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                           American Wrestling Alliance
                                 Proudly Presents
                         AWA Saturday Night Wrestling

                         Live from the WKIK Studios
                                   Dallas, Texas
                                 August 16, 2008
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[As the closing notes to the "Sanford And Son" theme fade into nothing,
the viewing audience is greeted by the sounds of "One More Saturday
Night" by the Grateful Dead.

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

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

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

After a moment, we fade away from the cheaply done intro to the smiling
faces of two men.

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

By his side is... well, somewhat a bit more flashy.  With a mic in one
hand and a glitter covered briefcase in the other, this man is paunchy
to say the least.  He's got a decent sized gut pushing at the buttons on
his lime green dress shirt underneath an eye-burning yellow jacket.  His
black hair is tousled in all directions like he hasn't run a comb
through it in his life.  His teeth appeared to have been whitened
recently... perhaps several times even as he flashes a huge smile.  He's
in his late 30's... he's former manager "Big Bucks" Bucky Wilde.

They're standing in front of a bluish gray standard television studio
set where you can see the AWA logo splashed across the wall above a
small television monitor.  Wilde lifts his glittering briefcase with a
flourish, slapping it down onto a wooden "desk" in front of them as
Myers begins to speak.]

GM:  Good evening, fans, and welcome to another edition of AWA Saturday
Night Wrestling featuring all the stars of the American Wrestling
Alliance, _the_ major league of professional wrestling.  I am Gordon
Myers, your host for the next hour of action, and by my side, as
always...

[Bucky looks expectantly at Gordon who drops his head sadly.]

GM:  ...is the Announcer of the Half Year, Bucky Wilde.

BW:  You know it, daddy!

GM:  We are just two weeks away from The Last Stampede and the tensions
are running high in the AWA locker room.

BW:  That's right.  I was back there earlier tonight and you've got
people looking like they're getting ready for war, Gordo. 

GM:  Well, in fact, ten men are getting ready for war... WarGames: The
Match Beyond, that is.  And those ten men will all be in action here
tonight as they get their first opportunity to show off their teamwork
skills.  

BW:  They're gonna need more than teamwork to survive the double cage
chaos of WarGames: The Match Beyond.

GM:  Fans, earlier this week, you heard the announcement made by the
Championship Committee.  They _demanded_ that Adam Rogers and Mark Shaw
come out here to start the show so the Number One Contender situation
could be addressed.  In just a moment, Stephen Ross will come out here
to join us and-

["Go" by Powder begins to blare over the loudspeakers, and out steps
"Hellion" Mark Shaw.  Shaw is all business as he moves to the ring, not 
stopping, even as hands reach out to clap him on the shoulders and 
back.  As he's not scheduled for action tonight, he wears a long black 
shirt over a pair of jeans.]  

GM:  Well, obviously, Mark Shaw decided not to wait for Mr. Ross to join
us.

[Shaw stops his determined stride only long enough to take hold of a
microphone.  Moving to the center of the ring, Shaw stands there a
moment, looking out over the crowd.  In time, they fall silent to allow
the Hellion to speak.]

MS:    Now, I was supposed to wait to be called out here by Stephen
Ross. I was supposed to sit in the back like a good boy and wait until
Ross got around to makin' me jump for him.

But I can't remember the last time I did what I was supposed to.

[Big cheer for that.]

MS:    So instead of waitin' for someone to tell me what I'm supposed to
do, I  decided I'd come out here and tell Ross and everyone else how
things are gonna be.

So here's how it is, plain and simple.

I am the number one contender.  And I have been for quite some time now.

Rogers didn't beat me.

And so that means the title shot is _mine_.

And that is how its gonna be.

So Ross, you can come out here now, and tell me when I'm getting my shot
at Houston.

[As Shaw speaks his last sentences, Adam Rogers begins making his way to
the ring...no music, no fanfare, just business for the former World
Champion as he climbs into the ring right about when Shaw finishes up.]

GM:  Uh oh.

BW:  Well, this just got interesting.

[Rogers, too, is dressed in his street attire of khaki pants, blue
button-down shirt, and a navy blazer sans tie.  He motions for Shaw to
let him take the microphone, a request that the Hellion complies with.]
 
AR: Now hang on here, Mark...with all due respect...you're not the only
one in the AWA with a title shot.  In fact, I'm the _only_ one with a
guaranteed title shot.  Being the number one contender, that's great and
as far as I'm concerned, it is a spot that you have earned.

[Rogers hold up his index finger.]
 
AR: _But_...I still have the guaranteed title shot, which if you think
logically means that I should be first in line.

[Shaw shakes his head as he raises the mic again.]

MS:    Yeah, that's real nice Rogers.  Real nice.  But it doesn't change
the fact that I am still the number one contender.  You earned a shot,
but that don't mean you're in line in front of me.

When I win the title, I'll be happy to give ya a shot.

[Rogers grins.]
 
AR: Mark, I like your confidence, but I can't say I care much for your
logic.  You already said it...I _earned_ the shot.  My title shot
doesn't come from some committee of guys who are either a has-been or a
never-was writing our names down on paper.  Mine comes from what I did
in the ring, when the stipulations were very, very clear.

[Shaw shakes his head again, this time stepping closer to the former
World Champion.]

MS:    All right then.  As I see it, there's only one way to solve this.

We fight tonight, and the winner gets the shot.

[The crowd roars for that possibility as Rogers nods his head, seemingly
accepting the challenge...

...when suddenly the sounds of the theme to "Halloween" breaks onto the
scene.]

BW:  The Butcher!

GM:  Wait a second, Bucky.  He's got no business being out here!

BW:  You're welcome to let him know that.

[The massive form of Bruno "The Butcher" Verhoeven strides through the
curtain, walking straight towards the ring where Shaw and Rogers are
both looking a bit puzzled.  Verhoeven steps up onto the apron, eyeing
both men before stepping over the ropes into the ring.]

GM:  He's in the ring - this monster from Germany has stepped into the
ring.  I don't understand.  I just don't get this at all.

BW:  Maybe Bruno thinks he should be involved in this discussion of who
should get the shot at the National Title at The Last Stampede, Gordo.

GM:  But why?  He's been impressive since his debut but he has yet to
beat an opponent of championship caliber and in fact, got disqualified
in his match against Ricky Royal that might have put his name into this
debate.

[Bruno stands in the middle of the ring, eyes slowly moving back and
forth between Adam Rogers and Mark Shaw...

...when he suddenly lunges towards one direction, wrapping his massive
paw around the throat of his chosen victim.]

GM:  He's got Rogers!  He's got the Natural around the throat!

[Gasping for air, the Natural tries to fend him off, slapping at the
extended arm of Verhoeven.]

GM:  I don't understand this at all!  What does Bruno Verhoeven have
against Adam Rogers?  Why is he out here going after the former World
Champion?

BW:  You said it all, daddy!  Why wouldn't you go after a guy who is a
former World Champion to try to make a name for yourself?  Bruno's
trying to show the world he means business in there and isn't just
riding his father's name.

GM:  If Otto truly is his father, that is.  We've heard no confirmation
of that, Bucky.

BW:  You calling the Butcher a liar?

[Bruno throws Rogers into the corner with a powerful one-armed hurl,
moving in after him with his fists balled up.]

GM:  Bruno's on the attack in the corner, he winds up...

[And the Hellion moves into action, grabbing the arm of Bruno and
spinning him around...

...and drilling him with a right hand of his own!]

GM:  Yeah!  Mark Shaw just saved Rogers from the attack of Verhoeven and
now he's taking it to the so-called "New Butcher!"

[Verhoeven stumbles back from the assault of Shaw, the repeated right
hands knocking Bruno back towards the ropes.]

GM:  He's got the big German staggered... to the ropes...

[Shaw bounces off the far ropes, rebounding with his arm outstretched
for a clothesline...

...but the clothesline never lands as Shadoe Rage appears out of nowhere
in a headfirst dive near the feet of Bruno, exploding to his feet with a
running Yakuza kick that catches Shaw squarely under the jaw, knocking
him down to the mat!]

GM:  OHHH!  SHADOE RAGE OUT OF NOWHERE!

BW:  Where did he even come from, Gordo?  I didn't even see him until he
was in the ring!

[The unpredictable Shadoe Rage stomps the downed Shaw repeatedly, waving
for the big German to join him...

...and soon, Verhoeven and Rage are working side by side, stomping the
Hellion into the canvas.]

GM:  And now we've got a two on one on Mark Shaw!  This is getting out
of control in a hurry, Bucky.  We need-

[The crowd erupts as Adam Rogers charges across the ring, returning the
favor to Mark Shaw by throwing himself at Shadoe Rage, knocking him back
towards the corner where Rogers throws chop after chop across the
chiseled pectorals of Rage.]

GM:  Rogers is lighting up Shadoe Rage!  He's lighting up the chest of
Shadoe Rage!

[But with his back exposed, Rogers gets caught with a big double
axehandle blow across the back of the head by the Teutonic Terror that
knocks the Natural down to the mat again.]

GM:  Rogers and Shaw just can't seem to get on track against these two. 
If they can both work together, they might be able to fight them off but
one on two, they just keep getting knocked flat.

[Rage and Verhoeven drag Rogers off the mat, whipping him into the ropes
together.]

GM:  Double whip... double clothesli- ducked by Rogers!

[The Natural bounces off the far ropes, just as Shaw gets back up as
well...

...and they charge forward at the same time, both connecting with
clotheslines.  Rogers' clothesline on Rage sends him sailing over the
ropes to the floor where Shaw's knocks Bruno off his feet, causing him
to roll under the ropes to safety.]

GM:  Ohhh yeah!  Rogers and Shaw clear the ring!

BW:  Took 'em long enough.

GM:  Adam Rogers and Mark Shaw have cleared the ring and they are
standing tall here tonight in Dallas, Texas!

[Rogers and Shaw stand side by side in the ring, both waving for
Verhoeven and Rage to get back into the ring as we fade to black...

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

"Have you ever dreamed of fame?"

[Cut a little closer.]

"Of glory?"

[A little closer.]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Two young students are grappling on the canvas.]

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

You want to wrestle!"

