mid-week "black and gold" parties.
This is an opportunity that very few people who are not among my
thousand
closest friends can ever hope to have. It can be all yours, if you
decide
to drop out of the Gold Rush match effective immediately. From where
I'm
standing, this should be a very easy decision for you.

[Trey places the Golden Ticket back into his jacket pocket, as he does
not want one of those to fall into the wrong hands. God forbid someone
from the midwest shows up.]

TD: But perhaps bribery isn't your thing. I am now prepared to engage
approach #4, an appeal to help your fellow man. That being me, Trey
DaMann.

[Hearing his own name spoken aloud elicits a wide grin.]

TD: You have to be thinking about what is best for Trey DaMann. I will
be
champion at Gold Rush once you take yourself out of the mess you've
gotten yourself into. So you need to ask yourself, what can I do for
Trey
today? The answer is, bail out of the match now.

[The grin begins to fade as it is becoming apparent that Trey is
slightly
annoyed by this whole situation.]

TD: I really think we need to start seeing eye-to-eye on this, Corey.
You're getting in the way of me becoming World Champion at my very
first
Gold Rush. Now that's not going to happen. Do what is best for me and
withdraw yourself from the match. Now. I mean it.

[Trey's expression has now turned to one of involuntary frustration and
anger. His voice begins to get louder as he speaks.]

TD: Okay, now in the case that you're still a bit fuzzy on all this, I
am
prepared to take approach #5. This will be the use of comparisons to
stimulate your deficient common sense. You need to begin seeing things
the way I do. Let's look at this situation.

[Trey starts walking around the ring like one of his high-priced
lawyers
during a summation.]

TD: I'm young and about to enter my prime in this industry. You are
probably well past yours or destined to never have a prime.

[Pause.]

TD: I am the next UWF World Heavyweight champion. You, well...hey, you
could probably become a really good road agent, someone who gets me my
pre-match meal and makes sure my microphone is working before I come
out.

[Pause.]

TD: I'm someone who will get their own building in the UWF Hall of
Fame.
You are someone who could tell your grandkids that you had a few
precious
moments being mentioned on live television by someone who will get
their
own building in the UWF Hall of Fame. Even if you namedrop me, I won't
mind.

[Pause.]

TD: I'm perfectly healthy, and you probably don't want to risk serious
injury by stepping in the ring with me. And definitely not in the main
event of a supercard. You don't want to have to BLINK your few career
highlights to those grandkids, do you?

[Pause.]

TD: I am the next UWF World Heavyweight champion, in addition to being
the "Undefeated Shining Star of UWF," "The It-Boy,""The Role Model of a
Generation," "The Greatest in Anyone's Lifetime," etcetera, etcetera,
etcetera. You....are probably better off quitting while you are ahead.
Especially in regards to the match at Gold Rush.

[Trey walks towards the camera with an indignant look on his face. He
is
almost starting to growl his words.]

TD: Corey, I want this settled TONIGHT! You will not interfere in my
plans to win the UWF World Heavyweight title at Gold Rush. I will not
be
denied by someone of your pathetic stature in this sport. You have to
know the mistake you are making and you have to know what will happen
to
you if you follow through on this mistake. I have offered you sympathy,
money, opportunity, perspective, and a glimpse of reality. One of these
things WILL cause you to change your mind and make the best decision of
your life, which is to get the hell out of my way to the UWF World
Heavyweight championship.

[Trey cocks his head back, letting a little bit of a smile seep
through.
He speaks with extra stress on every....single....word.]

TD: Neither you, nor Scott "Hopscotch" Daniels, nor "Last American
Dumbass" Alex Martinez, nor the Powers-That-Wannabe, nor anyone else in
this company is going to stop me. I will win the UWF World Heavyweight
championship at Gold Rush. It is just a matter of finally settling this
little piece of business. Corey, you know you need to do what's best.
Do
what it takes to get out of this match. My domination of this entire
sport is inevitable.

[The smile fades, and in its place remains a look of genuine pity.]

TD: I'd sure hate to see you try to stop me.

[Without flashing his trademark smile, Trey drops the microphone to the
floor and makes his exit out of the ring. "Lovin' Every Minute of It"
begins to serenade Trey as he returns to his Lounge in the back.]

AM: Every time I see him, I hate twit-boy just a little bit more.

SS: That's it-boy! IT-BOY!

AM: Mine's better.

[Shot cuts to the back, near the make-up tables usually reserved for
the
valets and non-wrestler types. However, there discussing some matter
with
the make-up 'technician' is none other than the Unified Television
title
holder, Marcus Nuit. Now, his back is turned to us, but the
very-well-shined Unified TV strap can be seen. The conversation doesn't
look to be going well, though, since the make-up woman has a very
unamused face.]

MN: Please? I mean... Please? You do see this, right?

Make-Up Woman: Yeah, I see it. Ain't nothin' to be done there, 'kay?

MN: N... Nothing? Look, I've got a match and, well... you know, I'm not
vain or anything, you know? I'm comfortable with myself, but just...
well, my face! It's like, you know... the face!

MUW: Hey, I told ya t'ree already - ain't nothin' I can do.

MN: You know, I... Well, I, uh... I don't mean to be pushy, but...
Well... I mean, that punch last week, and... Well, my nose! I got to
wear
this mask and... And it hurts and...

[Somewhere the smallest violin is playing.]

MN: And I just want to look a little good - you know, the SECOND
Unified
Television Championship match ever! The FIRST one on this... Ugh,
Saturday Night Rampage!

[Nuit pauses to spit a couple times to his side.]

MN: Isn't there anything you can do?

[The make-up tech's now pissed, as can be seen by the hands-on-the-hips
posture. Now that's fierce!]

MN: Please? P... Pretty... pretty please?

[The make-up woman shakes her head and sticks a finger in Nuit's
chest.]

MUW: Ya think ya can make fun o'me like that? I hope ya lose, ya bum!

