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Intergalactic Wrestling Federation: Apocalypse

Gongsun Zan

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A Short Note From The Author:

Yes, you read that right.

This is the story of the Intergalactic Wrestling Federation, so welcome back. Before we begin in earnest though, I thought I’d take the time to explain a few things, so as to avoid the expected hassle that usually comes with taking on such a task.

A few days ago, I sent a PM to Plankton asking him if I could use his classic scenario for a diary of my own. He said yes, so here we are. Now, I’m aware that Dukes has attempted the idea before, but let’s face it – I killed Dukes in Battle Royale V, so fuck Dukes. For those of you who read his attempt though, be warned – while he may have preferred to adopt Plankton’s original style for his tale, I believe in working my own style into a diary, and so as such, while the world and conflict may be similar, I’ve altered the format to my liking, though for the most part, the changes are cosmetic and for ease of writing than anything else. Of course, being me, the story will probably be darker too, but I’m putting aside my fascination with gruesome blood and gore for this one. Well, mostly, anyway.

Oh, and just for the record, most of the ideas in this diary are my own, and should not be taken as a proper sequel in any way. Think of it as fan fiction of sorts, a tribute to one of my favourite diary’s in the Dome. I know I have a big mountain to climb, but I’m ready to stick with it, and I hope you will too.

Intergalactic Wrestling Federation: Apocalypse

Chapter 1: Under New Management

Baron Varys III had served the rightful government of Dimension X faithfully for many years, but even he had to question their rule when the announcement was made.

“The Intergalactic Wrestling Federation is to make a return,” they had told him during their assembly. “And you are to lead it.”

Echoes of their conversation flickered through his mind, as he strode through the dimly lit corridor that would take him to the common room. He’d been here long enough to know the place by heart, yet he always felt a sense of unease when he travelled through the underground tunnels. It wasn’t the exact location where Null had hosted his fights – that had been razed following his death by loyal supporters of the UAN – but even in this replica he could feel the old tyrant watching his every movement. He shuddered. Null was long dead, he told himself. Not that he wasn’t being watched, of course – they had planted cameras everywhere in preparation of the event, but it was his own men on the other side, not a monster that had been dead for years.

He paused, as he caught sight of a thin, bespectacled man pacing the corridor, stopping so often to straighten his suit and glance at the thick steel door that led into the next room. When he caught sight of Varys he offered a nervous smile and stuck out his hand in greeting.

It was an Earthling gesture, one that Varys had studied beforehand. He extended a hand of his own, and they shook. He smiled, realizing that Joey Styles was staring at him, and when he realized that Varys had noticed, he blushed, turning away slightly. Varys couldn’t fault him though – from a distance, he might have appeared human, but up close, the leathery scales, dark green in colour, that patched his neck betrayed his true hereditary. Still, better that the humans deal with something they could relate too, as opposed to a giant squid headed being, or worse.

“Have you seen them yet?” he asked, hoping that conversation would calm the poor man’s nerves. They had brought him in the day before, hoping to accustom him to the traditions and quirks of Dimension X in preparation for the job in store for him. There hadn’t been any plans to introduce him to the workers before the first actual show, but Varys thought it would be a good idea to have a familiar face on hand.

“Not yet.”

A wise move, Varys thought to himself. There was little Styles could have done for them, not at this point anyway. At best, they would laugh at him, and call him crazy. At worse, they would have struck him down and ran, and then he would really have a problem on his hands. Caged animals were always tricky to deal with, but he found that removing the cage only made things worse. “Come with me, then.”

He gestured for Styles to follow, as he waved his hand over the sensor that would unlock the door. A second later, the door slid open, revealing twenty five confused faces, all without a clue of the violent future that was in store for them. There was an awkward pause, as the noise in the room died down, their attention now focused solely upon him.

“Welcome,” he announced as he stepped into the room. “To Dimension X!”

Joey Styles slid in behind him, and there was a few curious mummers as he took his place by the doorway. Cries of disbelief echoed throughout the room, interlaced with a few cries for freedom. Despite the noise, a single voice stood out from the others:

“You better start talking, if you know what’s good for you.”

Varys wasn’t sure if the threat was being addressed to Styles or himself, but he stepped forward anyway, turning to look at the man that had posed the question. Triple H was used to being in charge, and he was not surprised to see him already trying to take control of the situation.

“Sit down, all of you.”

There was a short flurry of activity as the workers found their chairs. Varys glanced at the room’s inhabitants. He had been giving the listing of workers they had transported earlier in the day, but it always helped to make sure he got things right. Triple H aside, he spotted the rest of his newly christened warriors – Alex Shelley, Lance Hoyt, Trish Stratus, Altar Boy Luke, Jimmy Jacobs, Rob Conway, Jack Evans, Joey Mercury, Bill Goldberg, Nick Gage, Scott Hall, Batista, William Regal, Jeff Jarrett, Hernandez, Homicide, Matt Hardy, Jeff Hardy, Nigel McGuiness, Eric Young, Kenny Dykstra, The Undertaker, Sonjay Dutt, and a final figure lurking in the back of the room, but couldn’t get a proper look at, and couldn’t seem to remember either. Never mind, he told himself, there would be plenty of time to check later.

“Now, feel the back of your necks,” he realized that this had been the same tactic Null had used to welcome his original captives to Dimension X, and felt uncomfortable in doing so, but at the same time he knew it was probably the best way to introduce them to their new surroundings. A few gasps spread through the room, as several of the workers located the plug protruding from the back of their necks. “Don’t bother trying to remove it – they’ve been securely fastened, and besides, it’s the only thing keeping you from floating into space.”

Varys waited for several hands to shoot down, before continuing. “You will find two other devices implanted within you – the first is in your nostrils, and will provide you with all the oxygen you need to stay alive, and the other…” he paused, noticing a sudden excitement stirring within him. Did Null feel this way too, every time he stole the lives of twenty men? He dismissed the thought. “…is a small button implanted at the base of your spine, sturdy enough to withstand any bumps you take, but you’ll find it’s easily depressed, though I wouldn’t recommend trying it right now.”

“Why not?” Triple H was still standing – all the others had sat down, curious as to what this strange figure had to say.

“Because,” he smiled, his excitement undeniable now. “It would turn your body into stone.”

Silence, as the twenty five superstars stared at him, not knowing what to say. Even Triple H was lost for words, sinking into his chair with his arms folded, his face expressionless. Finally, it was Jack Evans who broke the silence. “This is crazy – you’re all crazy! Guess I must have taken one too many bump to the head, huh?” He laughed, though nobody was quite sure what he was laughing about. When he noticed, he fell silent again. “Just a dream,” he muttered under his breath, though now he wasn’t too sure.

“Joey, is this true?” It was Trish Stratus, her voice barely a whisper. She was the only female in the room, and thus looked even more out of place. Joey nodded grimly.

“W-what do you w-want with us?”

Varys turned towards the sound of the voice, identifying the man as Eric Young. The colour had gone from his face, and he was visibly shaking. “I’m sorry – I may have gotten ahead of myself, there.” He remembered the excitement he felt, and wondered if he really did. “Perhaps this might better explain things.”

He made a quick motion with his wrist, and a panel slide open, revealing a small screen. A series of short clips followed, depicting the previous superstars of the IWF in the arena – Kurt Angle, The Rock, Steve Corino, Mick Foley and others, as a few mutters of recognition emerged from those seated in the room.

William Regal was the first to catch on. “You want us to fight.”

Varys nodded, but held his hand up. “There’s more.”

The montage continued, depicting an enraged Sean O’Haire destroying CM Punk, but the real shocker came when a clip of Christian eliminating Trent Acid, evoking a startled cry from the back row. Finally, Varys raised his hand, and the screen disappeared behind the panel once more.

“That is what you will do,” he began, but Jimmy Jacobs cut him off.

“If you’re asking us to kill each other, then forget it.”

“They will not be dead,” Varys assured him. “The process is entirely reversible, and once the contest is over you will be safely returned home.” At least, that’s what he was told. Hard to say what the government really wanted, lest the right hand discovers what the left was doing. He feared that somebody might notice the frown upon his face, but thankfully the room had broken into excited chatter. Eventually, it was Triple H who caught his attention once more.

“What’s in it for us?”

“You will be rewarded, of course. The winner will receive a sizeable monetary reward of ten million dollars in – he paused, struggling to remember the name of the earthling country – American currency.”

“It’d take a lot more before I’d even think of killing a person,” Jacobs muttered, but nobody paid him any attention.

“Winner?” Hernandez asked. He still hadn’t quite caught on.

