Burning Effect - April 23rd 2008
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[Open up on the office of Broderick Ezekiel Craven, who shuffles
paperwork and types madly. A buzzing is heard, and he touches his
ear, activating the barely visible bluetooth headset in his ear.]
Zeke: Talk to me. Huh? Oh yeah, I sent it. No ... I didn't fax it.
Trying not to use that ... thing, it's so 1980's. Email, my friend.
Email, it doesn't kill trees. That's how they should market the
internet. I swear.
[Pausing momentarily, Zeke scribbles on some sticky notes, ironically
helping create the need to kill another tree.]
Zeke: Okay, got it... Not much going on this end. I'm just
pretending to do work while ignoring a camera guy. Camera guy,
y'know, holds a camera, films people ... for pro wrestling. Yeah, I'm
not just a lawyer my friend, I pull two paychecks. Uh-huh, you bet.
See you tomorrow for golf.
[Adjusting his neckbrace, Zeke tightens his lips, seemingly to prevent
himself from smiling.]
Zeke: Most important man in the company. Zing!
[Having real trouble restraining himself, Zeke starts to chuckle.]
Zeke: Got us all on worldwide television. Zap!
[Spinning, laughing, Zeke tugs at his neckbrace in an almost crazed
fashion.]
Zeke: YOU'RE WELCOME, YA BASTARDS! HA-HAAAAAHHH!
[Cut away from that freak to a musical montage. Still images flash
across the screen as synthetic percussion is heard; wrestlers with
microphones, striking poses, standing before crowds. Johnny Styles
and Semi, CKD Abdullah, Caleb Foley, and Charles Lassiter, all with
their mouths open, talking.]
#Survivor!#
[Finally, the voice of David Draiman, lead singer of Disturbed, and
their song "10,000 Fists" is heard.]
#Survivor!#
[Rob Cole, still bleeding from a hard match, points at the viewer.
Outlaw with the championship belt before there was ever even a
champion. Charles Lassiter, looking moody. Jack Baldwin talking to a
thoughtful looking Judd Marley.]
#One more god-damn day when I know what I want,#
#and my want will be considered tonight,#
[The massive Jonathan Monarch stands behind an attitudinal-looking
Paul Styles. Steven Hayes and Jimmy Lane stand behind a conniving-
looking Samuel Cunningham. Livestock and the Gutch have each other in
headlocks while Zeke Craven rubs his temples.]
#HWA-HWA!#
#considered tonight!#
[Johnny Oakes with his ribs taped up. The Spectre looking menacing.]
#Just another day when all that I want,#
#will mark me as a sinner tonight,#
[The Rage brothers, Derek and Shadoe with cigars and bottles of
liquor. RJ Souza has himself a bat, and it looks like he's been using
it. Christopher Michaelson looking cocky. Shawn Covell and Gideon
Frost with Darius Walker, Walker addressing them in what looks like a
pep talk.]
#HWA-HWA!#
#I'm a sinner tonight, yeah!#
[Major Damage, his glowing eyes looking out from a darkened room.]
#People can no longer cover their eyes#
#If this disturbs you then walk away#
[The Masked Maniac flying from the ring ... and not under his own
power.]
#You will remember the night you were struck by the sight of#
#Ten Thousand fists in the aaaaaaaaaair!#
[Chris Hartt holds high the Rising Phoenix Heritage title. An image
similar to the previous; Chase Williams raising up the PVW Heavyweight
title. The music goes instrumental again as we cut to the PVW
"Burning Effect" logo.]
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[Then fade in on the PVW studio. Sitting there in tall-backed bar
stools are a pair of well-dressed middle-aged men. The first,
brawnier gentlemen wears a tan sweater, has his gray hair slicked
back, and a well-groomed mustache that sets off his broad smile
nicely. The second has blond hair, wears a black suit, and shows
teeth as well, but in a kind of unsettling smirk that makes one wonder
what he's up to. The first man is also the first to speak.]
JB: Hello everyone, welcome to the very first PVW Burning Effect on
the Strickland Sports network. My name is Jack Britain, and my
broadcast colleague here, stage right, is "Fabulous" Fred Hoyle.
[Hoyle straightens up in his stool, and leans in towards the camera in
an aggressive fashion.]
FH: That's right you rat-tailed jack-a-ninnies, the Fabulous one is
back in business, and television will once again never ... be ... the
same.
JB: That's great, Fred. Now, Rise from the Ashes, a surprise
broadcast on this worldwide sports channel was a huge hit, and now
everybody knows where the future of wrestling lies.
Now, not everybody caught Rise, because the deal to show PVW
product on the Strickland Sports Network was finalized only a few
days before the program aired, but I'm happy to tell you now that
an encore broadcast will be shown right here on SSN come the 24th
of April. I'll warn you though, the re-broadcast, unlike the
original, will not be commercial free.
FH: Yeah, yeah Jack, that's great. I'm really glad your crypt keeper
of a boss dusted off the old wrestle-lust and bought PVW, but there's
no need for you to talk all our ears off.
[Britain looks over towards Floyd strangely, setting his jaw to avoid
getting worked up.]
JB: Not my intention, and Ron Strickland didn't buy PVW, he bought a
minority share. Thirty percent, and I believe that Dex Willingham
still controls right around sixty.
FH: Oh, pardon me, I didn't know we were splitting hairs here.
JB: And if he hadn't bought that share, you wouldn't be on TV right
here and now either.
FH: Oh, I ... well...
[Hoyle looks legitimately flustered, and unable to come up with a
comeback, ergo--]
FH: On with the show! He's rough, he's tough, he thinks for some
reason we should all still take him seriously, he's Rob Cole!
[Cut to a graphic, then to the scene described.]
------------------------------------
Production video,
Rob Cole.
------------------------------------
["Swingin'" Dean Hayes stands with a man who does nothing to set him
at ease. Rob Cole stares at the interviewer, eyes aflame with anger
and rage. Dean Hayes collects himself after a brief moment, and then
lifts the microphone between the two men.]
DH: Rob Cole... you were victorious in your match with the Masked
Outlaw but you failed to reveal who he was...
RC: No, Dean... I showed everyone exactly who he was.
DH: Excuse me?
RC: Tuulenux.
DH: I didn't... are you sure?
RC: Alex Wallace.
DH: What?
RC: You need some more names? Takada. Paul Styles. J-Man. The
Masked Outlaw told everyone who he was... a representative for all my
past victims, a man who stood for everyone I beat, and he did a damn
fine job of living up to those lofty expectations. Just like every
last one of them, he swore he was going to put an end to the violent
things that I do. And he failed. Just like every last one of them.
Retribution. Cyric. Kuwasi Shakur. The fact that he hides behind a
mask doesn't change the fact that I showed everyone who he
was...exactly and precisely who he was. He's the guy that got beaten
when all was said and done... he's the guy that could not get the job
done. He's another Tracker, another Trey Lawrenze, another Sinister.
Good lord, Dean-o... he's another statistic in a ten year-long trail
of destruction.
DH: And what about... ?
RC: If you're going to ask me about that filthy ring rat he dragged
with him to ringside, you'd better check yourself at the door... this
is a girl who went to her senior prom for three years in a row because
she couldn't pass a single class. This girl isn't exactly the cream
of the Phoenix crop, Dean-o.... and now, what am I supposed to do?
Rant, rave, scream, and holler just because she slapped me? Grow up,
kiddo... this whole messy business is over. Masked Man didn't do a
damn thing but lose a match to a man he said was finished... and now,
I'm going to move on to something a bit more important.
DH: And that is?
[Cole smiles and turns to regard the camera, the fans, and the man
he's about to address this moment.]
RC: The Phoenix Valley Championship title that is currently around the
waist of a man that's said a little too much. Chase, you have a big
mouth and a lot of free time on your hands. Ever since you got
crowned with that belt, I've had to deal with a Masked moron, training
Chris Hartt, and dealing with the problem of some dumb ring rat... All
that is a little history lesson on why you haven't had to stand toe to
toe with me.
[Cole snatches the mic.]
RC: It's time to drop the ball, kiddo... the count-down has begun. I'm
going to mow my way through the contenders and put myself in the ring
with you one more time. I know it wasn't a fluke, I know you have the
ability, and I'm not about to dirty up that belt by calling you a
paper champion. You're the real deal, Chase... but you seem to forget
that there are some other real deals in this company, men who know how
to sweat and bleed. Men who aren't wet behind the ears, men who had
the green torn out of them, men who are now going to be hunting you
like prey. And I can smell your belt, punk... I can smell the polish
you used, I can taste the leather, and I can hear it crinkle as you
try to keep it from me. That's how close I am,
Williams... close enough to smell, taste, hear, and even you can't
dull that shine.
[Cole holds up one finger, as if to say "wait"... ]
RC: Don't do it, Chase... don't diminish yourself or that title. You
beat me, you should be proud of doing that, and you shouldn't dismiss
it off-hand by saying I'm washed up. Don't make yourself
unimportant... you beat a big name in this industry, a monster
opponent, and you overcame the rest of this roster to strap that gold
around your waist. If you give me that typical ego crap about how
you're so much better and you shouldn't waste your time, you're going
to get a terrible beating you might never wake up from. You beat me
once... and if you want to keep that belt around your waist, you are
going to have to do it again. You are going to have to face the
monster beneath your bed... you're going to have to keep that gold
from the hungry dragon, the bone-crunching troll, the fearful
nightmare... you are going to have to be better than "good" for one
more night, Williams. Because I'm coming to take away all you've
earned... I'm coming to take away all you've accomplished... I am
going to take away your belt, your pride, and your ego in one single
bite.
[Dean Hayes swallows and takes the mic back, watching as Cole turns
his back... he clears his throat and calls out... ]
DH: What about Spectre?! You face Spectre at the next taping and...
[Cole turns, furrowing his brows... he leans in and smiles as he turns
to regard the camera. He glances back at Dean and then back to the
camera once more.]
RC: I've read all the fairy tales, Dean-o... I've seen the light show,
the spooky entrance, all the blood, all the mind games... and I know
who my opponent is for the next Heatwave. He's a violent man, he's
got bad intentions, and he already pinned me once... so maybe the
Monster is about to face something even scarier? Even the boogey man
fears Chuck Norris, you know? Spectre... I want you to listen to me,
look in my eyes, and understand something... you do not know me. There
is no darkness that isn't already on display, there is no fear that
isn't obvious, and you have nothing to play with for an appetizer. I
told you this once before, and maybe you need to be reminded... fear
is what you use, but for me it's just the side effect of who I am.
You manipulate fear and darkness, but that's the sawdust
remains from the bloodbath I drown my opponents in! "Rise from the
Ashes" was what I was willing to do for fun... This is business.
------------------------------------
[Back to the studio, where the two announcers are already discussing.]
JB: So what exactly is your issue with Rob Cole?
FH: The man is "scary", and so ... unsubtle about it. Monster under
your bed, dragon blah blah, etcetera. Quite frankly, I think the man
could do with a little style, a little panache.
JB: Cole is a virtual legend with a lot of dues paid in the business,
and something of a leader in the locker room. Assuredly you respect
him for that.
FH: You assume too much, pal. The only men I respect are green and
printed on money.
JB: I can see this is going to be a long evening. Folks, we have at
this time what appears to be a public relations announcement from Carl
Stephenson, "Manager of Champions."
[Cut.]
------------------------------------
Production video,
Carl Stevenson.
------------------------------------
[Carl Stevenson lazily sits behind his intimidatingly large, antique,
oak desk with a soft but smugly satisfied expression. He's wearing a
white dress shirt along with a black vest and tie, his jacket laid
across the back of his chair]
[Carl holds up his hand revealing a PVW press release]
Carl Stevenson: Carl Stevenson... the coolest dude in PVW. I told all
you guys that I was the only one cool enough to see what was actually
going on. I even paid for television time just to tell everyone
again... that "The Golden One" Christopher
Michaelson was a loser.
[Carl pauses to gazing into the camera as a small smirk crosses his
face, knowing Chris is watching]
CS: And at Risen Ashes, an hour after I explained how Chris a joke he
went out an lost to Outlaw... again. An hour after that I managed Paul
and John to the PVW Tag Team Championship, showing up The Golden One
like a chump. I didn't think my campaign to make Christopher
Michaelson cry could be any more fun... until I got this.
[Carl unfolds the press release, reading it as he speaks]
CS: Shortly after Ashes Rising Christopher Michaelson up and left PVW
to go wrestle in highschool gyms in Japan. And by short after the
card, I meant immediately.
[Carl shakes his head and tosses the paper on his desk]
CS: And since I'm the reason Chris ran for his life to the other side
of the planet I wanted to get the PVW crew down here so I could
deliver an obituary on the career of "The Golden One" Christopher
Michaelson...
[Carl leans back in his chair and puts his feet up on his desk, now
sitting sideways to the camera as he grabs another piece of paper from
his desk]
CS: Although the PVW career of Christopher was short he set new
standards for incompetence. Memorable highlights of his career include
being eliminated early from Blood Bowl, losing in the preliminary
rounds of the Heritage tournament, calling out Foley and losing to him
on the same show, and being shown up on a supercard by [bleep]'in
Outlaw. His promos were generic and lame while his wrestling was
boring and unsuccessful. And in the end, no one cared about his
fantasy money, oddball colored dress shirts, or forced smirks.
"The Golden One" Christopher Michaelson, lest we forget.
[Carl lets out a satisfied sigh as he sets the paper back down and
returns his attention to the camera]
CS: And with the passing of one Golden One we crown a new man to carry
the PVW banner for wrestlers too pathetic to contend for
championships. Allow me to the first to congratulate "The New Golden
One" [bleep]'in Outlaw.
[Carl leans back in his large and plush leather chair]
CS: Paul Styles enjoys championships, Johnathan Monarch enjoys
competition, Carl Stevenson enjoys chasing losers out of wrestling.
The UFOs were first and Christopher Michaelson was a close second. Who
am I going to scare out the door next? Probably a tag team.
[Carl just smiles, having likely already decided who he is going to
harass for fun next]
CS: The Golden One may be gone but his PVW legacy will never be
forgotten... I'm going to make sure of it.
[the camera fades out and brings up two photos]
PHOTO: The Royal Family with their arms raised in victory over The
UFOs at Pride of Powers Night 3 in MSG.
PHOTO: "The Golden One" Christopher Michaelson laying on the mat while
Outlaw's hand is raised from Ashes.
[Cut back to the studio. An instrumental version of "10,000 Fists"
plays.]
JB: We'll be right back with our first match of the night, fans, after
these messages.
------------------------------------
Commercials.
------------------------------------
[Open up on a pair of children playing a game of cards.]
Kid1: Peckerneck, I choose you!
Kid2: Bumblepuss, I choose you!
