###############################
###############################
##                           ##
## Phoenix Valley Wrestling  ##
##       Burning Effect      ##
##           04.04.08        ##
##                           ##
###############################
###############################



Rise From the Ashes Edition
Presenting....

-> Rob Cole
-> Chase Williams
-> RJ Souza
-> Caleb Foley
-> Spectre
-> Royal Family
-> Thrillers
-> Extreme Conditions
-> RFTA Promo featuring Caleb Foley
-> OmniFly
-> Jessica Realty
-> Masked Outlaw
-> Prophets of Rage
-> Christopher Michaelson
-> Chris Hartt
-> Outlaw
-> Wild Cards
-> Major Damage
-> Livestock and The Gutch
-> Urban Legend
-> Semi


<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Rob Cole
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[Cole paces in the back locker room, holding an ice pad to the back of
his head.  He shakes his head in disgust and turns to regard the
cameras and the press.... he throws the icepack to the wall, where it
splatters and cracks.]

RC: Souza!  I don't give a damn about your wife, your personal
problems, or whatever the hell is going on in your life... you don't
really matter to me, and you honestly never did.  But you took a bat
to me, kiddo... you interefered in business you had no stakes in, and
that just elevated you on the list of men I have to hurt.  At "Rise
from the Ashes", you take on one of the greatest technicians this
sport has ever seen... Chris Hartt is a good kid, he comes from a good
place, and he has a good heart.  It's way too good to be in business
with a scum bag like you.  It's way too good to be twisted by a
monster like me.  You see.... the thing about Chris Hartt is that he's
a "Hero"... and this world could honestly use a few more people like
him.  The only problem is that he's a little naive... well, I did what
I could to help him.  Maybe not in the way he expected, but in the way
that counts... he kept an eye on me, on Masked Outlaw, on your little
punk manager... those are alot of people to keep an eye on, RJ.  When
he faces you at Rise from the Ashes, he only has to worry about you
and your manager... that's alot less for him to worry about than
before. So after he snatches your bat, after he seperates your
shoulder with the Avenger, after he leaves you the defeated pile of
*bleep* everyone knows you are... that's when the clock starts ticking
for your date with the Monster.

[Cole chuckles, smiling sadistically... ]

RC: No such thing?  That's what parents say to comfort their children
when the nightmares begin to creep in... No such thing?  That's what
we tell ourselves as we get older, hoping the fears won't be real and
that the monsters won't really eat us.  No such thing?  That's what
you tell yourself, it's what you pray is the truth, and it's what you
know is an absolute lie.  There really are monsters, RJ... there are
real live Dragons, creeping ogres, crawling goblins, and crushing
giants.

[Cole lowers his gaze... his smile disappearing.]

RC:  And what about the Masked Outlaw?  You wanted my attention, and
that's what you earned.  You wanted my pain, and I gave you my
anguish.  You want my blood?  You want my flesh?  At Rise from the
Ashes, I want to know who you really are... you see, I think you could
be just about anybody.  You could be Paul Styles, you could be
Christopher Michaelson, you could be Alex, a trimmed down Shakur,
Hiroyosh Takada, Tuulenex... heck, you could be just about anyone in
the world. The only person I know you're not is Will Geddings...  You
said you were all of them... every last person I dragged through
barbed wire hell, raked across broken glass, and ultimately fed to the
bloodthirsty fans that chant my name!  DO THOSE NAMES JUSTICE!!!!!
Bleed for me, Masked Outlaw... bleed and scream and crawl for me, soak
the ring, feed the masses.  And while you represent all those names, I
want to drag the one name you really go by.... I want to drag the man
out from behind the mask, reveal him to the world, and leave his
broken carcass as a sacrafice to the fans ... the same fans who will
chant for your blood!  The same fans that will scream in joy as you
echo them with agony.