“The man who eliminates all his other competitors.”

“Oh.” Hernandez fell silent again, but Matt Hardy quickly filled his place.

“Wait, you actually want us to compete, for real?”

“If you want,” Varys ducked the question. They would find out soon enough.

A look of fear filled Matt’s face. “But that’s not fair!” He pointed to corner, where The Undertaker and Batista were sitting, and then to Trish, if only to disguise the fact he concerned with his own safety.

“I’m afraid life never is,” Varys began, but changed his mind – the last thing he needed was for Matt to make a scene. “But if it’s any consolation to you, the previous seasons saw Chris Jericho and CM Punk triumph over the likes of Vader and The Big Show.” The answer seemed to satisfy Matt Hardy, at least for the moment.

Kenny Dykstra was the first to submit. “This could be fun – count me in.” A few of the other superstars shot him disapproving looks, but in the end only Triple H said anything.

“This is bullshit! I don’t need your money – I’m my own boss, and I don’t need you to make me a superstar!”

Jeff Jarrett spoke up before Varys could say anything. “What’s wrong, afraid to take on a real man?”

“I don’t deal with the little leagues, and definitely not with you,” Triple H grunted, turning away in disgust.

“Well, the way I see it son, you’re not in the WWE anymore.” Suddenly Jarrett was on his feet, and the room kicked into activity once more as several superstars began to back their respective bosses. Varys meanwhile had taken a step back, unsure of what to do. The last thing he wanted was to call the guards – while he could always heal whatever injuries they received, he didn’t want to reveal the existence of the pills until later in the game. Thankfully, he didn’t have too.


Both men turned towards the sound of the voice, and Jarrett’s face went pale. It was a voice both of them had heard countless times before, and the last he had expected to hear here. Even Varys couldn’t help but be impressed as a single man stepped forth from the shadows, his wrinkled face warped in a frown that commanded respect. Some said that he was as shrewd and cunning as Null himself, but Varys knew better. Then again, just like Null, he’d created a wrestling empire from scratch, and for that, even Varys couldn’t help but feel a tad uneasy at the sight of his final superstar – Vincent Kennedy McMahon.

“Fine,” Vince addressed him. “We will play your game.”

Of course you will, Varys thought, but knew better than to express it. Vince had done him a great favour though – at his command, the entire WWE locker room echoed his agreement. Not wanting to be outdone, Jeff Jarrett quickly followed, though the workers from TNA were slower in voicing their approval. The rest soon followed, until all twenty five had agreed.

“Excellent,” Varys couldn’t help but smile as he waved the door open, ushering his superstars into their new quarters. All in all, he decided, it had been a most fruitful negotiation, even if his warriors never truly had any choice in the matter. Thankfully, none of them demanded their release, something he no doubt had to praise the gods for. Still, he congratulated himself for maintaining the illusion of cooperation, and for a moment, all his fears concerning the return of the Intergalactic Wrestling Federation disappeared.

Had he known the fate that was in store for all of them, he might have been a little less pleased.

Edited by Gongsun Zan
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Considering you've been hyping this up to me over MSN for the past few days, I must say that I'm loving it already.

And having Vince McMahon there is just that much more awesome :D

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I really enjoyed the McMahon twist and am looking forward to see how Trish does. I like the scenario and the roster you have chosen. There's a lot of potential here that could go one way or the other. A guy like Dutt could end up being fodder or a major player. I could definitely say the same for the likes of Luke, Jacobs, Evans, Hoyt, and a lot of other guys. Of course, it'll be interesting to see how you play with those expectations. Maybe it's weird, but the thing I really liked was Varys' use of old IWF clips. During the second part of the IWF, I was somewhat dreading having to do the-wrestlers-are-shocked-and-have-to-come-to-terms-with-this bit because you can't rush it and be convincing and it's not particularly interesting to read about more than once. This was a real quick fix that I liked.

Anyways, I'll be reading. Good stuff so far.

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Thanks for the feedback guys, especially Plankton. I'm glad you're liking things so far. :) Anyway, it'll be awhile until the next update, since I'm waiting for a real world patch for TEW07 to come out.

Under New Management, Part 2

The dungeon consisted of five bedrooms – one for each side of the arena – linked by a common living area directly beneath the arena floor. A short passage linked each room to the arena itself, though Varys had informed them that the doors would only open when the show was to begin.

The living area was comely enough – Varys had arranged the room to suit their earthling tastes – or had tried to at least – the dining table was an off putting shade of green, and there was a chair that looked like a giant blob than anything else, but for the most part, the workers were relieved to find that pretty much everything functioned the same way as they did on Earth. Spread out neatly across the table were a row of black bags, each one with the name of a superstar sewn into its side.

“You will find your ring attire inside,” Varys explained, shortly before he disappeared behind the steel doors they had entered from, which were now securely locked. He had given them a short rundown of their quarters – where the food was, where their attire was being kept, and so on, but nobody was really paying much attention anymore. The initial shock had worn off, and the workers had taken to some friendly conversation, though those still in the WWE kept mostly to their own group. Jimmy Jacobs however, was still frowning even as the others began to sort out their gear.

“What’s up with you?” Nigel McGuiness had asked him.

“What do you think?” Jacobs flicked his head towards the doorway where Varys had exited.

McGuiness raised an eyebrow. “So why’d you say yes?”

“You think Varys – whoever he is, would have let me say no?”

McGuiness shrugged, before scooping up a bag with his name on it. Jacobs did the same, and did not speak a word for the rest of the night.

Nobody really said anything about the competition, and once everyone had claimed their gear the small talk came to an end, as the workers began to head towards the bedrooms. Jimmy Jacobs had flung his gear into the first room he came across, and nobody could be bothered to stop him. Nigel McGuiness followed him in, and tossed his bag next to Jacob’s. “Take it easy,” he began, but was interrupted by Nick Gage and Altar Boy Luke, who took the beds opposite theirs. There was still a bed left, and McGuiness wondered who would claim it, when Bill Goldberg stormed into the room, face flushed with anger.

“I’m going to kill them – all of them,” he said, slamming his belongings into the empty bed.

“Fuck you talking about?” Nick Gage had sat himself upright in his bed, and was staring at Goldberg as he paced the room, occasionally stopping to punch the air.

“Vince…Triple H…all of them – think they’re too good for me? I’m going to beat them, all of them!” he growled, realizing that his roommates were staring at him. Even standing, Goldberg would have towered over all of them. Seated, they looked like midgets, the kind he used to eat for breakfast when he was still in WCW. “And once I’m down kicking their asses – you lot are next!”

“Whatever,” Nick Gage replied, and went to sleep.

A short ways away, Vince McMahon sat on the bed he had claimed for himself, surrounded by the room mates he had handpicked himself – Triple H, Batista, Rob Conway, and Scott Hall, whom Triple H had vouched for. The rest he had placed under the watch of The Undertaker, and told them to return once they had sorted out their accommodations.

However, when The Undertaker returned, he was annoyed to find out that other than Joey Mercury, nobody was willing to share a room with the other wrestlers.

“I’m not surprised,” Triple H snorted, “If I were them I’d be suspicious of us too.”

“Jealous, more like it,” Kenny added. “Anyway, I said I don’t mind sleeping on the floor–”

“I said you were to room with them!” Vince’s face contorted itself into a wretched scowl – were his workers really that stupid, or were they blinded by false loyalty? He needed someone in the other rooms, if only to make it that much harder for the others to plot. Unfortunately, if any of his employees had realized that, they failed to show it. Joey Mercury perhaps, but another part of Vince didn’t trust anyone overly eager to sleep with his enemies.

“Where’s Jeff, anyway?” It was William Regal, no doubt trying to calm him down by changing the subject.

“He had to use the toilet,” Matt shrugged, as though that explained anything.

Right on cue, Jeff Hardy emerged from the doorway, mouthing a quick apology as he joined his brother.

“You’re late,” Vince growled at him anyway. “You do well to remember that I made you, Jeff – or should I call you the Charismatic Enigma?” He spat the last two words out as though they were poison.

“I saw him fraternizing with TNA scum,” Rob Conway butted in, before anyone could stop him. Vince ignored him, watching as Jeff turned to his brother for help, but the expression on Matt’s face remained unchanged. At least Matt knew what was good for him.

“Get out,” Vince barked at last, and Jeff turned and left without a word, but not before scowling at his brother. Vince couldn’t care less, instead turning to Joey Mercury. “Go with him.”