[Well, she storms off! Nuit turns around, showing his bent nose
courtesy
of the Daniel Kidd attack last week. He wears one of those clear
protective masks ala the NBA. He's wearing his wrestling gear and his
"UH..." hoodie, of course. Nuit throws his hands up in the air, looking
dejected as he plops himself down in the make-up chair.]

MN: Man... What a week...

[Nuit shakes his head as he idly fumbles around with things on the
table
in front of him.]

MN: It's not like I, you know... Insulted that, uh... That, uh... guy.
Kidd. Man...

[Nuit raspberries.]

MN: When I heard his name, too, I thought it was Alex Kidd. Man, that
would've great! Man! Man! Wow! That would've been! Phew!

[Nuit nods.]

MN: I mean, well, you know... It'd still suck to get punched in the
face
and get a rib cracked by him, but... Well, would be better than...
Secondary Kidd. He's not even THE Alex Kidd, just some... Kidd...

[Nuit plops his head on his hand and stares out past the camera.]

MN: I... I mean... Went all that way to emulate Scott Daniels, the
champion, you know... Wanted to hear what he thought, too. But that...
That... "Kidd" ruined it before Scott Daniels could say how proud he
was
of the whole thing! Been so bummed...

[Nuit shakes his head slightly.]

MN: Just look at me - wearing this mask, nose all, uh... you know. My
ribs hurt still too... And geez, I'm here talking to myself!

[Nuit looks around, hoping to trap - err, catch someone so that he's
not
just talking to himself, but alas... no dice.]

MN: Man...

[Nuit plops his head down again.]

MN: I should be excited, you know. Big title match... Big, big, big,
big,
big title match. Not even just a title match, it's a tournament match.
It's a tournament title match. It's not even just a tournament title
match, it's a Cruiserweight Invitational Tournament title match!

[Nuit nods, though not with his usual gusto.]

MN: Heck, it's not even just a Cruiserweight Invitational Tournament
title match - it's a Cruiserweight Invitational Tournament first SNR
Unified Television title match. No, it's not even that! It's a
Cruiserweight Invitational Tournament first SNR Unified Television
title
match against former UWF Cruiserweight champion, former UWF World Tag
Team champion, former EMWC World Tag Team champion, former MBC World
Heavyweight Championship and Road to the Gold runner-up Chris O'Brien.
That's like, you know...

[Nuit's mouth is agape, but nothing's coming out.]

MN: ...

[His mouth is still open, his hands kind of waving around in the air
looking for the right word.]

MN: ...

[By the looks of Nuit's eyes, it seems like the word's coming... or
he's
just running out of breath.]

MN: BIG!

[Surprise.]

MN: And, well, you know... I've been preparing and all. I mean, I'm
hurt,
yeah... But, uh... You know, been listening to some Beastie Boys.
Watched, uh... Animal House and PCU and, well, Van Wilder too. You
know,
to get in the head of that COB.

[Nuit sort of smiles.]

MN: Heh... COB... Heh...

[Nuit laughs a little bit.]

MN: Get it? See, "COB"? You know, like "that COB!" You know? You-

[Nuit looks around again and sees no one's around him to share his
high-larious joke and gets a dejected look once again.]

MN: Dang... I miss Meltdown...

[Nuit turns in the chair and starts fiddling around with the make-up on
the table as the shot cuts out.

The camera opens on a simple, normal scene.

Well...ok, not quite normal.

For it's "The Drunken Icon" Chris O'Brien.

And he's armed.

With a guitar.

O'Brien sits on a barstool, alone in the shot. He's in front of a
generic UWF backdrop...you know, black fabric, green logo just
attempting
to smack you in the nose with its fist, being all like "POW! UWF, RIGHT
IN OUR FACE!" But someone failing miserably, like Sam Steely picking up
any girl who's not Tara Reid.

The Fraternity Boy is wearing blue jeans and a black Pittsburgh
Penguins
hockey jersey. Old school Penguins, with "PITTSBURGH" written down the
front, diagonally, in yellow letters.

Oh, and there is a number on the back.

#66.

Mario freakin' Lemieux.

Recognize]

COB: Ahem. Hello, everyone. Today, I'm going to try something a little
different.

You see, my tag team partner and I were supposed to be here today to do

a
duet. Yes, a duet. Involving singing. And guitars.

And no, I say again, he's not gay. Believe me, seeing who he's saying
right now, I kind of wish he was.

Anyway, the two of us had a song planned for everyone today. We sat
down
last week, once we heard that I would have the honor and the privilege
of
taking on Marcus Nuit in the Cruiserweigh tournament. AND, I heard,
that
there would be a belt on the line.

So, after sitting through the standard Donna Tetreault whining about
how
I'm getting another title shot, and having to talk Brian down and
explain
to him that I'm sure he'd get one too some point, the two of us decided
to sit down and pen a song. You know, do something together. We got a
whole bunch of gin, locked ourselves in a hotel room somewhere in
downtown Tulsa, and set to writing.

And, let me tell you, this song as a masterpiece. It took Marcus Nuit
and burned him down. And while we were at it...

Scott Daniels? Yeah, told him a thing or two.

Victor Frost? Said he was a pansy.

Serge Annis? Well, we didn't say anything about him because we like
being...you know, not on fire.

Trey DeMann? He got an entire VERSE written in his honor discussing the
time he shot a man in Memphis just to watch him die...but got
distracted
by a cute girl, and missed it.

We write this kickass song...and then Donna calls Brian up on his cel
phone. Something about "Stephanie" and "blind stipulation" and how "she
couldn't be alone right now." So, off he goes to Milwaukee to comfort
her. And right now, I'm sure he's comforting her and telling her
everything will be alright. Sheesh. If she would just grow a pair
already...

Anyway, so I'm out a singing partner. Keith Marshall would normally be
here, ready to give me a hand, but there's a small legal problem, in
that
Brian McKenzie isn't allowed to drive a car in the state of
Iowa...or...fly IN a plane in the state of Illinois. So, Keith had to
give him a ride.

Which leaves me. Singing...this song.

About hockey.

Specifically, opening night. Penguins vs. the New Jersey Devils.

Hope you enjoy it.