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

...and then fade back up on the announce desk where Stephen Ross has
joined our announcers.]

GM:  Welcome back, fans, and at this time, I'd also like to welcome the
Chairman of the Championship Committee, Stephen Ross, to the announce
desk.

SR:  As always, it's my pleasure, Gordon.

GM:  Mr. Ross, you were scheduled to be out here just a few moments ago
when Mark Shaw and Adam Rogers jumped the gun - and then got jumped by
Bruno Verhoeven and Shadoe Rage.  What's going on with all this?

SR:  Well, Gordon... Mr. Shaw and Mr. Rogers were on the right track. 
We were, in fact, planning to order them to face one another again here
tonight with the winner meeting the National Champion at The Last
Stampede.

GM:  Wow!  That's big news!

[Ross holds up a hand.]

SR:  As I said, Gordon, that _was_ the plan.

[The crowd buzzes with confusion.]

SR:  After what we just saw, I think a change of plans is in order.  So,
with that in mind, at The Last Stampede in Laredo, Texas, in just two
short weeks, I think a special attraction tag team match is in order. 
Shadoe Rage and Bruno Verhoeven want to get their hands on Shaw and
Rogers so badly?  Let's hook 'em up!

[The fans cheer!]

SR:  At The Last Stampede, let's put Bruno and Rage in there against
Shaw and Rogers - and just to sweeten the pot, let's say that whoever
scores the winning pinfall or submission in that match will be declared
the new Number One Contender and the next person in line for a shot at
the National Champion.

[Another big cheer for the announcement as Gordon Myers nods his head.]

GM:  That sounds like an exciting match, Mr. Ross - but I have to ask
the question that all of our fans are asking their televisions right
now.

[Ross smiles.]

SR:  You want to know who will be facing Ron Houston at The Last
Stampede?

GM:  Exactly!

SR:  Gordon, if there's one thing I've learned in my years in this
business - it's that there's never a shortage of people that want to
fight the champion.

GM:  Are you saying that Ron Houston WILL be in action at The Last
Stampede?

[Ross nods.]

SR:  I am.  And in fact, I'm going to make an open challenge on his
behalf - a non-title open challenge to anyone in the industry who wants
to step up and take on the best that the AWA has to offer, come on down
to Laredo, Texas, and let's see what you've got.

GM:  Well, that's a huge pair of announcements to make, Mr. Ross, but
one more question remains... if Shaw vs Rogers was going to be the Main
Event and that match has been scratched, what is tonight's Main Event?

[Ross chuckles.]

SR:  You got me there, Gordon.  But this is the AWA, after all, so I'm
bettin' something will come up.

GM:  I bet you're right.  Fans, let's go up to the ring for our opening
contest!

[We cut to the ring where Melissa is standing with a well-built young
man tugging at the ropes to stay loose.]

MC:  Tonight's opening contest is scheduled for one fall!  Introducing
first, standing to my left... Rip Dupree!

[Melissa steps to the side as Dupree flexes his muscles for the crowd.]

MC: And his opponent, he hails from Cleveland, Ohio and weighs in at two
hundred and eighty-one pounds... "The Real Deal" Luke Steele!

[As "I Am The Man" hits the PA system, the crowd cheers.  Steele comes
out from the back walking with a purpose.  He moves immediately to the
ring and ditches his t-shirt, jumps into the ring and immediately goes
after poor Rip.]

GM: My word, Luke Steele not wasting any time out here this week!

BW: Yeah, he's been in a foul mood ever since two weeks ago when his
good buddy Slater got his spinal column rearranged by Grant Stone.

[The bell sounds as Luke hammers away on Rip Dupree in the corner, and
then whips him hard across the ring.]

GM: Big whip to the corner and... Luke Steele with a running clothesline
to follow up on that whip!  Mr. Dupree is quickly becoming a victim here
tonight. 

[Yanking Dupree out of the corner by the hair, Steele hoists him up in a
belly-to-back lift...

...and brings him down hard on his bent knee!]

GM:  Ohhh!  Nice atomic drop by the Real Deal- and he's not done with
him, Bucky.

[With Dupree standing in front of him, Steele joins hands through the
legs of his opponent, quickly snapping him over in a teardrop suplex.]

GM:  What a suplex by Steele!  The clothesline to the atomic drop to the
suplex - what a beautiful combination that was, Bucky.

BW: Eh, I've seen better.

[As Steele drags his foe off the mat, Dupree slips a right hand into the
gut of the Real Deal, knocking the wind from him.  He quickly grabs the
wrist, firing Steele to the ropes.]

GM:  Steele off the ropes... roundhouse righ-

[But Steele avoids the punch, floating over the arm into a front
facelock, and SPIKING Dupree's head into the canvas in one slick
maneuver.]

GM:  OHHH!  What a DDT by Steele!  The Floating DDT - seamless but
devastating as Rip Dupree is driven into the mat headfirst for the one,
the two, and the three count.  Good night Rip.

["I Am The Man" picks up again, and Luke rolls out of the ring
immediately.]

MC: Your winner of the match in a time of fifty-three seconds... Luke
Steele!

GM: A very impressive victory in short order for the Real Deal, who's on
his way to join us it looks like.  

[As Steele quickly approaches, Gordon greets him.]

GM:  Luke, congratulations.

[Steele brushes off the handshake attempt, grabbing the mic.]

LS:  Sorry Gordon, not in the mood to chitchat this week.  Ever since
two weeks ago on this show, my blood has been boiling.  Grant Stone, you
put your hands on my friend and you left him broken and battered.  You
put Kevin Slater on the shelf indefinitely, all for what?  Cash? 

BW: Is there any greater reason?

LS: Bucky, you make me sick.  But Stone makes me even sicker.  This
ridiculous bounty thing has left Kevin paranoid and looking over his
shoulder at every turn, and now it's left him injured.  You want a real
payday Stone?  Then come to the Last Stampede, and face me one on one. 
I might not have the history in LWC that guys like Bishop, Tex Violence
or Steve Spector do, but I still consider Laredo a home field advantage.

Grant Stone and Luke Steele, one on one.  I really don't know if you're
the one behind this whole thing or not Bobby, but I'm begging you.  Make
the match.

[Luke throws down the mic and walks off, leaving two surprised
announcers behind.]

GM:  Did you hear that, Bucky?  Luke Steele wants Grant Stone in Laredo,
Texas, at The Last Stampede!  

BW:  That could be the last time we ever hear Steele speak if he gets
his wish.  Stone's already put two people out of the AWA - does Steele
want to be the third?

GM:  He wants payback for his friend and he wants it badly.  Fans, don't
go away, we'll be right back!

[The shot holds on Gordon Myers as we fade to black...

...and then back up to a shot showing the logos of Pro Wrestling
Revolution, Sin City Wrestling, and Southern Championship Wrestling.]

"From Day One, the American Wrestling Alliance was determined to give
its fans the very best action available.  And on Day One, our video
library is officially open for business!"

[Cut to a closeup of the Sin City Wrestling logo.]

"Check out "High Profile" Darryl Styles on commentary.  See the Upper
Crust in action before they were the Upper Crust!"

[Now to the Southern Championship Wrestling logo.]

"Ricky Royal lit up the rings in SCW before he came to the AWA!  "Stars
and Stripes" Clayton Shaw was a SCW staple as well!"

[And then the PWR logo.]

"See Calisto Dufresne in action!  And don't forget the ever-dangerous
Kolya Sudakov!"

[Cut back to the wide shot of all three logos.]

"Events from all three promotions are available NOW exclusively through
the AWA website via DVD or download!  So, be the first on the block to
be an AWA expert and check out all of this great action today!"

[Fade to black...

...and then back up on the announce desk where Gordon and Bucky are
standing.]

GM:  Welcome back, fans.  Just before the break, we heard Luke Steele
make a challenge to Grant Stone for The Last Stampede - we understand
that Stone immediately contacted the Championship Committee to accept
that challenge!

BW:  Goodbye, Luke Steele.  It's been fun pretending it was a decade
ago.

GM:  Would you stop?  So, you can add Steele vs Stone to the lineup for
two weeks from now - and what a night that's going to be, Bucky.  We've
got so much action scheduled - so much bad blood that's going to be
spilled all over Laredo, Texas.  Not the least of which is our huge
stretcher match betwee Tumaffi and Ricky Royal Jr.

BW:  I can't wait for that one.

GM:  Folks, we'd like to share some video footage sent in by one of our
loyal AWA fans. 

BW:  He's a local boy.

GM:  Indeed. TCU student Greg Smith was attending one of our recent
promotional events at the Dallas Galleria, where Ricky Royal, Jr. and
Erik Reid, who will be in Royal's corner at The Last Stampede, were
signing autographs for fans and... well, you'll see for yourself what
transpired.

[Cut to some grainy, shaky handicam video. The date stamp in the corner
reads 8/5/08. The shot is swinging wildly back and forth on top of a din
of background noise: loud Southern rock music is playing and about 100
people are talking at once. Two male voices, closer and louder than the
others, ring out.]

V1: Is it on?

V2: Yeah, the green light's on.

V1: That means it's filming?

V2: I guess so.

[Finally, the shot steadies and we can see the setting. The
cameraholders are in a line with about 20 people in front of them. At
the head of the line, about 25 feet away, sits a table with a blue cloth
draped over it that features the AWA logo above the words "STARS OF
WRESTLING". Behind the table, Ricky Royal and Erik Reid are seated,
signing autographs and talking with fans. Behind Ricky and Erik is the
large water fountain that sits at the center of the mall. Flanking the
table on each side are tall metal frames with life-sized banners of
Royal and Reid hanging from them, as well as tall speakers on stands.
The camera zooms in on Royal's face.]

V2: There's the man himself.

V1: So, wait, Greg... you know Cal Casey?

V2: Yeah, he went to my high school. I was a freshman when he was a
senior.

V1: Do you still talk to him?

V2: Nah, I barely knew him.

V1: D'you think he could get us Last Stampede tickets?

V2: Dude, I don't really know him.

V1: Dude, you've got a Ricky Royal connection and yo- 


["CRAAAAAASSSSH!!!"]


V1:  WOAH!

V2:  WHAT THE-!?

