Suddenly, it all comes to halt, and the RAGE in the CAGE logo is stilled in the center. Momentarily, It fades into the sold-out Madison Square Garden, where IWL fans, old and new, scream at the top of their lungs. The camera pans throughout the arena, where some fans hold signs dedicated to their favorite wrestlers, and others wear IWL tee shirts and face paint of the IWL colors. The camera changes and is faced to the ringside commentator booth, consisting of Nick Roberts, President Mark Liquete, and a new face. Prez Mark removes his headset, walks up the stairs, and into the ring with a mic. He receives a standing ovation, and he has a wide grin on his face.]

Prez Mark: Welcome, everyone, to the kick-off bash of the INTERNET WRRRRESTLING LEEEEAGUE!

[The fans erupt with cheers, and the infamous “IWL” chant begins. Prez Mark holds his hand up to signal silence.]

Prez Mark: Without further ado, let’s get this show on the road! For this special occasion, we have boxing-famous Michael Buffer as our special guest announcer!

[The fans cheer once more as Prez Mark hands the mic to Michael Buffer.]

Buffer: ARE YOU READY?

[A small pop from the fans.]

Buffer: ARE... YOU... RRRRRREADY??

[Mediocre pop from the fans.]

Buffer: LADIES AND GENTLEMEN... LLLLLLEEEEEETTT’S GET RRREADY TO RRRRRUUUMBLLLLLLEEEE!!!

[The fans BURST with excitement! The camera shifts back to the commentator booth as Prez Mark takes his seat.]

New Commentator: Folks, this is WWA’s very own Lance Thompson, and I’ll be working with the great Nick Roberts and Prez Mark!

Nick Roberts: Ah! Who the hell are you?! Where’s my real partner?!

Lance Thompson: He got released! I’m the award-winning Lance Thompson, of the WWA, and I’ve been hired to do my first card.

NR: And it’s gonna be your last after I do something about it!

LT: And just what’s that s’posed to me-

NR: FOLKS, we’re here in the LIVE... SOLD-OUT... ACTION-PACKED Madison Square Garden, and you’ve just tuned into IWL RAGE in the CAGE!

Prez: That’s right, Nick, the IWL is back and better than ever. And we’re going to prove it, tonight, with the kick-off PPV, and a spectacular line-up of matches.

Lance Thompson: You’re tellin’ me, Mark!

NR: We’ve got the Hardcore Hell match that will defy all gimmick matches... We’ve got the duel between the Natural Born Killaz and the Bomb Squad that has kept all of us on the tip of our seats... Best of all, we’ve got the Twin Battle Royals that will decide who will participate in the Main Event!: RAGE in the CAGE!

LT: You stole my line! I was supposed to read that!

NR: Well it wouldn’t be your line in the first place if-

Prez: GUYS! Drop it or BOTH of you won’t be here!

[A forced grin stretches out on Roberts’ face.]

NR: There’s no telling what’ll happen tonight, Lance! All belts are on the line, but more importantly, all reputations will be decided as well!

Prez: Our first match-up of the night pits HARDCORE BJ against Klixpac for the Jobber Championship. While it’s not something everyone would strive for, it’s been a tradition in the IWL.

[The lights go out and the fans are silenced. Several explosions boom while the theme of Triple H plays through the loudspeakers. Bytch, HARDCORE BJ’s valet, walks through the curtains first, sounding numerous hoots and whistles from the male crowd. HBJ follows soon after, and he runs to the ring with a determined look on his face. The red streaks glare through his blonde hair, and his green eyes twinkle to the ceiling lights. He comes suited in black jeans, black gloves, a wife-beater, and a baseball bat in his hand.]

NR: Wow, this guy’s a real winner...

LT: Ha! That’s one thing we can agree on...

[Klixpac’s music ensues, only to receive another bland reaction from the crowd. He makes his way to the ring with a woman of his own, Gorgeous George. Klixpac comes suited in black tights and black boots. Referee Nick Jett signals the bell: DING, DING, DING!]

LT: And this match is under way! HBJ and Klixpac quickly lock up... HBJ with a headlock, Klixpac reverses with an arm bar, no, HBJ with an arm bar of his own! HBJ delivers a series of elbows to the twisted arm of Klixpac...