Kid1: Drillbeak attack!
Kid2: Face sting attack! Haha!
[Cut to later in the day, and the children are playing video games
using a pair of handheld systems. There is no dialogue here, just
grunting and the occasional censored curse word.
Cut again, and now the two boys are tussling using plush toys
that look like weird little creatures.]
Kid2: My Clubfoot beats your Dingledangle!
Kid1: Does not!
Kid2: Does too!
[Finally...]
Mom: Kids, I'm home! And I brought you some more of those cards you
like.
Kid1: Me first!
Kid2: No, me!
[A fight ensues, as packages are ripped, and cards go flying.]
Kid1: That's my Jaggledypoof!
Kid2: Well, that's my sniffledybutt!
Kid1: Is not!
[And a jingle plays.]
#Got-ah, got-ah, gotta get yo' fix,#
#Got-ah get yo fix, Crack-E-Mon,#
#Got-ah, got-ah, gotta get yo' fix,#
#CRACK-E-MON!#
[Back to the program.]
------------------------------------
Production video,
"Sugar" Shayne Grissom.
------------------------------------
[The scene opens to a wrestling ring with a single, bright light
shining down on the man standing in the middle of it. The camera
circles the ring slowly as we see the man standing in the ring. The
man has a chiseled body (sculpted biceps, massive pecs, six-
pack....the works). He has shoulder-length black hair that is pulled
back into a pony-tail. He doesn't have a smile on his face, and his
eyes are hidden by dark, black sunglasses. He is wearing a shining
vest and his wrestling tights are solid purple, with "cut" holes in
them that have black, see-through material in them. His boots are
black as he just stands there and we hear a voice play over the view.]
VOICE: You don't know me yet, but you will. My name is Shayne
Grissom...
[The camera continues to swivel around Grissom slowly and pans a bit
closer.]
Grissom: Some people call me "Sugar." I never knew if that was
because my skills were sweet inside the ring or because the fans tend
to lap me up like pure sugar. I guess it is a good thing either way.
[The camera stops moving and focuses directlu on Grissom, who is not
facing the camera....with the lights reflecting off his sunglasses...
as his voice continues.]
Grissom: I'm part of the new breed of PVW. The group that will take
the Phoenix to even higher places than first thought of. I'm flashy
and I like to have fun, but don't ever under-estmate what I can do
inside the ring.
[The screen crackles and shows a picture of an 11-year old kid
standing in a ring with former superstar wrestlers Burden and Gorilla.
A banner that says "MCW '99" can be seen in the background. The kid is
being locked up in a submission hold by a smiling Burden, while
Gorilla claps. The kid's smile bears a striking resemblance to
Grissom....now all grown up. His voice continues over the picture.]
Grissom: I have wrestling heritage in my veins. I grew up eating,
sleeping and living the life of a professional wrestler. My father
taught me the basics, and then let me learn from the professionals he
worked with as a road agent for MCW when I was a kid.
[The screen flashes to show a picture of just a couple of years ago as
Shayne is wrestling in the HW division of the Missouri State Wrestling
Finals. Grissom has his opponent in the air, as his voice continues
over the still photo.]
Grissom: I used that to become a top wrestler in my state in high
school, but this was not the kind of wrestling I really wanted to be
doing. All the while, I wanted to be playing to the crowd and having
my name in lights....
[The screen switches back to the solitary figure of Grissom standing
in the ring. The voice continues.]
Grissom: Now I have my chance. Tyrone Parker is someone I watched back
in the glory days of UEW and WWO. His excellence was truly known
world-wide. To be able to meet him in the first match of a new
television show is soemthing that can only be described as......sweet.
[The voice pauses as the camera pans closer on Grissom in the ring.]
Grissom: Tyrone, I know this will be tough, but I'm ready to battle. I
have worked for this moment all of my life and I don't intend on
lettign it slip through my fingers.
[Grissom, in the ring, takes off his sunglasses and finally speaks
live.]
Grissom: So be ready for the kind of shock you can't handle Tyrone.
Be ready for the "Sugar Shock". I'll see you in the ring.
[Fade to black.]
------------------------------------
[Back in the studio, Britain and Hoyle.]
FH: I'm having a little trouble getting a tack on this kid. What's he
all about, anyway?
JB: He doesn't have much of a resume, I'll tell you that much, just a
few months pro in the now defunct ACW. I'm pretty sure that Grissom
is a second generation superstar, but I'll have to look into it.
FH: Anyway, going up against Tyrone Parker...
JB: Parker is a great, or perhaps was. He seems to have hit the skids
as of late, and as much as we hate to see it, has been on a losing
streak with numbers that could stump an accountant.
FH: You've been saving that one up for awhile now, I can tell.
JB: Folks, without further ado, highlights from Grissom versus Parker.
------------------------------------
Singles action,
"International Excellence" Tyrone Parker
-vs-
"Sugar" Shayne Grissom.
------------------------------------
[Lights go out as a voice splits the darkness.]
VOICE: Alright......You know what time it is!
[Limp Bizkit's "Rollin'" begins to blare on the PA system as fireworks
and cannons explode around the entrance area. Out steps "Sugar" Shayne
Grissom decked out in a shining vest and his wrestling tights are
solid purple, with '"cut" holes in them that have black, see-through
material in them. HIs black hair pulled back in a tail and sunglasses
firmly on his head he poses for the crowd as a giant, purple "Sugar"
flashes on the big screen above him. The crowd explodes in cheers as
he slowly walks down the aisle and slaps high fives with fans all the
way down to the ring. Grissom reaches center ring and rather than
strike a pose to show off his muscles, simply rolls under the bottom
rope as the chorus echoes with cannons firing from the ringposts...no
doubt still showing effects of the brawl moments ago.]
#ROLLIN', ROLLIN', ROLLIN'#
*BOOM!!!*
#ROLLIN', ROLLIN', ROLLIN'#
*BOOM!!!!!*
#ROLLIN', ROLLIN', ROLLIN'#
*BOOM!!!!!*
[The music dies down as Grissom removes his glasses and vest to
prepare for the match as the fans begin chanting "Sugar!" over and
over. Grissom's face looks as though it has been through a war
already. Grissom enjoys the modest applause he gets from the crowd,
then we cut to later in the match. Parker and Grissom, already in the
ring, circling one another.]
JB: Here we go, Parker and Grissom, already in the ring. Grissom,
somewhat larger than his opponent, but Parker with the extreme
advantage in the experience department.
FH: Lock up, and looks like the new guy's got cottage cheese for
brains. Terrible form, and a hiptoss by Parker. Good for him.
[Playing to the crowd, Parker gets booed, and waves the fans off
before turning back towards his opponent. Grissom nods his head
appreciatively, stands back up, and extends his hand for Parker to
shake. Tyrone looks to shake it, then slaps it away, turns, and
feigns laughter, holding his gut and going back to circling his
opponent.]
FH: Yes, see, that's what I'm talking about. Parker has the attitude
of a real superstar, whereas the kid here? He's got a great physique,
but his mind is weak.
JB: You don't know that. The match has just begun.
FH: Cottage cheese for brains, mark my words.
[Cut to later in the match. At this midpoint, Parker has Grissom in
the corner, chopping him in the chest.]
JB: Boos from the crowd, and looks like at five minutes in, Parker has
managed to turn the entire Armory against him.
FH: Good for him. If these troglodytes were on his side, I'd be
worried.
[Climbing to the second turnbuckle, Parker lays into Grissom with
right hands. A few fans count along with the punches, but most still
just boo.]
JB: At this point, it's been pretty much all Parker, eight punches,
and--
*CRASH!*
JB: Powerbomb! Grissom holding the legs, and BOSTON CRAB! Great
chain wrestling, and the referee, Max Kelly, is Johnny on the spot,
asking Parker if he gives up!
FH: No!
[The crowd cheers. Looking to be in pain, Parker shakes his head, and
stretches out, grabbing the bottom rope.]
FH: Get it, Parker! YES!
JB: Tyrone Parker is still alive and in this match. However, it looks
like Grissom has taken his best, and is still recovering. Looks like
Parker's streak of losses will continue.
FH: You talk about Parker's losses, but how about wins? Lord knows
he's won more matches in PVW than this kid.
JB: It's Grissom's first match!
FH: There you go, splitting hairs again.
[Jerking Parker up roughly by the hair, Grissom brawls a little with
the wily veteran, knocking him down twice, before Irish whipping him
into the turnbuckle.]
JB: Parker somersaults onto the top rope!
FH: That's skill, baby!
JB: That's momentum, and he rolls backwards, staggers, and BELLY-TO-
BACK!
[Face pop as Grissom pops to his feet, and climbs the ropes, raising a
hand in mock victory, absorbing the cheers of the crowd.]
JB: Grissom looking impressive.
FH: Eh, if you like pretty boys.
JB: Wait, weren't you a pretty boy when you were young?
FH: Still am, and ... still am. Pretty and young. Use some hair dye,
old guy.
JB: Abdominal stretch by Grissom, and PUMPHANDLE!
*CRASH!*
FH: ON HIS HEAD!
[Face pop, huge noise.]
JB: Pumphandle belly-to-belly piledriver, but Grissom is slow to
count.
[The crowd begins counting immediately, but they're up to four by the
time Grissom covers, having fallen onto his back, five by the time the
ref is down for the count, and seven when--]
JB: Kickout at two. Rookie mistake by Grissom, who couldn't
capitalize on a match-ending maneuver.
FH: See? Cottage cheese for brains. Just like I said.
[Cut to later still in the match. Parker is down and looks out.
Grissom has climbed to the top.]
JB: Grissom up in no-man's-land. What's he going for here?
*CRASH!*
FH: NOBODY HOME! Ha-hah! Legdrop misses, and Grissom's butt feels
like he just backed up into a bath house.
JB: I choose not to comment on that. Grissom struggling to his feet.
SUPERKICK! Superkick by Parker, and that's a match ender! Parker on
top,
One!
Two!
Three!
NO!
[Massive pop, as Parker rolls to his hindquarters, clearly frustrated,
and argues with Max Kelly while getting to his feet. Holding up three
fingers, he dances back, and waits for Grissom to stand.]
JB: Parker stalking Grissom now.
FH: C'mon Parker, put this rat-tailed punk away already!
JB: Super--, no, CRUSHER!
[Rolling under Parker's outstretched leg, Grissom neatly avoids
contact, leaps from a crouching position, grips Parker with a 3/4
headlock, and falls flat on his back, dragging Parker with him.]
FH: NO!
JB: That has to be what Grissom meant during his promo by "Sugar
Shock!" It's academic now, and there's the three...
*DING!* *DING!* *DING!*
------------------------------------
[Cut back to the studio.]
JB: Emphatic win by Grissom, and a great debut for a fine young
rookie. Looks like the losing streak continues for Tyrone Parker.
FH: If he'd had any respect for the business, he'd have taken the
dive.
JB: Are you actually suggesting that a PVW competitor should throw a
match?
FH: Hey, Parker is a time-tested veteran of the squared circle, the
man deserves a win every once in awhile. Y'don't kick a man while
he's in the gutter, after all.
JB: I see your point, although I don't agree w--
FH: You roll him and take his wallet.
JB: ...
FH: Hey, I actually managed to shut you up. That leaves me to
announce the next guy ... oh, super, it's some other new guy.
[Cut away to the scene.]
------------------------------------
Production video,
"Wherewithal" Eric Williams.
------------------------------------
[Blackness. There is no visual fade in. And yet, in this abyss of
nothingness, is a voice. A voice calling from beyond the never-ending
shadow which lies before you; a crypt, as it might be called, whose
body within has never seen the lights of our modern day fireworks.]
Voice: Two years ago, my wife divorced me, and the judge awarded her
everything.
She hadn't worked in the 15 years we were married, and I had a stable
job for 17, so she played into the judge's heart by telling him she
would find it too hard to live alone. And since I was practically
broke, she gained custody of the kids.
But all of that doesn't matter, now. That's a whole lifetime ago. I've
spent the last two years training, and working toward the dream I'd
always carried within me: to be a professional wrestler; to hear
swarms of fans screaming my name.
[Slowly, in fades the face of a man who, if the term "prime" was ever
used to describe his body, it only referred to prime time talk shows.
He doesn't have a proud jaw. His short black hair and 5-o'clock
shadowed face look horrifically average. His brown eyes, which seem to
smile with his thin lips, stare into the camera; which is slowly
panning further back. He, Eric Williams, looks to be in his early
thirties, and his face – slightly wrinkling – shows it. Barely
audible, in the background, "Light My Way" by Audioslave begins
playing as – following a long, heaving breath – his smile fades into a
blank expression.]
EW: So, to prepare, I've spent the past week looking at my co-workers
here in PVW, and so far I only see two types of fighters.
[The camera, panning back slowly, reveals some well-defined
trapezoidal and neck muscles with a black v-neck T-shirt resting on
them.]
EW: Cheaters and Over-Exerters. This one depends on eye-gouging and
groin-thumping instead of any sense of dignity-
[The black shirt cascades down his slim-set shoulders.]
EW: That one relies on lifting or leaping, when a simple trip or kick
would suffice.
[The face of Bruce Lee, in full color, is displayed on the shirt. His
arms, while muscular, are tight; not bulging.]
EW: My partner in my first match – The Dragon Kid – and both of my
opponents – Johnny Dylan and Gibson Hayes – show the second, more
chauvinistic style of fighting, in their own way.
[The panning halts at his waist; as does the picture of Bruce Lee. His
face and body are tenseless as he stands before you with his arms at
his side, making no extravagant gestures as he speaks.]
EW: The Dragon Kid – my partner – and Johnny Dylan both are
aerialists; which seems to be a style that thrives on over-exertion
and masochism – trading their pain for yours while sapping all of your
own energy. But what neither of them realize is that two quick, well-
placed fists can cause as much damage as one of your aerial assaults,
and leave the strike's thrower feeling no pain. A counter to anyone
who would leap at you is simple: step or roll out of the way.
[His first big gesture; a sweeping motion with his right hand, toward
the ground below.]
EW: But what is the counter for a fist thrown when you are off-
balance? And when that fist brings you to the floor, what will you do
then, after you've worn yourself out with your stage-dives and your
ring-theatrics?
You'll weight-train. And you'll grow enough muscle to push me off of
you; as Gibson Hayes seems to be able to do.
[His hands fold together in front of his body, and his stoic face
fades away into a slight grin.]
EW: But even the strongest arms wear out. Even the strongest limb is
rendered useless as it becomes bent and contorted; its ligaments
stretched.
[A pause sets in; his eyes close for a moment in brief reflection, and
return back to their stoic state.]
EW: This, my first match in PVW, is the culmination of two years of
training after 15 years of marriage ended. The wife and children I
would have been fighting for left me. All that's left now is a man
with a dream; a man with the will to achieve that dream.