[The camera starts swinging around wildly and the din of voices starts
roaring! A woman screams! The shot finally steadies. We see...


Tumaffi. 


He's standing about ten feet to the right of the table, the speaker,
stand, banner, and metal frame knocked to the floor in a pile in front
of him. Royal and Reid have frozen in mid-signature and are staring at
him.]

V1: Friggin' Tumaffi! Are you kidding me!? Are you recordin' this?

[His chest heaving, the Samoan glares at the line of shocked observers
and then suddenly charges at Royal and Reid. The crowd near the table
scrambles out of the way...]


V1:  NO WAY!

V2:  HOLY-!


[... as 400 pounds of Samoan beef barrels over the table, tackling Royal
backwards and sending the table tumbling, both men tangled in the blue
cloth. Reid manages to get out of the way, but Tumaffi is on his knees
on top of Royal, raining down rights and lefts.]

V1:  What is going on here!?

[Suddenly springing into action, Erik Reid dashes over and drives a
running elbow into the side of Tumaffi's head, sending him reeling for a
second. Reid grabs him by the head and yanks him off of Royal, slamming
another elbow shot into his face.]

V2:  Erik Reid, baby! He's back!

[Royal scrambles to his feet, still caught in the table cloth and
struggling to extricate himself, as Tumaffi grabs Reid by the head with
both hands and floors him with a stiff headbutt!]

V1:  Back? Back in the hospital maybe!

[Tumaffi turns around... right into a right hand from Ricky Royal! And
another! And a another has the big Samoan staggering and the crowd
chanting.]


"RICK-Y! RICK-Y! RICK-Y! RICK-Y! RICK-Y!"


[Another punch takes Tumaffi down to a knee... and Royal grabs the
wrist, looking to whip him into the water fountain!]

V2:  Oh yeah!

[But Tumaffi doesn't budge when Royal yanks on his arm... and instead
Tumaffi grabs Royal by the wrist and whips him instead into the opposite
direction...


"CRAAAAAAAAAAAAAASH!!!"]


V1:  DUDE! NO WAY!

[... right into the other speaker stand and banner! The entire structure
comes down, landing right on top of Ricky Royal! The crowd roars with
disapproval as Tumaffi surveys his destruction: both of his opponents
down, Reid clutching his face and Royal buried beneath a pile of blue
signage and heavy electronics.]

V1: We did NOT just witness this! That was AWESOME!

V2: Dude, is Ricky hurt? He's not moving.

[Mall security has shown up and three of them are escorting Tumaffi away
from the wreckage. Another one is helping Reid to his feet and two more
are checking on Royal.

And with that, the grainy video footage finally stops and we cut back to
Bucky and Gordon at ringside.]

GM: Fans, we did receive word that Ricky Royal was not seriously injured
by the attack, which happened about a week ago. However, he is NOT here
tonight.

BW: He's afraid Tumaffi's gonna find him and finish the job.

GM: Or he's resting up and training for the big Stretcher Match at The
Last Stampede in just fourteen days.

BW:  Which is gonna be BRUTAL, daddy, if the past six months and that
video footage are any indication!

GM:  You'd better believe it.  And with Erik Reid at ringside to watch
Ricky Royal's back, this situation gets more explosive by the moment. 
These two have been warring for months and at The Last Stampede, it all
comes to a head, Bucky.

BW:  And if Tumaffi has his way, Royal's head might come right off!

GM:  I highly doubt that.  Fans, coming up next is something we promised
you the last time we were on the air.  For weeks, we've been seeing the
videos promoting the debut of Naitomea here in the AWA - making the trek
from the Land of the Rising Sun and our friends at Tiger Paw Pro.  We're
being told that debut will be taking place very soon but before then, we
wanted our fans here in the States to get the chance to see this very
tough competitor in action.  In his final match before leaving for the
AWA, let's take a look at Naitomea in action!

[We fade to footage labelled "Courtesy of TIGER PAW PRO."  The camera
opens up inside the Tiger Paw Pro ring.  We can hear TPP's Japanese
announcers in the background but it has been dubbed over with the voices
of Gordon Myers, Bucky Wilde, and Jason Dane by the AWA since most of
you don't speak Japanese.]

GM:  The match you're about to see took place in the DIffer Ariake arena
in the heart of Tokyo, fans.  And while we're getting ready for it to
start, I'd like to welcome Jason Dane to the announce booth with us to
provide us with a little insight to what we're seeing.

JD:  Thanks, Gordon.  It's a pleasure to be here to provide whatever
analysis I can.

BW:  You know you're only here because Gordo doesn't know the names of
the moves, right?

GM:  Thanks, Bucky.

JD:  I'm happy to be here to do whatever you guys need me to do.  

GM:  Jason, this Differ Ariake arena - it's quite prestigious, no?

JD:  That's right, Gordon.  It's a small arena - only holding a thousand
or so fans but most of the major promotions in Japan have run there at
one time or another.  And as you can see by the full house, Tiger Paw
Pro has had great success running there.

[A panning shot of the sold-out arena echoes Jason's words.]

JD:  This show was headlined by a major championship match but the
chance to say farewell to one of TPP's most hated - and most successful
- competitors helped pack the house as well.  It was truly considered
the end of an era.

GM:  Obviously, I don't speak Japanese but if you could provide a little
translation for us, Jason.

[Over a shot of two Japanese announcers speaking, Jason Dane listens for
a moment and then speaks.]

JD:  They're discussing how none of the fans will be sorry to see
Naitomea ago and how he's our problem now.

GM:  An ominous warning.

BW:  An entire promotion is dying to get rid of him?  I like this guy
already.

JD:  They're also discussing that personal feelings aside, the AWA is
gaining a very talented competitor.  What he lacks in size, they say he
makes up with speed, intelligence, savvy and brutality inside the ring. 
And Naitomea is about to make his appearance.

GM:  Apparently his opponent on this night is a young man named Hana
Kazuyo, is that correct?

JD:  It is.  Twenty two year old Kazuyo is a fresh graduate  of the
Tiger Paw dojo.  He's a former high school track star so his endurance
and cardio made him one of the top standouts in his training class. 
They expect big things from him there.

[The black trunked young rookie waits in the ring when suddenly...
 
Darkness.]

GM:  And this change in lighting would mark the arrival of Naitomea,
correct?

JD:  It's his trademark entrance, true.

[Six hard blasts of pyro explode from the entrance way in tune with the
bass guitar riff and area lights up in strobe white lights ]
 
# I WATCHED A CHANGE IN YOU #
 # IT S LIKE YOU NEVER, HAD WINGS #
# NOW YOU FEEL, SO ALIVE #
# I VE WATCHED YOU CHANGE #
 
[Naitomea appears on the top of the entrance way with his arms
outstretched looking to the sky as if asking for  acceptance.   He s
wearing chromatic colored vinyl pants with black flames coiling their
way from his shins to his inner thighs.  The same chromatic color
wrestling boots with black kick pads complete his lower half.  A black,
sleeveless, skin tight t-shirt stylized with a crucified angel on the
front and some sort of winged demon on the back cover his torso, his
tanned, muscular arms are heavily tattooed with some sort of tribal
design and glisten with oil, black BMX style gloves conceal his hands. 
His face is hidden by that infamous black carbon fiber fitted helmet
that looks like a bleached white skull with a mouth is twisted with a
spine chilling smile. Two massive horns protrude upward from the temples
and the eye slits are covered with a opaque material which glows a
constant red. His long black hair falls freely and is dripping wet.  He
slowly walks down the aisle way amidst the boos.]

GM:  I understand that helmet-type mask he wears has already been cause
for some controversy in our Talent Relations office.

JD:  There has been a lot of debate about what parts of this ring attire
he'll be allowed to keep.  I guess we won't know for sure until his
official debut but for now, in his final Tiger Paw Pro match, he's all
decked out.

[Naitomea reaches the ring and pauses for a second allowing his hair to
fall in front of his face and then rolls under the bottom rope.  He
slowly climbs to his feet keeping his head bowed then violently casts
his head back allowing his hair to fly out of his face before violently
locking gazes with his Kazuo who clumsily back steps into the refuge of
the turnbuckle.  Naitomea reaches up to two claps hear his jaw line and
unsnaps the helmet pulling it from his face revealing a exact copy of
the helmet but in a more wrestling friendly mask.  He drops the helmet
in his corner.]

GM:  Aha.  The helmet comes off, apparently getting ready for his AWA
debut already.

JD:  It would appear that way.

[The ring announcer makes his introductions in Japanese.]

GM:  A ten minute time limit in this match.  Hana Kazuyo may have his
work cut out for him, Jason.

JD:  I would say he certainly does.

[The rookie gets a small few claps of applause.  The announcer
continues, gesturing at Naitomea.]

GM:  5'11, 195 - but the fighting spirit of a man twice his size is how
they describe him to us.  

"DING! DING! DING!" 

[The referee calls both men to the middle of the ring for instructions. 
A closeup of Kazuyo's face shows a bit of fear in his eyes.]

JD:  Some obvious intimidation on the face of Hana Kazuyo, only in his
third match here in Tiger Paw Pro.  He hasn't quite gotten himself on
track yet and in a a match with Naitom-

[The crowd gasps in unison as a loud "CRACK!" echoes through the
smallish arena courtesy of a hard slap across the face of the 22 year
old.]

JD:  And there's some of the disrespct we can expect to see from
Naitomea here in the AWA as well.

[With Kazuyo reeling, Naitomea snaps off a hard leaping knee strike
under the chin that knocks the rookie down to his knees on the canvas.]

GM:  Leaping knee on target.  

[Showing more disdain for his opponent, Naitomea pulls him off the mat
by the hair and piefaces him back into the buckles with a hard shove.]

GM:  Absolutely no respect being shown to the rookie by Naitomea.

JD:   You have to think there's quite a few guys in the AWA locker room
tonight thinking they'll teach this guy some respect.

BW:  That remains to be seen, Jason.  This guy looks tough to me.

[Approaching the corner like a predator seeking out his wounded prey,
the masked man simply shoves Kazuyo's face to the side, taunting him
with another slap across the cheek.]

GM:  Naitomea is just pawing at Kazuyo like a wolf who has just taken
down an injured goat.     
 