NR: A rope break is called, and Klixpac regroups... They lock up again, and it’s a war of strength, if you will. The forces of each of the men are pushing against each other.

Prez: And Klixpac dominating! He overpowers HBJ to the corner, and a rope break is called! Klixpac’s hands are up, and he suddenly delivers a closed-fist jab to the chest! Another one! And another one!

NR: The referee is up to a 4-COUNT and Klixpac will retire from the corner. HBJ has regrouped and will attack at KP again!

Prez: BUT KLIXPAC SPEARS HIM!

NR: That was weak, but it still popped the wind out of HARDCORE BJ! Uh oh, Klixpac is signaling for the infamous X-Plex!

LT: [aside]WHAT THE F(BEEP)K?!

Prez: Hey! Didn’t I tell you before the card not to swear?!

[Jaw dropped, Thompson points the Prez to something. The camera quickly shifts to it.]

Prez: WHAT THE F(BEEP)K?!

[The Prez breaks out of his trance. The odd event is what looks to be Habib, coming down on a parachute from the rafters! He’s wearing that overly large turban, and his quickie mart uniform! The fans are going crazy! He has a large printout of his face on the parachute!]

NR: He lands in the second row! Habib, already unstrapped, takes HBJ’s baseball bat! He’s in the ring! They don’t even know! Turn around you idiots!

LT: OHH!!! HE JUST LEVELED HBJ!

[Klixpac raises his arms as if he won. He goes to shake Habib’s hand, and Habib takes a home run swing and connects with Klix!]

Prez: Habib drops the bat and he takes the Jobber Championship belt! I don’t believe it! He’s proclaiming himself the Jobber Champ! He is out of sight, and both Klixpac and HBJ are raving mad, just after regaining consciousness!

NR: What an amazing night we’ve had, so far!

LT: Yeah, and it was only the first match, let alone a Jobber Championship!

Buffer: LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, THE WINNER OF THIS BOUT, AND NEW JOBBER CHAMPION... HAAAAAABIB!

***WINNER: HABIB***

Prez: Wait a minute... I’m getting something, right now!

[The Prez places his hand over the right part of his headset to make it more audible. Suddenly, the CG-Tron changes to the backstage area where Derek Justice and Jay Hawke, NBK, are watching a recording of the previous match, and Jay is laughing his ass off. Out of nowhere, two masked men in thick body paint and black tights jump them from behind!]

Prez: NBK was just ambushed by two mysterious men! Who the heck are they, and what do they want with NBK?! OHH!!! The man in green body paint spits mist into the Hawke’s face! The man in red body paint continuously stomps Justice into the hard floor!

NR: OH MY GOD! IT’S THE DEATH~SYNDROME! THE DEATH~SYNDROME! FROM THE WFW, I DON’T BELIEVE IT, THE DEATH~SYNDROME!

Prez: Umm... the WHO?!

NR: WFW, Prez Dave’s old fed! I used to commentate for him. And D~S... Well... Let’s say that D~S is to WFW as Bomb Squad is to IWL...

LT: Well, I hate to break up your reminiscent memories, BUT THERE’S ANARCHY IN THE BACKSTAGE!!!

[IWL officials are on their way, but as they reach the incident, the two men, only known together as “The Death~Syndrome,” are long gone.]

LT: I am just baffled...

NR: Don’t be, Lance, these guys are tough, and they don’t back down to anyone, not even NBK obviously.

Prez: Well, now that things are cleared up, let’s get to our next bout!

NR: There are three young, talented athletes that are about to duke it out for the Television Title. In this match, a tazer on a pole was requested and granted. OutKast, Shawn Walsh, and Acid will be participating in this Elimination Style-Triple Threat Grudge-Match.

[The lights are dimmed, and the “Ruff Ryders’ Anthem” keys in through the loudspeakers. Some fans familiar with the song yell “STOP, DROP, SHUT’EM DOWN, OPEN UP SHOP”, the words coinciding with what DMX yells. Blue and red pyros storm off into the air, and the towering man known as “Acid” steps out from the curtains. He slowly walks down the ramp to a mild reaction from the crowd, but with the “Go Hard or Go Home” look on, his face shows clearly that he doesn’t care about anything except the match. Michael Buffer introduces Acid, who is attired in a black tee-shirt and cut-off jeans, with his long black hair hanging down.]