On April 23rd, after two years of refocusing of my life, I feel like I
finally have the chance to Live.
["Light My Way" by Audioslave, which had been playing softly in the
background, now rapidly gets louder.]
#Won't you light my way?
#Won't you light my way?!
EW: On April 23rd, Greatness Begins.
#Won't you light my way!
[The song dies; leaving "Wherewithal" Eric Williams silently
grinning.]
[Fade To Black]
------------------------------------
[Back to the studio, and the announcers are relaxing in their chairs.
Fred has a glass of some sort of liquor, whereas Jack has his hands
folded before him.]
FH: And that's why Japanese wrestling is called "puroresu". It's just
some guy's mangling of "pro wrestling". Ain't that somethin'?
JB: Again, I already knew that.
FH: Now Lucha Libre ... heh, that's just stupid. "Free fight"? You
don't get any pesos from a free fight.
JB: I've actually worked in both places, and free fight just refers to
the rules.
FH: Now Europe!
JB: I can see that this isn't your first drink of the evening.
Regardless, fans, Eric Williams, a rookie, although not a young one,
has a chance, next week, on Heatwave to make an impact against three
other newcomers to Phoenix Valley.
FH: Which brings me back to my original point. Dragon Kid.
JB: That's what your point was?
FH: Yes. He's Japanese, and I was talking about Japanese wrestling.
Moreso, ipso, facto, he's next. Roll it!
[Cut.]
------------------------------------
Backstage Promo,
Dragon Kid.
------------------------------------
[We fade in to a black banner with the PVW logo emblazoned upon it.
The camera zooms out and we see The Dragon Kid standing next to it,
wearing his usual ring attire - Green dragon mask, white wrestling
pants with green fringes down the side, and white boots. He points to
the banner as he begins to speak.]
DK: P.... V.... W....
[The Dragon Kid points to himself]
DK: doragon no kodomo no tame no atarashii ie
(Subtitle: New home for Dragon Kid)
DK: subete ha I no shinpai yaku 2 tsu no koto de ari - meiyo o ataere
ba fan o kokoro ni idaku
(Subtitle: All I care about are two things - honor and entertaining
the fans)
DK: doragon no kodomo 52 nd Street Armory de fan no mae ni koko ni
kisotte hijou ni shiawase de aru
(Subtitle: So I'm very happy to compete in front of the fans here at
52nd Street Armory)
DK: konya, watashi Gibson Hayes oyobi Johnny Dylan nitaishite ringu ni
ayumu
(Subtitle: Tonight, I step into the ring against Gibson Hayes and
Johnny Dylan)
DK: jibun jishin no you ni P V W no atarashii namae o tsukuru koto o
kokoromi te iru 2 nin
(Subtitle: Two men who like myself are trying to make a new name in P
V W)
DK: shikashi watashi ha kono dake ni tsuiteitte i nai
(Subtitle: But I'm not going about this alone)
DK: watashi ha no tame ni Eric Williams tasuke o yuusuru
(Subtitle: For I have the help of Eric Williams)
DK: sou kare ni, watashi ha kansha suru iu
(Subtitle: So to him, I say thank you)
DK: soshite watashi no hantai sha ni, watashi ha sorera ga ringu ni
makura o motte kuru tazuneru
(Subtitle: And to my opponents, I ask that they bring a pillow to the
ring)
DK: sorera ishi Go to Sleep de
(Subtitle: Because they WILL Go to Sleep)
DK: soshite watashi ha P V W no sekai taitoru - mottomo ookii meiyo ni
yori chikai 1 tsu no suteppu de aru
(Subtitle: And then I will be one step closer to the biggest honor in
P V W - the World title)
[fade out]
[Cut back to the studio.]
JB: Dragon Kid certainly setting his sights high, 'though PVW as yet
doesn't have a world title.
FH: Hey, it'll happen. After all, Daddy Warbucks is footing the bill
now, right?
JB: Ron Strickland, and he's made a considerable investment, yes.
FH: So maybe the 'Kid'll get his wish. Not the winning the title
part, just it becoming a world title.
JB: Regardless, that's sure to be a slam-bang matchup. On the one
side, we have a contrast between Eric Williams, who seems to be a
minimalist competitor, wasting no effort, and Dragon Kid, the man from
Sapporo, Japan, and one who is reputed to have some of the most
impressive high-flying repertoires in the business.
FH: Meh, "high-flying", just means he's not smart enough to cheat.
JB: Welcome back, fans. We're running low on time, so without further
ado, let's hear from the Rising Phoenix Heritage title holder, "The
Paladin" Chris Hartt.
[Cut.]
------------------------------------
Remote feed,
"Paladin" Chris Hartt.
------------------------------------
[At the St Joseph's Hospital & Medical Center, Chris Hartt makes his
way through a hallway to a specific room. He stops at the bed in the
room. Asleep in the bed is Destiny Souza. Hartt walks in and slowly
approaches the unconscious woman's bed. He sits down in a chair and
takes her hand in his.]
Hartt: Destiny.....I'm so sorry! I can't believe this happened! I
never thought that you'd....
[Slight Pause...]
You go through so much in this business, there's so many things you
don't give a thought to. You were always with RJ before, so it never
seemed possible you could get.....hurt!
[Tears start to fill Hartt's eyes. He wipes them away, sniffles
loudly and then continues.]
Hartt: Sandler never should have interfered. That match was between
me and RJ. Has RJ even been here yet? Does he even care?
[The Paladin pauses again possibly for a moment to sort of the
emotions running through his head.]
He's been so blind. Blind to your love, my friendship and to the crap
that Sandler's been feeding him.
I didn't get enough of a chance to show RJ what a fool he's been, but
I will! I will and he'll see it!
Don't worry, Destiny. I'll do it for our friendship. Mine,
yours...and his!
[Hartt squeezes Destiny's hand once more. He bows his head and just
listens to the quiet of the floor at the late hour, as the camera
pulls back out of the room and into darkness.]
------------------------------------
JB: Hartt distraught there. Folks, for those of you who missed Rise
from the Ashes, in the match between "Bad Karma" RJ Souza and
"Paladin" Chris Hartt, Souza's wife, Destiny, was struck down with a
heavy wooden baseball bat. The blow, aimed at Hartt by RJ Souza,
struck Destiny as she tried to stop him from injuring Hartt during the
weapon on a pole match. While she was done considerable harm and has
extensive injuries from the incident, she is doing well, and we here
in the studio wish her a speedy recovery.
FH: It's sad, very sad when an attractive girl gets injured in
wrestling. Really.
[Odd, alarmed look from Jack to Fred.]
FH: But honestly? It brought out the best in Chris Hartt. I mean,
yes, "Paladin", and all the malarkey you can eat with a spoon about
damsels in distress and being a good guy, throw that out the door. It
brought out the brutality buried in Hartt, and I for one can't wait to
see it again. Quite frankly, that nice guy act of his was getting
really, really old.
JB: Now, we'll hear from Souza.
[Pauses.]
JB: Do we have the piece from RJ Souza? It might be listed as "Bad
Karma".
------------------------------------
Remote feed,
"Bad Karma" RJ Souza.
------------------------------------
"What do you mean you are not going to air them?!?!?"
[The silence is cut like a knife as Paul Sandler screams into the
phone. The "Super Agent gets glares from the other gym members as he
walks around at a nervous pace around the PVW's Man In Black, The
Batman, Bad Karma RJ Souza. RJ is finishing his curls while Paul
continues to yell into his blackberry.]
Paul Sandler: You know what you can do with those commercials, right,
Johnson?? As long as my client gets paid his commisions, I ....
[silence]
Paul Sandler: You are making a very expencive mistake, old man. I will
have my lawyer clean you out if you breech the agreement.
[silence]
Paul Sandler: Charator Clause?? We'll see about that!!
[Paul puts the phone back into his suit pocket. RJ drops the weights
and pulls Sandler out of the gym and into the lockerroom.]
RJ Souza: What was THAT all about?
Paul Sandler: Your car commercials....They are not going to see the
light of day.
RJ Souza: Why? I took the time off to do it. You said this would be
great money.
Paul Sandler: They were less than thrilled you hit your wife wirth a
baseball bat, put her in the hospital and have not shown one ounce of
remorse.
RJ Souza: Let's go to the hospital right now then.
Paul Sandler: NO WAY!! Look, the cops are looking for an excuse to put
you in jail. Even if they were not, She might have a restaining order
on you. Worse yet, Chris Hartt might be waiting there, just to
continue this.
RJ Souza: That is sick. He will sit at my wife's bedside just to get
one more crack at me?? Look, send some flowers. Make sure she knows I
still care about her.
Paul Sandler: I'll make sure that happens. But this week, I want you
to worry about one thing. CDK Abdulah.
RJ Souza: The Middle Eastern Terrorist. Yeah, That's what I called
him. I'm not a racist, I am prejudgous against everyone. I see this
guy in an airport, best believe I'm not getting on the same plane with
him. But the Terror will be all mine. CDK, Can I buy a vowel?? The
Dumbass can't spell his own first name. But beyond that. I'm going to
make 9-11 look like a jaywalking ticket...
Paul Sandler: Stop, Stop, STOP!! You already used the Jaywalking .....
RJ Souza: It doesn't matter what phase, antidote or what saying I
twist up. CDK, you are DOA....
Paul Sandler: We did the acrynims to.
RJ Souza: What do we have left??
Paul Sandler: Why don't you go with "I'm gonna kick his ass"?
RJ Souza: You know, Abdulah. You got no where to go. You saw what I do
to people who I care about?? Wait until you get a load of me. I'm
Bat-man. You will find out the hard way why!!!
[ftb]
------------------------------------
[The lights are out, but some sunlight invades the room. A dim figure
rendered in an irregular pattern against a padded chair and next to a
hospital bed sits. Suddenly, red eyes illuminate, the LEDs of Major
Damage showing, without a doubt, who is sitting there.]
MD: Not an hour ago, a man lay in this bed.
[Looking over at the bed, the Major's "eyes" actually help to define
it with a conical effect of dim radiance. Gesturing with his red-
highlighted hand, he touches unfolded sheets, pulling them up towards
the headboard.]
MD: He lay here because I put him here. Another casualty; another ...
confirmed kill.
[Continuing to stroke the sheet, Damage seems to detach from his
surroundings.]
MD: Was it worth it, Oakes? Your defense of a friend? Friends?
Marley seemed nice enough when you were helping him, but where was he
when you were helpless? Abandoned to die at the hands of a man for
whom you bore no ill will, save for the defense of another you may
have been spared.
More's the pity. I won't lie and say I'm sorry for what I've
done, but I do feel sorry for you, Oakes. Your loyalty
misplaced, and now your body weakened as it is...
[Now, tugging the sheet and blanket off, Damage holds it before him,
examining it closely.]
MD: Field medics often put themselves in harms way to protect their
comrades, but then, the other soldiers don't bug out the second a
hostile shows its face. Think about that. Take it for what it is.
You challenged a superpower, because you felt that superpower was
overstepping its bounds. You thought ... I was trying to bully
Richard Marley ... but Marley was not the ally you thought he was.
[Letting the sheet fall, Damage stands, his heavy boots making deep,
echoing sounds on the tile floor.]
MD: As a lone soldier, abandoned by his platoon, betrayed, you still
did seek to stop this man's army. For what? True altruism? It seems
so ... trivial, comical, unreal. Money? Choose another opponent, and
you still get paid, Oakes.
Just know that, for all the announcers did, all that the boys
selling our war said and did, I still bore you no ill will. It
wasn't personal, but rather, a means to an end. You were step
one. Now, if you're wise, you'll go stateside, and sit with the
folks for awhile, leaving the fighting to whole, uninjured
soldiers.
But you won't, will you? You'll fight again at the nearest
opportunity. I respect that, I really do, save for one thing.
[Circling around to the other side of the bed, Damage looks down at
the bed, and pulls, suddenly, removing the fitted sheet and leaving
the mattress bare.]
MD: Unlike this man's army, you are vulnerable. You are soft. For
all the pluck, all the vigor put forth to prove your status as a
warrior, you're nothing but a civilian at heart, waiting to become
another statistic in a war of attrition.
It's been nice knowing you, Oakes. Goodbye.
[Suddenly, with a squeak, the door opens, letting in artificial light
and disrupting the ambiance.]
Nurse: What the hell? We've got somebody in here!
[Ducking inside, a large man in scrubs points at Damage.]
Orderly: Hey buddy, you need to get the hell out of here. Is there a
patient in this room?
Nurse: No, the guy was discharged just over an hour ago.
MD: Discharged ... section eight. Heh. Heheh. Hahahahahaaah!
[At this, the orderly backs out of the room, alarmed. Damage turns
towards the hospital staff, seemingly not even taking notice of them,
as he fails to break stride, only the Orderly's fear keeping them from
colliding. The camera watches Damage leave as the nurse enters to
look the room over.]
Orderly: What the hell? How'd he even get in here in that getup?
You'd think we would've noticed.
MD: Haha-haaaaahhh!
[The hospital staff, still gathering, flinches as one as the sardonic,
hissing laughter of Major Damage echoes through the hall. End.]
------------------------------------
[Back in the studio.]
FH: And I can't help but notice that Damage didn't mention the
Mercenary.
JB: That seems to be the Major's M.O.. He talks about what he wants
to talk about, when he wants to, ignores all else, and seems utterly
unflappable. When one finally does make him angry, and sometimes,
even if they don't ... the result in PVW has been a smaller roster.
FH: I certainly wouldn't want to tangle with the guy.
JB: Who would do it willingly? I can't think of one man, but
apparently, given enough money, there's at least one man who's willing
take the walking insurance risk, Major Damage, to task.
[Cut.]
------------------------------------
Production Video,
The Mercenary.
------------------------------------
(Scene opens to a familiar sight to some, not so much for others, but
either way its been a long time since this location has been seen.
We're outside in a large compound-like location, featuring several
different sized concrete buildings and one large steel Quonset. Yes,
this is the infamous Bunker, home base of the Mercenary. And speaking
of the Merc, here he comes towards the camera after exiting one of the
bigger concrete cubes. He's dressed as he usually is... black t-shirt,
camo pants, military boots and the ever present silver-mirrored shades
on his face. He is also carrying a khaki green duffel bag with him,
and it looks to be full of all kinds of goodies, as evidenced by the
variety of odd bumps and corners in said bag. Merc gets within a few
feet of the camera and drops the bag with a loud 'Clank' on the
ground)
Merc: Nice to see that you could make it. Hope you didn't have any
troubles finding the place.
Cameraman: Everything went fine until I hit that spike-belt...