[Naitomea stands up and drags Kazuyo out of the corner by the hair
before throwing him to the ropes...

...and driving both feet squarely into the face of Kazuyo of the rookie,
the impact sending him out of the ring.]
 
GM:  Beautiful standing dropkick that sends the kid all the way through
the ropes to the floor.  The referee starts his twenty count - twenty in
Japan, right Jason?

JD:  In Tiger Paw Pro, they do use a twenty count.  That's correct.

[At the quick count of four, Kazuyo pushes up to a knee, shaking his
head to clear the cobwebs.]

GM:  The young man is trying to recover outside the ring and- ohh!  What
a jerk this guy is!

[Naitomea earns the jeers of the fans again as he shoves the referee to
the side before breaking into a dead sprint to the far ropes, bouncing
off the sprint back across the ring.]

GM:  Look out here...

[The masked man hurls himself to the top rope, springing off of it...

...and breaking out a full somersault into another dropkick that sends
Kazuyo sailing backwards into the steel barricade!]

GM:  Goodness!  I've never seen anything quite like that, Jason.

JD:  Naitomea with a springboard somersault dropkick to the floor -
right to the chest of the kneeling Kazuyo!  

BW:  That's an easy way to end up with broken ribs or a sternum, daddy! 
This guy is nuts!

GM:  He certainly is - and as effective as that daredevil dive was,
Naitomea is also down and not moving.  He fell about ten feet flat on
his back.  You've got to ask yourself if the risk was worth it.

[The referee looks down at both motionless men before starting his count
once more.]

GM:  The referee restarts the count - both men in trouble out on the
floor.

JD:  But you can see Naitomea is starting to recover, rolling to his
stomach near the ring apron.

[Reaching up, the masked man slowly pulls himself up with the help of
the ring apron.  Still obviously in pain, he reaches down and grabs
Kazuyo who s bleeding from the mouth and throws him into the ring before
rolling back in as well.]

GM:  A trickle of blood coming from the corner of Kazuyo's mouth. 
Naitomea may have caught him in the mouth with that dropkick as well.

BW:  Or the kid may have internal injuries.

GM:  Let's hope that's not the case.

[Naitomea roughly pulls Kazuyo off the mat by the hair, tugging him into
a front facelock before reaching back to cradle the leg, hoisting the 22
year old into the air...

...and driving the air out of him with a fisherman suplex, bridging as
the referee drops to count.]

GM:  Nice cradle suplex by the masked man!  A pin attempt here - one! 
Two!  Thr- 

[The crowd cheers as the young rookie just barely avoid the pin.]

GM:  A very weak kickout by Kazuyo but a kickout nonetheless.

[Naitomea shows some of his trademark brutality as he gets to his feet,
leaping into the air and driving both knees down into the midsection and
chest of the rookie causing the trickle of blood to worsen.]

GM:  Ohhh!

JD:  This guy has moments where he's just a complete savage inside the
ring, Gordon.

[Kneeling on the mat, Naitomea delivers overhand chop after overhand
chop down across the injured torso of his opponent.]

GM:  Come on!  

[The referee steps in with a warning to the masked man to back off. 
Naitomea gets back to his feet, staring at his hand that now has a
streak of crimson on it from Kazuyo's mouth...

...and then reaches down to wipe the bloody hand on the face of the 22
year old.]

GM:  Oh, that's just disgusting.  I don't know who decided to bring this
guy to the AWA but I'm beginning to think it was a mistake, Jason.

[The masked man yanks the rookie up by the hair, pushing him back
against the buckles.]

GM:  Backed into the corner... big whip by Naitomea... 

[But before Hana Kazuyo can hit the far turnbuckles, he collapses in a
heap on the canvas, clutching his chest.  The referee baseball slides to
the mat, checking on the injured wrestler as Naitomea stands on the
midbuckle, soaking up the jeers of the crowd as he taunts them from
inside the ring.]

JD:  Naitomea thinks he's won this.  He's mocking the fans, clapping his
hands for the downed Kazuyo.

GM:  The referee is checking the young man very closely.

[After a few moments, the referee shakes his head, waving his arms for
the match to continue to the cheers of the crowd.]

BW:  The ref's a sadist.  I can't believe he didn't stop this.

GM:  It certainly seems to be a questionable decision.

[An irate Naitomea leaps down off the buckles, shoving the referee aside
again as he grabs a rising Kazuyo off his knees, slapping him hard
across the face before yanking him into a standing headscissors.]

GM:  Uh oh.

[Naitomea quickly underhooks both arms before hoisting him off the
mat...

...and sitting out in a big powerbomb!]

JD:  TIGER DRIVER!  Shades of Todd Michaelson right there!

GM:  And that oughta do it.  One.  Two.  Thre-

[The crowd boos as Naitomea rolls away from the downed rookie, shaking
his head at the protesting referee.]

GM:  He could have had him.  He could have had him right there and we
all know it, Jason.

JD:  This is the mean streak - the sadistic brutality that we've heard
about from this guy, Gordon.  This is the savagery he hopes to bring to
the AWA.

GM:  Naitomea grabs Kazuyo by the leg, dragging him over towards the
buckles.

[The Japanese Nightmare leaps to the top rope with a single jump, waving
his arms to the jeering fans to egg them on...

...and springs off, tucking into a full front somersault.]

JD: 450 SPLASH!

[The impact of the splash actually sends Naitomea back into the air
slightly before he comes to rest on his downed foe as the referee dives
to the mat for a quick three count.]

GM:  That'll do it.

JD:  Naitomea has won his final match in Tiger Paw Pro - showing
incredible skills but a mean streak that could be trouble for any
potential opponents inside an AWA ring.

GM:  Beautiful execution on that finishing splash - but you've got a
point, Jason.  He's not exactly a sportsman in there, is he?

JD:  Not at all - but at the same time, I'm looking forward to seeing
him in an AWA ring very soon.

BW:  Me too, daddy.  Imagine him doing that to that bug Rick Marley?  Or
that goof Sweet Daddy Williams?  I love it!

GM:  Fans, we hope you enjoyed this special presentation of action from
Japan - we'll be right back with more AWA action!

[The shot holds on Naitomea standing triumphant as we fade to black...

...and then fade back up on a black screen with the AWA logo splashed
across it.]

"Join your favorite stars of the American Wrestling Alliance throughout
the state of Texas this week for exclusive meet-and-greet sessions."

[A scrolling list of names and locations flash by in white text:

Rick Marley and Kentucky's Pride
Laredo Fashion Plaza - Laredo, Texas
August 19

Ricky Royal
Laredo Honda - Laredo, Texas
August 21

Sweet Daddy Williams and Mark Shaw
Laredo City Hall - Laredo, Texas
August 23

Werewolf Gregorson, Despair, and Adam Rogers
Harris Chevrolet - Laredo, Texas
August 25

The names end, leaving just the AWA logo behind.]

"All the stars of the AWA are comin' your way so don't miss 'em!"

[And with that, we fade back to black...

...and then back up on the announce desk where another individual has
come out to join Gordon and Bucky. This individual would be Sarah
Sharpe, who is dressed in a pair of dress slacks, a blouse and suit
coat.]

GM: We have been joined by the manager of Rough N Ready, Sarah Sharpe...
now, Sarah, it's been about a month since we have seen your men in
action, and of course, the reason why they have not been in action was
because of that vicious attack by the Glamour Boys.

[Sarah nods before speaking.]

SS: Gordon, I will say the Glamour Boys and this Hoffstedder guy did
catch us all off guard... but I am happy to report that Dave and Eric
are doing fine and certainly looking forward to The Last Stampede and
the chance to get their hands on the men responsible for that attack.

[Bucky Wilde, suddenly emboldened by having a woman at the announce
desk, barges in.]

BW: So where the heck are your boys then?

[Sarah looks irritated at the interruption.]

SS: Bucky, I'm surprised you'd ask that considering how much you seem to
not enjoy the company of one Eric Matthew Somers.

BW: Well, I don't... but inquiring minds want to know anyway, honey.

SS: I regret to inform you, Bucky, that it's none of your business where
Dave and Eric are... I just came out here to let everyone know that, at
The Last Stampede, the Glamour Boys are going to learn that you don't
get everything you want when it comes to a wrestling career, and that
Hoffstedder is going to learn that...

[Sarah is at this point interrupted by a voice coming over the PA
system, drawing boos from the crowd.  That voice belongs to Hoff, who
marches out from the back and beelines over to the announce position.]
 
Hoff: Well hold the phone, sweetheart.  Please don't project your own
broken dreams and failed careers onto these boys, because the Glamour
Boys are winners!

[Hoff is not alone.  He's flanked by both members of the tag team as he
approaches the announce position.]

SS: Nice to know these guys are willing to come face to face with me
instead of sneaking up from behind.

[Hoff chuckles as he draws closer.]

Hoff: See now, it doesn't matter what way the Glamour Boys come at you. 
The end result is the same no matter what, with a trip to the hospital. 
Your boys ain't too bright, missy.  The last time they faced Michael and
Nick they needed the stretcher.  At the Last Stampede, they might need
the last rites.

SS: Last rites, is it? If anything, your boys are the ones that may need
that.

[A big snort comes from Hoff - embarassing to most but not to the
egotistical manager who grins widely.]

Hoff: Really? Well, I...

[Hoff is then cut off as Dave Cooper comes rushing onto the set, leaping
at Nick Hunter and tackling him. Cooper pummels Hunter as now Michael
Taylor begins to stomp away at Cooper, seeking to help out his partner.]

GM: Dave Cooper came out of nowhere and... wait a minute!

BW: That's it, I'm getting out of here!

[Bucky hurries away from the set as Eric Matthew Somers has now arrived,
pushing right past Hoff and taking the manager by surprise. He then
grabs Taylor from behind and drags him off the set, toward the ring,
where he whips him into the apron. Taylor falls to his knees as Somers
begins to pummel him. Back on the set, Hunter has gained the upper hand
on Cooper and tries to drag him to his feet, but Cooper catches him with
a shot to the midsection.]

GM: This is getting out of hand! We need somebody to break this up!