[O'Brien plucks at his guitar for a second, and then looks back at the
camera]

COB: Sorry, Marcus. Wish I could have said what I wanted to say about
you...but I think you, me, and the youth organization involved are
better
off for it not happening.

Ahem.

[O'Brien starts to strum the guitar, and begins to sing...and it's not
THAT bad...]

# Lemieux's too old, Crosby's too young #
# And on the road, we smell like dung #
# Our nachos give you lethal gas #
# But even so we'll kick your ass! #

# We'll kick your ass you Devil scum #
# We'll kick your ass and leave you hung #
# We'll drink to you when the Cup is passed #
# You Devil scum, we'll kick your ass #

# Recchi's too old, LeClair's too slow #
# And when it's cold, and when it snows #
# Gonchar will pull his groin a bunch #
# But even so, we'll eat your lunch #

# We'll eat your lunch, you Devil scum #
# We'll eat your lunch, and leave you hung #
# No points to you, and checks a bunch #
# You Devil scum, we'll eat your lunch #

# Our defense sucks, Thibault is nuts #
# All our fans, are drunks and sluts #
(We love the sluts!)
# We skate too slow, we pass too fast #
# But even so we'll kick your ass! #

# We'll kick your ass you Devil scum #
# We'll kick your ass and leave you hung #
# We'll drink to you when the Cup is passed #
# You Devil scum, we'll kick your ass #
# You Devil scum, we'll kick your ass #
# You Devil scum, we'll kick your ass #
# You Devil scum, we'll kick your ass #

[O'Brien finishes his song...and looks into the camera with a wide
grin]

COB: God, I missed hockey.

Welcome back.

Let's go Pens.

[Fade.]
____ ___ __ _____________
| | \/ \ / \_ _____/
S | | /\ \/\/ /| __) SATURDAY NIGHT RAMPAGE
N | | / \ / | \.........................
R |______/ \__/\ / \___ / Writer: Mike Sonby
\/ \/

CRUISERWEIGHT INVITATIONAL FIRST ROUND MATCH
FOR THE UNIFIED TELEVISION CHAMPIONSHIP:
Marcus Nuit[c] versus "The Drunken Icon" Chris O'Brien
......................................................

DH: This next bout is one fall, with a twenty minute time limit, and is
for the both the Unified Television Title AND is a Cruiserweight
tournament match!

[Cheers from the crowd!]

DH: Introducing first, the challenger. Hailing from Pittsburgh, PA,
here
is one-half of the Fraternity Boys... CHRIS O'BRIEN!

[Up on the Unitron an image appears, an image that sends fear into the
hearts of normal people and religious right members everywhere. Yep,
it's Jessie and James, Pokemon's Team Rocket.]

Jessie: Prepare for trouble!

James: And make it double...

["Yeeeeeeeeah!"

Da-DUNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN... "KICK IT!"]

SS: Does that entrance seem dated to either of you?

["Fight For Your Right" by the Beastie Boys kicks in full force as the
fans all leap to their feet, especially the drunken mass of humanity
known as the Greeks. From the back, to a loud face pop, walks Chris
O'Brien. He grins and hi-fives fans as he heads down the aisle to the
ring, and slides under the ropes to stand in the ring.]

DH: And his opponent... From Dover, Delaware, he is the current Unified
Television Champion...

MAAAAAAAAAAAAAARCUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUS
NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNUUUUUUUUUIIIIIIIIIT!

[A Breed Apart's "I Hate" plays over the PA as the crowd responds with
a
good sized cheer for the Unified Television Champion coming out of the
entrance. Nuit wears his usual black & red shorts, black & red boots
and
shin guards as well as his "UH..." hoodie. In addition, he holds the
glimmering Unified TV Title on his shoulder and wears a protective mask
over his broken nose. As he approaches the ring, Nuit holds up his
title
proudly for another pop from the crowd before climbing up to the ring.
Once in, he carefully hands his precious title over to the ref -
instructing him to be "very careful" with it. Turning to his corner,
Nuit
takes off his hoodie, revealing his taped up abdomen for all to see.]

AM: Here comes the champion, still recovering from his injuries.

SS: Yeah- he might as well wear a giant sign reading 'Hit Me Here.
Often.'

[Nuit hands the title over, then walks over to O'Brien. He offers his
hand, and O'Brien shakes it. Both take a quick look around, expecting a
Pearl Harbor assault. But none is forthcoming, and they get ready for
the match.

They lock up, and O'Brien grabs Nuit in a headlock. Nuit hoists him up
for an atomic drop, but O'Brien flips back over to land on his feet
behind Nuit. O'Brien smashes a forearm across the back of Nuit's head,
then grabs him in a sleeper hold. Nuit reaches down, trips up O'Brien,
and twists into a spinning toehold. O'Brien kicks Nuit off, and Nuit
hits the ropes, rebounds, and turns into a handspring elbowdrop onto
O'Brien!]

DR: Nuit with an early advantage... bodylsam by Nuit! An early cover
only gets a one count.

AM: Nuit is probably the better scientific wrestler, but O'Brien is the
better brawler.

SS: Hey! A chair upside the head can be pretty scientific! You have
force, momentum, calculations... I'll bet all of these things go
through
O'Brien's head as a steel chair goes through the skull of Nuit.

DR: He hasn't attacked Nuit with a chair, Sam.

SS: But he should...

[As Amy groans, Nuit picks up O'Brien and whips him to the corner, the
follows up with a running Stinger Splash... that misses! O'Brien dives
out of the way, and Nuit hits the turnbuckle. O'Brien grabs Nuit and
delivers a sidewalk slam, then kneedrops him and covers for a one
count.
O'Brien throws Nuit between the ropes and outside the ring, then rolls
out of the ring as Nuit rolls back inside.]

AM: Smart thinking by Nuit. Outside the ring is O'Brien's territory.

SS: Why? Is there a still nearby?

[O'Brien shrugs and re-enters the ring, only to be rolled up into a
small
package!

1...

2...

KICKOUT!