Merc: Is that thing still there? Oops. Well, I'm sure you'll get
reimbursed. But enough about you... Time to talk about me. First off,
sorry I couldn't be there in person, but I figured since I'm going to
be going up against someone with a supposed military background, I'd
better arm myself. So, I came home and found some stuff to help me
show who the real military figure is going to be in PVW. Yeah, I
realize that its probably some former accountant under the gas mask,
but I still feel like I have a point to make.
(Merc taps the duffel with his left boot)
Merc: Or several points... Depends on my mood. But one thing I am
going to make known is that when someone is in my sights, they don't
get out until they drop out of sight permanently. And Major Damage,
that means you.
Why you?
Well d'uh... It's because someone paid me a hell of a lot of money to
rid the PVW of you.
Now, who would do such a thing?
Is it someone inside of PVW?
Someone you've brutalized in the past?
Is it the PVW brass, looking to rid themselves of a huge trouble
maker?
Or is it someone from outside of PVW? Maybe a rival fed trying to get
rid of a huge obstacle for it's own diabolical plans?
An ex-wife?
An ex-boyfriend?
Who knows? Well, I know, but I'm not telling.
You've been targeted, and that's all you need to worry about now, and
for the rest of your career... which won't be that long. I'm giving
you a reprieve for a couple of weeks, but when I return, be ready for
one helluva war.
(Merc picks up the duffel bag and starts towards his nearby Hummer.
Fade to snow).
------------------------------------
FH: Say what you will, but the man knows how to pick 'em. Damage has
taken out more wrestlers in a short time than I've ever seen in any
wrestling league, and I've been doing this stuff for almost four whole
decades.
JB: Mercenary with quite a history. A legend of UEW and other leagues
of bygone times, he's considered one of the most formidable "guns for
hire" in the business. What one might call an old school "hooker", or
crippler, a man who not only can get the job done in the ring, but who
can take a man out ... for good.
FH: Speaking of Major Damage taking someone out ... here's a piece
from his next victim.
[Jack Britain groans as we cut.]
------------------------------------
Production video,
"Fighting Irishman" Caleb Foley.
------------------------------------
[QUOTE]: "Ask not what your country can do for you, but what you can
do for your country."
John
F.
Kennedy
<< From there, the image slowly fades away as we see Chase Williams
holding the PVW
World Heavyweight Title. Suddenly, an instrumental version of "The
Battle Hymn of the Republic" begins to play as we see footage of what
looks like a Civil War re-creation. As we look on, a voice over
begins to speak...a voice over straight out of a war-time
narration...>>
[VOICE OVER]: "The American Civil War ... father against son ...
brother against brother ... American against American. It was a dark
chapter in the history of our nation and its wounds have yet to be
fully healed. For instance ... tonight, we continue the legacy of The
War Between the States..."
<< With that, a black and white shot is shown it is of Caleb Foley and
Major Damage. A big fire is burning behind them and on Major Damage,
a blue tint is shining while, on Caleb, a grey tint is shining ...
Blue and Grey ... The colors of The Civil War itself. As this image
fades, we see a shot of a battle field ... burned and scorched by war
... and, the only thing remains is an American Flag ... flying high
above the blazing flames...>>
[VOICE OVER]: "April 23, 2008...in the Desert City...a new Civil War
will occur ... a new legacy will be built. In any case...these two
men will go down in a Blazing Glory for the ages!"
<>
<< Fade In...>>
<< The camera opens with an fantastic view of a colorful sunset on a
beach. The waves pound into the shoreline, smoothing out parts of the
dark- colored sand in the process. The beach is by no means crowded
now, as many of the tourists and vacationers have engaged themselves
in other activities. However, a decent number of people still hang
around to see this glorious image painted on the sky canvas.>>
<>
Caleb Foley: "Now this is just beautiful. You'd be awfully hard-
pressed to something with more natural beauty than what we're getting
the pleasure of seeing right now."
<>
Caleb Foley: "Those people you saw with me a moment ago...that's my
family. I'm glad that PVW brass decided to fly my family out for my
match at Rises for Ashes. I wanna give a special thanks to Dex
Willingham and his family for doing that. It meant a lot to me. Once
again it proves actions spoke louder than words. Chase Williams pinned
me for the one, two and three to retain the PVW World Heavyweight
Title. I have no excuses maybe he was better maybe I wasn't at my best
but one thing is for certain [pauses] he was the better man on that
night. But Chase you may have won that battle but the war is far from
over ... We will meet again... And next time the outcome will be a
different outcome..."
<< Caleb looks as if he is devastated from this loss.>>
Caleb Foley: "But, now I must look past Chase Williams and face the
task at hand. This task involves the Major Damage. Major Damage I
respect what you have done thus in Phoenix Valley Wrestling. You have
defended America time in and time out the way you won some of the
matches are a bit questionable but nonetheless I guess a win is a win
right..."
"Major Damage, we heard you go on and on about your background, your
life in the WAR, and all that. And it was a very sad story. I don't
wish that kind of upbringing and childhood on anyone, not even you.
BUT, Major Damage, if you're using that as an excuse, or a reason to
act the way you do, well ... it's not a very good one. The fact is,
Major Damage, _everyone_ controls their own destiny, their own
decisions. The surroundings, the events in life, that has no bearing.
I _could_ be bitter because my father is a very sick man and doesn't
have much time left on this earth. But I am not. The difference in
us, Major Damage, is simple. I _choose_ to uphold a higher standard.
That's all it is...a _choice_. You choose to take the low road, the
easy way, and because of that, Major Damage ... you'll _never_ be the
best."
<< A young couple walks past Caleb on the pier. They seem know each
other, as they both wave at Foley, and as always, Caleb waves back.
As quickly as he broke his thoughts to greet the two, he returns to
task with the same serious look.>>
Caleb Foley: "You know, Major Damage, you must really lead a miserable
life. Going through life with all the hatred and anger you have
inside ... it must be really hard to deal with. I've seen quite a few
like you before. In fact, you're no different than the schoolyard
bully. Pushing people around, calling people this and that, and why?
To make yourself look bigger, tougher, better. The fact is, Major
Damage, that in doing all that, you're not making yourself look
tougher. You're making yourself look weaker. You're not making
yourself look better. You're making yourself look worse."
<>
Caleb Foley: "Major Damage, tell me this ... do you really think that
your bad-boy act intimidates me? I think I covered this once before.
The fact is, you don't intimidate me. Your kind, just like the
playground bully, operates on fear ... THRIVES on fear. You sense
fear, and like a wild animal, you attack with a bloody vengeance. But
what happens when you _don't_ smell the fear?
Major Damage, just like there was no fear in Johnny Oakes, there'll be
no fear in me when you and I meet in the Desert. The fact is, Major
Damage, you're a _fraud_, a flash-in-the-pan, and come Wednesday
night, I'm going to show not just you, not just the PVW front office,
but the WORLD ... that Major Damage is no more than a schoolyard
bully.
And just like the bully when someone stands up to him, you'll fall in
defeat at the hands of not only Caleb Foley, but at the hands of
EVERYONE who chose to walk to straight and narrow ... EVERYONE who
chose to take the high road ... EVERYONE who still stands for what's
good and what's right."
<>
Caleb Foley: "The Desert is where it all started for PVW, and for The
Fighting Irishman. I am just a ROOKIE ... trying to determine if
this is for me. You see, Major Damage, I had become fed up with all
the people in this business who forgot the meaning of honor, of
respect, of dignity. In short, I grew tired of all those like you.
And I was left with two options ... walk away, or go back and be a
warrior of justice, exposing those like you for the frauds you are. I
chose the second option, came to PVW, and made my debut in the ring at
the 52nd Street Armory. I fell short on that night, but over the last
two-plus months, I have worked my way into the upper echelon of
Phoenix Valley Wrestling, and I did it with _honor_. I am fighting
someone who personifies what I despised so much about this sport.
Wednesday night is my time to shine...it's my time to do what I
returned to this sport to do. I have no choice BUT to beat you, Major
Damage, or my return has been in vain."
<>
Caleb Foley: "In the end, Major Damage, evil never overcomes good.
Never. In Phoenix, big boy, you'll learn that the hard way. I never
quit, I never say die, and one way or the other, Major Damage ... "The
Fighting Irishman" WILL walk out of Phoenix the victor..."
<>
[Cut back to the studio.]
FH: Famous last words.
JB: Foley has been thrown into this mix, and I have to say it's really
still unclear what's happening with the Major. All we really know for
sure is that Damage is after Rick Marley, and the Mercenary is after
him.
FH: All I really know is that it's a bad idea to be in the man's way,
if you can call him a man, or human. He's strong as hell, fast, and
seems indestructible. What's more, he's got a diabolical, vicious
attitude...
JB: No denying that, but folks, we have to take a break. See you
after these commercials.
------------------------------------
Commercials.
------------------------------------
[Fade in on a blank white floor. Harsh lighting shines down from
overhead. Suddenly, a voice that sounds eerily like Don Pardot is
heard.]
V (Voice): Hey you! Yeah...you. Do you like dogs?
[The camera waggles up and down, showing a wall, and then the feet of
the cameraman. Apparently it's one of those commercials that places
the viewer in the shoes of the cameraman.]
V: So...how about...thisdog!?
[A shivering, anorexic chihuahua blinks into existance. The poor
thing looks absolutely terrified, nothing like the spanish speaking
burrito loving dog of other popular commercials. The camera waggles
back and forth, indicating a "no".]
V: Hmmm...what about thisdog!?
[And the chihuahua is gone, replaced by an enormous Saint Bernard.
The camera indicates a "no" again.]
V: Hard to please, eh? Well then...how about THISDOG!!!?
[Now a wiry thoroughbred greyhound blinks into existance. It wears an
odd little jacket with a number "4" on it's side. It grins and wags
it's tail as the camera waggles wildly up and down.]
V: Really!? GREAT! Then you'll love SSN'S ULTIMATE DOG RACING! One
fourth of Strickland Sports Network's "Racin' Station" racing block on
every Sunday night at 6pm! See beauties like Rex here running every
week! So tune in every Sunday night, folks. It's the fastest thing
going!
[A mechanical rabbit glides across the floor in the background and the
dog disappears with a "WHIZZ" sound, chasing the bunny at full speed.
An "Ultimate Dog Racing" logo appears on the screen before all fades
to black. Cut back to the studio.]
JB: Welcome back, fans. Although they've been fairly successful in
the tag ranks, under the tutelage of Broderick Ezekiel Craven,
Livestock and the Gutch came up just short of becoming the first PVW
Tag Champs at Rise from the Ashes.
FH: That last match was wild, wasn't it? Did you know those lawyers
had weights hidden in their suits, and they had the contract for the
final round rewritten to favor them!
JB: Very underhanded tactics, I know.
FH: Right. Man, if anybody other than the Royal Family had beaten
them, I'd be upset.
JB: Regardless, the pair wound up in action recently, fresh off the
loss at Rise, needing something to get them back on track, and, well
... just watch.
[Cut.]
------------------------------------
Backstage segment,
Masked Maniac and "Hippo" Higgans.
------------------------------------
[Open up on the backstage area of the Armory. It's everybody's
favorite masked jobber, Masked Maniac, musing to himself.]
MM: Ah yes, looks like Google's up three points again. Nice. Yen's
still doing well against the dollar too. Better get on that.
[The shot opens up wide, revealing a newspaper in the Maniac's hands.
Behind our masked friend comes a chubby, but large and strong-looking
guy in a gray singlet. Said guy has a buzzed hairdo, and his singlet
has tooth designs like some sort of large animal. Sneaking up behind
Maniac, he puts his hands over the apparent NYSE investor's eyes.]
HH: Guess who!
MM: Uhm, no?
HH: Huh?
MM: No, I don't want to. I'm looking over my stock portfolio.
[Fat guy in a little singlet does a little "impatient" dance and
whines.]
HH: Maniac, c'mon.
MM: Oh, fine. Uh ... "Mean" Ed Green?
HH: What? No!
MM: "Big" Gene Gaines?
HH: Are you kidding me?
MM: Outlaw?
[Now the fat load looks to the camera, cocking his head to one side to
indicate just how weird he thinks that guess was.]
HH: No, man, it's me!
[The big load spins Maniac around in his office-style chair.]
HH: "Hippo" Higgans!
MM: Oh ... crap.
HH: Dude, we got the team back together! I got us a match and
everything.
MM: Oh? Uh ... crap.
HH: Just lemme fix your mask. You sound weird.
MM: Hippo, you don't need to--
[Spinning him around, Higgans pulls loose the laces of Maniac's mask,
then cinches them in tight.]
HH: Ah, all right, that's better.
MM: Mmph ... crphp...
HH: Let's go, buddy. This is so awesome...
MM: Hphhm, H dpht whnph mtphch! Wpht!
[At that, Higgans tows the Maniac down the hall and out of sight,
leaving the scene empty save for the sounds of dolly wheels rolling
and some muffled whimpers. Cut to the studio.]
JB: Higgans and Maniac...
FH: Poor maniac.
JB: Back to the arena to show what went down after Higgans ambushed
himself and the Maniac into a tag match with the junior counsels of
Phoenix Valley ... "The Gutch" Bartilucci and Livestock Zappa. We'll
be skipping the intros and sending you right to the action.
------------------------------------
Tag action,
Livestock and the Gutch
-vs-
Masked Maniac and "Hippo" Higgans.
------------------------------------
[Cut to show the Gutch and Higgans circling one another, with Gutch
removing his jacket. On the outside, next to Livestock, is Cindy "Bar
Bitch" Hewitt.]
JB: We got the two biggest men in the match to start.
[It's quite a contrast as Gutch tosses his jacket to the outside, and
prepares to square off. Gutch is somewhat shapeless in his white
dress shirt and loosened tie, plus he has almost no hair and looks
like a caveman. Higgans, conversely, looks powerful, and save for the
lack of definition, looks every inch the athlete.]
FH: I don't know why you're looking at the guys, check out that
Hewitt! Good God, what are they putting in the milk these days!
She's a *BLEEPING* stacked amazon!
[Colliding in the center, Higgans and Gutch engage in a pushing war,
then begin to twirl, almost losing their balance before Gutch is
pushed into the corner. Higgans lets go as the ref reaches a count of
2.]
JB: Fred, please, some respect for the lady. Clean break by Higgans,
who-- HEADBUTT! The big 350 pounder floored by a headbutt.
[The crowd boos lightly as Gutch capitalizes on his advantage.]
FH: Hey, that wasn't even cheating. Higgans just didn't keep his
guard up.
JB: He was showing Gutch some respect with a clean break... Masked
Maniac now waving Higgans in for a tag. Say what you will about the
Maniac, he's a loyal friend, even though Higgans dragged him into a
bad place tonight.