[Cole smiles once again... ]

RC: "Do not taunt happy fun ball."  I am a childhood fear fo the
unknown, the potential violence you're too afraid to really look at,
the thing that crawls around in the places most people are afraid to
offer a glance towards.  I'm willing to do things that no one else in
this sport will do... not just the garbage, the weapons, but the sheer
level of brutality that will make you scream!  When I tell you I'm the
"Monster beneath the bed", stop looking beneath the sheets and think
back to all those nights you were too scared to grab that last drink
of water.  Think back to that first night in the woods, when each
sound could've been something that would EAT YOU ALIVE... but better
than all that dramatic crap, I'm just a little crazier than most of
the stupid sacks running around in this business.  I'm going to beat
you, Masked Man... I'm going to find you, I'm going to reveal who you
really are, I'm going to lift you up as an example... and then I'm
going to break whatever is left.  You wanted this, Masked Man?  Be
careful what you wish for....


<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Chase Williams
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

"You push hard enough for something, don't be surprised when you get
it."

[A shot of strangely enough, the floor. Concrete to be exact.  Nothing
special. Something tells me the floors not really gonna be of
consequence here in a sec...]

"You kick and you scream and you throw the proverbial tantrum. The
whole "look at me! I'm a big kid" schtick while cute, is also sad,
unecessary, disrespectful, and _pathetic_."

[A gleaming platinum Rolex seemingly falls from nowhere and lands on
the carpet.]

"But the fact remains doesn't it Foley? By being a disrespectful
pompous little prick you got exactly what you feel you've somehow
earned? By doing what is what I wanna know? Has the wrestling
profession really fallen on such hard times?"

[A chain, bracelet and earings all land in a growing pile on the
carpet.]

"I remember when I had to earn title shots. Caleb's proven all you
really need these days is a big mouth and a lack of manners. But I
digress..."

[The camera pulls away from the floor and the legs of a steel chair
are revealed. As well as a pair of legs, clad in baggy blue jeans, and
feet, hidden inside a pair of grey Timberland boots.]

"You wanted a shot at the best? Well now you've got it Foley."

[The tone is deadly serious as the camera swings upward and Chase
Williams is smirking for the camera, belt in his lap. Dressed in a
blue jeans and a black wifebeater, his departure from his usually
tailored garb is startling.]

"This is what you wanted right? A test for the rookie? Question the
way I do things and everything I stand for, like you have any right to
even speak my name? This is it Caleb. I'm done playing. No more suits,
no more jewelry, just Chase mother[beeping] Williams focused one
hundred and fifty percent on you."

[That explains the removal of his jewelry I reckon.]

"We're gonna learn a lot about you real soon Caleb. Me? I'm a
[beeping] superstar. People like you don't even dream this good. Thats
the fundamental difference between me and you Foley and therein is the
lesson to be learned."

[Pause.]

"There are two types of people in this world, winners like me, and
losers well, like you. While I'm sorry that you're father is gonna die
with a loser for a son, and that your entire family will be in
attendance to watch your systematic dismantling, at least you can take
heart in the fact that when its over, nothing for you really changes.
You really think anyone expects you to win? Your family won't treat
you any differently because you're a failure..."

[Open, mocking laughter.]

"I'd be more concerned with "living to fight another day" as it where,
but I'm sure a combination of pride and pure unadulterated stupidity
has dilluded you to the point that you believe with the stars aligned,
your family in attendance and a little luck that maybe, just maybe,
you _can_ pull off a miracle."

[He shakes his head.]

"This ain't a fairytale Foley. You're not winning. There will be no
miracle cure for your father and jesus himself could be sitting in the
front row waving a "FOLEY IS #1 Foam Finger, cheering like he wants to
be your [beeping] girlfriend on April thirteenth, I'm still leaving
that Armory with this."

[He holds up the title belt for the camera]

"Take a real long look Caleb. This is as close as you'll ever get to
my title. Luck or no luck, guts or no guts, you still gotta go through
me if you want this."

[He rises out of the chair and drops the title at his feet, almost
"challenging" you to take it.]

"And you don't have what it takes to stop someone like me Foley,
you're conscience won't allow it."

[Fade.]


<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
RJ Souza
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

(Durring the local broadcast station of PVW, a commercial starts....)

(A man is being held by the T-shirt, up against his will against a
wall by a man with black gloves on....)

Man: Who are you???

(It focuses on a man, dressed like the Dark Knight, only enough to
keep from infringing on copyright laws)

Dark Knight: I'm the.....