Both men get to their feet, and O'Brien goes for a clothesline. Nuit
ducks and grabs O'Brien in a backslide...

1...

2...

KICKOUT!

Nuit rushes to the ropes and rebounds off for a high-cross
bodyblock...]

DR: O'Brien spins into a powerslam! He covers Nuit...

1...

2...

KICKOUT!

[O'Brien picks up Nuit and drops him with a standing Rocker Dropper,
then
throws him outside the ring. He rolls out of the ring and starts to
pick
up Nuit, but Nuit shoves him and re-enters the ring.]

DR: Again, O'Brien trying to take things outside, and Nuit fighting to
remain inside the ring.

[O'Brien shrugs and rolls under the ropes. As he stands up, Nuit
bounces
off the ropes and nails O'Brien with a flying forearm! He grabs O'Brien
and picks him up, then takes him over with a butterfly suplex.]

SS: Strange that such a painful move is called a 'butterfly'.

DR: Nuit must think it works- he just hit O'Brien with it again!

[Nuit rolls O'Brien over and covers...

1...

2...

KICKOUT!

Nuit seems to have trouble getting off the mat, clutching his abdomen
as
he sits up.]

DR: I think may have reinjured his ribs with that last suplex.

[Thought injured, Nuit does roll over and get to his feet first. He
grabs O'Brien in a front facelock... O'Brien picks up Nuit, spins
around...]

AM: SPINEBUSTER! O'Brien taking advantage of Nuit's injuries. He drops
an elbow and covers him...

1...

2...

KICKOUT!

[O'Brien picks up Nuit and slams him to the mat, then throws him under
the bottom rope to the outside. He starts to rolls outside as Nuit
dives
under the ropes back into the ring...

... only to be caught by O'Brien, who faked going out and now drives a
knee into the injured ribs of Nuit.]

SS: Holy cow?! O'Brien actually used strategy and thought? Check the
sports pages and see if the Cubs won a World Series.

[O'Brien picks up Nuit and whips him to the corner. As Nuit stumbles
out, O'Brien backdrops him to the mat, then covers...

1...

2...

KICKOUT!

O'Brien picks up Nuit and carries him to the top rope. He starts
climbing up the corner... and is shoved off by Nuit! As O'Brien gets
back to his feet, Nuit leaps off and delivers a dropkick to the rising
O'Brien! Nuit rolls over and hooks the leg...

1...

2...

KICKOUT!]

AM: Now Nuit have gotten his second wind! This match has been back and
forth!

[Nuit picks up O'Brien for a bodyslam, then runs over to the ropes. He
bounces off the ropes and goes for a fistdrop...]

DR: MISSED! O'Brien rolled out of the way. Now Chris O'Brien hops up
to the top turnbuckle, leaps off for a top-rope legdrop...

AM: MISSED! Marcus Nuit moved out of the way. Nuit now climbs up to
the top rope, leaps off...

DR: MISSED! Marcus Nuit hits the mat hard with an elbowdrop, and he's
in pain. Chris O'Brien gets up, points to the top turnbuckle, and
starts
climbing. He signals for the Ugliest Damn Moonsault in the Game! Here
it comes...

AM: MISSED! Both men are on the mat, rolling around in pain.

SS: Geez- two more misses and they could play cleanup for the
Pittsburgh
Pirates.

[Both men slowly get up, Nuit clutch his already injured ribs and
O'Brien
favoring one leg. O'Brien goes for a short-arm clothesline, but Nuit
ducks underneath. As O'Brien spins around, Nuit lashes out with a
boot...]

DR: CAUGHT by O'Brien!

AM: Enzuigiri by Nuit!

[O'Brien topples to the mat and Nuit covers...

1...

2...

KICKOUT!

Nuit picks up O'Brien and whips him to the corner, then heads to the
corner himself. Grabbing O'Brien in a headlock, Nuit leaps forward and
bulldogs him to the mat. He rolls over O'Brien and covers again...

1...

2...

KICKOUT!]

SS: Classic mistake. Thinking anything that could damage O'Brien's
brain could be effective.

[Nuit picks up O'Brien and whips him to the corner. O'Brien hops up to
the second rope, leaps off, and...]

DR: They collided! O'Brien leapt off for a flying forearm, but he and
Nuit knocked heads together, and both are on the mat.

AM: They might both be knocked out at this point.

SS: And ain't that a shame?

[The referee starts a double count. He gets to five before O'Brien
starts to stir, and six before Nuit sits up. Both men get to their feet
before eight, and O'Brien grabs Nuit. He whips Nuit to the ropes and
bends down for a backdrop. Nuit hits the ropes, but stops, grabs
O'Brien
in a front facelock...]

AM: FALCON ARROW! Here's the cover!

1...

2...

[O'Brien kicks out...]

3!

[... a moment too late. The bell rings, and "I Hate" comes over the PA
system to a wave of cheers!]

DH: Here is your winner, and advancing into the second round of the
cruiserweight tournament...

MAAAAAAAAAAAARCUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUS NUUUUUUUUUIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT!

[Nuit rises to his feet as the belt is presented to him quickly, and
after a few moments he extends a hand to O'Brien, who slowly accepts it
and climbs to his feet. The crowd pops huge as the two men shake hands,
and COB leaves the ring to allow Nuit his moment in the sun.]

SS: Blegh, that makes me sick.

AM: What, the handshake or Marcus with a championship belt?

SS: Do I have to choose?

"You wanted to see me, boss?"

[The deep baritone of "The Walking Contradiction" welcomes us to the
office of Becky Byers, who awaits our hero behind her desk, arms
crossed
with a sour look on her lovely face. As Sabbath realizes this will most
likely not be a social call, he winces as he takes the seat offered by
Becky.]

BB: Michael... I'd like to think that we're friends, right? I mean,
we've always gotten on well, and you helped us a great deal during the
NEW ERA... right?

[Unsure of where Byers is going with this, Sabbath nods.]

BB: Why, then, for the love of all things holy, are you trying to make
my
life miserable?!

[The former Rampage champion lifts an eyebrow, a little confused.]

Sabbath: I'm not sure I follow?