“Was that wise?” Matt finally spoke at last, as Joey Mercury left the room obediently – or was it eagerly? Vince couldn’t be sure, not that it mattered anyway. “They could snitch on us.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he motioned for Batista and The Undertaker to stand watch outside, in case anyone decided to sneak up on them. “They’ll be back if they know what’s good for them, just like how dogs always return to their master – besides, anyone with half a brain would know we’re meeting, even those dumb sons of a bitches out there.” Kenny laughed, but one look at the expression on Vince’s face told him to shut up.

“So what’s the plan, boss?” Rob Conway spoke up.

“When there is a need for you to hear it, I will inform you myself.” Vince was clearly not in a good mood now, and Conway saw fit not to push his luck any further. “Until then, let those dogs fear us. We’ve got the numbers – they wouldn’t dare make a move against us. Let them fight amongst themselves, tire themselves out.”

He began to spell out a few ground rules – no stiffing each other, no dealing with indy scum, and so on, but Triple H wasn’t listening anymore. He knows what he’s doing, even if he doesn’t tell us, Triple H realized. Just like in that room, when he was watching us without anyone knowing. The traits that had served him when he was building his empire were still well alive in Vince McMahon, and it struck Triple H that his father in law was a bigger threat than he had first thought.

“And if they were to unite?” Kenny asked, and Vince shot him a incredulous look, as though Kenny had just proclaimed himself capable of flight.

“They won’t,” he said at last, and this time, Kenny knew better than to question him again. Vince muttered something under his breath – words of curse, no doubt – and called for everyone to leave. They left quietly, like obedient little sheep, Vince thought, as he allowed himself the luxury of lying down. Unlike the others, he didn’t need the money Varys had to offer. He wanted something else, something bigger.

And what Vince McMahon wanted, he always got.

Elsewhere, Jeff Jarrett was having a meeting of his own.

“It’s the big bad WWE,” he said to no one in particular as he lay on his bed. “Scared?”

He turned his head, looking at the people gathered around him. Eric Young definitely was, but the others seemed more curious than anything else.

“So, we gonna do this or what?” Of the lot, Alex Shelley seemed the most impatient to get it on with the WWE, though Jarrett wasn’t sure if it was out of arrogance or stupidity or both.

“We do nothing.” Jarrett looked at Shelley, noting a confused look on his face. He sighed. “They’ve got the numbers, and we don’t. Take one out, and rest will coming a hunting. No, I say let them think they’re in charge, at least for now.”

“We could get Goldberg,” Lance Hoyt shrugged. “God knows he hates Vince as much as you do.”

“Forget it,” Jarrett replied, scoffing at the idea. “He’s a glory hogger, he won’t work with us.”

“What about Nigel, Jacobs – the indy guys.” Homicide and Hernandez had been keeping to themselves, Jarrett realized – in fact, this was the first time he recalled Homicide saying anything to him since they arrived, but he decided to answer the question anyway.

“I suppose if they all jumped The Undertaker they could take him down,” Jarrett offered thoughtfully. “But then there’s always that Batista to worry about, and Triple H too, I guess. They’ve got the big guys, remember?” Lance Hoyt thumped his chest as if to remind everyone he was still there, but Jarrett waved him off.

“I could take him – he’s nothing man, nothing.” It was Jack Evans. Jarrett didn’t know him personally, but he had stuck with Alex Shelley, and a extra pair of arms never hurt, even if he was a tad annoying at times.

“Sure you could,” Jarrett replied nonchalantly. “Now does anyone have any better ideas, that doesn’t end with us getting beaten down by our dear Mr. McMahon?”

Nobody spoke.

“Well,” he smiled, sinking into his bed. “I guess my idea wins then.”

With that he dismissed them, as he rolled over and tried to sleep. Alex Shelley, Jack Evans, Homicide and Hernandez had the room with Jarrett, leaving Sonjay Dutt, Lance Hoyt and Eric Young with the final room. As they passed the remaining WWE superstars in the hallway, Lance couldn’t help but find himself sneaking a few glances at Trish Stratus, though by the time they had reached their quarters, it had become painfully obvious to his companions, even the trembling Eric Young.

“You eyeing her?” Sonjay had asked him, give him a playful nudge with his elbow.

“She’s cute, I guess.” Lance nodded, blushing ever so slightly.

Sonjay couldn’t help but laugh – an embarrassed Lance Hoyt was not something he saw everyday. “Well, she’s already taken, or I so I’ve heard,” Sonjay smiled, slapping him on the back. “Besides, you can’t dance for nuts.” He laughed again, and even Eric Young couldn’t help but join in.

Before Lance Hoyt could defend himself, the door opened and Joey Mercury and Jeff Hardy walked in with their bags. “Mind if we bed with you guys?” Mercury asked.

Sonjay couldn’t help but notice that Jeff was upset about something, though knew better than to voice his thoughts out loud. Instead, he welcomed them in, and Mercury offered his thanks. He was pleasant enough, Sonjay thought, as they talked about a few of his matches, but the conversation soon died out, and Mercury had gone to bed. Lance was already long gone by then, filling the room with his snores, leaving Sonjay and Eric unable to sleep.

“Sonjay?” Eric stirred in his bed, staring into the ceiling.

“Yeah?” Sonjay turned to look at his roommate. Whatever courage that had spurred him into entering the contest had long left him, leaving behind a man who was now scared out his wits.

“It’s just a game, right?”

“You’ll be fine,” Sonjay told him, flashing a comforting grin. “Just stick with me, alright?”

“I’ll be fine,” Eric echoed after him, slumping back into his bed as he did so. He didn’t sound very convinced, but his eyes were already growing heavy, leaving him with little time or energy to worry. “I’ll be fine,” he lied to himself once more, before fading into a dreamless sleep.

Edited by Gongsun Zan
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The originals by Plankton were fun reads on their own and actually renewed my interest in Booker T as a real wrestler in the first place, so to say that I'm interested in this is obvious. It all looks really good, and all that bugs me is the misspelling of Alex Shelley's last name. I'll try to keep up with this diary, see if it matches the original material like Superman Returns...or if it's fluff like Alien versus Predator.

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I must say, while admittedly only reading half of the original, I am really looking forward to this diary kicking off big time. What you've wrote so far is intriguing and surprisingly clear despite having so many wrestlers to write for, and using the original IWF to help move along from the concepts most people already know was a fantastic idea. I can't wait until the first inevitable wrestler swerve - although having Vince McMahon as a competitor is pretty much a huge swerve from the writer (you) anyways. Keep up the good work Zan.

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I'm also definetly intrigued. I've read both of your updates just now and I'm psyched to have caught this one at the start.

That said, I'm hoping things don't become too predictable. I doubt they will, but it's a concern when the alliances are laid out so early

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Well, I am impressed.

The opening segment was interesting, as I enjoyed the thoughts and feelings of Varys as he walked the hallways. The whole apart about his memories and the nod to the past were a nice touch.

The video, like Planton said, was a great move. The visual of all of these people watching colleagues trying to kill each other really helps set the tone of the situation.

As for the roster, it's a bit up and down for me. I love the addition of Vince McMahon, Triple H, Jeff Jarrett & Bill Goldberg. Scott Hall should be an interesting participant too. It is also nice to see you somewhat establishing the charecters already, with only Altar Boy Luke looking completly useless.

The first 'show' should be interesting, and I know you have it in you to write some violent encounters. Hopefully this lives up to the potential I know you can bring, and the idea Plankton utilized so well.

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It didn't look like a real world update was coming out any time soon, so I just converted an outdated one for TEW05. Anyway, as for the show itself, I'm aware there is a lack of promos, don't worry, it'll be explained in the next update. As far as other things go, I'm using this amount of detail for unimportant stuff, though as feuds develop expect longer segments.

Under New Management, Part 3

“You lied to them.”

Joey Styles was seated in the announcer booth that overlooked the arena, though the windows were shut, and thus for the time being it was just him and Varys. Varys was courteous enough, offering him a drink of something that tasted like cinnamon, but after what he’d seen yesterday, he wasn’t sure if he could trust him.

“About what?” Varys replied, seemingly indifferent to Styles’ presence. He did not deny it, Styles noted.

“You said they wouldn’t have to fight.” Styles said, remembering what Varys had told the wrestlers yesterday.

Varys shot him a bemused look. “They’re wrestlers, they’re supposed to fight.”

“I meant for real.”

“It’s their choice – I never forced them to do anything. You were there, you saw them agree to the terms of the contest.”

“Terms you purposefully left out.”

“What’s difference does it make, anyway? They might get hurt, I suppose, but if you think about it, most of them already have been at some point of their lives, and probably will be again some time later, if they wrestle long enough. They’d do well to get used to it.”