(A bat comes from off screen, knocking out the phoney DC Icon. There
stands the PVW's Man in Black, the Doctor of the DDT, RJ Souza, aka
Bad Karma.)

"Bad Karma" RJ Souza: You think you could beat me? I've taken down
Poker Players, Monsters under the Bed and fake choir boys with this.
You won't beat my deals!!

Man: How can I thank you?

"Bad Karma" RJ Souza: The Real Batman is going to tell you where to
go. You don't want to be held up by salesmen, looking after their our
commission at  your expence? You need to go down to Johnson Autorow.
They won't nickle and dime you because they are on a new revolutionary
commission where it comes out in volume, not cash flow numbers. That
means you will get the best deal without all the haggle. So get down
there, or I'll be comming for you next!!!

Man: I'm on my way to Johnson's Auto Row.....

Both: Home of the Down Low Deal!!!

(A bell rings.)

Director: Okay, that's a wrap. Thanks RJ!!

"Bad Karma" RJ Souza: Whatever.

(Paul Sandler is right by his side quickly)

Paul Sandler: That's my man!! One Take. This is going to be the
easiest money you made since you got down here.

"Bad Karma" RJ Souza:  Yeah, Paul. But you know what really is
starting to erk me a bit?

Paul Sandler: No, RJ. I thought you were happy??

"Bad Karma" RJ Souza: What does Destiny see in that Chris Hartt?? I'm
not buying the fact she thinks I am going down a bad path. I'm getting
back to business with titles and money on the mind. She doesn't mind
the big California house, the lavish lexis in the driveway or the
spending sprees she and her friends enojoy on my dime. But the moment
she thinks I had made a mistake, she's got to call everyone??

Paul Sandler: That's where she's wrong, RJ. She never known what it
takes to reach that golden ring. She kept you from it. I know the way
to achieve fame, titles, cashflow.  Trust me, RJ. Don't sweat it too
much. Your focus should be on Chris Hartt.

"Bad Karma" RJ Souza:  That is all that I have my mind wrapped around.
Chris knows what damage I can do once I have Louieville in my hands.
He felt it it first hand. His Monster....errr mentor got a feel for
the flavor. Last time I checked, the Masked Outlaw and myself walked
out of the ring while the EMT's were carting the two of you into
meatwagons PDQ, headed to the ER for some TLC, ASAP. You both are
lucky that you were not DOA.

(RJ walks closer to the camera, looking directly into it.)

"Bad Karma" RJ Souza: Chris, I don't care what these brain dead yahoos
think about me. I come, I kick ass, I go home. This week, I am going
to take my time, snapping your bones, one by one. I'm going to bruise
you so badly, you will not make anyone's sexist man alive lists. You
will find out when you steal from me....It's all about revenge. You
went after my wife. You taken the ying of my yang. My wife is not a
toy to be sharred among friends. You will learn that lesson the hard
way.

Paul Sandler: Don't forget about you title....

"Bad Karma" RJ Souza: Hold on. You see, Chris. I am a spiritual man. I
have my moments of weakness. I know when it's time to destroy and when
to mend bridges. You put youself into this situation. First, my wife.
Then the Herritage title. You cost me that match, admit it or not, the
fans all saw what happen. Unlike my soulmate, the title will be
claimed by me this week. It belongs to me It was my fate to hold that
over your broken body. That belongs to me. I will take back what is
mine. You have no one to blame for what I do....except yourself.

(ftb)


<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Caleb Foley
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>


[Scene opens at the end of a dark underground tunnel.  A rusty metal
door is partially open up ahead, emitting a orange glow into the
blackened corridor.]

[Inside, we see "The Fighting Irishman" Caleb Foley in the middle of
an intense training session, laying on an inclined bench doing chest
presses with a set of dumbbells.  You can see the veins in his arms
swelling as the blood pumps to his muscles, supplying them with the
energy they need to finish this set.  The camera zooms in on Foley,
showing the stern and focused expression on his sweat streaked face.
He's dressed in a black t-shirt with the sleeves cut off and a pair of
blue sweat pants.  His red hair, normally neatly combed, is mussed up
and dripping wet with perspiration.  Caleb finishes his last few
dumbbell repetitions, drops the weights to the ground, and turns
towards the camera.]