[Gutch lays into Higgans with right hands, and Higgans tries to
retaliate, but Gutch ducks--]
JB: Higgans seemingly on dream street from the get go. Gutch,
POWERSLAM! Ducking the wild shot from the animal-themed powerhouse,
and that puts him in range of Livestock. There's the tag.
[Grinning, Zappa slingshots his way into the ring, landing a stomp on
Higgans' head, and jogging a few steps to maintain balance. As
Higgans bucks on the mat, in pain, Gutch bounces off the corner ropes,
and quickly sits on "Hippo"s chest before rolling to the outside.]
FH: WHOA! That's some stinky fat man ass. Sick.
JB: Vertical splash after the slingshot stomp, and the ref admonishing
Gutch, aw, and Livestock Zappa stepping on the big man's throat!
FH: That's it, baby! That's how you put a big man down!
JB: Zappa with a 75 pound weight disadvantage, but definitely a big
man himself. Ugh, and now Hewitt blowing kisses at the ref. Just
turn around man, do your job!
[Finally, tearing his eyes away from the proffered cleavage, the ref
catches Livestock choking Higgans with his shoe, and begins reading
him the riot act.]
FH: I gotta say, this is a clinic.
JB: Clinic? How you figure?
FH: They're working the referee, getting the girl involved, and
doubleteaming awesomely. Tell me you're not impressed.
JB: This team definitely doing their work well. Livestock ...
vertical suplex, and listen to that impact!
*CRASH!*
JB: That's over 600 pounds coming down on the mat, and Higgans is
feeling it.
FH: Look at that! Quick tags, and in comes Gutch!
JB: Elbow drop on Higgans, and Gutch struggles to his feet. Another--
NO!
[Rolling, slowly, away from Gutch, Higgans nevertheless is able to
outmaneuver the relatively nonathletic Gutch. Crawling on all fours,
he scrambles for his corner. Face pop!]
FH: What the? C'mon, Gutch, he's moving like a tectonic plate! Get
him!
JB: Gutch back up, and ANOTHER VERTICAL SPLASH!
*tap*
JB: But it doesn't matter! Higgans is crushed, but in comes Maniac!
Springboard inverted bulldog on the big man!
[Gutch goes down like a ton of bricks, then Maniac dashes across the
ring.]
JB: Maniac with a flying forearm to Livestock, who goes down on the
apron! He's a house of fire!
[Higgans rolls from the ring as Maniac bounces off the ropes, and
grabs Gutch by the neck. The fat man, on all fours, is jerked upright
on his knees, and then flops heavily back down on the mat from a
neckbreaker. FACE POP!!!]
FH: HOLY CRAP! What's gotten into the Maniac!
MM: FFFFFFFFPHRMGNAKLSMBDRRR!!!
JB: I have no idea, but in comes Livestock Zappa. Maniac ducks a
clothesline, and starts laying in those fists! STUNNER!
[Livestock rocks back against the ropes, looking amazed at the fire in
the little jobber.]
JB: Gutch from behind! Brutal, brutal shoulder check, and steps on
the man's back for good measure. Zappa out just long enough to come
back in with a tag from Gutch.
[Indeed, the quick switch allows Livestock to jerk Maniac up by his
masked head, into powerbomb position, and lift him, falling back, and
LANDING HIS HEAD INTO A WAITING GUTCH'S STONELIKE SKULL! HEEL POP!]
*BANG!*
JB: GOOD GOD! Did you hear that!? Hangman's Gambit, but instead of
hanging Maniac across the rope, he ran him headfirst into Gutch!
Falls into a pinfall, and the ref's there!
[Higgans is just viable enough to try to make the save, but gets
creamed by Gutch, who then strangles and beats his head against the
mat.]
*DING!* *DING!* *DING!*
HD: Ladies and Gentlemen, your winners ... LIVESTOCK AND THE GUTCH!
FH: Check that out! Thesz press by Gutch, and he's strangling the
guy. Beautiful.
JB: Convincing win by this team, who needed a win after they came
within a hair's breadth of winning the titles at Rise.
[Cut back to the studio.]
JB: The lawyers aren't the only team however who's been making waves
in the company. As a matter of fact, the tag division is arguably the
strongest in the company, and certainly rates very strongly against
pretty much any tag division in the world.
FH: Hey now, let's not speak so strongly. Sure, tags are great, but
singles ... singles are where it's at.
JB: Hm? How so?
FH: Last I checked, most tag wrestlers don't really get to be big
stars until they turn on their partners. The partner who gets turned
on? Oh, he goes away, never to be seen again. Check the history
books.
[Jack dutifully ignores Fred, keeping the program moving.]
JB: At any rate, let's hear from another hot team; Extreme Conditions.
[Cut.]
------------------------------------
Remote feed,
Extreme Conditions.
------------------------------------
[The camera fades in from black to show Darius Walker sitting behind
his oak desk. The usual clutter of papers and pens has been neatly
organized and folders are resting in their proper places in folder
racks. He has a lone file in front of him, closed, with his glasses
upon it. He looks forward at Gideon Frost and Shawn Covell who sit
attentively before his desk.]
Walker: "Since Phoenix Valley Wrestling began operations, forces have
been against Extreme Conditions … be it their own personal pettiness …
claims of law suits that never see the light of day … or a raving
lunatic and his band of misfits … Mr. Cunningham as you saw at Rise
from the Ashes the patience of Extreme Conditions is completely gone
…"
"They allowed their frustrations to get the better of them and as such
they suffered from the steel chair assault, which in turn cost them
their shot at the PVW Tag Team Championships … "
[Darius stares directly at the camera.]
Walker: "You three just keep digging your graves deeper and deeper."
[As Darius Walker reaches for his glasses and places them upon his
face; Gideon Frost exhales deeply and begins to speak. An air of
disdain is in his voice.]
Frost: "Brass knuckles and chairs … I never realized that The
Thrillers had such an array of great wrestling maneuvers in their
repertoire … but it does continue to show the depths that these
individuals will sink to in their quest to prove that they are the
best in the business today."
[Gideon Frost pauses for a moment.]
Frost: "It’s hard to be the best though when you are losing to the
Prophets of Rage though isn’t it Thrillers?"
Walker: "Oh yes Thrillers you can and will say that Gideon and Shawn
lost to the Prophets of Rage as well but who knows what would have
happened had the pre match altercation taking place. I can point the
finger in a number of places, the pre match altercation, the fact
Extreme Conditions didn’t just focus on the task at hand or the fact
the PVW pulled strings and made sure that the Thrillers came out
before Extreme Conditions … But I’m not here to point the blame …
what is done is done … "
Frost: "But the time is finally upon us Thrillers. The time of
reckoning is at hand …"
[Without warning Shawn Covell speaks for the first time.]
Covell: "Cause we are to beat your asses all around the arena and I
will smile as I do it!"
[A sly smirk crosses Covell’s face.]]
Walker: "Mr. Cunningham I am sorry for what is about to happen to your
Thrillers … I mean the only thrill they will over the next few months
is the anticipation of being able to eat solid foods again."
Covell: "Months without fried chicken, oh how will they survive?"
Walker: "Unlike your Thrillers, Extreme Conditions and I have no
problems with the fact that I am being handcuffed to you at ringside
Mr. Cunningham. You see I can sit at ringside and watch the match
without the fear that my team’s talent won’t be enough to win the
match. You see, I won’t have to distract the referee for Extreme
Conditions; I won’t need to toss them a pair of brass knuckles … Mr.
Cunningham this match is the end of the Thrillers attempt at a reign
of terror."
[Darius Walker pauses for a brief moment; as he does so he takes the
folder that has been resting in front of him and places it in a rack.]
Walker: "Mr. Cunningham, on Heatwave the Thrillers quest for tag team
gold comes to a halt … they will finally realize that for the past few
months you have done nothing but blow smoke up their asses …"
Covell: "Is that like smoke on the water?"
[Gideon slaps Shawn across the back of his and Shawn begins to rub his
head as he just looks at Gideon with a what did I say look. Darius
Walker continues to speak without missing a beat.]
Walker: "I would offer to be their agent and perhaps put them on the
path to success once again … but once a man’s dreams have been crushed
they are gone forever …"
Covell: "Couldn’t they use a dream catcher and maybe find them again …
well that is a little gay … but it could work for them … "
[Gideon attempts to slap the head of Shawn again but this time he
ducks and Gideon’s hand passes over his head harmlessly. A smile comes
across his face as he points to his temple; the smile quickly fades as
Shawn looks up and sees Darius glaring at him.]
Walker: "As I was saying, Mr. Cunningham, Mr. Lane, and Mr. Hayes …
the forecast for the city of Phoenix on April 30 is Extreme
Conditions! There is only one lawyer left in this matter Mr.
Cunningham and personally I have said since day one that my clients
will wipe the floor with the prosecution. "
[Slowly the camera fades to black. Cut back to the studio.]
JB: Strong words towards the Thrillers. The real feud with these two
teams has to do with the managers: Darius Walker and Samuel
Cunningham. Speaking of which, here's Cunningham's team, and I'm sure
the Thrillers won't have anything nice to say about Extreme
Conditions, either.
[Cut.]
------------------------------------
Production video,
The Thrillers.
------------------------------------
"This is not what was supposed to happen!"
*SLAM*
[We open as the door of a nice looking office is slammed shut. The
camera quickly turns and captures Samuel Cunningham sitting down in
his office chair. He sits there in silence for about thirty seconds
and finally looks at the camera with a scowl.]
"Darius Walker it appears you have gotten your way. You have spent
months crying your eyes out to anyone who would listen. You moped around
the back crying foul pushing your legal teams down the PVW brass throats.
While I suffered with severe injuries you tossed your feet in the air
like a spoiled brat."
[Cunningham picks up a paper weight and tosses it across the
office...]
*CRRRAASSSSHH*
"If this is the game you want to play! If this is the blood you want
to spill! If you want D-Day? If you want a last stand? If you want your
Armageddon look no further. My boys have been foaming at the mouth,
_begging_ me to let them have a blood fest with Covell and Frost.
Jimmy and Steven have been ready since day one to step into the ring
and settle the score."
[The scowl turns into an evil smile.]
"Do you know what is going to happen when they finally get their hands
on your guys? Do you honestly think when the dust settles and you
look around at the blood shed you caused that Shawn Covell and Gideon
Frost are going to be standing tall? Just like General Custer you are
blindly leading your men to their demise. You want blood? You want
chaos? You want a final solution?"
[Cunningham lets out a cackle.]
"You got your wish. On Heatwave... April 30th.. You and I handcuffed
on the outside like criminals forced to watch the carnage at ring
side. I get the pleasure to watch your face as you men spill blood.
Covell and Frost's blood will be on your hands. You will have to love
with the memories of them laying in the ring screaming out their names
of their families... Telling you to pass on their final wishes to
their loved ones."
[A moment of silence.]
"Darius it's on your conscience. I warned you. I pleaded with you.
I wanted to end this the right way. Not like caged animals forced to fight
for their lives. In the end your arrogance was the dagger that will go
straight through Extreme Conditions hearts."
[Cut back to the studio.]
FH: Sounds like a promo for a slasher flick.
JB: Cunningham's counsel, which really is PVW's counsel, Zeke Craven
apparently hasn't been faring too well in the courtroom on
Cunningham's behalf. Craven, if you don't remember, is on retainer to
Phoenix Valley, and is representing Cunningham against Walker.
FH: Yeah, and you'd think with Walker assaulting Cunningham on video,
it'd be a slam dunk case.
JB: Unfortunately for Cunningham, it hasn't turned out that way.
However, fans, we have to keep the program moving. Here's Urban
Legend and the Outlaw.
------------------------------------
Remote feed,
Urban Legend & Outlaw.
------------------------------------
[Maricopa Psychiatric Center, Phoenix. The outside of the building
seems ominous even on this textbook clear day -- a multi-story, U-
shaped enclosure with no windows shadows a driveway guarded by a large
gate. No signs of life are visible, even through a lone half-glass
door at the far end.
The camera fades inside, to a rather descript -- if grey cement walls
are descriptive -- waiting area. A security guard eyes the group in
the room with some wariness, but mostly with a visible desire for them
to not be there. The trio themselves seem put out of sorts -- Semi
and Stalker are resigned to their fate, but even Outlaw seems a bit
uncomfortable, if determined.]
Outlaw : How [bleep] hard is it to get into a [bleep] loony bin?
Semi (under his breath) : If any one can find out...
Outlaw : What?
Semi : Nothin. Yer gonna hafta explain why we're here on a perfectly
good Saturday -- (Shuddering.) -- and quickly, cause the heeby geebies
are in overdrive right now.
Outlaw : That [bleep] Fly[bleep]. He's had almost as many [bleep]
personalities as that [bleep] -- (He points directly at Styles.) -- so
he's gotta have something on [bleep] record.
["Schizo" Johnny Styles blinks, and opens his mouth to retort... then
blinks again.]
Stalker : I... ain't sure I can argue that.
Semi (shrugging) : I don't see the big deal. Wouldn't be the first
time someone's reinvented himself ta get a leg up on folks. Hell, I
still think I'm wearin facepaint from back in the 90s sometimes.
[His face becomes almost eerily impassive for a moment... but he can't
keep from falling back into a natural grin.]
Semi : Or not.
Stalker : It's still a touch dramatic, even from circles we used t'run
with.
Outlaw (under his breath) : [bleep] Power Ranger.
Semi (elbows Outlaw) : Hey, best announcing partner I had. Don't
mess.
Stalker (coughing) : Anyway. He's still Will under that li'l act.
Maybe I can get 'im aside and at least agree to somethin' civil.
Well, civil in so much as he's 'tween us and the Prophets.
Outlaw : [bleep] him anyway. He's our [bleep] opponent, he's with
those [bleep], his [bleep] ass is mine.
[Styles raises his hands in resignation.]
Stalker : Fair 'nough, I just want t'keep things from gettin' uglier
then they have t'be. And--
[A solid metal door swings open; a white-robed older gentlemen steps
out, flipping through papers on a clip board.]
Doctor : Hello, there. Well, I don't see any records for a William
Geddings, but-- [He looks up.] Hello, John! I see you've been doing
well. Are you here to renew?
[Styles suddenly looks severely uncomfortable.]
Stalker : Ah, good t'see ya too, Welsh. But we've got a bit'f a
schedule t'keep, and I can't stay. G'bye!
[Stalker manages to find the direct line to the exit door. Outlaw and
Semi look after him, amused.]
Outlaw : [bleep] insane [bleep]'s been everywhere. [bleep]
[The doctor's attention is suddenly turned toward Outlaw.]
Doctor : My. Have you considered some therapy sessions for your anger
and verbal issues? It really wo--
Outlaw : What? What the [bl--
[He's cut off as Semi summary grabs him by the arm and drags him out
in pursuit of Styles. Welsh look after them a moment, shrugs, and turns
back to the door as the camera fades out. Cut back to the studio.]