Styles was getting annoyed now, but tried his best not to show it. “I heard about Null and his fights, and what happened to the others he had kidnapped. About Sean O’Haire, about Chris Jericho…” He let his voice trail off, and for a moment, the room was silent.

“I’m not Null,” Varys said after a short pause, and said nothing further.

For the next few minutes, Styles kept his mouth shut, afraid of provoking Varys with more questions. After a while, however, it seemed that Varys hadn’t made any issue out of his previous accusation, and so he decided to try again. “Why’d you bring it back? The IWF, I mean.”

“What are you talking about? You saw the videos – the IWF has always been around.” Varys paid him little attention, instead playing with the dials on the panel before him, tweaking them ever so slightly, though Styles hadn’t the faintest idea what they were for. Possibly even nothing, and that Varys was just using them as an excuse to ignore him.

He decided to try a different approach. “I thought it would be a good idea to do some research before the show – I read about the New Wars, and the UAN.”

“That’s clever of you,” Varys nodded without looking, as though praising a child who had just drawn a picture of a horse for the hundredth time.

Styles felt like yelling at him, but sighed instead. “I read about what Null did, and what happened the last time around.” He paused, waiting for Varys to reply. He didn’t, so Styles had to prompt him a bit more. “I thought you hated them – this, the IWF.” This time, he managed to catch Varys’ attention, as the new host of the IWF turned to look at him with a strange look on his face – was it sadness? Styles hadn’t quite mastered the art of reading alien facial expressions.

“We did,” Varys nodded grimly, as he reached for a lever on the control panel. Suddenly, the room was filled with bright light as the windows slid open, revealing the dusty floor of the arena below them. In the stands were hundreds, no, thousands of strange beings, each and every one screaming at the top of their lungs for the return of the IWF. “But not them.”

“But–” Styles began, but Varys cut him off by putting a finger to his lip.

“Not now,” he whispered, as he slipped on his headset. “We’ve got a show to call.”

Death Campaign

The Return of the IWF

Sonjay Dutt vs. Altar Boy Luke vs. Jack Evans

Typically, Null would have opened the show himself in the olden days, but Varys had made it clear from the start that he would not go down a similar path, taking on a position in the announcer’s booth instead. Fortunately, his excited shouting heralding the return of the IWF did well enough to get the crowd going, though he wondered how long it would last before those cries of support turned to jeers.

Fortunately, Varys had studied the previous seasons of the IWF well enough, and had done well in his decision to open the show with some high flying action. There was no doubt that some of his warriors would attempt to wrestle their matches as they did on Earth, but at least the citizens of Dimension X would be more welcoming of the flashy aerial abilities of the cruiserweights.

Still, the crowd greeted the new workers with suspicion, as the three combatants entered the arena to dead silence. A few boos began to break out as the three competitors struggled to get the match going, not sure of how to execute their signature stunts – or anything else for that matter – with the lack of any actual wrestling ring, let alone any ring posts to leap from. Fortunately, the lack of such had never been much of a hindrance to Jack Evans, who managed to win the crowd over with a few standing shooting star presses and other flashy manoeuvres, while Sonjay Dutt scoured the arena for something more suitable. He finally decided on something approximating a ladder, setting it up in the middle of the arena and entering the fight with a diving hurricanrana from the top. Most of Varys’ fears had been relieved now – the crowd was screaming their approval as the men took turns to dive at each other, though he noticed they were refraining from executing any big spots – presumably saving them for bigger matches, Varys thought to himself.

The match ended with a typical no-sell finish, but thankfully the crowd were too caught up in the action to notice. Knocked down by a diving clothesline from Sonjay Dutt, Jack Evans soon fell victim to a 450 Splash from Altar Boy Luke, who in turn, managed to receive a missile dropkick from Dutt before he could make a pin. By then, Evans had recovered, taking Dutt out with a corkscrew moonsault with a few extra rotations thrown in for good measure, and the three count was his.

Winner: Jack Evans

Styles: “I’m…not even sure what to call that one.”

Varys: “Somebody get him a new plug, because that one doesn’t seem to be doing a thing!”

Alex Shelley vs. Joey Mercury

The original finish for the match, booked by Vince McMahon himself, involved Mercury claiming the win, but Alex Shelley wasted no time in making his allegiances clear, stiffing Joey Mercury with a series of right hands before he could even make it to the centre of the arena. The crowd ate it up happily, cheering him on as he continued to press the attack, but his offence seemed dull in comparison to the match before, and after awhile the crowd quietened down a bit. Meanwhile, Mercury struggled to defend himself, but he had come prepared for a worked match, and Shelley’s attack had certainly thrown him off balance. Realizing that he’d made a fatal mistake in trusting his opponent, there was little Mercury could do but to hope that Shelley ended the match quick. A few minutes later, he got his wish, as Shelley hit the Shellshock for the win. For a moment, Mercury thought that he would go for an elimination as well, but Shelley simply raised his arms in victory, before disappearing backstage.

Winner: Alex Shelley

Styles: “Looks like Mercury came into combat unawares, and paid for it.”

In the announcer booth, Varys couldn’t help but be surprised as Styles’ professionalism. Any other announcer would have protested Shelley’s tactics instead. He made a mental note to congratulate him after the show.

Varys: “The other combatants would do well to learn from his mistake – as long as you’re in the game, there’s nobody you can trust.”

Bill Goldberg vs. Jeff Hardy vs. Matt Hardy vs. Homicide vs. Hernandez vs. Jimmy Jacobs

The Hardy Boyz made their entrance together, and so did LAX, making it pretty clear from the start which way the match was headed. Even Goldberg, for all his talk, knew better to get involved as both teams went straight for each other, exchanging stiff blows in the middle of the arena. Annoyed, he decided to pick on Jimmy Jacobs instead, who he had vaguely remembered as the guy who had sworn not to hurt anybody. He too had been hanging back from the start of the match, and Goldberg figured he would fold easily enough.

He blew into Jacobs at full speed, catching him off guard with a massive spear. Goldberg went straight for the pin, but Jacobs kicked out at two, much to his annoyance. An easy victory wasn’t the only thing he had been wrong about, for Jacobs seemed to have no problems with pushing a counter offensive, driving forward with a series of hard strikes. Goldberg yelled out in pain, but it was Jacob’s unexpected ferocity that caused him to back away, as small ‘HUSS!’ chant broke out as the crowd rallied behind him. No sooner did the chants begin to increase in volume however, Jacobs suddenly turned around and walked away, ignoring his opponent. As he passed by the middle of the arena, he noticed that Jeff Hardy was dripping blood, whilst shouting something to his brother, but his voice was drowned out by the jeers that accompanied Jacobs’ sudden pacifism.

Varys: “I don’t think the crowd is going to take kindly to that.”

Styles: “I don’t think Goldberg is either, look!”

Sure enough, Goldberg was furious, charging straight at Jacobs and taking him down with a football tackle. Most of the crowd had now switched over to his side, cheering him on as he lifted Jacobs in the air, crying out in rage as he brought him down with the Jackhammer for another pin attempt. It would have hardly been enough to take Jacobs out, but in the end Jacobs had decided he’d rather use his energy to escape an elimination attempt, staying down as the referee (a man shaped lobster, by the look of things) made the three count. Fortunately, that seemed to satisfy Goldberg enough, who soon disappeared backstage, not wanting to stick around as LAX and The Hardy Boyz continued their fight, seemingly indifferent to his win.

Winner: Bill Goldberg

Jimmy Jacobs left soon after, but the remaining four combatants continued their fight as though nothing had happened, even as the referee yelled at them to clear the arena. By now, Homicide had gained the upper hand, knocking out Matt Hardy with a metal pipe, allowing Hernandez to keep Jeff down as he struck a pose of victory, before snatching up a microphone from the ground.

He might have said something, but his words were drowned out by the crowd as the entire WWE locker room emptied into the arena. Triple H had the lead, flanked by Batista and The Undertaker, with the rest trailing behind, bar Trish Stratus and Vince McMahon. Hernandez was the first to fall, caught in a massive chokeslam from The Undertaker, leaving Homicide to fend for himself. He stood his ground, hoping for Jarrett or anyone else to come to his aid, but the entryways remained empty. Kenny Dykstra and Rob Conway fell upon him soon enough, and despite his best efforts to stay afoot, he found himself dragged to the ground, where he saw Hernandez being lifted to his knees by Batista and The Undertaker.