[With his eyes glowing intensely, he begins to speak.]

Caleb Foley:  "Take a good look into these eyes and tell me.…What do
you see"?

[Caleb pauses for a moment, allowing the camera to focus in on his
intense gaze. He continues to speak...]

Foley:  "Fear?  Doubt?  Cowardice?  Is that what you see in my eyes?

[Caleb slowly shakes his head in disagreement>>

Foley: "No…I don't think you do.  To think otherwise would just be a
lie.  You see, I say this not because I'm arrogant or over confident,
but because what you see, is how I feel!  You see the focus...the
fire, that burns deep within my soul, and all of the determination and
desire that has fueled this body.  Now, as I look forward to Rises to
Ashes, my career is at a crossroads.”

[Caleb slowly stands, extending his muscular arms and shaking them to
relieve the burn. He stops, then moves the weights aside with his
feet.  He walks to his left and takes a seat in a small folding chair,
first taking the towel draped across the back and wiping his face.  He
then looks back to the camera.]

Foley: “Rises from Ashes, April 4th...yes, this is indeed a crossroads
for me. Just like Cleveland is trying to resurrect the Browns, I am
trying to start a career that almost never even started.  And now,
before I even know it, I’m scheduled in a championship match against
Chase Williams for the PVW World Heavyweight Title.  I’m sure most
people … most so-called experts … aren’t even giving me a snowball’s
chance in the devil’s backyard to win this match.  I imagine that even
the PVW World Heavyweight Champion himself, Chase Williams, isn’t
giving me much thought.  But you know what?  All that means absolutely
nothing. Why?  Because there is ONE man who believes in me, ONE man
who gives Caleb Foley more than a CHANCE to win, but the BELIEF he can
win.  That man…is me.  You see, what I’ve learned, and especially over
the last few weeks, is this…it doesn’t matter what Chase Williams
thinks…it doesn’t matter what Christopher Michaelson thinks…it doesn’t
matter what ANYONE thinks, except me.  I KNOW I can win…I KNOW I can
compete and succeed in Phoenix Valley Wrestling…and that’s the only
opinion that means ANYTHING.”

[Caleb looks briefly to his left, taking a deep breath in the process.
He looks a bit tired, if not fatigued, and certainly emotionally
drained.  He turns back to the camera with a seemingly far away look
in his eyes.]

Foley: “Maybe ol’ Preston is right…maybe I DO have my head in the
clouds, as he said last Heatwave.  Maybe, just maybe…I’ve got no
business being here in PVW.  But then again, maybe not.  Do you see
any fear, any doubt in my eyes? Like I said, there’s none there…if you
DO think you see it, you’d better look again, and look longer, because
you’re getting it confused with something else. If the eyes are a
mirror of the soul, as someone once said, then when you look in MY
eyes you should be seeing determination…grit…belief…and most of
all…fire. Chase, I’m know you are indeed a great champion already,
you’ve proven that. It’s a volatile title situation in PVW, and you’ve
managed to survive after beating Chris Tate … But on Rises of Ashes,
Williams, you’ll be facing a man that has NOTHING to lose. You see,
I’ve got the fire…the drive…the determination to win and make my name
known nation…no, WORLD wide. Becoming the PVW World Heavyweight
Champion…well, that’s a step in the right direction.  I fell short at
Blood Bowl, Chase…I WON’T fall short again.”

[The intensity in Caleb’s eyes continues to grow.  He pauses, reaching
down beside him, and pulls up a bottle of water.  He takes a few fast
gulps, and you see water pouring down the sides of his mouth.  He sets
the water back on the ground beside him, then leans forward toward the
camera.]