JB: But it doesn't end there, fans. PVW cameras remained with this
trio as they continued on their journey.
------------------------------------
Remote feed, again...
Urban Legend & Outlaw.
------------------------------------
[Saint Anthony's Monastery, Florence. Well maintained gardens and
trees frame around the historical buildings, freshly painted varying
shades of red and brown. Blatantly clashing with the peaceful
surroundings, three casually dressed figures stand near the entrance.
The tallest and shortest are looking pointedly at the third.]
Semi : Ok, the loony bin I get, but yer gonna hafta come up with a
good one as to why we're visiting a monastery. To be honest, I'm
stumped.
Stalker: I'm still trying t'figure out how it is he gets us on these
li'l field trips of his.
Semi [shrugging] : Not like we've got anything better ta do.
[Outlaw stops walking in front of the maint gate. He turns back to
face his partners with a triumphant grin.]
Outlaw: It's [bleep] genius really.
[Semi and Stalker exchange a knowing glance.]
Semi: We heard that before, haven't we?
Stalker: All too often. Maybe that research trip t'the zoo?
Semi [nodding]: Something about flamingoes. And -- [He shudders.] --
rhinoceroses.
[Outlaw clears his throat.]
Outlaw: As I was [bleep] saying, it's [bleep] genius. I figured we
needed to be [bleep] prepared for the [bleep] Prophets of [bleep]
Rage. So we need to do some [bleep] research.
Semi: Again... monastery... why?
Outlaw [sighing] : I need to [bleep] spell it out for ya don't I ya
big [bleep] goof... Fine fine, follow me.
[Outlaw leads the trio through the arches towards the monastery's gift
store.]
Semi: Really? A gift store in a monastery? Seems kinda tacky.
Stalker: Y'know, I think I liked the psych ward better.
Outlaw: That's because you're [bleep] insane ya crazy [bleep].
[Stalker opens his mouth, then shrugs, accepting the jab.]
Outlaw: We need to [bleep] wait here for the [bleep] monk to show up
to give us a [bleep] tour. So anyways, while we wait, here's the
[bleep] plan. Monks are like [bleep] prophets. So I figure if we can
somehow [bleep] piss them off, they could have some [bleep] rage, and
we can get some [bleep] info on the [bleep] Prophets of Rage.
Semi: Lord, there's so many problems with this plan I don't know where
to start.
Stalker: I'm thinkin' we're gettin' tossed within the next twenty
minutes.
Semi: I'll call that bet -- ten minutes.
Outlaw: What the [bleep] are you two [bleep] idiots talking about?
Semi: Us? Nothing.
Outlaw: That's what I [bleep] thought. So here's the [bleep] problem.
How do we [bleep] get rage from a [bleep] prophet monk?
Stalker: I don't think you'll have too many problems with that -- you
tend to piss of most people you meet.
Outlaw: Yeah.. I'm still not [bleep] sure why that [bleep] is. I've
got a fan[bleep]tastic personality. Don't you [bleep] think so?
[Semi nods immediately, as if by rote -- Stalker pauses a bit before
nodding slowly.]
Outlaw: [bleep] right. Now where the [bleep] is that [bleep] monk
prophet?
Semi [under his breath to Stalker]: I thought he called 'em prophet
monks, not monk prophets.
Stalker: And this's what you're nitpickin' on?
[Semi shrugs. A monk steps into the gift shop to greet the guests. He
looks Outlaw up and down.]
Monk: I'm sorry sir, but we do have a dress code, we require that all
guests wear long sleeves and pants.
Outlaw: What the [bleep] ? Long sleeves and [bleep] pants? In the
[bleep] desert? Who the [bleep] dresses like that in the middle of the
[bleep] day in the middle of the [bleep] desert.
[The monk is startled by the language used by Outlaw. Regaining some
semblance of composure, he motions towards Semi and Stalker who are
both dressed appropriately.]
Outlaw: I [bleep] hate you [bleep] [bleep].
[He turns to the monk.]
Outlaw: So now what the [bleep] do I do?
[The monk pulls out a pair of pants and shirt. While not exactly
fashionable, they're well made.]
Monk: We can lend you these during your stay.
Outlaw: You've got to be [bleep] kidding me. What the [bleep] is this
[bleep]?
[Outlaw looks back at Semi and Stalker.]
Outlaw: Yeah, I'm saying we're gonna be [bleep] kicked out of her
within the next five [bleep] minutes.. Thinking I'm gonna [bleep] wear
this?
Semi: Bet called -- I'm thinkin he's right.
Stalker: Y'ever think you'd say that 'bout him?
Semi: Not really.
Outlaw: So listen up monk dude. I know all about the [bleep] prophets.
So I'm here to [bleep] find some [bleep] info on their rage.
Monk: I'm sorry, the Prophets?
Outlaw: Listen the [bleep] up Padre. I need you to display some
[bleep] rage so I [bleep] know what to expect from your [bleep]
buddies Shadoe and Derrick. Don't play [bleep] coy with me. I had some
[bleep] people at the Golden One credit union try to [bleep] play coy
with me. Let me see some [bleep] rage.
Monk: No, this simply won't do, I'm afraid I'll need you to leave.
Outlaw: [bleep] that noise. I ain't [bleep] leaving till I get what I
[bleep] came for.
[Semi looks at his watch.]
Semi: Three minutes to go.
Outlaw: So? You going to show some [bleep] rage or what?
[The monk is getting visibly flustered.]
Monk: Again, I'm going to have to ask you to leave. This attitude will
simply not be tolerated on holy ground. We come here for peace and
solace, not to be harassed and disrespected by others?
Outlaw: I'm not [bleep] harassing you, I just want you to get pissed
off a little [bleep] bit. I mean, really, is this too much to [bleep]
ask for a little bit of [bleep] rage from a [bleep] prophet? Come on
Moses, get [bleep] mad at me.
[The monks face slowly changes color to an angry tint of red]
Monk: Sir! That is enough. Please leave before I am forced to call
security.
Outlaw: Security? I [bleep] kick ass for a [bleep] living. Ya think a
bunch of [bleep] security guards are going to give me and my [bleep]
friends a hard [bleep] time?
[Semi and Stalker slowly back away from Outlaw, making a "we're not
with him" motion.]
Outlaw: I need some [bleep] rage Noah. Do I need to call the [bleep]
mountain to Mohammed?
[Suddenly the monk loses all semblance of control.]
Monk: LISTEN TO ME YOU LITTLE PUNK. I'M TIRED OF PUTTING UP WITH
[bleep] FROM YOU PEOPLE WHO DON'T UNDERSTAND WHAT WE DO OR WHY WE DO
IT. IT'S A CHOICE IN LIFE, AND IT'S A CHOICE I'M [bleep] HAPPY WITH.
IF YOU DON'T AGREE WITH IT, I DON'T CARE, AND I DON'T CARE IF YOU SIN
YOUR LIFE AWAY AND END UP SPENDING ETERNITY IN [bleep] HELL! YOU WILL
LEAVE THIS MONASTERY NOW!
[Outlaw looks upset.]
Outlaw: That was [bleep] harsh.
[He turns to Semi and Stalker.]
Outlaw: [bleep] this. I got what I [bleep] needed. Lets get the
[bleep] out of here.
[Outlaw walks between them, and heads out the door. Semi looks down at
his watch.]
Semi: Huh. Five minutes. The kid/s good.
Stalker: Actually, [looking back at the nearly hysterical monk], I'm
thinkin' evil.
Semi: Well yeah, that goes without sayin... I'm just happy we're on
his good side this week.
Stalker: ...that's 'is good side?
[The two partners walk out the door as the camera fades. Cut back to
the studio.]
FH: Urban Legend making trouble at a monastery. Now I've seen
everything.
JB: It was, of course, Outlaw doing the mischief making, but still...
FH: He's not all there, is he?
JB: No. But he is entertaining...
Speaking of entertainment, folks, I sincerely hope you find these
commercials entertaining. And remember, if you use Tivo to skip
them, that's the same as theft.
------------------------------------
Commercials.
------------------------------------
[Commercials skipped, you thieving bastards. Back to the studio.]
JB: And we're back.
FH: Man, that Outback Jack Chicken Shack commercial was hysterical.
What was up with those guys in chicken suits throwing eggs at the guys
in Kangaroo suits?
JB: I have no idea. All I know is ... I didn't blink once.
FH: Aw man, I need to get that up on the Youtube. That's that thing
on the interweb that everybody's watching, right?
JB: Something like that. Folks, before the break, you'll recall that
Outlaw and Urban Legend were looking for information on Will Geddings.
Well, now here's the man himself... Or rather, "Omnifly"...
[Cut.]
===============
IV. OmniFly
===============
[The scene opens to a generic studio backdrop. The word "Omni" is on
the back
wall and a director's chair has been set up. Sitting in said chair is
Will Geddings...or, more accurately, The OmniFly. He is dressed in a
three piece suit and looks...well, normal.]
Omni: Did you miss me? Of course you did. Of course you missed me.
Even now, I can hear the fans calling for me. Chanting my name. Even
this early, they are lining up and hoping...they are lining up and
praying...that Omni graces their presence. And it appears that the
fans will be getting their wish.
Omni: A six-man tag match. Really? How boring. How incredibly
unoriginal. PVW would place me in a match with some old friends of
mine and team me with a couple of puds...one of which I'm pretty sure
I've beaten in a past life. Why? Why why why why why?
[Omni shakes his head]
Omni: Whatever. I'm sure it'll be good stuff for the peons in
attendance. I'm sure that the lesser-minded schmucks...the people who
are decidedly UnOmni...I'm sure they'll eat it up. Look at it...look
at how Omni will be in the same ring as Johnny Styles again. As that
mental midget Outlaw again. It'll sell tickets, no doubt. It will be
the true draw. Chase Williams? Who cares. Caleb Foley? Junk. Rob Cole?
Rob Cole? Old news. Old, utterly beatable news.
Omni: Anyways, I will make Urban Legend pay for this nonsense. I will
make Outlaw pay for Dex's transgressions. And I will do it in such a
way that...that...well, let's just say that I will not be put into
such a ridiculous match again. When I leave the ring next...I will
leave a wake of destruction behind me that will show how serious Omni
can be.
[Scene fades. Cut back to the studio.]
FH: Just a little disturbing, but at least nothing was on fire.
JB: Hm? I don't follow.
FH: Fire would've made it worse. Y'know, melting face, crackling
noises.
JB: Anyway, fans, it looks like Will Geddings does indeed remember who
he is, but the Omnifly persona is still the dominant one. It remains
to be seen whether Geddings, as we remember him, will return.
FH: Hey, isn't this just a one hour program?
JB: That's right Fred. Folks, we're crunched for time, so without
further ado, the hometown hero, newcomer the Tucson Kid!
------------------------------------
Production video,
The Tuscon Kid.
------------------------------------
[The screen slowly fades from the previous shot, and we hear a
background voice ask life's central question.]
VO: "Why am I here?"
[The image that replaces it is that of the Arizona State Prison
Complex in Tucson, Arizona. We get a few shots of that as the speaker
continues.]
VO: "Phoenix Valley Wrestling is the last stop of a journey that
brought me up from the streets. Seven years ago, I had no home, no
hope, no family, and nothing to my name. I lived in a gang, and I
lived any given day one step from a long sentence in state prison...
or the grave. Some of my friends had been shot and killed, some by
the police, others for no other reason than someone else's pride."
[We're now getting images of the 'wrong side of town' in a large city,
probably Tucson.]
VO: "But I was the lucky one. I found a home."
[The scene then changes again to a parking lot. It's a small lot,
next to a two-story brick building. Upon the side of the building is
a logo: "KSGA". And in the foreground is the Tucson Kid. He's a tall,
lanky man wearing an orange PVW T-Shirt and jeans. The Kid is a good-
looking youngster with a dark-brown mullet and thin, well-groomed
mustache. He has a deeply engaged look in his wild brown eyes, as he
tells us his story.]
Tucson Kid: After a wrestling show in 2000, some of my friends and I
decided to jump one of the wrestlers. We figured that we fought on
the street every day, so we could take some guy that made hundreds of
thousands of dollars and didn't know what it was like to fight for his
life. We were young and stupid, no sense at all, but we got it beat
into us that night.
I don't know what that man saw in me, but he offered me a place to go.
When the cops showed up, he told them that it was just filming for
their wrestling show... there wasn't a camera around, but they bought
it. He could have had my hide, but instead he gave me a chance. He
said, come to my school and I'll teach you to put your energy to use.
None of the others took him up... hell, they were all afraid of him by
then. I didn't know what was in me then that made me accept the
offer, but I think I do now.
[We then cut inside, to the darkened gym area. Tucson is walking past
some mats as he continues his story.]
Tucson: I slept on these mats, was fed three square, and kept up the
place as payment for training. Not just how to wrestle, but how to
grow up. I never had a daddy, never did learn what it meant to be a
man. And I didn't learn that here, but I was told where I could.
Four years in the United States Armed Forces did that.
[The screen now gives us images taken from media coverage of the Iraq
War.]
Tucson: I was there, people. I was in Baghdad when the statues came
down, I was in the thick of it day in and out. I saw friends die
again, but this time, they had a purpose. And I saw the people... and
how we gave them hope, and a chance to be free. That's when I
understood. What freedom... _real_ freedom is. It doesn't come from
a government, or a war, or a vote. It comes from inside. It comes
from having hope in your life.
[Back to present, with the Tucson Kid in a ring, in an empty arena.
The ring is clearly marked: PVW. The Kid's voice is passionate as he
addresses the camera.]
Tucson: At Rise From The Ashes, I told you I was the Spirit Of
Arizona, and so I am. Because the Spirit Of Arizona is a spirit of
hope. That is what I bring you. I was a drug addict one step away
from an unmarked hole in the earth. But a man gave me hope, and the
hope set me free. I have left my old name, and my old self, far in
the past in order to bring the future here to PVW. I am here today to
tell each and every one of you, and to _show_ each and every one of
you that there is always hope. There is always a chance, if you never
give up and if you fight for it.
Here and now, I make two promises to each and every one of you. I
will never, ever give up. And I will fight to the last for what is
good, and right, and just. These two promises I make right here, if
you will promise me to never let hope die from your life.
I am the Tucson Kid... and I have come home.
[We fade to black as the promo ends. Back to the studio. Slow clap
from Fred.]
FH: Bravo. I'm sure.
JB: You don't approve of the Kid's message?
FH: Nosir, I don't. He's got some hard luck story, and a feel-good
bad kid done right line of BS that I just don't buy.
JB: What could he possibly have to gain by lying?