“Watch,” he heard Triple H whisper in his ear, before walking over to Hernandez. Joey Mercury and William Regal followed him, and Homicide had to do his best not to yell out in anger as Triple H laughed, slapping Hernandez across the face with the back of his hand. William Regal was next, and when he stepped up to Hernandez, Homicide noted that he had a pair of brass knuckle in his hand. This time, he did yell out in protest, but a blow from Rob Conway silenced him. When he looked up again, he saw that Hernandez was vomiting blood.

“Enough,” he heard Triple H say, turning to Mercury as he did so. “Take him out.”

Homicide struggled to break free, but Kenny and Conway had him too tightly, and there was little he could do as Mercury stepped forward. Hernandez was begging for mercy now, blood dripping from his chin as he did so, and it may have had some effect, for Mercury paused in his step, hesitating.

“Finish him,” Triple H urged him on. “They struck you first, now make them pay for it.”

“Perhaps you would grant me the honor of dealing with this lout?” It was William Regal, but Triple H shook his head. Homicide thought he saw a look of concern cross Regal’s face, but his attention was diverted back to Hernandez as he heard his tag partner cry out in shock. Mercury had finally pushed his button, leaving Hernandez to scream in fear as his legs turned to stone. Homicide winced, thinking that it would never stop, until the effect seized Hernandez’s lungs and all he could do was cry, until that too was lost.

Varys: “An elimination on the first show! That has got to be some kind of record!”

This time, Styles remained silent. It probably didn’t matter anyway, the elimination had stirred the crowd into a mad frenzy, and there really wasn’t a need to drive the point home any further.

Back in the arena, Homicide had been released to return backstage, and the rest soon followed, with only Kenny staying behind to prepare for his match. Instead, he scooped up the microphone Homicide had dropped, and turned to address the crowd.

Kenny: “Is that what you want to see!?”

He pointed to the frozen statue of Hernandez, now being ferried away by a pair of burly aliens, and the crowd roared their approval.

Kenny: “Blood? Violence?”

The crowd continued their cries, and a small ‘Kenny’ chant broke out as he egged them on.

Kenny: “Well fear not, for the IWF is about to see the greatest superstar this arena has ever known, greater even, than Chris Jericho or CM Punk – ME!”

This time, the response was less than he had hoped for, as several small groups began to boo him for insulting their heroes. Still, it was a good start, and he spread his arms, soaking up the adrenaline from the crowd.

Varys: “Looks like he’s been doing research of his own, huh Styles?”

Styles: “Comparing himself to CM Punk or Chris Jericho is no small feat though, Kenny may have bitten off more than he can chew.”

Kenny Dykstra vs. Eric Young

Kenny threw down his microphone and settled into a fighting stance, as Eric Young walked out to meet him. He seemed strangely calm as Varys announced his name, but as he got close Kenny could see the fear in the man’s eyes. It was a good sign.

“Go easy, alright?” He heard Eric whisper to him as they locked up. He pretended not to hear him, instead delivering a stiff kick to Eric’s midsection, as the crowd roared their approval. Eric cried out in pain, stumbling back, and Kenny followed, pushing him back with a series of right hands. For awhile, it seemed like victory was his, but suddenly Eric blocked one of his punches, shattering his momentum in an instant. Kenny thought he could hear the crowd chanting for his opponent, but he couldn’t be sure as Eric rushed him, forcing him to take up the defensive. Once again, he couldn’t help but notice how calm Eric was now that the match had started, catching one of his kicks and dragging him to the ground instead. Kenny cried out in pain as Eric began to work over his neck, stopping only to hit the Young Blood for the win.

Winner: Eric Young

However, no sooner did he begin to walk away, did Kenny clamber to his feet, snatching up a kendo stick as he did so. By the time Eric noticed what he was doing, it was too late, as Kenny slammed the stick into the back of Eric’s knee, dropping him to the ground. Once again, the crowd swapped sides, rallying behind Kenny as he fired off another shot with the kendo stick, causing Eric to yell out in pain.

“You want blood, well this is it!” he cried, feeling the energy from the crowd wash over him as he bent down, reaching for Eric’s button. However, it seemed to trigger something in the crowd as they suddenly withdrew their support, jeering and yelling out screams of protest. It wasn’t long before a ‘Don’t kill Eric’ chant had started, much to Kenny’s disbelief. He paused, mouth hanging open, unsure if the chants were being made in jest, or if the audience, who only moments ago had been relishing in Eric’s suffering, really wanted the man to live. Surprise gave way to fury, and for a moment, he thought of strangling every member of the crowd.

“Should I let him go?” he shouted instead, trying to hide his disgust.

The crowd voiced their approval, the chants doubling in volume. Biting back his rage, he leaned down again, though this time it was only to whisper in Eric’s year. “You got lucky, asshole, that’s all.” He spat, and stormed off backstage, as Sonjay Dutt emerged from the other end of the arena to help drag Eric back.

Styles: “I don’t believe it, it looks like this crowd just turned down an elimination!”

Varys: “I’m as confused as you are Styles, this is the first time I’ve even heard of anything of this sort happening in the IWF!”

The Undertaker vs. Nick Gage

Nick Gage had made it clear that he didn’t give a shit about losing, as long as Vince and his cronies left him alone, and Mr. McMahon had generously accepted his offer. However, a few minutes into the match, he was starting to regret his decision – The Undertaker had never been a very good seller, and the crowd had quickly caught on, booing both combatants so hard that Nick Gage (and Varys as well) thought they might riot. In frustration, he had yelled at The Undertaker to put in a little more effort, but the Dead Man had chosen to ignore him. As the boos grew louder, Gage started to panic, seizing a sheet of metal and slamming it as hard as he could over The Undertaker’s head.

It felt good, Gage had to admit, as he watched The Undertaker stumble back, his nose bloodied. It was his ego that had taken the bigger bruise, however, as Nick Gage soon found out the hard way, as he found himself on the receiving end of a big boot. On the bright side, the crowd had started to cheer again, but Gage could hardly consider it a victory as The Undertaker began to pound into him, unsatisfied until he too had drawn blood. Gage had taken worse, no doubt about it, but off balance and without weapons, he stood little chance against the six foot eight Undertaker. In the end, he decided to simply take the beating like a man, giving Taker the win as originally planned. As the match ended, there was no doubt that The Undertaker was still pissed, but he made no move to eliminate Gage, instead simply kicking him in the head and walking off without a word.

Winner: The Undertaker

Styles: “The Undertaker is a proud man, there’s no doubt about it.”

Varys: “He’s also a dangerous one too, and Nick Gage better watch out, because as of now, he’s a dead man!”

Lance Hoyt vs. Trish Stratus

Lance Hoyt entered the arena slowly, still unsure of what to make of his match. Even Vince had laughed when he’d first read the booking, even going so far as to give him the win. Someone had to be messing with him, he decided, but thoughts of whom soon faded as Trish made her entrance, and for awhile, all he could think about was her.

He was still lost in his thoughts when the bell rang, and Trish had to rush him with a soft punch to regain his attention. “Oh,” he mumbled, selling the move, but somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to mount an offence of his own, worked or not. Instead, he motioned for a lock up, giving him a chance to whisper in her ear. “I’ll lay down for you, just pin me.”

Trish offered him an uppercut in response, and Lance sold it as though he’d been hit by a bullet, dropping to the ground immediately. The crowd had caught on by now, and were starting to boo ferociously, leaving Trish with little choice but to follow through with a few stiff kicks to try and calm them down. It did little good though, and in the end she decided to play along and make the pin, as the crowd pelted the arena with garbage.

Winner: Trish Stratus

Styles: “It sounds like the crowd is just about ready to kill them!”

Varys: “I don’t know what the hell Lance was trying to do, but in here in Dimension X, there’s no such thing as chivalry, let me tell you that!”

Immunity: Triple H vs. Jeff Jarrett

The arena emptied, as Varys took the time to explain the new rules for immunity. No longer would the belt grant complete protection – rather, the winner of the belt would now have to name two champions of his choosing. In order to earn a shot at immunity, the challenger would have to best one of the title holder's selected combatants. In addition, should either be eliminated instead, immunity would be rendered useless, at least, until the belt changes hands once again, and new champions are named. As a final twist, immunity would not kick into effect until the title holder has bested at least one of his chosen champions, which led to Styles posing the question, “Who can you trust?”

Triple H entered the arena first, ready to fight if he had too. Surprisingly, Jeff Jarrett had agreed to jobbing the match, but following what had happened earlier in the night with LAX and Alex Shelley, it wouldn’t hurt to be cautious. Stranger still was when Jarrett informed him that he was sticking to the original plan, and made no move to break his promise even as the match went on. Indeed, the only ones upset at the arrangement were those in attendance, who booed both men as they wrestled what would have been considered a decently good match on Earth.