Foley: “And as for "The Golden One" Christopher Michaelson …you amaze
me, Christopher. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone so full of
himself as you are. Guys like you, Michaelson, you’re a dime a dozen …
I’ve faced your kind plenty of times before, so don’t think that
you’ve got something I’m not familiar with.  No, Chris, I know your
kind…you think you’re God’s gift to wrestling, and you have to find
every chance to shoot your mouth off at or about someone for whatever
reason … maybe it’s like in Outlaw’s case, you shoot your mouth off at
him, calling him lucky, and why?  Because he did something you
couldn’t.  Or maybe it’s like in the case with me … you obviously
cannot fathom a rookie being your World Champion, so you go and shoot
your mouth off again.  So Michaelson, what do YOU see in my eyes?
Take a real good look, pal, because if you’re honest with yourself,
you’ll find something you don’t really want to mess with.  The sweat
that I perspire, the hours upon hours of training that I put in … I do
it to prove to people like you why I am who I say I am … I do it to
help bring a piece of respect back to this sport and to the fans who
pay our salaries. What do you see, Michaelson?  You’d better ask
yourself that one last time, before you get into the ring with me
again.  You want me?  You got me. When it’s scheduled, you can believe
I’ll be there … and this time Williams won't be able to help you win.”

[A short pause from The Fighting Irishman...]

Foley: “Chase, I respect your abilities in the ring, but you are not
too much different from Christopher Michaelson, so I not only target
you to win the PVW World Heavyweight Title, but to bring respect back
to this sport.  I know that you’ll no doubt have some rather pointed
and arrogant things to say about me, but when it all comes down it,
Chase … talk is cheap. All that really matters, when we both step into
that ring come Rises from Ashes … all that matters is what’s in your
eyes.  What do YOU see in my eyes, Chase? I’ll tell you what I see … I
see your title slipping away.”

[The camera zooms and focuses in on Caleb’s eyes as the camera fades
to black.]


<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Spectre
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[The screen starts off blank...a complete black slate.

After a moment, white words appear, typing slowly, a letter after one
another.

IN DARKNESS ONE MAY BE ASHAMED OF WHAT ONE DOES, WITHOUT THE SHAME OF
DISGRACE.

- SOPHOCLES

The scene fades in on a closeup on a naked lightbult.  The harsh white
light washes out the bare cinderblock room, casting its searching
glare along the pipes criss-crossing the ceiling, highlighting the
drips slowly working their way earthward into puddles, and revealing
the trash littering the otherwise stark floor.

PVW's own Spectre stalks out of the shadows, his pale eyes shining out
from under the dreadlocked mane.  Reaching up, his right hand bats the
light dangling down on the wire...causing it to sway violently,
alternating The Spectre in bright light, and crushing, suffocating
darkness.]

"Friend Lassiter, the time has come once again."

[Light]

"You stride once more into the breach, girded to do battle with not
only the ghoul across the ring, but with the demons that run
unfettered through your psyche."

[Dark]

"You will try desperately to remember what you've done...straining
against the walls of forgetfulness that your fragile subconscious have
erected to cordon off the horror of what you've done to those who
trusted you before."

[Light]

"The roar of the fans will energize you.  You will storm forward, full
of indignation, ready to prove our villainy upon our body.  Secure in
the fact that the adoring sheep in the audience will fawn upon your
every action, so long as you direct your bloodlust at the vile
Spectre."

[Darkness]

"But we both know the truth, friend Lassiter, do we not?  We both know
that your rage and hatred have been directed on far more innocent
targets than they currently focus on.  We know what you've done...and
YOU suspect.

[As the bulb continues on its pendulum trajectory, The Spectre's right
hand darts up and catches it, holding it for a moment in his bare palm
(from which a slight sizzling sound can be heard for a moment).  A
slight smile tugs at The Spectre's features before he releases the
light source.]

"But none of that will matter, friend Lassiter.  Your education in
embracing the Dark is almost complete.  Now you will undergo a baptism
of pain and emerge with your rage in check...or you will be carried
out feet first.

Make no mistake, friend Lassiter.  In the ring with us at Rise From
the Ashes, you are in a battle for your life.  Our friends outside of
the ring will ensure that we have plenty of time and space to finally
settle upon your lesson...if you've learned as much as we hope you
have, you may even survive to pass it along to others.

Fear the dark, friend Lassiter.  Fear the dark.