NR: Well, isn’t this guy intimidating! I’ve had my fair share of wrestlers who kicked my ass, but this guy, Acid? Huh, no way, I’m keeping my distance.

LT: You know, if you didn’t insult them so much they wouldn’t be after your sorry tail...

NR: Yeah, if you don’t shut up, I’ll be after yours...

LT: That was pathetic, how did you even qualify for this job?

[KoRn’s “No Place to Run, No Place to Hide” gradually keys in from silence to a deafening level. “Sadistic” Shawn Walsh pushes through the curtains and stops at the top of the ramp, receiving a wave of boos and jeers. He looks around the arena, laughs arrogantly, and spits on the ramp in disgust. He continues down the ramp as Michael Buffer reads off his stats, and he is wearing a sassy black leisure suit, which he’ll be wrestling in, and his shiny black hair is slicked back and tied. He combs his thumb and forefinger to each side of his chin, babying his perfectly-groomed goatee, while giving a nasty look at Acid.]

[Last, but not least, OutKast’s song keys in to a series of boos, but the curtains aren’t moving. Out of nowhere, OutKast bursts into the ring from the opposite side, after already obtaining the tazer!]

NR: OutKast wastes no time, and quickly connects with Acid! Oh man, what a setup! When OutKast first said “everyone can kiss my ass,” you knew then that he wouldn’t hesitate to do ANYTHING, and when gold’s on the line, you know you better not be anywhere NEAR him.

LT: Shawn Walsh, the “Prince of Sadism”, is facing OutKast, with no fear in his eyes. It sure doesn’t look like he’ll be budging.

Prez: OutKast wipes the sweat off his forehead with his arm, and slowly approaches Walsh as if he was prey...

LT: Yeah, and he still ain’t movin’! OutKast quickly lunges forward, but Walsh quickly sidesteps, steals the tazer, and cracks the end over the head of OutKast! What a maneuver!

Prez: What speed and celerity shown by Walsh! Things like that make me glad I hired him!

NR: And now, Shawn is arrogantly wasting his time in the ring, doing nothing but talking smack to the fallen wrestlers. Suddenly, OutKast, already regrouped, stands up behind Walsh, and he doesn’t even know!

[The fans are making some noise in an attempt to tell him who’s behind him. Walsh turns around and...]

NR: OHHH! A MASSIVE CLOTHESLINE! WALSH IS _DOWN_ and the tazer goes flyin’! OutKast brings Acid back to his feet, a quick kick to the midsection, and a lightening-fast DDT! OutKast turns around and arrogantly raises his fists in the air, only to a set of boos!

Prez: He will go back to Walsh, who is set up in the corner... OutKast lifting him to the top turnbuckle, while he himself stands on it.

[He raises his right fist, gazing around the arena. He then looks down, and punches once... twice... the crowd chanting on... THREE... FOUR... FIVE... SIX... SEVEN... EIGHT... NINE... The crowd yells “TEN” but OutKast stops at nine. He hooks Walsh’s head under his arm...]

NR: A TORNADO DDT! He just sent the Sadist One into 360 hell!

LT: But Acid, already prepared, delivers a lariat to OutKast! He is down, he is out! The momentum has just been equalized, and Acid will try to take advantage...

NR: Acid goes for the pin on Walsh, but not even a one count as OutKast jumps in.

Prez: Acid standing up and shoving OutKast! And OutKast fires back with a ram of his own!

NR: Walsh watching all of this, and climbs to the top turnbuckle! Uh oh... [Walsh leaps into the air and connects with the other two!]

LT: OHH!!! Walsh went sky high and took out Acid and OutKast! Everyone is down, and the referee will start the count!

[1... 2... 3... 4... 5... 6... 7...]

NR: And Acid showing that he’s still got energy in him! He crawls over and places his arm over Shawn Walsh! ONE! TWO! THREE! Walsh has just been eliminated, even after it was he, himself, who connected with that DEVASTATING plancha!