[Hoff is now screaming at Sarah about his charges being set up, as Sarah
just folds her arms. Taylor manages to get a low blow on Somers and then
tries to sweep his legs out from under him, but Somers holds his ground,
as now Cooper and Taylor are brawling in the ringside area. Security and
AWA officials are now pouring out of the back, quickly trying to
separate the four men.]

GM: Rough N Ready came from out of nowhere and just jumped the Glamour
Boys!  These two teams meet at The Last Stampede, but it's clear they
don't want to wait to face off until then! We need to go to a break!

[Fade out on the big brawl...

...and then back up on a screen with the AWA logo splashed across the
top with a "Live Events Schedule" graphic underneath.  The backdrop is
some generic space photograph showing the moon and some stars.]

"Join all the stars of the American Wrestling Alliance as they come to
your town!"

[The graphic changes to show a list of cities, venues, and dates.]

"On August 30th, we'll be in Laredo, Texas for our latest supercard
event - The Last Stampede.  And don't miss out in September when the AWA
goes back on tour!"

[The graphic changes back to the original AWA logo and "Live Events
Schedule" showing a smaller version of the three announced shows.]

"The AWA - the Major League of Professional Wrestling!  Don't miss it
when it comes to your town!"

[And we fade away from the graphic...

...and back up to the announce team.]

GM:  Welcome back to AWA Saturday Night Wrestling, fans.  It's been a
wild night here in the WKIK Studios as we are just two weeks away from
The Last Stampede - and things are spilling over left and right here
tonight, Bucky.

BW:  Rivalries are breaking loose all over the place and-

GM:  Wait just a moment.  We're getting word that- there's some... we're
getting word that there's some activity right now outside the WKIK
Studios in the parking lot.  Our camera crew was standing by for an
interview backstage and- hold on, they're trying to get out there right
now.

[We cut to a shot of a camera crew racing down a dark hallway.  A door
is flung open and as  the cameraman walks through it, we see the parking
lot outside the WKIK Studios.  A small white sedan has just pulled into
a parking spot.  The door opens and the driver gets out in a hurry.]

GM:  RICKY ROYAL! Ricky Royal has arrived at the WKIK Studios! And we
can confirm that Tumaffi IS here tonight as well, he's scheduled for
action later on in the show.

BW:  Oh, Royal must be hankerin' for another beatdown.

[Ricky throws the car door open and steps out wearing street clothes:
jeans, sneakers, and a blue polo shirt. He turns and growls at the
cameraman.]

RR: You seen that big fat Samoan sonuvagun tonight? 

[Not getting an answer, he keeps walking, the cameraman backpedaling to
keep Ricky in the frame.]

RR:  Get that thing outta m'face. I'm huntin'. I got AWA officials
callin' me, tellin' me to stay home, sit this show out 'cause they ain't
want any incidents before the big show in Laredo. I got doctors tellin'
me to steer clear a' anymore fights 'fore the Last Stampede. They think
I'm 'bout to get m'butt handed to me, too. They's tellin' me I need as
much rest and recuperation as I c'n get 'fore I get stomped into
grapejuice Labor Day weekend. 

[He shakes his head.]

RR:  Well, I was sittin' home in Mississippi earlier today and it was
gettin' to be that time when if I'm gonna have any chance of makin' it
here for this show, I gotta leave. So I say screw it and I hopped in the
car and came rambling down I-20, drivin' five hours straight. And why?
'Cause that hairy piece a' garbage thinks he can come after me when I
ain't ready for 'em. He came at me at a dang mall last week. You hear
'bout that? I ain't sittin' home, I ain't restin', I'm comin' here to
show 'em that Ricky Royal, Jr. ain't shyin' away from no fight. Now I
gotta go lookin' for his big Samoan butt in thi-


"RICKY ROYAL!"


[The camera swings left to catch the massive form of Tumaffi storming
out from behind an SUV and crashing into Royal!]

GM:  TUMAFFI! 

[The big running tackle knocks Royal flat as the big Samoan bellows in
triumph.]

GM:  He was waiting for him!  No one thought Ricky Royal Jr. would be
here tonight except for Tumaffi!

BW:  Tumaffi was hunting for Royal while Royal was hunting for Tumaffi.
And Tumaffi found Royal FIRST! We've got a parking lot brawl on our
hands!

[The big man yanks Royal to his feet by his hair, moving to scoop him
for a bodyslam onto the concrete ground...]

GM:  NO! 

[Avoiding certain physical damage, Royal slips out of the slam attempt
with a hard elbow to the side of the head that causes Tumaffi to stumble
back.]

GM:  Royal avoids the slam and he's a-house-a-fire out there!

[The "SMACK!" of flesh on flesh is heard repeatedly as Royal throws fist
after fist into the face of the massive Samoan, knocking him back
against the aforementioned SUV.]

GM:  Right hand!  Right hand!  Right hand!  He's tryin' to chop the big
tree down!

[A knee to the mammoth gut causes Tumaffi to double over and a clubbing
blow to the back knocks him down to a knee.]

BW:  Royal's a fighter, I'll give him that.

[Royal winds up for another right hand...

...but Tumaffi's giant arm blocks it from landing, slapping it aside as
he drives the points of his fingers into the windpipe of the Mississippi
native!]

GM:  OHHH!  To the throat!

BW:  Royal's gasping for air!  He can't breathe!

[Tumaffi grabs a handful of Royal's hair, winding up...

...and finding the mark with a skull-splitting headbutt that causes
Royal to fall back against a nearby sedan, clinging to the side mirror
to stay on his feet.]

BW:  And just like that, Tumaffi's superior strength prevails.

GM:  He's got Royal by the arm...

[Groggy from the headbutt, Royal can't defend himself as Tumaffi backs
him up against a red van in the parking lot, squaring up and taking five
or six steps back...]

GM:  Oh no...

BW:  Royal is in a bad way... he's in trouble!

[Still trying to shake the cobwebs out, Royal's not even aware as
Tumaffi lets out a guttural, animalistic yell and charges in for a big
body splash...]



"CRUNCCCHHH!"



GM:  Good Lord!

[Tumaffi steps back, letting Royal fall face-first to the ground,
flattened and demolished. In his wake, he's left a huge, huge crater of
a dent across the entire side of the van from the impact.]

GM:  Look at Ricky Royal. He may be knocked out.

BW:  Look at that van! I think Tumaffi bent the frame with the impact of
that running splash. That thing might be totaled!

[Several AWA security guards arrive on the scene, surveying the damage.
Two of them are reprimanding Tumaffi as they escort him back toward the
building. A third is standing over Royal and he pulls out a cell phone
as a fourth checks on the Ragin' Rebel's condition.]

BW:  Bet he wishes he hadn't driven five hours from Mississippi just for
that.

GM:  Fans, Ricky Royal may be seriously hurt. We always have paramedics
here at the WKIK Studios just in case a serious injury requiring
immediate medical attention occurs and that may be the case here. I
believe the security team is calling in the ambulance. They're going to
need to get Royal out of here and to a hospital, I think, at this point.
He appears to be unconscious.

[Cut back inside to Gordon, looking concerned, and Bucky.]

GM:  The EMT team is getting to work - we'll keep you informed as soon
as we have any news to share at all.  But for the moment, it looks like
Labor Day has come early for Ricky Royal Jr.

BW:  Tumaffi decided he wanted to see Royal on a stretcher tonight,
daddy!  But I really do hope Royal's okay, Gordo.

GM:  You do?

BW:  Yeah.  Cause I definitely want to see him go out on a stretcher at
The Last Stampede too!

GM:  Give me a break!  You make me sick!  Fans, let's go up to the ring
for our next match!

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

MC:  The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a ten minute
time limit.  Introducing firs- 

[Cannon bails from the ring as "The Butcher" Bruno Verhoeven appears
from the entryway, heading straight for the ring where he immediately
floors an oncoming Jack Sage with a big boot to the jaw that knocks him
flat.]

GM:  OHHH!

BW:  The bell hasn't even rang yet!

[And the bell will not ring as Bruno Verhoeven shoves the referee aside,
yanking Sage off the mat in a one-handed choke before hoisting him into
the air...

...and chokeslamming him down onto a bent knee!]

GM:  SLAUGHTERSLAM!  SLAUGHTERSLAM BY VERHOEVEN!

[Bruno places a boot firmly in the chest of his downed opponent,
screaming at the referee to count...

...who slowly does, obviously intimidated by the big German.]

GM:  That wasn't a legal count.  It wasn't a legal match.

BW:  Who cares?

[Smirking at the jeering crowd, Verhoeven steps over the ropes and drops
down off the apron, walking towards the announce desk.]

GM:  Apparently, we're about to be joined by Bruno "The Butcher"
Verhoeven who has caused quite the stir here tonight.  Mr. Verhoeven, an
impressive performance in there even if it didn't count-

[Verhoeven snorts with derision but says nothing.]

GM:  Mr. Verhoeven?  Your thoughts on what you just did in there?

[The "New Butcher" looks down at Myers with an icy gaze.]

BV:  I believe vat I just did speaks for itself, ja?

[Myers nods silently.]

GM:  Mr. Verhoeven, you attacked Mark Shaw and Adam Rogers to start the
show and now will face them with Shadoe Rage as  your partner at The
Last Stampede.  Why did you target them and what is your connection with
Mr. Rage?

[Still nothing from the big German.]

GM:  Okay.  Well, I guess this interview is over.  I won't even bother
to ask your reaction to the news that Otto "The Butcher" Verhoeven has
been added to the list of LWC legends who will be ringside at The Last-
ack!

[Verhoeven grabs Myers by the collar, staring down at him.]

BV:  Vat did you say?

[Myers looks scared to death, unable to speak.]

BV:  VAT?!

[Gordon tries to regain his speech.]

GM:  Otto... Otto in Laredo.

[Verhoeven releases his grip... looking surprised at Gordon Myers.]

GM:  I take it you didn't know.

[Suddenly, Verhoeven simply turns away, walking off the set.]

BW:  You certainly have a way with people, Gordo.

GM:  Apparently.  Fans, we'll be right back.

[A shaken-up Gordon Myers straightens himself out as we fade to black.

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

"Have you ever dreamed of fame?"