[Spectre turns on his heel and stalks from the room as the scene fades
to black]


<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Royal Family
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[“Rolemodel” Paul Styles and Johnathan Monarch are seated in the
middle of a section of empty seats in The Armory. The arena is lit up
as members of the PVW crew are working on the ring and arranging
electronics and pyro equipment for Rise From The Ashes. Paul is
wearing a navy sweater with a white dress shirt beneth it visible at
the collar and wrists. Johnatahan is wearing a black dress shirt with
pastel blue suspenders. Johnathan is seated slightly to the right and
6 rows behind Paul, and is also wearing a stupid looking Pride of
Powers baseball cap and judging by the smile on his face, it’s worn as
a joke]

“Rolemodel” Paul Styles: New York was a good time and Pride of Powers
was great, at least during my match. But it’s good to be home...

[Paul casually glances at his soundings from his seat]

PS: Even if home is a dilapidated arena in the desert.

Johnathan Monarch: I like The Armory... It has character.

[Paul doesn't look at Johnathan but a puzzled “what the hell?”
expression forms on his face for a second but can't help himself from
smiling, knowing John caught him]

PS: You would like this place, John... Nice hat by the way.

[Johnathan just smiles, satisfied with getting a line in on Paul]

PS: I think everyone at Pride of Powers got that hat. It’s like a
little kid karate tournament, winner gets a plastic trophy and
everyone gets a hat… I’d ask the winner about the trophy, but I don’t
even know who won because the only people watching anything besides my
match were strictly friends and family. But I do know one thing that
happened at Pride Of Powers... I earned the right to say “I told you
so”.

[Johnathan looks at Paul with passive surprise]

JM: I told you so? That’s where you’re going with this?

PM: What?

JM: It's lame. You can do better than that.

PM: It's going to be cool. Settle down.

[Paul quickly returns his focus to the camera, organizing his thoughts
since he's on his own with Johnathan bailing out of the conversation]

JM: It's Apollo Jones lame.

PS: Apollo! [points to John without taking his eyes off the camera,
causing a laugh from the giant in the background] I told him so!

PS: I told Apollo he owed me one for being such a crappy partner at
Blood Bowl. I told Apollo it was a mistake to stand up to The Royal
Family when he saved Urban Legend. I told Apollo I was going to force
him into the title gauntlet first. I even told Apollo I was going to
add his name right below Chris Hartt on the list PVW superstars Paul
Styles has treated like a joke... and I did. I did what I said I would
do. And at Rising Ashes I am saying that I will be crowned a tag team
world champion, and after The Ashes I will be saying I told you so
again.

JM: Alright, not bad.

PS: And Apollo really did owe me one. I even dragged Apollo halfway
across the country to give him his beating in New York. The Prophets
and Urban Legend both took out a Payday loans just to fly out to The
Garden and watch. It was the two first teams and the two final teams
of the PVW title gauntlet hanging out in New York together. It was a
real PVW Moment until the attention starved Prophets roughed up The
UFOs. Who were you going to impress beating the same two guys I just
beat, Derek? No one wants to watch a preview of the title gauntlet's
first round. The fans wanted to watch The Royal Family, but the idea
of beating up The Prophets was so interesting we left.

[Paul smiles confidently as he adjusts his tie]

PS: And I told everyone, the whole audience, that when I was
guaranteed the final seed in the title gauntlet that the match would
be decided. The Prophets and Legends traveled all the way to New York
just to hope that Apollo could somehow beat me and give them a prayer
at winning the gauntlet. Their titles hopes were on the lines as much
as Apollo's. I am considered an uncrowned PVW champion. Johnathan is a
former world champion that dwarfs everyone in the company. What tired,
beaten up, crappy team is going to stop two former world champions?

[Paul pauses, smiling as he looks around for someone to answer him]

PS: The Prophets? The same two guys that are going to try and convince
us they are going to defeat the entire tag division in one match?
They're going to defeat every team in the company two weeks after
Derek couldn’t beat Urban Legend’s weak link, Johnny Styles?

PS: Urban Legend? The Urban Legend I ran out of professional wrestling
eight years ago? The Urban Legend that needed Apollo's help to hold
off The Royal Family two weeks into their return? The Urban Legend
that have name dropped Paul Styles since they got here? I hope not,
because that Urban Legend sucks. That team wouldn't even be able to
win their semi-final round against the weakest team in the field, The
Thrillers.