Once it seemed pretty clear that Jarrett wasn’t going to attack him, Triple H allowed him to get some token offence in, even going so far as to take a guitar shot to keep the fans happy. He kicked out at two, however, and returned the favour with a spine buster for a two count of his own. As both men got up once more, Jarrett took the lead, pelting away with a series of desperate right hands, only for Triple H to block one, kick him in the gut, but Jarrett lifted him up and tossed him over his back, try for the Stroke, only to take a second kick for his efforts. This time, the Pedigree went uninterrupted, and Jarrett laid down for the three count.

Winner: Triple H

As the match ended, Triple H stood up, collecting the belt from the lobster referee, even as the crowd shouted their disapproval. He ignored them, instead watching Jarrett as he picked himself off the ground. He was vulnerable, Triple H saw, with his back turned, and it would be all too easy to rush forward and push his button down. Smiling, he waited until Jarrett was fully standing, before darting towards him and locking in a sleeper hold.

Styles: “Could we be seeing a second elimination already!?”

The crowd began to cheer again, as Jarrett froze, feeling Triple H’s arm wrap around his neck, pulling him back to the ground. He shut his eyes, waiting for the inevitable moment where his body would turn to stone, but it never came.

Instead, he heard Triple H whisper in his ear.

“Keep this up, and you might have a spot in the finals.”

For a fraction of a second, Jarrett looked confused, but quickly realized that to show it would be folly, and instead he struggled wildly, feigning resistance. An elbow soon bought him his freedom, as he rushed backstage, as Triple H’s words rang through his mind.

Varys: “That might have been a disappointing finish, but with one elimination already and more to come, I have no doubt that this season of the IWF may be the best yet! This is Baron Varys III, along with Joey Styles, reminding you to tune in for the our next show, the aptly named Fight For Your Life, for even more explosive violence!”

Overall Rating for Death Campaign: C-

Edited by Gongsun Zan
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- Nice opening segment, and Varys seems to be staying pretty neutral for now. Styles studying up is a nice touch.

- Sonjay Dutt vs. Altar Boy Luke vs. Jack Evans. I lik ethe idea of Jack Evans getting over thanks to his flying mayhem, and the "someone better get him a new plug" line was a nice continuity bit.

- Alex Shelley vs. Joey Mercury. Good to see the mayhem kicking in this early, and Shelley did well here, but he could have made a huge mistake attacking a WWE person.

- Bill Goldberg vs. Jeff Hardy vs. Matt Hardy vs. Homicide vs. Hernandez vs. Jimmy Jacobs. I loved Goldberg kicking ass, but the idea of Jacobs getting back is only so-so. I really believe he could crush Jacobs in real life, but he pretty much did here anyways. At least there was some 'HUSS' action. The post-match was the most important part anyways.

Shocked to see the WWE kicking in the stone action this early, but it's not like Hernandez was a huge loss anyways. Mercury is having a busy night it seems.

- Eh, Kenny had an ok promo. I still don't find him overly interesting, and hopefully he doesn't last too long since it makes his claims that much funnier.

- Kenny Dykstra vs. Eric Young. I find it kind of hard to believe an IWF crowd would want to see anyone not get eliminated, especially this early. Young hasn't done anything in the match to get the 'Don't Kill Eric' chants, and even with TV being broadcasted in that place I still find it difficult to believe they wouldn't just want him dead. I was actually hoping to hear 'Please Kill Eric' chants.

- The Undertaker vs. Nick Gage. Nice little match, and Taker not being overly violent was kind of cool. Gage is off to an interesting start and I am eager to see where both charecters go.

- Lance Hoyt vs. Trish Stratus. I guess they kept the cameras around :shifty:. I am hoping to see Trish use her female 'gifts' to survive awhile, and using Hoyt as a bodyguard/human shield would definitly be interesting.

- Immunity: Triple H vs. Jeff Jarrett. Well, an interesting little match. Both guys working together and Trips not taking him out was a nice twist. I suspect this alliance could be more than we see, and Vince would be careful to watch out for these two.

- Overall: As I said, the Eric Young stuff bothered me most. If he had cut an intense crowd pleasing promo, fine. I still would have much rather of seen him get the 'Please Kill Eric' chants. I guess the IWF fans have gone soft since the last tournament. :shifty:

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The only thing that confused me a bit was the "Don't Kill Eric" chants, but I believe in grace periods to pan things like this out, so it didn't bother me too much.

I love how many wrenches are bring thrown into the workings. The Shelley/Mercury confrontation showed what a great decision it was to go for the WWE vs. TNA scenario. I was pretty bummed that Hernandez was eliminated so early, as I was eager to see the badass LAX tag team dominate, but it might be nicer to see Homicide go solo.

I'm also really looking forward to how you develop Gage, Goldberg, and Kenny, as they all seem to have potential as strong loners (in Kenny's case, as long as he keeps acting like he's something special).

Overall, great stuff. McMahon is definitely ruthless and I'm interested in seeing how he responds to the Jarrett/HHH situation. Keep up the good work.

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Nice idea to bring this back for another go, I've liked everything so far, The "New Plug" line was nice and im guess Trish is going to be a slut to stay around as long as possible...

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Sorry for the delay, writer's block and a busy weekend are always bad news. Anyway, I hope to keep up a regular schedule of an update every two days or so, three at most. I've also taken the liberty of italicizing thoughts, but that shouldn't be too big of a deal. Anyway, enjoy.

Chapter 2: Hostile Takeover

“What the hell were you trying to pull out there!?”

Vince McMahon was furious. There was no doubt about it, as Triple H entered his quarters to find a meeting already underway, Mr. McMahon’s face red with anger. In the centre of attention was Kenny Dykstra, who was biting his lip nervously, presently trying his best not to flee. Not that Vince McMahon’s wrath was escapable, Triple H thought to himself, as he slid towards the back of the room, where he could get a better look at the action. The Undertaker was missing, he noticed, as were the Hardy Boyz. Trish was absent as well, but if Vince noted their absence, he showed no sign of it.

Not that he could get any angrier, anyway. Kenny’s face had turned red as well, though out of shame or anger, Triple H couldn’t tell which. Kenny started to say something, but Vince McMahon cut him off before he could so much as get a word out. An excuse maybe, or a valid defence, it didn’t matter. He should have known better than to try and talk back. Apparently, his tenure in the WWE hadn’t been long enough.

“I specifically said not to address the crowd!” Vince roared. “Even those damn independent halfwits could understand that, and I will not be made a fool by the likes of you! And just who the hell gave you the green light to try and eliminate Eric Young?”

This time, Kenny managed to squeak a response in. “I thought, with Hernandez, you–”

“Enough!” Vince shouted, and Kenny fell silent once more. “There are to be no more eliminations, unless I give the word – is that clear?”

The rest of the room voiced their acknowledgment, ever so quick to please, but Triple H was distracted by the sound of approaching footsteps, as he saw Matt and Jeff Hardy appear in the doorway. Matt made it into the room easily enough, but Batista had moved to block Jeff from entering. “I’m sorry, boss’ orders,” he heard Batista say, before giving Jeff a gentle shove back towards the living area. Matt joined him at the back of the room, pretending he hadn’t noticed a thing.

“What if they attack us again?” It was Mercury, still rubbing his jaw from where Alex Shelley had struck him in their match.

“They won’t,” William Regal answered before Vince could. Mercury should be grateful. “They’ve seen what happened with Hernandez, they’d be bloody foolish to try and do it again.”

“As for promos,” Vince continued. “I will decide again after I’ve seen the next card. Now that our dear Kenny has opened his mouth, it seems we are forced to carry on in his wake.”

Just then, The Undertaker stormed into the room. “I want Nick Gage,” he declared, stopping right in front of Vince McMahon himself. The Undertaker was clearly the bigger of the two, but Vince didn’t so much as flinch as he stared up into the Dead Man’s eyes. Triple H raised an eyebrow out of curiosity, wondering if Vince would approve or reprimand him. In the end, it was the former.

“Take him them,” Vince said, irritated, but added shortly after. “But don’t eliminate him until I say so.”

The Undertaker nodded, thanking Vince for his understanding, not that Triple H cared anyway. He’s dragging this out. Triple H realized, thinking of Vince’s instructions instead. But why?