[Cut a little closer.]

"Of glory?"

[A little closer.]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Two young students are grappling on the canvas.]

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

You want to wrestle!"

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

...and then fades back to the AWA Saturday Night Wrestling broadcast
table where Gordon Myers and Bucky Wilde are standing, both looking off
camera.]

GM:  What is this?

[As the camera pulls back slightly, we see Shadoe Rage slink into the
shot with a bank bag extended in front of him.  The madman's chiseled
arms stand out with muscle as he preens for the camera.  His eyes are
hidden behind honey-coloured aviator glasses and his tongue flickers
across his lips like a snake's.  He's wearing a robe that's made of
colourful patches in brown and tan on a blue sleeveless robe.  RAGE
COUNTRY is sewn in brown leather strips on the back of the quilted
cape.]

SR:  What this is is a lot of money.  That's what this is.

[Bucky Wilde reaches out to touch the bag.  Shadoe quickly snatches it
away, threatening to backhand Wilde.]

SR: Don't touch nuthin' of Shadoe Rage's, yeah.  This is not for you.
This money is for somebody very special.  Yeah, this is prize money.
Twenty-five thousand dollars worth of prize money.

[Gordon Myers' eyes go wide.]

GM:  Twenty-five thousand dollars?  That's a lot of money!  What on-

[Rage interrupts, pointing a menacing finger.]

SR: Yeah, for the common man it is.  For the President and King of Rage
Country, I found it behind my throne and decided to use it for something
a little more worthwhile than firewood.

[Bucky's jaw drops.]

BW: You'd burn $25,000?  

[With a smirk, Rage nods his head.]

SR: That is how we live in Rage Country.  Money is no object.  But I
know it is to the common man.  And I'm putting the call out to all the
common men here.  Come win some of the Rage Country treasury.  All
you've got to do is last five minutes in the ring with me to win
$15,000.  Beat me and you get the whole thing.  Doesn't that sound like
something, Gordon?  Isn't that something.  That's really something yes
it is.  The King of Rage Country is most benificent to all the
Rage-oholics out there.  Yes he is.

GM: Rage-oholics?

SR: That's right, Rage-oholics.  They are the citizens of Rage Country,
population everybody but you!  

[Rage turns to Bucky Wilde]  

SR:  And you and Paul Driscoll.  That big dumb cowboy couldn't hang.  He
couldn't last with me.  So now he's out of here.  Now he's home milking
his bulls and slaughtering his cows for beef.  Not too bright, is he?  

[Rage chuckles grimly while he stares at the two announcers
expectantly.]

BW:  Umm... no, no he's not.

[Rage nods, happy with the answer.]

SR: No, he's not, because he stepped into the path of the Rage.  He
entered Rage Country and in Rage Country I rule.  I saw that cowboy and
I thought he might make good sport.  But he's no sport.  He broke too
easily and now I do not have an opponent tonight so I had to take
matters into my own hands with Shaw and Rogers earlier.  But they can't
handle life in Rage Country either!

[Shadoe Rage steps in front of the desk, pulling the mic with him.]

SR:  Now all the Rage-oholics are upset.  Listen to them complain.

[He holds the mic out to the crowd getting nothing but boos.]

SR: I hear their heartbreak and I weep for them. So I did something
about it, benificent as I am, yes I did.  I took this $25,000 and I'm
declaring an open challenge to any one who thinks they're bad enough to
step into the ring with Shadoe Rage!  I'm so wonderful, Bucky.  Aren't I
wonderful?  Yes I'm wonderful.

[Rage glares at Bucky - waiting for an answer.]

BW:  Yes, yes you are wonderful.

[Rage nods his head, happy again.]

SR: And so for the first challenger ... you know him and you love him
... we're going to throw to Melissa Cannon.  Melissa Cannon ... please
give the first contestant all the credit and fanfare he deserves!  You,
hold this.

[He nonchalantly tosses the bag to Bucky Wilde who looks ready to make a
break for it.  He takes one look at Gordon who is shaking his head no
and then the deranged Rage and thinks better of it.  He holds onto the
money tightly.]

SR: Smarter than you look, yes you are.

[The shot cuts to the ring where Melissa Cannon is standing.]

MC: Our following contest is scheduled for one fall and is a special
$25,000 Challenge Match ... introducing first, standing 5'11" and
weighing in at 195 pounds, hailing from Houston, Texas, please give a
warm welcome to ... JOHNNY RIIINNNGOOOOO!

[The crowd cheers hopefully for the Texan as he makes his way down the
aisle.  His eyes are a little haunted from his last encounter with
Shadoe Rage.  He swallows the lump in his throat.]

GM: It appears that young Johnny Ringo will get another shot at Shadoe
Rage.

BW: It looks like he'd rather be anywhere but in the ring.

GM: You remember what happened last time?

[The camera cuts back to Melissa Cannon.]

MC: And his opponent ... standing 6'3" and weighing 246 pounds ... from
Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada ... he is ... 
SHADOE
RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!

[Rage throws his arms out and spins his way down the aisle to ringside.
He rolls into the ring and demands that Melissa help him remove his
robe.]

GM: Oh come on now, Melissa is our ring announcer.  She is not a valet.

BW: You tell him that.  We're in Rage Country.  It's his world right
now.

[The cameraman's mic picks up Rage yelling "Take my robe off... now!" 
The man is so intense that Melissa is forced to comply, exiting the ring
with the robe as the referee calls for the bell...

...and Johnny Ringo wastes no time.  He leaps to the attack with several
clubbing forearms.  The fans cheer like crazy as Ringo forces the
stunned Shadoe Rage into the corner.]

GM: And Johnny Ringo laying into Shadoe Rage with body shots.  He's
trying to wear the bigger man down.

BW: Well, he better do something because as soon as Rage gets the
advantage it might be lights out, daddy!  All he has to do is last five
minutes to get $15,000.

GM: But Ringo's thinking big.  He looks like he's going for the full 25
grand!

BW: He can dream.

[Shadoe Rage comes bulling out of the corner with a clothesline attempt,
but Johnny Ringo is a step ahead.  He ducks under the outstretched left
arm and comes back with a high drop kick right to Rage's mouth to a big
roar from the fans!]

BW: Maybe he can do it, daddy!  I don't know.

GM: He's got to stay on him!

[And Ringo does just that following up his picture perfect dropkick with
a quick elbow drop to the chest.]

GM: Pin him!

[Ringo never gets the chance because Rage pushes himself backwards on
the mat to the outside.  The fans boo as he jaws with them, pointing
menacing fingers and throwing obscenities.  A drink splashes across his
chest as it sails somewhere from the aisle seats.]

BW: Oh geez... someone shouldn't have done that!  He's going to go into
the crowd!

[Rage climbs up on the midbuckle, looking out over the crowd.]

"SHOW YOURSELF, COWARD!"

[Shadoe Rage is perched on the ropes, cursing and spitting at the
crowd.]

GM: And the referee is counting.  He's at five!

[Rage sneers at the official as he leaps over the ropes, landing on his
feet inside the ring.  He rubs his jaw, staring at Johnny Ringo as if
seeing him for the first time.]

BW: Well, Johnny Ringo got his attention for sure and in another two and
a half minutes he's going to have $15,000.

GM: And Shadoe Rage is just standing there rubbing his jaw.  Time is
fleeting.

[Rage rubs his jaw some more.  And then ... then he just smiles.]

BW: I don't like this.

GM: Did it just get colder in this building?

BW: Shadoe Rage has decided it's time to go for real.

[The King of Rage Country explodes from a stand still and mows down
Ringo with a left-handed lariat.]

GM:  OHHHH!

[Wasting not a second, Rage is quickly back to his feet and scaling the
ropes.]

GM:  Look at the speed of Shadoe Rage - quick as a cat...

[Rage balances himself up top, pointing a finger out into the crowd
before leaping off the top on a kneeling Ringo...

...and crowning him with a double axehandle that lays him flat!]

GM: Did you see how fast Shadoe Rage got to the top rope for that flying
double axehandle?

BW: That was lightning fast and such balance and power coming off the
top.

[Rage follows up with a leaping knee drop to the chest.  The crowd boos
as he exits the ring to ascend to the top again.]

GM:  Rage is heading back up the ropes... this could be the big elbow
drop, the move that Paul Driscoll on the shelf with an injury to his
collarbone...

[Without wasting a second, Rage hurls himself off the ropes, floating
through the air, and burying his elbow down across the collarbone once
again.  Ringo's heels begin kicking the mat as his body convulses.  He
flops like a fish around the ring before Shadoe Rage puts a boot on his
throat to pin him down.]

BW:  This one's academic.

GM: You could count all night.  Johnny Ringo never stood a chance.

[A three count later and Melissa Cannon makes the announcement from
outside the ring...]

MS: Ladies and gentlemen ... in a time of three minutes and fifteen
seconds... here is your winner ... 

SHADOE RAAAAAAGGGGGEEEEEEE!!

[Shadoe Rage slips from the ring and grabs the money bag from Wilde.  He
holds it up to the crowd as trainers from the back come out to check on
the gagging Johnny Ringo and we fade to black...

...and then fade back up on a black screen with the AWA logo splashed
across it.]

"Join your favorite stars of the American Wrestling Alliance throughout
the state of Texas this week for exclusive meet-and-greet sessions."

[A scrolling list of names and locations flash by in white text:

Rick Marley and Kentucky's Pride
Laredo Fashion Plaza - Laredo, Texas
August 19

Ricky Royal
Laredo Honda - Laredo, Texas
August 21

Sweet Daddy Williams and Mark Shaw
Laredo City Hall - Laredo, Texas
August 23

Werewolf Gregorson, Despair, and Adam Rogers
Harris Chevrolet - Laredo, Texas
August 25

The names end, leaving just the AWA logo behind.]

"All the stars of the AWA are comin' your way so don't miss 'em!"

[And with that, we fade back to black...

...and then back up on the ring where Melissa Cannon is standing.]

MC:  The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a twenty
minute time limit and is for the AWA National Championship!

[A big cheer goes up!]

MC:  Introducing first, he is the challenger... from Havana, Cuba...

THE CUBAN ASSASSIN #6!