***”SADISTIC” SHAWN WALSH ELIMINATED!***

Prez: Ironic, isn’t it, Nick? Well, regardless, he is out of the contest, and it’s up to either OutKast or Acid!

LT: Yet Acid is still the only one up! He brings OutKast to his feet, sends him to the ropes-no, OutKast reverses, OutKast drops to the ground and Acid leaps over him, Acid bouncing off the ropes and OutKast connects with a hip toss!

Prez: And a loud tremble as Acid hits the canvas! OutKast bounces off the ropes and connects with a knee to the face on the fallen Acid! He brings Acid to his feet and executes a snap mare, and then hooks a cross-face headlock!

NR: And Acid has lost momentum all too quickly! Wow, it didn’t take too long to put Acid away! The referee lifts his hand once... it falls! A second attempt? Down again! OutKast just may be the new TV Champ!

LT: His hand carried up for the THIRD TIME! AND!... IT’S UP! HE’S STILL GOT IT!

Prez: And Acid raging his fist in the air, and the crowd rooting him on! He gradually makes his way onto his feet! He delivers an elbow to the chest of OutKast! Another one! And one final elbow to break loose, he bounces off the ropes AND-[huge pop from crowd]

NR: HOLY SH(beep)T, OUTKAST JUST FIRED WITH A POUNDING CLOTHESLINE! ACID IS OUT _COLD_!

Prez: This isn’t lookin’ good at all for the IWL newcomer.

LT: And OutKast, not wasting ANY time, setting up for his signature move, the “Exile!” He looks around the crowd to yet another series of boos.

NR: He ignores the fans and flicks them off.

LT: AND ACID JUST RECEIVED THE EXILE, COURTESY OF OUTKAST! THANK YOU VERY MUCH, TURN OFF THE LIGHTS ACID, YOU JUST GOT PUT TO SLEEP!

NR: “Thank you very much”?! What the hell is that?

LT: Oh shut up and do your job!

Prez: OutKast goes for the pin! ONE! TWO! THREE!!! OUTKAST IS THE NEW TELEVISION CHAMPION, OH WHAT A WAY TO WIN IT!

[OutKast is handed the TV Title as the referee holds his hand in the air. OutKast, breathing heavily, jerks his hand away from the ref’s grasp, and walks up the ramp with self-glory. Fans on the ramp side boo, but OutKast flicks them off. He shoves the curtains out of his way, and he’s out of sight.]

***WINNER: OUTKAST***

NR: Now, I’ve seen my fair share of kick-ass matches... AND THAT was THE KICK-ASS MATCH OF THE CENTURY!

LT: You idiot, you just told me minutes ago that the Jobber champ was. Make up your pea brain mind... Oh wait, lemme guess, the next match is gonna be the kick-ass match of the century, right?

NR: WELL... uhh... Make up YOUR mind!

LT: Uh huh, thought so.

NR: Shut up, Lance.

Prez: The next match for tonight will be the Cruiserweight War, and you can expect it to be crazy! But first, we’ve got “The Intense” Axel Fury down in the locker room area where Doomsday is standing by!

[After a few seconds, Doomsday appears on the CG-Tron, with Axel Fury standing by. A huge round of cheers come on once the fans notice the big man on the big screen. Doomsday is already suited up in his wrestling attire.]

AF: Doomsday, it seems like the Prez really has it in for ya. He went all out of his way to keep the participants for tonight’s Hardcore Title match under wraps. Do you really have anything to say on this?

DD: You know, I don’t care who the hell is going to be in the Hardcore Hell match. All I know is that once that bell rings, it’s definitely going to be Hardcore HELL. And at the end, I guarantee that I will feel the gold, and the IWL WILL FEEL THE CATACLYSM!

[He storms off in a raging fashion as Fury gives him a despising look to his back. He realizes he’s still on the air and grins.]

AF: Back to you, Prez!

Prez: Thanks, Axel. That was Doomsday, and boy did he have a few startling words to say. Once again, our next match will be the insane, high-flyin’ Cruiserweight War!

NR: So, eh, Prez... care to fill me in on who’ll be in the Hardcore Hell match?

Prez: Oh, will you shut up!