Before he could ponder the question any further, Vince McMahon brought the meeting to an end with the threat of eliminating anyone who broke orders again. It was hardly the most intimidating of threats, but the fact that everyone knew he would deliver on his word was enough for them to take notice. A few nodded their understanding again, as though trying to remind Vince of their loyalty, before disappearing from the room quietly along with the rest.

Triple H turned to leave as well, but as he made for the exit, Vince McMahon stopped him. He froze, thankful that Vince could only see his back. He must have seen me whispering to Jarrett. Not quite sure what to do, Triple H turned around as casually as he could. He studied Vince’s face, trying to guess his intentions, but gave up.

“I saw what you did out there, with Jarrett.” He knows. Panic seized Triple H, but he did his best not to let it show on his face, instead deciding to play things silent, waiting it out. “You saw me yelling at Kenny. Surely you would know better.”

Triple H would have certainly let go a sigh of relief, but knew better than to. “A warning,” he said at last. “Nothing more.”

“I would certainly hope so.” Vince smiled, though Triple H wasn’t quite sure what for. Does he suspect something? Either way, Vince had decided not to pursue the matter any further, and Triple H certainly wasn’t going to bring it up either. He made to leave, but Vince stopped him again.

“That wasn’t what I called you for.” He stopped, trying to guess at what Vince was thinking.

“Immunity, right.” Triple H mumbled. “Do you want me to drop it to you at the next show?”

“No.” Vince answered without hesitation, and Triple H couldn’t help but be surprised at the old man’s refusal. “You shall keep the title for now, it doesn’t matter. Name Trish Stratus your second champion for all I care. But you shall name me your first, though you shall not lose your title to me. When the match comes, you will attack me, but make it seem as though we had planned differently.” Triple H didn’t need to be told the rest. He wants me to win the trust of his enemies. He wants me to be his spy. Fear took him once more, as he realized the rest of Mr. McMahon’s scheme. He wants to draw my allies out.

He doesn't trust me.

“And if someone were to attack you after? They would love nothing better than to take the title off me.”

“They won’t. Not after today. Not while I have Batista and The Undertaker – and you.” There was that smile again, but Triple H didn’t share his mirth. “Besides, I may not look it, but I can still hold my own in a fight.” Vince fell back, and sat down on his bed, waving Triple H off as he did so. “Now go join the rest of the fools for dinner before they notice you’re gone. If anyone asks, I was warning you about your elimination attempt.”

“Aren’t you coming?”

“In awhile, I need to think.”

Triple H nodded, and left Vince McMahon to his ruminations, shutting the door behind him.

Even as Triple H was watching his plans fall down around him, Jeff Jarrett had found himself dealing with problems of his own. No sooner had he returned backstage, did he find himself attacked by Homicide, who struck him across the face and immediately threatened to eliminate him on the spot.

“The buttons only work in the arena,” Jarrett lied, hoping Homicide believed him. “Now let’s play nice and head upstairs, shall we?” It probably didn’t matter anyway, as Alex Shelley and Lance Hoyt moved in to restrain Homicide, dragging him back to his room. He made a mental note to be more careful, or at the very least, shift Homicide out of his room, before following the rest upstairs.

“Now,” Jarrett had said when they had all gathered in his quarters. “I do recall saying something along the lines of, I dunno, leaving the WWE alone? Anybody want to guess why?”

It did little to satisfy Homicide, who responded with a hearty “Fuck you.”

This time, Jarrett offered a bit more, pointing to Hernandez’s empty bed. “That’s why.”

“This is bullshit,” Homicide shot back. “So you guys just sit back and leave a brother to die?”

“If we had helped, they would have eliminated us all.” said Sonjay Dutt, doing his best to keep everyone calm. Nice try, Jarrett thought. But Homicide’s far too pissed to let this one go, and you're just as likely to make things worse.

“Besides,” he added in. “I saw what you were doing – did you think you and Hernandez could have taken on everyone alone? The WWE? Us?”

“It was for the good of the team, man, and you left us die out there!”

Better him than me, Jarrett wanted to say, but didn‘t fancy getting hit in the face again. “I’m sure.” Jarrett flinched, as Homicide spat at him, before snatching up his belongings and walking out. Jarrett smiled, even as he wiped the spit from his face. “Now, are you guys going to leave Vince alone this time, or are you going to storm out too?”

Alex Shelley muttered something under his breath, and Jack Evans seemed unhappy, but nobody else moved. Jarrett knew better though, and was dismayed. They’re turning against me, he realized.

“Good,” Jarrett mumbled, looking for someone to praise. He settled on Lance Hoyt. “At least you had the right idea – but what was that about not fighting back, anyway?”

“He’s got a thing for Trish,” Eric Young blurted out, smiling, until Lance Hoyt shot him an angry look.

“Is that so?” Jarrett laughed. “Well, keep that up, and that crowd is gonna kill you.”

“It won’t happen again, boss.” said Lance, though he didn’t sound very convincing.

“Make sure of it.” He’s lost too, Jarrett thought, and was starting to become even more disheartened.

“What about Homicide?” Lance asked, eager to change the subject. “Do you want us to trade rooms?”

“Nah, let him sleep in the hallways,” Jarrett scoffed. “Maybe someone will do us a favour and take him out while he’s asleep.”

There was little else to discuss, and so Jarrett ushered the rest of them down to dinner. It didn’t please him to be dining with the rest of the combatants, but he figured it would be best to keep up a show of amiability, given the earlier incident with Hernandez. Unsurprisingly, however, the WWE workers continued to keep amongst themselves.

Joey Mercury, was one such worker, seating himself next to his colleague, William Regal. “Thanks,” he said, and then noticing Regal’s indifference, “For defending me, in the arena.”

Regal brushed him off. “It was my odds of victory that I was defending, not you. The last thing I need is for Triple H or Vince to chasing their petty vendettas against our own. If anything, you should count yourself lucky that you happen to be on the same team as me, though if I were you, I would stop being so bloody trusting as well. If it came down to you and me, I would eliminate you in a heartbeat.”

“Um, thanks, I guess.” Mercury shrugged, and focused on his meal, deciding not to say anything more for the rest of the night.

Meanwhile, Batista and Scott Hall had stuck together as well, though their intentions were far less friendly as they moved to confront Kenny Dykstra.

“It’s not polite to talk bad about the dead, chico,” Scott Hall began. “Specially guys like Jericho, who was ten times the man you’ll ever be.”

Kenny didn’t seem fazed. “You don’t know what’s it like out there, old man – that crowd, they loved me. And they’ll love me the next time too, when I cut them another killer promo.”

“Thought you a joke, more like it. Or were you too cowardly to eliminate that boy?”

“Says the man who hides behind a bottle.”

“Shut up,” Batista warned, as Scott Hall’s face reddened. “How did you hear Jericho?”

“Other than that video you mean?” Kenny was suddenly eager again, proud that he had knowledge the others didn’t. “I asked around. The arena crew, before the match. Said some guy called Null killed him.” There was a certain callousness in his voice that neither Batista or Scott Hall liked, but both knew better than to start a fight in front of Vince McMahon.

“He’s lying.” Scott Hall said at last, when they were done gaping. “We’re not gonna die here – Varys said so.”

“Jericho died in a car accident,” said Batista. “You know that as well as I do.”

“That’s not what they say.” Kenny jerked a finger towards the steel door used by Varys and the arena crew. “Anyway, nice talking with you guys, I think I hear someone calling my name.” He started to walk away, but Batista grabbed him by the shoulder, and pulled him back.

“If I find out you’re lying, I will eliminate you myself.”

“Whatever.” Kenny wiggled free of Batista’s grip, and left.

The rest of dinner passed by uneventfully, with the workers mostly sticking to their own groups, exchanging small talk, but not much else. Nick Gage was the first to retire, tapping Altar Boy Luke on the shoulder as he dumped his plate in the sink, before heading upstairs. Luke got the signal, following behind him shortly after. He wasn’t the only one either – Jimmy Jacobs had caught sight of the exchange, and decided to follow as well, but as he stood up, Nigel McGuiness stopped him.

“Where are you going?”


“We should stay out of these alliances – they’re just someplace for cowards to hide behind. You saw how much Jarrett helped when Hernandez was attacked. The WWE, TNA, CZW – they’re all just as bad.”

“Look, how long do you think you can play this all clean cut?” Jacobs scowled at him. “This isn’t a matter of faces and heels, not anymore. You want to win, you need to start making some friends.” He turned, and disappeared upstairs before Nigel could say anymore.