PS: The Wild Cards? Two guys that won an elimination match that need
eight people involved to give it enough star power to make it on
television? Maybe if we could go back in time to three years ago when
anyone gave a crap about a couple of poker references BJ Baldwin would
be relevant. But it’s 2008, and  Judd Marley’s team isn’t championship
caliber and casino games are only a lifestyle to awkward nerds that
don't know how to talk to girls.

PS: Livegutch? A comedy act that can’t even deliver their own joke
properly?  A comedy act that just lost to The Wild Cards? These two
will be lucky to eliminate one team, winning is just a fantasy. PVW
might as well resign Sexual Energy for the gauntlet if Livegutch are
making it in.

PS: The UFOs? I put Apollo into the match as number one... I don't
have to worry about him or his sidekick Bones anymore.

[points back to Johnathan without taking his eyes off the camera]

PS: I told everyone about Apollo and I am telling them about the
titles. The Royal Family will be crowned PVW World Tag Champions and
in the back of everyone’s mind... they know it too.

[Paul smiles as he settles back into his chair, obviously done as
Johnathan slow claps from the background and the camera fades out]


<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Thrillers
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

V/O: Darius Walker

[Pause.]

V/O: I hate you.

[Fade in to the gentleman of the south, Samuel Cunningham.  Today must
be one of his good days.  The sun has perked up and the birds are
singing.  The well respected Thrillers manager is out of his wheel
chair.  A cane in hand he is gingerly moving around.]

CUNNINGHAM: Every since I left the great Carolina's and made my way
out to this god forsaken barons of Ari'zona I have had nothing, but
pain and suffering.  My boys have been overlooked and cheated out of
victories.  My health has taken a turn for the worse, and Darius
Walker continues to walk scott free.

[It's a sad tale.]

CUNNINGHAM: For all the pain and suffering.  For all the cheated and
miss opportunities.  For all the disrespect... At Rise From the Ashes
there is a chance at redemption.  The Thrillers have the great
opportunity of being crowned the very first PVW Tag Team Champions.
It won't be an easy path.  Seven worthy teams and Darius Walkers apple
dumpling gang will compete for the honor, the PRIVLEGE to hold those
golden trophy around their waists.

[Now that doesn't sound so sad.]

CUNNINGHAM: For all the pain and heartache these old bones have
endured when my boys stand in the center of the ring with the lights
beaming bright as they raise those golden titles towards the heavens
itself.....

[A tear forms in the right eye of good ol' Samuel.]

CUNNINGHAM: Then all will be right with the world again.  Uprooting
and moving to hell on earth would be worth it.  Enduring months of
injustice while Darius Walker storms around like he owns the place
would have been worth it.  Yes Jimmy and Steven will get their due,
but the path of the righteousness is never an easy path.  I've stared
the devil in the eyes and he stands in the mortal form as a 6 foot
tall piece of garbage named Darius Walker.

[Can you tell he hates Darius Walker yet?]

CUNNINGHAM: Walker I _hate_ you with every fiber in this old body.
The slightest mention of your name not only disgraces this industry,
but fills me with a rage I have never felt.  You are a weasel and if I
was 20 years younger I'd lace up boots and take care of you myself.

[That would be a site to see!]

CUNNINGHAM: Instead my lawyers work night and day to make you suffer
and The Thrillers will take those PVW tag team titles and raise them
high and proud as the angels themselves sing down upon the great evil
that plagues Phoenix and the PVW.   Soon... April 13th all will be
right with the world.

[Drama at it's best.]

CUNNINGHAM: UFOS, Prophets, Family, Cards, Legend, and the rest of the
tag teams I wish you the best of luck.  We all have the same goal, but
it's the Thrillers time to shine.  While you all have had your
challenges.   Jimmy and Steven have grown stronger and more united
week after week as each and every injustice stood in their way.  What
doesn't kill you -

[Pause.]

CUNNINGHAM: Makes you stronger.  It's our time... It's our grand
opportunity... It's our _destiny_.  April 13th at Rise From the Ashes
it'll be a Thrilling night for The Thrillers.

[Fade to a bright light.]