BB: Michael, I really hate lawyers... you know that? They just... they
won't leave me alone! And ever since you found in your infinite wisdom
to bounce Victor Frost's skull off the concrete at Rampage, it's been
oen
meeting after another! Lawyers wanting to go over what responsibilities
the UWF had in this act... lawyers claiming to represent Victor Frost
for
his pain and suffering... YOUR lawyer even came to see me, for God's
sake!

[Sabbath tries to interrupt, but Becky's already got a good head of
steam
here...]

BB: Look, I don't like Victor any more than you do. But he's one of my
employees, and while I know accidents happen in this business, what
happened out there was NOT an accident. It was an act of pure malice,
done outside the confines of a wrestling match, and quite frankly, I'm
surprised you would push things that far!

[Becky pauses to catch her breath, giving Sabbath an opportunity to
jump
in.]

Sabbath: Well... Becky, I'm sorry.... I got a little carried awa...

BB: A LITTLE?! A little carried away? You left Frost lying in a pool
of his own blood... we're just lucky that it wasn't as bad as it
could've
been! I spoke with our physician, and she was surprised that Frost just
got away with stitches and a small concussion! He could've bled out
inside his skull... he could've suffered brain damage....

[Trying to defuse, the situation, Sabby interjects.]

Sabbath: Could we really tell the different?

[He instantly regrets this, as Becky is obviously not amused.]

BB: Not funny. Look, I like you. You're a good employee, you do what
you're told, you NORMALLY don't make my job any harder, but... that
doesn't change the fact that you went way too far last week! You saw
Victor Frost earlier... I'm just surprised he hasn't come in here yet
ranting and raving! You realize that when he does, I'm gonna be stuck
here listening to him bitch for forty five minutes?!?

[The Contradiction shrinks back in his chair as much as his 6'6" frame
will allow, having never faced Becky's wrath personally before.]

Sabbath: Sorry, Beck.

[Byers sighs, laying her head in her hands.]

BB: It's okay... I just needed to get that out. The last few weeks up
to
a Pay Per View are stressful enough without any additional work on my
plate, you know?

[Sabby smiles weakly, nodding.]

BB: But I can't have you two running around killing each other... that
won't do. So I'm making it official... Frost vs. Sabbath at Gold Rush!

[The fans in the arena pop like mad upon this announcement.]

BB: Work out your differences there... at least in the confines of a
match if either of you gets brain damage I'll only have half as much
paperwork to deal with.

[His resolve a little firmer, Sabbath smiles even wider upon this
news.]

Sabbath: You got it.

[Sabby rises, shoving his chair out from beneath him, but as he turns
to
leave, he looks back at Becky.]

Sabbath: Although, and I want you to be honest here...

[A harried looking Becky meets Sabbath's gaze with a "What now"
expression.]

Sabbath: ... tell me that wasn't hilarious... him and Roxy with their
heads shaved.

[Sabby winks at Becky as he steps out the door, the camera lingering on
it for a moment before swinging back to the bosslady, who is actually
chuckling under her breath.]

BB: Yeah.... that was good... that was really good. As a matter of
fact,
that picture just might be worth framing.

[And back to the holy trinity we go!]

SS: That's not right, that's just not right to laugh at someone for
their
misfortune.

AM: The only misfortune is the one that everybody here shares for
having
known Victor Frost at all.

[Backstage. The small locker room is dark. The Long Hauler sighs,
hanging his head almost despondently. He drapes a blood stained towel
over his shoulder and cradles his head in his hands; taking great care
to
remember to breath]

FJD (VO): It happened again Gregory. And you have _no_ idea how
disappointed I am. How many years have I stood by you? And for what?
To see failure after failure after failure. And now Gregory I give you
a
gift. I pay for your faults with my tears, with my blood, with my
soul...

[Embrey exhales slowly, tipping his head backwards to stare at the
ceiling. His face is obscured by shadows and after a moment his head
falls forward and he spits onto the floor]

... a gift, a sacrifice that you squandered. Another opportunity that
slipped through your weak fingers. And now Gregory someone must pay for
that failure.

[The camera moves to capture the Long Hauler's silhouette. He lays his
face in his hands, shoulders beginning to heave. Broken, he cries]

You _Gregory_ must pay for your failure.

[The camera fades to blackness]

A (VO): In the darkness there is only one price asked. Only one
currency accepted. Blood, Gregory. First my blood. And now yours. And
when you bled your last drop. When your debt to me, to my darkness has
been paid. Then Gregory...

[a dark, malevolent giggle is heard and the camera fades back in. No
longer are we in Embrey's locker room. But instead in a small basement.
A creature's lair. An androgynous figure hangs from a crucifix on the
back wall of the basement. And beneath the cross sits Samantha Palmer.
Farmer Johnson's Daughter. Forevermore known as Angst.

She smiles darkly, eyes smoldering from beneath her black cowboy hat.
And her slender fingers trail up and down the heavy rosary that dangles
from her neck]

... then I will take your soul.

[she smiles, tongue dragging slowly over her dark lips]

A: You've felt the tug already, haven't you? The constant feeling that
_something_ is missing. But Gregory, my dear _dear_ Gregory that is
simply the beginning. Simply a hint of the pain, the loss, the utter
despair that is to come.

[rises from her sitting position]

I've felt it for so long, Gregory. Deep inside me. I tried to resist.
To avoid the darkness and the fate that waited for me. But I grew
tired.
Tired of resisting and of fighting. And in the end, my will broke and I
succumb. Succumb to the darkness. To becoming something _better_ than I
was before. And soon, so very, very soon. You will succumb as well.

[blows a "kiss" to the camera, though it is far from romantic. The kiss
of death, perhaps]

A: And when you've succumbed Gregory. Then the darkness will spread.
And in the end, every person, every soul _will_ belong to me.

[Fin.]

AM: What the hell was that?

SS: Trouble a brewin'.