“I’m not stupid.” Gage was explaining as Jacobs entered the room. “The Undertaker may be a big sack of shit, but he’s still a bigger sack than I can take.” He paused, as Jacobs sat himself down on his bed. Once it seemed clear that Jacobs wasn’t going to rat them out, Gage continued. “Fortunately, The Undertaker is too fucking proud to call for help.” He paused, a grin creeping across his face. “Pity I’m not as dumb as he is.”

“I’m with you man,” Altar Boy Luke was quick to catch on, standing up and slapping Gage on the back. “Just say the word.”

“And me too.” Unlike Luke, Jacobs couldn’t be bothered to stand up. To be honest, he didn’t care if Nick Gage won or lost, but announcing his support would, at the very least, keep Gage and Luke from attacking him, and two less people to worry about were always a good thing. And if I don’t stick too close with them, there’s always a chance The Undertaker may forget me if he loses.

Suddenly, he was distracted by the sound of footsteps outside the doorway. About damn time Nigel came to his senses, Jacobs thought to himself, but when he turned, it was not Nigel McGuiness he saw in the doorway. The figure was too large for one, let alone English. It didn’t take much to recognize him either – his bald head and rough beard were unmistakable

“Count me in on your little scheme.” said the man known as Bill Goldberg.

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Nice update, and it'll be interesting to see how these alliances work out.

  • Gage, Luke, Jacobs & Goldberg is a pretty decent combination, but I can see Luke getting eliminated while attempting to aid his teammates. He just screams expendable to me.

  • The WWE seems to have a few cracks, and I am curious as to what exactly Triple H has planned with his discussion with Jarrett. I almost think it's a coup, but I am not sure. Matt Hardy also has something about him that doesn't sit right. He could be a mole for the other side. The parts with Kenny are ok, and he's developing into a nice annoying little shit.

  • Jarrett's self preservation attitude is interesting stuff, and it should be cool if TNA just implodes like I suspect it will. Hoyt's little saga is building pretty well too, and I am hoping Trish can develop a bit of personality as right now she seems like a stand-in. Being the first female competitor in IWF (Well, in the versions we have read) is something unique that hopefully you can take advantage of.

All around, it's continuing nicely and I am eager to see how the next show is booked. Vince can't stay unbooked for long.

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I'm horrible with deadlines, as it would seem, so I decided to post a short update, that was originally the prologue of the show. As for the show itself, its 3/4 done, so I think I should be able to get that up, eventually.

Joey Styles ate his dinner slowly, deliberately. He hadn’t expected to find ‘Earthling’ food on Dimension X, but had been pleasantly surprised to find that his dinner was just that. It wasn’t the best thing he had ever had, but it was certainly passable, and more importantly, a sign of Varys’ goodwill. The rest of his quarters had been equally generous, with all the comforts of a small, if badly decorated apartment. Still, the guards posted around the entrances prevented the apartment from being the least bit homely.

He had learned their names the day he first arrived, in case he ever needed to call for them. The lizard looking being was Blue-Tail, while the figure with the octopus head was Caen. Both were big, twice his size at least, and neither of them would speak to him. In the end, he had given up trying to converse with them, instead trying to find something else to occupy his time with. Plenty of reference material had been left for him, but he found most of them tended to focus far too much on Null, with the occasional mention of Chris Jericho or CM Punk. It wasn’t long before he abandoned the books as well, asking Varys for tapes of the previous seasons instead.

Varys had granted his request, but had gone one step further, providing recordings of all the backstage dealings that occurred along with each season. Styles wasn’t sure whether to be amazed or outraged when he saw the tapes. They’re probably watching them even at this very moment. He had realized. However, a search of his room turned up no cameras, and in the end he consigned himself to being watch. Fortunately, the tapes took his mind off most things, though he couldn’t help but feel a chill every time he saw Chris Jericho on screen. They said he died here. Would any of the others share his fate?

He was watching one such video now, one of Jericho’s conversations with Null. As the tape continued, his thoughts drifted to the competitors, and wondered if Varys was playing them the same way as Null did Jericho. He didn’t have to think for long, as a voice spoke from behind him.

“Null had his games, I believe in playing fair.” Styles turned, surprised to see Varys standing behind him. I hadn’t even heard him enter. “Besides, they’ve all been doing just fine screwing each other on their own.” He walked around the table, and sat himself across from Styles. “I hope you found the food satisfactory.”

“It’s good,” Styles turned off the viewing screen. “Thanks.”

“I’m glad you enjoy it. Finding a chef was no easy work, I assure you.” He must have looked shocked at the comment, for Varys offered him a comforting smile. “Relax, we didn’t steal one of your chefs – some of us have developed a taste for your foods.” He chuckled. “Personally, I’d rather eat my own vomit, no offence.”

“None taken.” Styles got up, cleared his food, and sat down again. “But you’re not hear to discuss Dimension X cuisine, are you?”

“Hardly.” Varys smiled again, and Styles couldn’t help but guess at it’s intentions. “You asked about why we brought the IWF back.” It was a statement more than a question, Styles noted, but leaned forward anyway, interested. “I suppose you know about Null, and the UAN.”

“I’ve read the books.”

“Well, you would know that he was popular – incredibly so. He might have been the most feared man in Dimension X, but paradoxically enough, he was also the most loved.” Varys sighed, and seemed to stare into space for a few seconds. “If only we could gather but a fraction of that love, and none of this would be necessary.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry, I digress.”

“I thought CM Punk won that favour when he bested Null.” Styles offered, trying to get him to continue.

“Maybe he did, or maybe they were just too scared to act. Who’s to say?” Varys shook his head again. “In either case, CM Punk isn’t here now, and I’ll doubt he’ll be wanting to return any time soon.”

“But Null is dead, right?”

“He is. Well, technically, anyway, in the sense that his heart no longer beats. But as you say on Earth, legends never die, and Null was the greatest legend Dimension X has ever seen. Cut off the head and the snake should die, but not in this case. He was a hard man, yes, and cruel, but he gave the people what they want, and sometimes that’s all that matters.”

“You mean the IWF?” Styles offered, confused.

“Not just the IWF, but what it brought with it. Jobs, mostly. Even the poor would gamble their wages away, in the hopes of striking it big. And there always the comfort in knowing that no matter how bad things got, there were always twenty poor bastards worse off then them.”

“Are you saying you don’t have all that now?”

“We may be advanced in technology, but we suffer the same problems as you do.” Varys paused, thinking. “Perhaps Null had those same problems, but whatever the case, the IWF hid them well. In either case, it’s Null the people remember. They might be safer now, and cared for, but without food, or money, it’s Null they want.”

“So you brought it back. Must have seemed like an easy way out.”

“We had no choice,” Varys protested. “Already there was talk of underground leagues of combatants, each trying to become the new Null. We tried shutting them down, but there were too many, and too popular. In the end, I met with the council, and they decided our only option was, to bring back–”

“This,” Styles finished. “And us with it.”

“Please, you must understand – we needed your help. Our world is falling apart, and the IWF seemed like the best way to save it. And so we called upon the only ones who could save us.”

“By kidnapping us and sticking plugs in our necks, you mean.”

“I gave you a choice, didn’t I?” Styles thought he saw desperation in Varys’ face, but couldn’t be sure. “You agreed to this.”

“I was a million, maybe billions of miles away from home, talking to a man who claimed he was an alien. I was scared. I thought I would die.”

“You won’t,” was all Varys could say, barely audible. “You won’t – none of you will.” And with that, the conversation came to an end, as Varys rose as elegantly as he could, trying to maintain his dignity as he walked out the door.

Styles knew better though. He’s afraid, but not of us. That only begged another question. But of what?

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This is awesome and it made me go back and read the original trilogy, which I never have read before. You have big shoes to fill, cause Plankton's trilogy was a masterpiece, but I like where this is going. I suppose Vince will play the Hogan role and perhaps what he wants is control of Dimension X or the technology in it and maybe HHH will realize this is time and be the one to take him out or something.

Just because I have finished reading all of this non-stop for the past two hours, here is one guy I think could have been used in this diary: The Ultimate Warrior. Seriously, his incoherent ramblings would have been classic. I even picture someone doing a "Retro Dimension X" of sorts based in the 90's with Warrior revealing himself to be Kid Terra or something and how Dimension X is where "parts unknown" is at and becoming some sort of super hero. Yeah, I definetively spent way too much time thinking about this huh.

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Great update, and it's nice to get a better idea of exactly why the IWF was brought back. The ideas of underground versions forming and so on is a nice little touch that I find helps paint a better idea of what the world is like.

Varys has been a bit mysterious, likely by design, but I'm hoping future chapters reveals more about him. Mainly how he rose to power.

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