[Lance laughs as his foe takes a blow from the Prez. Suddenly, Honsu Myagi’s theme plays through the speakers as he comes out to a mild reaction from the crowd. He makes his way to the ring as Michael Buffer unenthusiastically reads his stats.]

[“Amazing” Andrew Tucker runs out to the ring as a fast-paced song blasts through the speakers. He seems to be pumping up the crowd, as they start cheering! He shows off with backflips off of the 1st, 2nd, and 3rd turnbuckles as pyros go off on the same turnbuckle at each leap.]

NR: Wow, this guy looks impressive, how come I’ve never seen him around?

[The lights suddenly die out. A countdown from TEN starts on the CG-Tron. As it hits ONE, Chris Jericho’s theme music plays and Year 2000 Kid comes out. Michael Buffer reads his stats off as he walks down to the ring, with blonde hair in a bowl cut, and black and red tights. The fans are booing and chanting “WAAAAAANNABE, WAAAAANNABE!”]

NR: The three lightweights are in the ring, geared up for the WAR! That means, the only man left is the champ himself![Suddenly, the lights shut out completely. Without warning, "More Human Than Human" blasts loudly over the speakers. The lights pulsate to the beat and, as the guitar finally screams in and the music goes full blast, the lights flare up. From the curtains steps Chris Therin, the reigning Cruiserweight Champ, to a deafening round of cheers. He walks to the ring, determined, and ignore the fans. He stops between the ramp and the ring, staring, planning. ]

[Suddenly, he steps up onto the apron, tosses belt to the three men, and springboards onto all of them! ***DING, DING, DING***]

Prez: Therin is wasting no time! He landed a picture-perfect plancha on all of them!

NR: Oh, it’s far from over, whatever Therin may be thinking!

LT: Now it’s Therin on Tucker and Myagi on Y2K! Therin sends Tucker to the outside, and he’ll run across the ring, off the ropes, across again, he leaps and...[huge pop]

NR: OHH!!! Tucker with a NASTY thrust kick to the face of the flying Therin! Tucker, now up on the apron, and performs an Asai Moonsault, landing on Therin!

LT: Tucker showing great maneuverability!

Prez: In the ring, Myagi with a DEVASTATING frankensteiner! Myagi onto the top turnbuckle and a SENTON, knocking the wind outta Y2K! Myagi then executes a front roll-up for the pin!

NR: But Tucker dashes into the ring to break the count! But wait, Y2K stops Tucker and Myagi! They huddle, and break off, going for Therin!

Prez: How cheap! They feel that Therin has the advantage, so they’re gonna team up on him! Tucker brings Therin in, still dazed. Tucker sits on the top turnbuckle, and Y2K and Myagi set Therin up for what looks to be a double-team vertical supple, and he’s up in the air! They’re holding him, and Tucker leaps!

NR: OH MY GOD! A MISSILE DROP-KICK TO THE BACK OF THE SUSPENDED THERIN, AND CRASHES DOWN!

LT: Oh boy, this is NOT lookin’ good for the lightweight half of the Bomb Squad...

Prez: Now that Therin is down, Tucker, without notice, flies and hits a double clothesline on Myagi and Y2K! Tucker with the advantage! He throws Myagi out of the ring... Y2K to follow! Tucker flaunting his babyface looks, but Therin out of nowhere with a roll-up from behind! ONE! TWO! THREE!!! CHRIS THERIN, THE REIGNING CRUISERWEIGHT CHAMPION!

Buffer: Ladies and gentlemen... the winner of this bout, and still the Cruiserweight Champion of the WOOORRRLD.... CHAAAAARIS THERIINNNNN!

[“More Human Than Human” keys in as the cruiserweight champ rejoices as he walks up the ramp. Fans boo, but the overabundance of cheers blocks out the boos. Tucker still sits in the ring perplexed. The wrestlers make their way out of the ring. The camera shifts back to the commentator booth, hoping that they will kill time while the next match is being set up.]

Prez: Three men so far have been proclaimed champion tonight... We’re already havin’ a ball here in the IWL kick-off bash, RAGE in the CAGE, so expect more soon enough.

NR: That’s right, Prez, next is the IWL-exclusive gimmick match. It’s Hardcore Hell here in Madison Square Garden, and mysteries of who will participate will be revealed in a matter of minutes!