[Boos for the bearded rulebreaker.]

MC:  And his opponent... from Athens, Georgia... he is the AWA National
Champion...

RONNNN HOUUUUSTON!

[Houston bursts through the curtain with the sounds of Beck's "Farewell
Ride" over the PA...

...and keeps on coming, making a beeline for the ring where he dives
under the ropes, still in his trenchcoat.  The Assassin storms towards
him, jabbing a thumb into the eye that knocks Houston back into the
buckles.]

GM:  The champion's in trouble early - and there's the bell to start the
match.  The Assassin's working him over in the buckles with knees and
kicks to the body.

[Grabbing Houston by the wrist, the Assassin fires him across the ring
but as soon as the champion hits the corner, he charges back out and
OBLITERATES the Assassin with a running lariat!]

GM:  OHHHHH!

BW:  I think the Assassin's night is about to end.

GM:  Houston's back up, dragging the Assassin off the mat... and up into
the fireman's carry... here we go...

[The airplane spin begins for a moment...

...before the Assassin is hurled off the shoulders and down to the
canvas where a trenchcoat-clad Houston drops down in a lateral press.]

GM:  ONE!  TWO!  THREE!


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


MC:  Your winner of the match and still AWA National Champion...

RONNNNN HOUUUUUSTON!

[A huge cheer goes up for Houston as he grabs his title belt from the
referee and exits the ring, storming over towards the announce desk
where Gordon and Bucky are standing.]

GM:  A big win for the National Champion - congrats on your first
successful defense, Ron!

[Houston looks down at Myers with a smirk on his face.]

RH:  Yeah, tough defense, wasn' it?

[Houston shakes his head.]

RH:  Ah heard the 'nouncement jus' like ev'ryone else.  Houston vs The
Assassin - big title match.

[The champion chuckles.]

RH:  It was a joke - ah know it an' y'all knew it.  But ah was okay with
it because ah knew The Last Stampede would be different.  Ah'd get mah
chance to defend mah gold there in a big title match.

[He shakes his head.]

RH:  But Shadoe Rage and Bruno Verhoeven robbed me of that.  And ah
don't forget things like that, boys.  Yer day'll come.  If it's not Shaw
and Rogers who do it at the Stampede, ah'll be waitin' for mah shot at
ya.

No title defense at the Stampede.

[He shrugs.]

RH:  Ah can live with that.  Ah'm not happy 'bout it but ah can live
with it.  'Cause the promoters did me a favor.  They made it clear.  

Ron Houston ducks no one.

[A big cheer from the fans.]

RH:  Be it Shaw.  Be it Rogers.  Be it Rage.  Be it Bruno.  Be it one of
the boys in WarGames.  Be it that Assassin ah just laid out.  If ya want
a shot at Ron Houston in Laredo, ya got it.

Stephen Ross called out the world for me... and I damn sure 'preciate
it.

[Houston waves the camera in closer.]

RH:  In case ya still don't understand...

If yer sittin' at home with yer feet up thinkin', "ah could take that
guy"... show up.

If yer sittin' in a locker room somewhere thinkin', "if only ah got the
opportunity Houston did"... show up.

If yer sittin' in an old folks' home thinkin', "if only ah had one more
shot at the big time"... show up.

[Houston nods his head.]

RH:  Cause ah don't give a damn if yer on the AWA roster... on a roster
of some big time place somewhere else... on a Hall of Fame ballot... or
just makin' ends meet puttin' yerself through flaming tables wrapped in
barbed wire...

Show up.

[A smirk.]

RH:  I'm beggin' ya.  Just show up.

[And with that, Ron Houston walks away from the announce desk.]

GM:  Just show up, indeed.  It's going to be an exciting night in
Laredo, Texas, in two weeks' time.  Fans, we'll be right back with our
next big match!

[The shot holds on Gordon Myers as we fade to black...

...and then back up to a shot showing the logos of Pro Wrestling
Revolution, Sin City Wrestling, and Southern Championship Wrestling.]

"From Day One, the American Wrestling Alliance was determined to give
its fans the very best action available.  And on Day One, our video
library is officially open for business!"

[Cut to a closeup of the Sin City Wrestling logo.]

"Check out "High Profile" Darryl Styles on commentary.  See the Upper
Crust in action before they were the Upper Crust!"

[Now to the Southern Championship Wrestling logo.]

"Ricky Royal lit up the rings in SCW before he came to the AWA!  "Stars
and Stripes" Clayton Shaw was a SCW staple as well!"

[And then the PWR logo.]

"See Calisto Dufresne in action!  And don't forget the ever-dangerous
Kolya Sudakov!"

[Cut back to the wide shot of all three logos.]

"Events from all three promotions are available NOW exclusively through
the AWA website via DVD or download!  So, be the first on the block to
be an AWA expert and check out all of this great action today!"

[Fade to black...

...and then back up on the announce desk where Gordon Myers... well,
quite frankly, he looks confused.]

GM:  Welcome back to AWA Saturday Night Wrestling.  And fans, we're
scheduled to have a match right now, but... well, apparently we're
missing one of the participants.  This is unusual.  Let's go up to
Melissa Cannon for the official word, because I don't have all of the
information...

[We cut up to Melissa, who is bearing a strange expression on her face
as well.  She seems confused, as if something really odd has happened. 
Still, she has to go through with the motions...]

MC: This match is scheduled for one fall and a ten minute time limit. 
Introducing first, from Grand River, Texas, weighing two-hundred
thirty-nine pounds... ROB BENSON!

[The fans don't react, because there is no one there.  And then, a
single deep bass drum beats... BOOM.  Then again, a little louder.  And
again.]  

GM: Oh, no.

BW: You act surprised, Gordo.  Like Tumaffi appearing on the show is
unusual.

GM: I had hoped we'd seen the last of him for tonight after the little
incident outside in the parking lot.

[With the sound of rain in the background, the drum beats resound
throughout the arena, like the approaching footsteps of some terrible
monster.  Upon their climax, the crackling BOOM of a thunderbolt is
heard over the PA!]

MC: COMING DOWN THE AISLE... FROM THE ISLAND OF SAMOA... WEIGHING IN AT
FOUR HUNDRED AND TWELVE POUNDS...
                       ...T U M A F F I ! !

[As the hollow-sounding drumbeats and reedy-toned woodwinds form an
ominous tune (amongst the backdrop of the thunderstorm) over the PA, the
behemoth form of Tumaffi steps forth from the curtain to the boos of the
crowd.  The monstrous Samoan pays the fans little mind as he marches
directly to the announce position.  A mountain of muscle and fat, the
dark-toned Tumaffi has massive shoulders, thick limbs, and a big round
gut.  His hair is nearly as mountainous as his physique, as he sports a
wild black mane that would make a lion envious!  His long, cascading
hair and beard seem connected in a way that leaves little visible
determining point as to where one ends and the other begins.  So hairy
is the man that it is difficult to make out his brown-eyed, big-nosed
face.]

GM: I think... I think I understand where Rob Benson is.

BW: Same place Ricky Royal's headed. Or else he's accepting his award
for Smartest Wrestler In The AWA at an undisclosed location that is just
not here.

[Clad in a loose flowing black silk robe with a dark-colored floral
design, Tumaffi strides up to the set.  There is one addition to the
Samoan's normal ring gear... strapped to his back is what looks like an
olive-green pole, extending several feet above Tumaffi's head.  Bucky
exits stage left, as Gordon tenatively faces the monster.]

GM: You didn't... tell me you didn't ambush another...

[Tumaffi's booming bass voice cuts off Gordon abruptly, shaking the
announcer considerably (and feedbacking his mic a bit).]

Tumaffi: TUMAFFI DOES NOT LAY AMBUSHES!  Ambushes are cowardly methods
used by the weak in hopes to defeat the strong through treachery, when
their power is insufficient for the task!  Tumaffi does not 'ambush'
from behind, he faces his enemy from the front AND DESTROYS THEM.

[The big guy unstraps the belt holding the pole to his back as he
speaks.]

T: But to ease your fears, Gordon Myers, the mainlander in question is
far away from here.  You see, Tumaffi is a merciful man.  It is not
possible, now that Tumaffi has his sights on his victim Ricky Royal,
that Tumaffi should allow any who oppose me to survive my great wrath! 
Has this not proven true, as stretcher after stretcher have formed a
convoy of devastation across the state of Texas, evidence of Tumaffi's
awesome power?

GM: Yes...

[Gordon sounds as if he's going to be ill, as he mutters agreement to
Tumaffi's point.  For his part, the massive Samoan pulls the pole down
from his back, and unfurls it... it proves to be two poles enwrapped in
olive-green canvas, which connects the two.  A stretcher.  Tumaffi slams
the stretcher down on the counter near Gordon, and points to it
animatedly.]

T: THAT is why Tumaffi informed the mainlander Benson that he had an
opportunity to flee Texas, and never return!  This bumbling fool was
fresh out of wrestling school, and what does he find as his first match
but a living death-sentence!?  Tumaffi supposes he was not such a fool
after all, as he astutely accepted Tumaffi's generous offer, and may
live to see his next birthday.

If only Ricky Royal were so lucky.  For him, there are no more
birthdays.  Tumaffi cannot allow one so foolish to exist!  That is why
Tumaffi is storing up all of his great fury!  Tumaffi shall not expend
one iota of his mighty power on anyone, until the time is right to
obliterate Ricky Royal and rid the world of him forever!  

Do you not see this stretcher, Royal?  Tumaffi refuses to use the modern
aluminum-cast matress-stretchers.  It is a waste of material to use such
a thing, when a deathbed of bamboo and canvas is so much more fitting. 
The mainlander officials cannot stop the match!  Nor can their attempts
to protect their own intercede on your behalf!  There is no mechanism by
which this match can be terminated until one of us is terminated, and
all who hear my voice know which of us that will be, worm!  When Tumaffi
is finished, I shall have to scoop your remains onto this stretcher one
handful at a time!  TUMAFFI DECLARES THESE THINGS TO BE ABSOLUTELY TRUE!

[With that, Tumaffi stomps up to the ring.  The referee makes the formal
ten-count to count Benson out and Tumaffi postures for the crowd with
the stretcher in hand.]

