[Byron and Verhoeven both leave the ring, and move towards the battered
bodies of Creed and Starks.]

TD: Oh, this is bad, Steve Roberts.

[Verhoeven grabs the only barely conscious Starks and hits him with the
Slaughterslam before hurling him into the ringsteps. Byron grabs Creed
and pushes him into the ring. Creed staggers to his feet as the referee
orders the bell rung. Ding! Ding! Ding! Byron approaches Creed, and
Creed lashes out with a kick to the midsection. Big crowd pop! However,
as he is doing this, Lady DeWinters throws Byron's brass-tipped cane to
Verhoeven, he sneaks up on the back of Creed. WHACK! Creed topples like
a great oak!]

SR: Yes!

TD: Steve! Can we get some security down here, please?!

[Creed is beaten repeatedly by the cane as the helpless referee tries to
stop the carnage. Blow after blow is rained down upon the barely
conscious Creed. The crowd booes wildly, and the bell rings incessantly.
Verhoeven vaults the top rope and grabs a chair, positioning himself in
the aisle. As "Nifty" Ned Norton and the JJS arrive upon the scene,
Verhoeven swings the chair wildly keeping them at bay.]

TD: This is horrible, Steve, just horrible.

SR: Actually, I kind of like it. Good grief, now that's something you
    don't see everyday!

[Nurse Heidi has folded the wheelchair up and pushed it under the bottom
rope as Byron continues to inflict punishment with the cane. Climbing
into the ring, she unfolds the wheelchair and calmly pushes it towards
Byron. "Thank you, m'dear" can clearly be heard from Byron, as he lifts
the wheelchair and...]

TD: NO! Byron smashes the wheelchair into Creed's knee! This isn't just
    horrible, Steve, this is obscene!

SR: Spoilsport. Byron's just sending Creed a little message, that's all.

[Byron smashes the chair down again, and Creed roars in pain. Again, and
again, and again!]

TD: Finally! I've lost count of how many times that maniac has hit Creed
    with that chair! We may need some medical help down here as - NO!
    Byron applies the Aristoclutch!

[Byron has the Aristoclutch locked on tightly, and Creed thrashes about
in pain as he tries, futilely, to free himself. Referees pour down the
aisle, pushing past the JJS and ducking under the chair Verhoeven
swings, although one of them is hit.]

TD: That'll cost Verhoeven... I'm sure the IIWF President is back there
    totting up the fines as he watches this on a monitor.

SR: I'm sure he's quaking. By the way, Dross, you're not supposed to
    call Byron a maniac. I'm not sure Byron likes it. I'll ask him
    later, when I see him.

[The referees pour into the ring, frantically trying to free Creed, but
Byron is relentless, he refuses to break the hold. Creed is on his back,
nearly unconscious, but still Byron won't let go. The bell is still
ringing frantically, but the referees cannot break the hold. Outside the
ring Tony Starks stirs, but Verhoeven sees this and lunges towards him,
ramming the chair right into his midriff. The JJS pour down toward the
ring, but Verhoeven is still able to keep them at bay.]

TD: Get security. Get the police! Somebody has got to break this carnage
    up.

[Byron finally relents and releases the hold. A close-up camera angle
shows that Creed is apparently unconscious. The referees try to hustle
Byron out of the ring, but Byron is having none of it as he retrieves
his championship belts and grabs the ring microphone from a terrified
Sparkplug Lee. Shaking his hair out of its now loose bob, he brushes the
hair back off his face before holding the microphone up to his face.
Sneering, he begins to speak.]

LB: [in a passable imitation of Creed] Rookie!  Hey!  Rookie!

[Byron looks around at the jeering crowd, and takes a few steps towards
Creed.  Two of the officials try to hold him back.]

LB: Oh, you will not believe how long I've been waiting to see this...
    What's the matter, Creed? No longer the tough guy? What happened,
    Creed?  Has your strength deserted you?  Get up, Creed, stand up and
    fight!

[Byron sneers again, pushing the referees away and pulling his hair back
into the ponytail, looking down scornfully at Creed, who appears to have
come round, but is barely moving, clutching his knee in agony.  The
referee, examining him, calls out for a stretcher, and shouts at Byron
to back off.]

LB: What's the matter, Creed?  Are we in some pain?  For all your proud
    words, for all you've achieved, you still are a rookie, aren't you?
    You've been building yourself up all this time, making a name for
    yourself, trying to create the very image of invincibility. [Byron
    sneers] How human you look now.

[Byron smiles as he sees the EMT team rushing down to ringside, and
holds the IC title towards Creed, the arrogant smirk returning to his
face. Verhoeven finally lets the stretcher team past, but rushes Starks
and smashes him over the head with another chair shot before calling for
Nurse Heidi, and walking back down the aisle. The JJS follow him, at a
respectful distance. Several fans throw plastic bottles and rolled up
posters at him as he walks down the aisle, the crowd's booing almost
unbearably loud.]

LB: [raises his voice over the crowd's booing] All's fair in love and
    war, Creed.  You earned your shot at this, but are you ready for it?
    I don't think so.  You haven't got the guile, the wit to be
    champion.  You're nothing but a rookie.  You still want this title?
    What are you prepared to do to get it, Creed?  What is it going to
    cost you?  Your career?  Will you even make it?

[Byron watches as the EMT team carefully lift Creed onto the stretcher.]

LB: It's your call now, Creed.  Let's see just what sort of man you
    really are.  I'll be there at Birthday Bash. I'll be waiting.
    [Byron sneers] Ciao.

[Byron turns to leave, and then rushes the stretcher, hurling Creed off
the stretcher and on to the floor, kicking away at Creed's knee again.
This time the referees and paramedics are able to quickly haul him off,
and a small army of referees escort him away. Byron raises his arms in
victory as he is dragged off, inciting a huge heel pop. Meanwhile, the
paramedics manage to get Creed, who resists their help, lashing out at
them as he tries to drag himself to his feet. His right knee gives out,
however, and he crumples back to the floor, his face screwed up in
pain.]

TD: What despicable actions we've seen tonight on the part of both Lord
    Byron and Otto Verhoeven!

SR: Hmm. Yeah. Shocking. Absolutely shocking.

TD: I sense you're less than sincere, Steve.

SR: Me?

[The EMT crew finally manages to roll Creed onto their stretcher, and a
few of them begin to wheel him up the aisle to the locker room area,
while a couple of others help Tony Starks to his feet. The Staten Island
sensation is shaken, but is able to walk under his own steam.]

TD: Surely what we've just seen has to cast grave doubts over whether or
    not Creed will be physically able to wrestle Byron next Saturday
    night -- he could have sustained some very serious damage in that
    attack.

SR: Guess we'll see just how good Creed really is. He's beaten Byron
    before, but can he do it again with only one good leg?

[The crowd give Creed and Starks a standing ovation as they disappear
into the locker room, surrounded by medical staff and security. The fans
begin to settle as the shot cuts back to Dross and Roberts at the
ringside broadcast table.]