[Unlike when we last saw her, as the almost-victim of an apparent
vehicular assault on Meltdown, Angel is dressed for action tonight: her
flame-decorated black tights continue up her body seamlessly until they
fade into a dark purple halter top somewhere underneath her
ever-present
black hooded cloak and silver brooch. As she adjusts her crimson
elbow-length gloves, Moe Owens catches up with her for a quick update.]

MO: So what happened after you and Sonya left on Meldtown?

ANGEL: Unfortunately, nothing.

MO: Nothing? Wait, unfortunately?

ANGEL: Yes, and yes. My description and the scant evidence available
were
neither enough to officially charge Sonya nor even hold her. For her
part, she wasn't able to prove that she wasn't responsible, but
individuials in this country are still innocent until proven guily. In
other words, she got away with it. Again. Of course, she didn't
actually
get a chance to do anything this time, but the intent was there.

MO: All right then. Moving on, how do you feel about your chance
tonight
at Sierra Browne's title?

ANGEL: Well, I'd be lying if I said I haven't been waiting for this
opportunity for some time. On the other hand, my attention has been
more
focused on exposing Sonya for what she truly is and not on persuing the
Women's Championship. Given Sonya's current mental state, I'm not sure
if
I can afford to let myself become distracted by the burden of being
Women's Champion.

MO: Are you declining the match?

ANGEL: Of course not. Opportunities like these don't arise often, and
I'd
like to make my mark when I can. The last time I had a chance at that
belt Leslie and I used it to make a statement; that seems like such a
long time ago, now. This time will be different. This time the
statement
that will be made will be made by myself alone.

MO: Speaking of alone... where's Vyolynce? Or maybe even the Romanis,
given Sierra's ties to the Prophets of Rage?

ANGEL: Remaining in the locker room, much to their disapproval. Don't
think for a second that they didn't want to be out there watching my
back. But Sabbat Justice isn't what it once was, Moe. As much as
certain
people refuse to believe it, we have gone our individual ways for now.
Besides, if Sierra is truly the champion she claims to be, then she
should be able to handle me on her own. Things are not always as they
seem around here, but we shall soon discover whether or not "The Show"
is
indeed worthy of
her spotlight.

[Angel ends the interview by raising her hood and stepping away from
Moe,
heading for the gorilla position and awaiting her entrance.]
____ ___ __ _____________
| | \/ \ / \_ _____/
S | | /\ \/\/ /| __) SATURDAY NIGHT RAMPAGE
N | | / \ / | \.........................
R |______/ \__/\ / \___ / Writer:
\/ \/

FOR THE WOMEN'S HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP:
"The Show" Sierra Browne[c] versus Angel
......................................................

DH: The following contest is scheduled for one fall, and is for the
Women's Heavyweight Championship! Introducing first...

[The Unitron flashes to life. Gold script scrawls across the black
background. A Show production. Sierra Browne presents ... the Truth!

The image shifts to backstage. A red telltale REC glows at the bottom
of
the screen. This is a live feed from Indigo's ever present video
camera.
She focusses in on the Women's Champion, the dominant woman in the
company, Sierra Browne. The champion's anger is displayed in digital
clarity. See, sometimes Angel wears a mask to demonstrate that she's
serious and intense. Sierra Browne needs no such conceit. She needs
help in demonstrating that she is angry, brooding and intense. Her face
is frozen. No trace of a smile threatens to crease her lips. There is
no mischievous hint of sensuality in her dark eyes. There is only
darkness. There is only intensity. The muscles of her neck stand out in
high relief.]

SB: UWF, I'm sorry that your women's division is such a disappointment.
Gold Rush, the biggest event of the year, is coming up and the UWF is
just now getting around to trying to figure out who could be the number
one contender. Can you believe that? They are just now deciding who
should face the Truth. I had to go out and challenge Nina Grimmson
herself to face me. The champion had to find a challenger. Offer her a
golden opportunity. And do you know what she said? "I'm not worthy."
I'm trying to be understanding about this, but I hate to see the fans
suffer. I know there's a number of you out there who only come to see
the women's matches. And I know there's precious few places where you
can watch women's matches any more any way. It hurts me as much as it
hurts you. But the UWF is supposed to be the best promotion on Earth.
It is supposed to have the best women's division ever. If that's true
where are the challengers? Why am I concerned that I will not be on the
card at Gold Rush? Why are the women's division fans at risk of not
seeing their champion compete? I'll tell you the truth. It makes me
sick that I'm in this position. I am the most competitive woman on this
roster bar none. I am the woman who every day goes out there and says
that I will be better than my best. It doesn't matter what my body
says.
It doesn't matter what my opponent says. It doesn't matter what anybody
says. I will go out there and be the best. I'm used to that. I am
consumed by that. And I believe that is why everyone out there right
now
appreciates me. And believe me, the admiration is mutual. But I do not
appreciate women who will not work as hard as I do. I cannot tolerate
that. They wanted to get paid to wrestle then they have to be willing
to
break their back. I chased this title. I worked my way through the
ranks. And when I had the chance I beat the holy Hell out of Donna
Tetreault because that is what I had to do to win. And, if I'm at Gold
Rush, I will beat the living Hell out of whoever steps foot in the ring
against me. I'm telling you the Truth. I'm going to make our division
more competitive. And it starts tonight. Saturday Night Rampage, it is
the Truth Sierra Browne versus Angel. Angel does have a nasty streak. I
like that. So let me use her as an example of what it will take to
compete with me in this ring. Donna Tetreault, I hope you're paying
attention. Nina Grimmson, I hope you're paying attention. Tigress,
Leslie, I'm sorry for what I'm about to do to your friend. She's a
brave
warrior. I appreciate that. But tonight she is a lesson. A lesson in
honesty. A lesson in the Truth. Come for my neck, Angel.

[Sierra jerks her thumb at her jugular.]

SB: Come see if you can get me down on the mat. Come see if you can
beat
me up and take my title away. Truth is ... you can't. But the Truth is
you'll try. That's something I appreciate. You and me, tonight, we'll
show the people what competition is. We'll show them what it takes. And
we'll show them that you can't handle the Truth!