FH: I don't know, maybe he's not who he says he is?
JB: And who would he be?!
FH: Oh, I don't know ... a terrorist!
[Fred looks to camera in a dramatic way, and a dramatic note plays as
the camera zooms in on him, dramatically like that rodent on Youtube.]
JB: You done?
FH: Yeah, I guess.
JB: Crunched for time, and you're fooling around. Ladies and
gentlemen, "Phenom" Tommy Ryder.
[Cut.]
------------------------------------
Backstage Segment,
"Phenom" Tommy Ryder.
------------------------------------
"Hey wrestling fans, ‘Swingin’ Dean Hayes here and tonight I’ll be
giving you the chance to meet a new comer to Phoenix Valley Wrestling,
‘The Phenom’ Tommy Ryder!" At this point Dean motions over to a man
slightly shorter than average, but it was apparent that he worked hard
to make up for his height by spending time in the gym. "Tommy, why
don’t you tell the fans a bit about yourself?"
Tommy reaches over to take the mic from Dean. "Thanks Dean. First
I’d like to thank the management here at PVW for giving me a chance to
prove myself and all ‘The Phenom’ needs is a chance." The young man’s
voice vibrated with energy even through his slightly country accent.
"Tonight I’m going to put on a show for these fans that they won’t
forget anytime soon. Wrestling is about heart, strength, skill,
desire but most of all it’s about excitement." He counts them off on
his fingers and points over to Dean as he says the last word. "And
‘The Phenom’ is all about excitement. I intend to show these fans
things that they’ve never seen before in PVW."
As he spoke it became obvious that he had a habit of pointing to
himself with this thumbs when saying ‘The Phenom’. "Freddy Travis,
it’s gonna be me an you in that ring tonight and I plan on bring my
best! Do you think you’re enough to handle that, cus I think you
aren’t. I’ll be comin at ya faster than you’ve seen with moves better
than you’re ready for. I’ve heard that you’re the ‘Arizona Stud’ and
well I intend to prove that for you. See the stud I picture you as is
a board that just stands there waiting to get knocked down. You will
be a stepping stone on my rise to the top. I promise you the fans
will see it come’n at ya."
Even Dean could feel the excitement radiating from Tommy, but the mood
seemed to dampen a bit as a blonde woman, slightly shorter than Tommy,
stormed angrily around the corner. "Tommy, I take it this is your
valet Laurel Levinger?"
She snatched the microphone from Dean. "Excuse me, but where did you
learn to speak. It should be obvious, even to you, that I’m a lady
and I expect you to address me as such, ‘Lady’ Laurel Levinger!"
Dean, a bit surprised, tried to compose himself after her quick
tirade. "I’m sorry about that. I’ll remember that in the future Ms.
Levinger."
"I didn’t say to call me Ms. Levinger! I said address me as ‘Lady’
Laurel Levinger! What kind of place are you people running here?
First, there isn’t even decent coffee or add ins back here, then
there’s some country singer looking redneck that thinks he’s a lady’s
man bothering me and now I have to deal with you?" Animated wouldn’t
quite describe the way she gestured as she spoke.
The anger in her voice rose as she spoke. "Listen up and listen good
you hick from
nowhere. Calling yourself ‘The Arizona Stud’ doesn’t make you a real
man." A look of shock started to come over Tommy’s face. "And a name
like Freddy Travis would barely qualify you to be a country singer."
Tommy’s mouth was now hanging slightly open. "That coffee that I
threw in your face could probably put up a better fight than you
before going down!" At this point Tommy’s mouth start working, but he
couldn’t get anything to come out. "My man ‘The Phenom" Tommy Ryder
is going to teach you that when you come near a ‘Lady’ you treat her
with respect and know your place! No man in this promotion, well
except for Tommy, is worthy of ‘Lady’ Laurel Levinger."
Tommy stammered slightly "Laurel, tell me that you didn’t throw coffee
in my opponent’s face."
"Of course I did! He insulted me just being there! He’s lucky I
didn’t get any of it on my dress when I slapped him!"
"You what?" Obviously Tommy wasn’t expecting that last revelation.
Dean managed to reclaim his mic from Laurel to pass some information
on to Tommy, "Well it’s been great talking to the two of you, but
Tommy, I believe your match is next. Good luck out there tonight."
[Cut back to the studio.]
JB: The former Arizona Kid turned Stud was indeed assaulted in the
back by newcomer Tommy Ryder's valet, and it didn't sit so well with
him.
FH: I think it's kinda funny, but what I can't fathom is; why the
objection from Ryder? Splatter someone with coffee, they get mad, or
just burned, and they make stupid mistakes. Take advantage, kid,
that's what you gotta do to survive in this business.
JB: Now, to the ring...
------------------------------------
Singles action,
"The Phenom" Tommy Ryder
-vs-
"Arizona Stud" Freddy Travis.
------------------------------------
[Cut to the ringside area, where the action about to be joined inside
the ring. Freddy Travis, whose trunks now read "Stud" on the
hindquarters, and white muscleshirt is stained brown, removes said
muscleshirt and angrily tosses it out of the ring.]
JB: Oh, boy. I've never seen Travis this angry.
FH: I don't think I've ever seen a wrestler look up at one of our
second stringers before. Look at Ryder, he's actually smaller than
Travis!
*DING!* *DING!* *DING!*
JB: There's the bell, and Travis charges in!
[Rushing madly, Travis sandwiches Ryder into the corner, then lays
into him viciously with punches, kicks, and then stomps.]
FH: Lady Laurel reading him the riot act. I don't think he's gonna
pay much attention to that though, Jackie.
[Flipping the "Lady" double birds, Travis stomps his opponent one more
time for emphasis. The rookie slumps, and rolls to one side,
coughing.]
JB: Wow, what's gotten into our house competitors tonight? Travis is
on Levinger's tail!
FH: And a fine tail it is!
[Levinger retreats, facing Travis as she backpedals, finally falling
backwards onto her hindquarters, but still defiantly shouting at
Travis.]
TR: Hey!
[Turning around, Travis catches a face-full of man-crotch, and the
crowd goes wild as he's sent tumbling, end over end, into some chairs
and the guardrail.]
JB: Slingshot over the top into a hurracanrana! Awesome move by
Ryder!
FH: Great distraction by Laurel!
[Kipping up to his feet, Ryder jams his thumbs in his own direction,
and shouts--]
TR: Phenom!
[Cut to later in the match. Ryder laying the boots to Travis, who
struggles to get up.]
JB: Ryder's been dominant after the opening minutes of this matchup,
and shows no sign of slowing down.
[A few more kicks, and Travis gets to one knee, grabbing a foot! Heel
pop!]
JB: Spoke too soon! Travis talking trash!
*Crack!*
JB: ENZUIGIRI!
[Falling to his knees, Travis seems almost out of it.]
JB: On his feet, off the ropes. SHINING WIZARD!
[Hopping up, Ryder looks at his opponent, then runs to the corner,
hopping to the second rope, and LEAPS~!]
JB: AND A FLYING ELBOWDROP! Cover!
ONE!
TWO!
KICKOUT at the wire! Freddy Travis is still in the game.
FH: He's a tough guy, and proud too. Remember, he's the hometown boy,
so he's always got something to prove to his crowd.
JB: Ryder slapping on a chinlock, perhaps unsure of what to do here.
[Reaching up, desperately, as his face turns purple, Travis rakes
Ryder's eyes. Heel pop!]
FH: Now that's how you do it!
JB: Low road by Travis, and a bodyslam. Things are finally looking up
for the "hometown boy" as you called him.
[Cut to later in the match still. Travis has been in control, and
Ryder is wobbly.]
JB: Travis off the ropes, and a clothesline floors the rookie. Only a
one count, but it looks like Travis is determined to make Ryder's
arrival in the PVW a sad one.
FH: Hot coffee to the face'll do that. I figured it'd work to Ryder's
advantage, but not so much.
JB: Chinlock by Travis, who's really been able to slow down the pace
of this match. Ryder needs to get it moving again, and quickly.
[Again the chinlock proves the turning point, however--]
JB: Ryder up, and jawbreaker!
[Face pop!]
JB: But can he capitalize!
FH: I say no!
JB: Off the ropes, and ducks the clothesline by the stunned Travis!
Ryder--WHAT THE!?
[Literally running up his opponent's body, Ryder kicks him in the
head. POP!]
JB: What the hell was that!?
FH: I don't know!
JB: Runs up the corner pads, and BULLDOG OFF THE TOP!
[The crowd goes absolutely insane over this showing of athleticism.]
JB: I'm getting in my ear piece now that that kick is called "Stepping
Stone", and that bulldog is "Coming and Going". Ryder playing to the
crowd, but this could cost him...
[Attempting to get to his feet after that vicious onslaught, Travis
only gets to a bent-over position before Ryder has him in a standing
headscissors.]
*BOOM!*
[Crowd. Goes. Wild.]
JB: FLIP PILEDRIVER! Travis bounces three feet up into the air, and
Ryder already has the cover. That was called "Over the Top!" There's
the three count, and it's over!
*DING!* *DING!* *DING!*
[Cut back to the studio.]
JB: Ryder with an impressive win, coming out ahead against an
impressive opponent in his debut.
FH: You kidding? Travis was beating the hell out of that kid.
JB: But Ryder persevered, and that's more impressive than just rolling
over some poor schlub who can't defend himself.
FH: Yeah yeah, if you say so.
JB: Ladies and gentlemen, one more commercial break. See you in just
a few minutes.
------------------------------------
Commercials.
------------------------------------
[A red monster truck with the name of Big Red Thing emblazoned on the
side crushes a line of beat up cadillacs.]
Announcer: SUNDAY SUNDAY SUNDAY! Tune in to SSN's "Racin' Station"
and see MONSTER TRUCK MADNESS!
[A yellow monster truck named Bumblebuster jumps a line of ten cars.]
Announcer: This week, see "Big Bugger" Johnny Roman and his
Bumblebuster fly through the air with the greatest of ease...
[Cut to footage of two monster trucks racing.]
Announcer: ... and see "Caretaker" Bobby Bodean and his big black
Tombstone truck take on Johnny Manson's Big Red Thing with $200,000
_ON_THE_LINE_!
[Cut to graphic that says 'SSN's Racin' Station Sundays, starting at
noon on Sundays.]
Announcer: Catch it all on SSN at 3 on SUNDAY, after the AARA
Preparation J-Webrider.com 400 and before the dog and pony races.
SSN, your Racin' Station. SUNDAY SUNDAY SUNDAY!
[Cut back to the studio.]
JB: Welcome back. Moving right on with the evening, we have Larry
Gionet.
[Cut.]
------------------------------------
Production video,
Larry Gionet.
------------------------------------
[The camera pans to a darkened city street in Larry Gionet's hometown
Stoughton Massachusetts. A town once vibrant with life is now a shell
of its former self. A street light flickers on and off looking to be
the last ray of light is seen for miles. The camera turns to the
right to see the newest signee to PVW Larry Gionet leaning against a
wall marred with graffiti. He stares into the camera's lens with his
cold blue eyes in focus.]
Larry Gionet: For years people have sought out role models. They
would spend ours on end flipping through their channels looking for an
idol to save them. They would search for miles looking for their
icons devouring themselves in their music to ease the pain they hold
inside. In doing so we only see carbon copies of bands, people trying
to emulate who they adore, refusing to look at themselves in the
mirror to realize who they really are.
[Gionet looks up to the pitch black sky where stars are trying to
glisten but clouds are hovering around causing them not to shine
their brightest. As Gionet reminisces of days long past, a slight gust
of wind blows across his face making his dirty blond hair wave off to
the right. Shaking his head in disapproval he strokes his chin goatee
with his right hand.]
For ten years I've toured this world. I've broken bones in Mexico,
I've made people tap in Puerto Rico. I've ended careers and nearly
had mine ended in Japan. I'm no role model but I speak the truth that
you already know. I may be no idol but I give people what's coming to
them one case at a time. Don't try to emulate me because it simply
can't be done.
[Gionet looks down to the cluttered street full of broken beer bottles
and thrown away food wrappers. The front of his hair parts down
covering his menacing gaze. Although the intimidating eyes are
covered, a sadistic smirk stretches across the face of Larry Gionet
which is bad times ahead for the Masked Maniac and PVW as a promotion
when all is said and done.]
PVW if you haven't seen me in action safe to say you haven't looked
hard enough. The proverbial wool will be yanked from over your eyes
once I have my debut with the Masked Maniac. Double M, you use your
mask to hide from the world around you and in the process you are
truly just hiding from yourself. Have no fear Maniac come Heatwave I
will expose you to the wrestling world. In the end I will leave you
kicking and screaming and you will thank me. I'm here to prove that
even if the truth hurts it sets you free. One broken soul at a time I
will show Phoenix Valley Wrestling, that by losing everything you are
truly free to do anything.
[Gionet clasps his hands deep in thought. He gently inhales through
his mouth before exhaling through his nose like a wind of fury.
Gionet pulls his hair back with his head showing his piercing blue
eyes to the camera one last time. The cameraman shakes the camera as
if trembling in fear. Gionet's evil smile turns smooth as a serious
look overtakes him.]
Appreciate what you have at this moment Maniac because at Heatwave,
you WILL lose it all!
[Gionet, without a moments notice, walks off to the right disappearing
from the view of the camera's lens. A slight wind gust picks up
sounding like a wolf holwing in the dead of the night. A piece of
newspaper flows from side to side in the air before touching the
polluted ground. Without warning, the street light burns out, forcing
us to fade to black. Cut back to the studio.]
JB: Disturbing words from Larry Gionet.
FH: And addressed to Masked Maniac. Ooh, now that's dramatic.
JB: Oh, I figured that'd be someone you'd like, Fred.
FH: What? Oh, uh, so many new guys it's hard to keep track. Which
one's he?
JB: He's the one picking up the scraps of Masked Maniac. Hopefully by
Heatwave old MM will be feeling better after his tag match alongside
"Hippo" Higgans earlier in the program.
FH: If not, Gionet had better win big. I mean, how can you even take
this guy seriously? He's been getting stepped on for what? Ten years
now!?
JB: Fans, it seems like we've heard from everybody else tonight, so
now, let's hear from the champ: Chase Williams.
[Cut.]
------------------------------------
Production video,
"Conceited Bastard" Chase Williams.
------------------------------------
[A shot of grey burber carpet. The PVW championship lands with a soft
thud in the center of the shot. The camera pulls back further and pans
up.]
[The most hated man in PVW smirks at the camera, leaning back in the
overstuffed leather chair he is seated in.]
"You where expecting... Someone else perhaps?"
[A loathsome chuckle.]
"You really believed that kid had a chance to take _my_ belt? Frankly,
I'm insulted."
[He feigns disgust. As if he cares what the peons think.]