BW: Yeah, I don't think you should show up for that one, Gordo.  Ya
might cry, my friend.

GM: Tumaffi is once again trying to bully and intimidate everyone on his
way to success, but it'll backfire here just like it did at The Battle
Of Dallas, Bucky.  He seems to have neglected the fact that Erik Reid is
nearly cleared by the doctors to return, and after what Tumaffi did to
him...

BW: Woah, woah, woah!  Was the Six-Million Dollar Man real or a myth?

GM: What?

BW: Cuz unless they made him better, unless they put bionic parts in him
to make him stronger an' faster... what exactly is stopping Tumaffi from
just crushin' him again?

[*DING*DING*DING*]

BW: That's what I thought.

[Melissa makes it official.]

MC: Your winner, as the result of a forfeit... TUMAFFI!

[The crowd boos the non-match vehemently as Tumaffi brandishes the
stretcher for all to see. Leaving the ring, he shows it off as he walks
up the aisle.]

GM: Then by that same standard, Bucky... Ricky Royal has run Tumaffi off
more than once.  Why won't he do that again?

BW: Simple.  Tumaffi doesn't have to worry about fines, suspensions, or
being arrested.  He can cut loose, daddy.  Royal's given him his best
shot, and it annoyed him a bit.  How in the name of Texas is he gonna
put that man on a stretcher?  It can't be done.

GM: We'll find out on Labor Day Weekend...

[With one last flash of the bamboo and canvas stretcher, Tumaffi turns
and ducks through the entrance curtain.


"CLAAAAANG!!"



Only to be blasted back through the curtain head over heels and sent to
the ground HARD! The crowd ROARS as Ricky Royal charges through the
curtain after him, pushing a more conventional stretcher in front of
him!]

GM:  The Ragin' Rebel just plowed over Tumaffi with a stretcher!

BW:  Where did he come from!? And where did he get that from?

GM:  From the ambulance, obviously! He's looking pretty good for a guy
who got pancaked against a van earlier!

[Tumaffi struggles to his feet and with a Rebel Yell, Royal charges
forward and drives the metal stretcher into the mammoth gut of the
Samoan.]

GM:  Ricky Royal is now giving Tumaffi a preview of the Last Stampede.
And, seeing this, it might not be the blowout everyone has been
expecting after Tumaffi's recent attacks.

BW:  We're gonna have a goddang FIGHT on our hands in Laredo, Gordo!

[With Tumaffi rolling around on the ground, his ribs and back sore from
being slammed repeatedly with the stretcher, Royal lifts the stretcher
up and...


"CLANG!!!"


... slams it down right on top of Tumaffi!]

GM:  OHHH! How brutal!

[Turning away, Royal sees Tumaffi's bamboo stretcher on the ground and
picks it up. He tests the weight a bit, rolls the two sticks together
fashioning them into one long swingable stick-like object again. He raps
the end of it against the ground a couple times and shrieks at Tumaffi,
who is struggling to get out from under the stretcher and back to his
feet]

RR:  Ya wanna play with this thing!? HUH!? Lemme show ya what I'm gonna
use your new toy for in Laredo!

[The crowd explodes as Ricky cocks back, lifting the bamboo sticks over
his head like a club as he approaches Tumaffi...

But suddenly a wave of security officials hit the ring area and are all
over Royal. The crowd boos lustily as they break it up. Two of them use
their bodies to block him and a third yanks the bamboo sticks from his
hands as he strains against them.]

GM:  And security has let this go on long enough. These two are going to
have a chance to go at each other in a couple weeks and not before.
 
BW:  But that don't mean they're not gonna try!

[Tumaffi has regained his wherewithal and is straining against the five
officials holding him back as Royal lunges against three officials of
his own, as well. They manage to back Royal up to near the ring as
Tumaffi is escorted to the back.]

GM:  Officials trying to keep these two separated and away from one
another until two weeks from now.  Boy, Bucky, are we in for the fight
of a lifetime come Labor Day Weekend.

BW:  That is for sure. No disqualifcation, no countouts, no security
guards holding 'em back. No rules at all except that one man's gotta put
the other man down and out on a stretcher and send him to the hospital.

GM:  Fans, we need to get this under control.  We'll be right back!

[Fade out on the big showdown...

...and then back up on a screen with the AWA logo splashed across the
top with a "Live Events Schedule" graphic underneath.  The backdrop is
some generic space photograph showing the moon and some stars.]

"Join all the stars of the American Wrestling Alliance as they come to
your town!"

[The graphic changes to show a list of cities, venues, and dates.]

"On August 30th, we'll be in Laredo, Texas for our latest supercard
event - The Last Stampede.  And don't miss out in September when the AWA
goes back on tour!"

[The graphic changes back to the original AWA logo and "Live Events
Schedule" showing a smaller version of the three announced shows.]

"The AWA - the Major League of Professional Wrestling!  Don't miss it
when it comes to your town!"

[And we fade away from the graphic...

...and back up to the announce team.]

GM:  Welcome back, fans.  What a crazy night it's been so far here
tonight in Dallas, Texas - and unfortunately, we're running lo-

[The crowd pops as Werewolf Gregorson and Despair step through the
curtain and make their way down to Gordon and Bucky at ringside.]
 
GM: Gentlemen, we're just two weeks away from War Games.  Your thoughts?
 
WG: Our thoughts, Gordon? Our thoughts?!?
 
We're thinking about War Games, of course, and how what anything we do
until then is _nothing_ compared to what we have in store for the
Benedict Arnold of the AWA, Comrade Stevie Scott, and his four
treacherous little friends.
 
D: That's right, big man, because, whether they know it or not, the AWA
has given _us_ a license to wreak havoc at War Games...and that's just
what we're gonna do to when we get our hands on Stevie and The Russians.

[Bucky, feeling bold again, interrupts.]

BW: Now, with all your big talk about Stevie and The Russians, aren't
you two forgetting someone? After all, this match isn't five on
_three_... it's five on five!!

WG (glaring at Bucky): Far be it for me to overlook the duo of Callisto
Dufresne and Adrian Freeman, Bucky Wilde, but their decision to support
Stevie Scott and The Russians speaks for itself and, as far as Despair
and I are concerned, they've both already been found guilty by
association.

D: You got that right, Werewolf, and, as their judge, jury, and
executioners, we're not only found them guilty but sentenced them both
to the same fate as their hammer and sickle loving Commie Pinko
partners...

WG: A sentence that _will_ be carried out at War Games by Team USA, the
team of Werewolf Gregorson, Despair, Rick Marley, and Kentucky's Pride!
 
[The crowd cheers~!]

D: Go USA!!

[And, on that note, Gregorson and Despair are joined at the announce
position by Rick Marley and Kentucky's Pride, handshakes and high-fives
being exchanged all around as the announcers look on...

...until the Soviet National Anthem kicks in to interrupt the lovefest. 
The fans jeer wildly as the squad of Adrian Freeman, Calisto Dufresne,
Stevie Scott, and the Russians make their way through the curtain making
a beeline for the ring.]

GM:  Gentlemen, gentlemen... let's try to maintain some sense of decorum
out here.

[The Russian War Machine, Kolya Sudakov, snatches a mic away from
Melissa Cannon and hands it to his Uncle, Vladimir Velikov as the five
men glare across the WKIK Studios at their rivals, taunting and shouting
from inside the ring...]

VV:  "GO USA!"  "GO USA!"  You pathetic Americans make me sick.

[More boos from the fans.]

VV:  You are weak, you are soft, you are unable to comprehend the true
destructive power of what you will be facing in two weeks' time.  If you
knew, you would not be here.  If you understood, you would run out the
door and never come back.

But you do not know... you do not understand...

[Velikov chuckles.]

VV:  Only in America... only here in the weakest, the most corrupt, the
most vile of all nations would the capitalist swine put forth the heroes
of the people to be destroyed... all to be sold to the workers.  

[He turns his focus to the fans.]

VV:  Is that why you are here?  To pay your money to see us destroy your
heroes?  That is what will happen in fourteen days!  They are lined
up... your Marley... your Werewolf and his little pup... and then these
others.

[Velikov chuckles.]

VV:  Only in America would the people pay to see their heroes put down. 
And only in America would we want it to happen.  Freeman, Dufresne,
Comrade Hotspot, the Russian War Machine, and myself - we are ready for
war.  We were BORN ready for war.

Comrade Stalin once said that "when we hang the capitalists, they will
sell us the rope we use."

[Another scraggly chuckle.]

VV:  So, it is only fitting that on the day to celebrate the workers of
America, the workers will spend their money to build your final resting
place.  

We are coming to hang you, Americans - and yet your AWA builds the
gallows for us.

[Another loud cackle fills the air...

...which is quite enough for the five men by the announce table who
charge the ring, diving into the fray.]

GM:  HERE WE GO!  HERE WE GO!  IT'S BREAKING DOWN HERE IN DALLAS!

BW:  We've seen the Stretcher Match early and now we're seeing WarGames
early!  

[Everyone quickly pairs off.  Marley with Freeman, Stevie with Tin Can
Rust, Dufresne with City Jack, Sudakov with Gregorson, Velikov with
Despair - fists a-flyin' as the crowd roars their approval of it all.]

GM:  THE FANS ARE GOING CRAAAAAZY!

[The floodgates of the entryway open up, security pouring from the
backstage area into the ring where they frantically try to separate the
two factions from destroying one another before the big battle in
fourteen days.]

GM:  We've see the battle raging since Day One.  It started with the
Russians, Gregorson, and Despair.  Then Stevie and Tin Can Rust.  Then
Dufresne.  Then City Jack.  Then Marley and Freeman - and it finally has
come down to this.  The time for battle has ended and in fourteen
days...

IT'S TIME FOR WAAAAAAAAAAR!

[Even with security inside the ring, the fists continue to fly with the
crowd absolutely deafening, cheering for the battle that has erupted in
front of them.]

GM:  We're out of time!  We've gotta go!  I'm Gordon Myers for Bucky
Wilde saying so long from Dallas, Texas, until next time when we'll see
_you_... at the matches!

[With the battle still raging and security still trying to regain
control...

...we fade to black.]