[Indigo must have hit stop on the camera because the image freezes on
Sierra's snarling visage. The REC telltale disappears and the Unitron
is
filled with static.]

DH: Introducing first, the champion! From Port-of-Spain, Trinidad,
accompanied to the ring by Indigo Browne...

"THE SSHHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOW" SSSSSSSSSSSSIIIIIEEEERRAAAAAAA
BRRRRRRRROOOOWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWNNNNNNNNNNNE!

[The houselights cut out. As the fans start to rumble in anticipation
gold fireworks explode from the aisleway. Rockets scream up into the
rafters leaving a shower of gold behind them. The big screen brightens
as gold script slowly scrawls its way across the picture. "A Sierra
Browne production ...." "She's a Bitch" kicks in with its bass and
snare
loops. The spotlights hit the stage and there stands Sierra, head held
high, arms thrown up and legs crossed. Behind her, her sister Indigo
begins filming her and the screen cuts to the images captured by
Indigo's
videocamera as Sierra strides to the ring, cocky, arrogant, confident.
She barely acknowledges the fans as she makes her way to the ring,
showing them an athletic display as she springs up to the apron and
then
over the top rope in two nimble leaps. She twirls for the crowd, egging
on their cheers and jeers before she retreats to her corner to await
her
opponent and hands the title to the ringside attendant.]

DH: And her opponent! From parts unknown, weighing in at one hundred
and
twenty-eight pounds...

AAAAAAAAAAANGEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELLLLLLLLLLLLLL!

[A low roll of thunder rumbles over the arena's speakers, accompanied
by
a brief strobe effect and the dry, creaking voice of an ancient crone.]

# With every breath, the air grows stale #
# Deathly cold winds howl and wail #
# Raging thunder pounds like drums #
# When something wicked this way comes #

[She breaks into a fit of disquieting cackling as the thunder gives way
to Matthew Sweet's "Dark Secret." Angel heads down the aisle to the
ring
and after reaching the ring, removes her robe and hood. Sierra attacks
before she can step into the ring though, and the champion drags Angel
through the ropes by the hair, swinging her around and hitting a
sidewalk
slam into the middle of the ring.]

DR: Good lord, Sierra's not wasting any time tonight!

AM: She's trying to make a statement I guess, to be as vicious as she
possibly can.

[Angel sits up, and Browne grabs her and yanks her to a standing
position, then starts to fire off kicks to the shoulder and repeated
elbow strikes to Angel. Angel manages to block a couple of them and
sweeps Browne's legs out from under her though, and a solid knee to the
side of the head rings the champion's bell and leaves her dazed and on
her knees.

Angel grabs her and tries for a swinging neckbreaker but Sierra
counters
with a rollup into a small package off the ropes, and Angel kicks out
before even a one count is registered.]

DR: Both women returning to their feet, uppercut by Sierra though
knocks
Angel into the corner. Charging splash- but a sharp elbow from Angel
stops the champion in her tracks!

SS: Get right in there Indigo, she's ready for her close-up.

[Angel grabs Sierra and hooks her with a front facelock, climbs up onto
the second rope and begins to use forearms across the back of Sierra's
neck, weakening her despite Browne's attempts to escape. Angel starts
to
lift Sierra up off the mat into a superbomb, but a punch to the stomach
and Sierra executes a devastating bridging suplex off the ropes to the
mat instead! HUGE POP!

Sierra holds Angel down for the cover.

1!

2!

Kickout!

Angel fights to sit up, and Sierra drags her to a standing position and
hooks Angel by the arms, stretching them and trying to weaken the
challenger.]

DR: Angel with a reversal, knee lift on Sierra, irish whip into the
ropes. Clothesline on Sierra Browne!

SS: Don't film this! Don't film this!

AM: You're an idiot.

[Angel grabs Sierra again and sets up for a piledriver, but Sierra
fights
out of it and manages to reverse an irish whip to send Angel in. Off
the
rebound Browne catches her with a hiptoss, turning the move into a
modified shoulderbreaker in the process and leaving Angel clutching and
grabbing at her arm in agony. Pouncing on her again immediately, Sierra
brings Angel up and hits an armdrag takeover into a single arm DDT, and
hooks a leg for the cover next.

1!

2!

Kickout!]

AM: Another close call for Angel, and Sierra wraps her arms around her
throat.

[Sierra clamps on a chinlock and soon wraps her legs around her
opponent's midsection to completely clamp down on her. Angel struggles
to get to the side of the ring and eventually makes it there, slowly
lifting herself up to a standing position with Sierra hanging on her
back
and soon the former Fury member rams Sierra spine-first into the
turnbuckles until she loses her grasp, at which point Angel throws a
pair
of back elbows into Browne's face to soften her up and then surprises
the
champion with a snapmare into a knee to the base of her neck.

Angel tries to apply a surfboard but her arm won't allow her to hold it
for long, so instead she applies a half abdominal stretch and rolls it
backwards into a pin attempt...

1!

2!

KICKOUT! Sierra gets up on her knees and buries a fist into Angel's
stomach, but a kick in return leaves the champion just as dazed as
before.]

AM: Angel's not about to give up as long as she's got a breath left in
her...

DR: Kick blocked by Sierra, Angel knocked into the ropes- Uppercut!
Tilt-a-whirl slam off the ropes by Sierra Browne, Angel right back to
her
knees though. Closed fist to Sierra! Sierra fires back with one to
Angel!

[The two wrestlers, each on their knees and firing away on the other,
and
a headbutt from Sierra leaves Angel reeling. Browne gets to her feet
first and a double underhook lets her lift Angel straight up into the
air...

...and somehow Angel responds with a redirection that drives Sierra
over
and onto the back of her neck! Shocked heel pop! Angel struggles to
roll Sierra over, and throws an arm across her body.

1!

2!

Shoulder up!]

DR: Another near fall! Angel is so close to the title now she can
almost
sense it, and Sierra Browne in real danger here of giving up her hold
on
the gold!

AM: Well luckily if there's some dispute as to a pinfall, I'm sure
Indigo
will be able to give us the instant replay.