"Foley ran his mouth for two [beeping] months about how lucky I am to
be champ. I'll give credit where its due Caleb. You presented more of
a fight than I could ever have imagined you were capable of, but the
fact remains the same. You lost. I tapped you out in the center of
_my_ [beeping] ring, and no amount of pontification from you is gonna
change a thing. In front of your precious family and fans, you
_failed_."
[He scoops the title off the carpet and cradles it in his lap.]
"Just like I said you would. Now we'll no doubt be forced to endure a
kicking and screaming fit from you, being a spoiled [beeping] child.
Whats it gonna be Foley? Did I get lucky? Are you still better than me?"
[He shakes his head in disgust.]
"Pathetic."
[He rolls his neck.]
"Maybe the Casper the friendly ghost will just break your [beeping]
neck tonight. Enough about Ginger boy though, theres more important
matters at hand."
[He pats the title.]
"Someone new is gonna think they're worthy of a shot at my gold. I
think thats a foregone conclusion. I also know that not a soul in that
dump of a [beeping] armory is even remotely worthy of said shot. Whose
it gonna be next Dex?"
[Pause. A thought. A lightbulb, followed by a smirk.]
"Rob Cole? Mr. monster under the bed. How long you been on that merry-
go-round Rob? Keep trying though buddy. One of these days you'll get
it."
"Or Major Damage. I'm supposed to be scared of this guy because he
runs around with a burning flag and a gas mask? Sorry. I'm not some
schoolgirl like the rest of whats running around here. I'll jam that
burning flagpole up your ass Damage. I do _not_ give a [beep] about
how scary people think you are. Just because you believe the hype
scrub, doesn't make it reality."
[Another pause.]
"Or maybe the other guy thats got people around here so scared cause
he has dirty dreadlocks and penchant for darkness. Spectre... You're
about what... the one-millionth clown to play the spooky mcnuggets
card? [Beep] that. Anyone can decide not to shower and start hanging
out in the dark. Your whole deal is tired Spectre. Eat another bucket
of KFC and make another chicken bone necklace. I wouldn't be surprised
if Foley smacked yer ass around. Chump..."
[A sigh, another pause. He ponders for a moment, rubbing his chin
briefly.]
"Perhaps I've gone about this all wrong. Theres only one guy that
could possibly be next. That is if the Canadian Has-been '08 tour
might be stopping in Pheonix. 'Ole Storm-boy felt important enough to
try and "save the day" as I was about to end Foley's [beeping]
career."
"Brian Young..."
[Daggers!!]
"I see through the facade. Make it look like you're looking out for
poor little Caleb, when in reality that was your opportunity to grab
some spotlight. Your chance to shine one last time. What you didn't
count on, Wild Child, is _me_. You think Voltorro put you through hell
Brian? You think that what Retro did to you was bad? You're as blind
as the rest, and its gonna get you sent back to Canada in bag."
"Just like Cole, you pass me off and disrespect me casting idle
threats my way as if I'm some god damn CHILD! I'm gonna break your
[beeping] arms Young. And them I'm gonna bury the monster under the
bed UNDER THE [BEEPING] BED!"
[He rises out of the recliner, seething and stalks the camera.]
"If I have to destroy every hero in this [beep]hole, its _done_. One
at a time, or all at once, just line 'em up... And I'll bury them all.
Foley was only a taste of whats to come."
[Pause.]
"Whose next?"
[Fade. Cut back to studio.]
JB: Strong words from the champ, calling out all the top challengers
for his title.
FH: I understand wanting to seem like a strong champ, but calling
everyone out when they're already kinda gunning for you? It's like
inviting all your worst enemies to a "BYOW" party.
JB: Bring your own ... what?
FH: Oh, sorry. Weapons.
JB: I can see where that would be bad.
FH: Pretty bad, yeah.
JB: Well fans, we've already heard from Major Damage, Rob Cole and
Caleb Foley. Now, let's hear from the Spectre.
FH: "Spooky McNuggets". Heh.
JB: I don't think he'd like hearing you call him that.
FH: Well--
[Cut.]
------------------------------------
Production video,
The Spectre.
------------------------------------
[The scene fades on on panoramic shot of an abandoned factory. It's
crumbling walls and arching windows show the signs of decades of abuse
by the intense desert winds and relentless sun. Rusted metallic pipes
and useless machinery highlight what this place once was: a center for
commerce and productivity, and contrast it with what is has become: a
haven for vermin, useless for anything beyond some scant shelter from
the elements.
Into this scene strides the familiar form of The Spectre. PVW's
resident sado-masochistic goth is wearing a tattered black trench
coat, black jeans, combat boots and a black t shirt. His dreadlocked
black hair falls in a shroud across his face, partially obscuring his
pale features.
Pausing in the middle of the former factory's floor, his head turns
slowly: first left, then right.]
"Magnificent, isn't it? Once upon a time this place satisfied its
purpose. It provided employment for thousands...consumables for
millions. It was the epicenter of a veritable explosion of
productivity.
And now...ashes...dust...disrepair. Now the former giant has seen its
best days and idly awaits its fate, hoping against hope that someone
will either bring it once more to glory, or finally end its miserable
non-existence.
Much like you, Friend Cole.
We know that you rail against the dying of the light, friend Cole...we
know you continue to attempt to stoke the flame to show the mindless
minions that the Monster Under the Bed was not left behind in their
childhood along with bed-wetting and teddy bears...that you
desperately need to show those that fawn on you that you remain
relevant...that we do not make you not only unnecessary, but unwanted
as well.
You do battle with your personal demon in the Masked Outlaw. You
helpfully train younger wrestlers in the most effective ways to combat
the demons of your past instead of taking care of business yourself.
Tell us, Friend Cole: five years ago, would you have waited for Paul
Styles to come for you, or would you have visited him in his dressing
room, weapon in hand and consequences be damned? Would you have
allowed our little champion to parade around claiming to stand atop
the pinnacle of your chosen profession, or would you have taken his
bauble from him and force fed it down his pretentious gullet?
So now, Friend Cole...much as we arrive here to gaze in wonder upon
what might have been versus what is, you will meet us in the center of
the ring and show all the desperate unwashed masses that you are The
Outsider...the Monster Under the Bed...and whatever other name you
choose to go by other than 'irrelevant'.
Pray show them that they are correct, Friend Cole. We relish the
thought...but either way, we know we will show you what it means to
truly Fear the Dark."
[fade out. Cut back to the studio.]
JB: Spectre, creepy as ever.
FH: Spooky McNuggets.
JB: As I was saying. Now he's targeting Rob Cole, and as you can
imagine, that's sure to be a bloody massacre in the ring.
FH: They'll have to replace the tarp over the ring, Jack.
JB: Folks, it's time for the main event of the evening. Masked Outlaw
versus Johnny Oakes. Without further ado, let's go back to the
Armory.
FH: But first, these commercials.
JB: More commer--
------------------------------------
Commercials.
------------------------------------
[Fade in on a grassy field. The wind blows, the camera is close to
the ground. The forest can be seen in the background. All is
serene.]
*CRASH!*
[A HUGE frikkin' log smashes to the ground in front of the camera to a
rousing cheer. It hits on one end, then falls to it's side. A voice
with an Americanized Scottish accent pops up.]
N (Narration): So...do ye like CABER TOSSING!?
[Rousing cheer again.]
N: Do ye like...TELEVISION!?
[The cheer raises in tempo.]
N: Do ye like...CABER TOSSING ON TELEVISION!!!?
[Deafening cheer that shakes the very earth. Cut to show a small
Scotsman, complete with kilt sprinting along with a 300 pound lump of
wood resting in his hands and lain over his shoulder.]
N: THEN TURN INTO SSN'S CABER SUNDAY! EVERY SUNDAY AT 4PM!
[The Scot hurls the log, leaping as he does so and nearly falling
down. The log flies out of view, and a cheer is heard again. Cut
back to the studio.]
------------------------------------
[Cut straight back to the arena, skipping the studio. "Soul Coaxing"
by Raymond Lefevre begins as the manager of the Tag Team Champions and
self proclaimed Coolest Guy In PVW, Carl Stevenson, steps out from the
locker room followed lazily by Johnathan Monarch. They are both
greeted with a rumble of disapproval from the crowd as the tension
grows in the building. Carl is dressed in a sharp three piece gray
suit and has Johnathan's PVW Tag Championship title belt strapped
around his waist. Carl is all smiles as he makes a point to show the
belt to the fans gathered on each side of the aisle as he calmly
strolls to the ring]
[Johnathan Monarch is in his normal wrestling attire, a dark blue
dress shirt with powder blue suspenders and black slacks. John isn't
too interested in the fans and their negative reaction. The only
exception being a group of children, all under the age of 6, gathered
along the guardrail at ringside clapping and cheering excitedly that
Johnathan looks down from the ring apron with a soft smile and a nod,
sending the kids in a frenzy as Johnathan steps over the top rope to
enter the ring]
[the music dies down as Carl takes the microphone from the ring
announcer]
Carl Stevenson: It seems The UFOs and The Golden One have started a
trend because I've been told The Masked Outlaw just followed them
right out the door and left. I wouldn't even be surprised if
Christopher Michaelson was The Masked Outlaw. I guess we'll never know
and that's okay because we have more important things going on in PVW
now...
[Carl holds open one side of his sports jacket with his free hand
revealing the tag title belt around his waist as Johnathan politely
applauds, obviously uninterested in holding the belt himself]
CS: And there is nothing more important right now than The Royal
Family. Inaugural PVW World Tag Team Champions, undefeated as a tag
team, and "Rolemodel" Paul Styles undefeated period! Paul Styles
ranked in the top five for the PVW title, Johnathan Monarch ranked in
the top three for the Heritage title. Paul even holds a victory over
The Paladin. If anything important is happening in PVW The Royal
Family is in the middle of it. That's why when PVW realized they
didn't have an opponent to beat the crap out of Johnny Oakes tonight
they called me.
[the angry rumble from the crowd become audibly louder but Carl
doesn't miss a beat]
CS: But since this is a match on Burning Effect, and against Johnny
Oakes, Paul laughed at the idea of being here tonight. Luckily John
had a reason to be here tonight...
[Carl holds the microphone up for Johnathan]
Johnathan Monarch: Chris Hartt... [short cheer John ignores] I'm the
third ranked contender to the Heritage title. And in a few minutes I'm
going to run Johnny Oakes right out of PVW... then I should probably
be the second ranked contender, Chris. I'm a ranked challenger for
your title and I'm going to take it. The Paladin couldn't beat Paul...
and he can't beat me.
[Johnathan pauses and looks at the group of children staring at him in
awe]
JM: My fans deserve a champion they can be proud of. Not someone that
sends women to the hospital.
[Johnathan nods to Carl that he's finished as Carl hands the
microphone back to the ring announcer with a smile]
------------------------------------
Main event,
Singles action,
Johnathan Monarch
-vs-
"The Shark" Johnny Oakes.
------------------------------------
[Beefhearts "Circumstances" begins to play, and as it hits Johnny
walks out and raises both fists into the air as a salute to the fans.
He encourages their cheers as he walks the aisle, singling out the
most aggressive supporters, pointing in salutes. When he enters the
ring he takes off his T-shirt, does a 360 point at the crowd, punches
the side of his face a couple of times and gets set for a fight.]
JB: Monarch attacks before the bell!
[The 570 pounder drops booming right hands on the back of Oakes taking
him down to one knee. The big guy backs into the ropes and Oakes fires
up with a strong short arm lariat that stuns the big man!]
JB: Oakes has a lot of fight left in that body.
FH: Damage and now Monarch there may not be anything left of Oakes
after tonight.
[Oakes sends the stunned big man into the corner and comes charging
in, but only to meet a boot by Monarch. The fans boo as the slow
methodical, Johnathan Monarch retakes control of the match.]
JB: That's a mistake that may cost him here.
[Monarch grabs the forehead of The Shark and HEADBUTT! Oakes stumbles
back and The 570 pounder clotheslines Johnny Oakes right over the top
ropes and to the outside!!!]
JB: "The Shark" to the outside and look at Carl Stevenson.
[Heel Pop as the weasel, Carl Stevenson begins kicking Johnny Oakes.
Much to his dismay this just fires, "The Shark" up and he quickly
raises to his feet and begins hot on pursuit after Carl Stevenson.]
JB: Look at the rat run!
*CRRAASSSH*
FH: Right into a big clothesline by Monarch!!!!
[Monarch picks up the fallen hometown hero and charges him towards the
ring posts on the outside...]
*CRRAAASSSSH*
*CRRAAASSSSH*
*CRRAAASSSSH*
FH: Three times a charm!
JB: Monarch is slamming Oakes mid back right into that unforgiving
steel.
FH: If his back wasn't sore from Major Damage it is now!
[Monarch rolls him under the ropes and begins to head up the ring
steps.. Oakes holding his mid back begins to make it to his feet and
DRIVES A BIG AXEHANDLE TO THAT MID BACK.. Oakes drops flat on his back
and - AVALANCHE SPLASH!!!]
FH: 570 pounds of pure MUSCLE on the mid back of Oakes.
JB: I'm not so sure about that.
[Oakes is now in some big trouble. Monarch slowly climbing the ropes
and leaps into a short range splash from the second rope ....]
FH: AIR MONARCH!!! Check out the air time!
One !
Two!
[Face Pop!]
JB: Oakes just got a shoulder up!
FH: His funeral.
[Monarch seems unphased pulling The Shark up again. Oakes fires off with
a few close range forearms. The Shark begins to fight back with what life
he has left... He has the big man reeling, he hits the ropes, but Monarch
catches him - ]
*CCRRAAAAASSHHHH*
JB: SIDEWALK SLAM!!!!
FB: Monarch looks to be ready to finish things.
[He pulls "The Shark" up and wraps those big arms around him into a massive
bear hug. Oakes shakes his arms wildly trying to get free, but Monarch has
it clinched in and squeezing the life out of The Shark!]
FH: The Career Killer!!! This one is all, but over.
JB: The fans are really behind the Arizona native and former Maple Leaf Icon.
Oakes is trying to hang on, but he seems to be in massive trouble.
[HEEL POP as Oakes is forced to tap out.]
FH: Monarch has done it!
JB: A big win for the tag team champion.
[Carl Stevenson rolls in with one half of the PVW Tag Team Championship as
Johnathan Monarch drops Johnny Oakes. Referee Jay O'Riley goes to raise his
arm, but Monarch yanks it away.]
JB: Folks we are way past or scheduled time and we have to go, but tune in
next week as Rob Cole takes on The Spectre on HEATWAVE!
FH: Don't forget as Caleb Foley is sent to the EMT room when Major Damage
squashes him like a bug.
[Fade to PVW logo...]