[Angel sits up first, her shoulder still throbbing as she tries to
apply
a front crossface-style hold but again is unable to hold her grip. She
rises up and Sierra follows her with a shoulder thrust that takes her
into the corner, and then Browne tries a cross-corner whip only to
crank
the damaged arm and whiplash it, stopping Angel dead in her tracks.

Sierra spins around, grabs Angel with a 3/4 neckbreaker and drops to
her
knees, the impact of the ace crusher allowing her to rebound right back
to her feet and delivers a second ace crusher! On the second one she
releases, but again pops up after landing on her knees...

And catches Angel in the jaw with a superkick!]

AM: OH MY GOD, A DOUBLE SIERRA SLICE!

DR: Followed up by the Truth, and Sierra hooks the leg!

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

[The bell rings, and Sierra's music hits the speakers as she rolls to
her
feet, battle-weary as Indigo captures her celebration, leaning on the
ropes with an arm raised over her head. Angel begins to drag herself to
the far side of the ring with the help of the ropes too.]

DH: Here is your winner, AND STILL CHAMPION...

SSSSSSSSSSIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEERRAAAAAAAAAAAAA BRRRRRROOOOOOWWWWWWWWNNNE!

[Sierra rolls from the ring, with a rather big smile crossing her face
as
Indigo hands her the championship belt. As she heads up the aisle,
leaving Angel to slowly sit up and stare back at her, Indigo films the
Show's every action.]

DR: What a devastating match that was, Angel wasn't holding anything
back
in there and Sierra was as on her game as ever.

SS: Yeah, and now she's got a taste for meat. Mockingbird,
specifically.

AM: Angel gave it her all in here, you have to hand it to her. But the
rebound on that pair of Slices had to be murder on her neck.

DR: We'll be back in a few minutes.

[The screen cuts to the backstage area, in one of the many connecting
corridors that connect the locker rooms together. And walking down said
corridor is Miss. Kari Stevens, walking side by side with the World
Heavyweight champion, Scott "Hotspot" Daniels. The champ is dressed to
compete in his black Pride bike trunks, with the World Heavyweight
Title
wrapped snugly around his waist. The two are speaking to one another as
they walk, apparently going over some strategy for the night.]

SD: ... so it's all set? You went over it with Dan?

KS: All taken care of Scott.

SD: Excellent. This is going to be a good night for Pride.

[The duo stop as they approach a locker room door. The Pride logo is
obnoxiously plastered on the door in big red lettering, something no
one
could miss. Daniels reaches out to open the door.]

KS: Every night is a good night for Pride, Scott.

SD: So true.

[Hotspot smirks and opens the door to the locker room. Inside, we see
the
newest version of The Pride, as Dan Kidd is standing by the door,
stretching out his limbs. Derek Martin comes out of the change room,
making some final adjustments to his knee pads. "Hellraiser" Tom Landis
is sitting on one of several black leather chairs. They all glance over
to their ringleader as he enters.]

SD: All right guys, let's move it. It's time.

TL: Where are we going?

SD: Our ring awaits us Tom.

[Dan Kidd smirks.]

DK: Our ring.

[The World Champ turns, nodding at his friend.]

SD: Feels good to keep saying that, after all these years doesn't it?

DK: Hell yeah.

[And with that, Dan turns and heads out the door as Landis and Martin
follow suit. Landis sports an equally cocky smirk, much like Kidd and
Daniels. He high fives Scott as he walks by. Derek Martin appears to be
the only one who doesn't appear to be in a jovial mood. As he walks by
Scott, "Hotspot" reaches out and stops "Dead End". Derek shoots Scott a
stare, and the smirk disappears from Scott's face.]

SD: Look. You know what I think about this thing between you and Brett,
and that it is strictly between yourselves.

DM: You keep saying this all the time, Scott. Do you need to keep
repeating it?

[Daniels runs his eyes over his fellow Pridesman.]

SD: You know what Derek? I kind of feel that I do. All I'm asking
Derek,
is that you be careful on this. Brett Greene is a dangerous man.

DM: Scott, you best remember... you were the one who told me I could
trust Brett Greene. And you know the rest of the story, don't you?

[Daniels and Martin glare one another in the eyes...]

SD: I'm getting a little tired of hearing that.

[The two continue the stare down, as Martin slowly steps out into the
hallway. Scott Daniels glares at him and shuts the door. He mutters
under
his breath.]

SD: Just watch yourself Derek...

[Cut back to the arena, which is all of a sudden buzzing and going
crazy!]

DR: We've got to take a break but Angel has just been assaulted by
Sonya
Benedict as she was trying to return to the locker room!

[We focus in on the aisleway as Sonya is repeatedly drilling Angel with
shots to the head and pushing her back towards the ringside area. Angel
fires back with a kneelift and then tries to send Sonya into the
ringpost, but Benedict reverses it and Angel is the one who collides,
and
as she leans for support against the ring Sonya rolls her back in there
and climbs in after her with a series of stomps to the head.]

AM: These two have been trading barbs back and forth for weeks now, and
they reached the boiling point after Meltdown this week!

SS: But why the hell did she wait until after the match to attack?

AM: I guess at this point, she didn't want to do Angel any favors and
give her a disqualification win over Sierra!

DR: Well we've got security headed to the ring right now, but it's
going
to take a lot to separate these two! We'll be back in a few minutes!

[As security team members begin to swarm the ring, we fade to black.]

[marika]

Cygnia wrote:

> # Your first hit, aren't you ashamed #

the drugs must be working

> # Of the life, of the life, of the life you're livin" #

there's whitespace

>
> [Brett Greene puts Derek Martin down with a Brett Bomb, then a quick
> flash and Martin replies with a Dead End on Greene.]

evidence of typos

>
> # I just wanna live #

grammar errors

> # Don't really care about the things that they say #

> # Don't really care about what happens to me #
> # I just wanna live #

even lack of punctuation

mk5000

"Now it¹s gone
What¹s in a name, hey?
What¹s in a name, hey?
What¹s in a name?"--green day, fashion victim