<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Extreme Conditions
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[The camera fades in from black to reveal Darius Walker once again
sitting behind his desk. Unlike the last time, the PVW audience saw
him; Darius appears calm as he looks at the camera for a moment. He
slowly rubs his hands together as he begins to speak.]

Walker: “Rise from the Ashes how fitting.  The PVW tag team division
has been a roller coaster since its birth.  Prophets of Rage taking
its unstable anger on anyone standing in their path.  Urban Legend's
big return to glory and then there’s Livestock and Gutch acting a lot
like two law school grads at a high school party.  The Thrillers have
been nothing short of a thorn in Extreme Conditions side.”

[Darius Walker slowly inhales and exhales, an obvious attempt to
maintain his composure.]

“The world has bared witness as I have sat back and kept quiet and
waited patiently for our opportunity.  I waited as six individuals
tried to smear my good name through the mud … I waited as the PVW
brass continued to renege on it its promise of the Extreme Conditions,
Thrillers tag match. A match mind you that still has yet to occur.”

“Finally though an opportunity has presented itself for on April 13th
from the ashes Shawn Covell and Gideon Frost will rise from the depths
of the PVW tag division and prove that they are the best team in the
PVW.”

“Since the PVW opened its doors, the federation has watched as two
personalities clashed to a point where it appeared that internal
strife would rip apart Extreme Conditions before they had a chance to
prove themselves. This past Heatwave though Gideon and Shawn showed
that they can function as a cohesive unit and this unity allowed them
to drive a nail into the coffin of the Thrillers.”

[Darius Walker smirks for just a brief moment as he adjusts his
glasses.]

“And that nail is exactly what Extreme Conditions has needed. So Mr.
Cunningham, I thank you and Mr. Lane and Mr. Hayes for the past few
months of harassment and embarrassment. You three gentlemen have
provided Shawn and Gideon something that I was not able to …. you
provided them with the perfect motivation. Day in and day out I did
everything that I could to make them realize that as a team they were
stronger than they were as individuals but it wasn’t until you three
decided to call them pawns that they fully understood what I was
saying.”

“You three made them finally understand that this is not just about
Gideon Frost, just about Shawn Covell or just about Darius Walker …
you finally made them realize that this about Extreme Conditions … a
team that needed to realize their potential for greatness. “

[Darius Walker smiles and leans back in his black leather chair as the
camera pans out to reveal Gideon Frost, attired in a pale blue dress
shirt and a pair of black dress slacks, and seated next to him is
Shawn Covell, attired in a plain black t-shirt and a pair of tan dress
slacks. Both men are just sitting in the black leather chairs before
Darius Walker’s cherry oak desk.]

Frost: “Thrillers, for months now you have yapped like lap dogs in a
vain attempt to get the attention of the PVW. And outside of Livestock
and Gutch you have not gotten anyone to blink an eye at you. Your
attempts to smear the good name of Darius Walker have failed. And come
Rise from the Ashes you will fail in your attempt to become the first
ever PVW Tag Team Champions. Thrillers, after you are frost bitten you
will be forced to accept that you have never been anything more than
complete failures.”

Covell: "Holy Tag Team Gauntlet Match Frosty!”

[Shawn pats Gideon on the back who looks at him perplexed.]
Covell: “Eight total teams ... seven losers and one champion. You see
Thrillers, I've been a champion before ... I'm sure that has been
mentioned once or twice ... so come Rise From the Ashes the Phoenix
will rise again with wild fire in full blaze. “

[Shawn Covell smirks as Gideon Frost continues to look at him
perplexed for calling him Frosty.]

Walker: “Prophets of Rage and the Wildcards are the odds on favorites
to win the PVW Tag Team Championship and to be honest I understand
why. Both teams are former champions, sure the Wild Cards are not the
legendary Wild Cards with their member but they are an extremely
talented group of individuals and not to be underestimated. The
Prophets of Rage … a team on a rampage and the years that the Brothers
Grimm has spent together is a great asset. The Unrivaled Funky Ones …
they appear to be talented as a team but I personally think they would
fare better in a dance off. Livestock and Gutch … beauty and the beast
… we just haven’t figured out who the beauty is yet. We’ve seen them
try to play lawyer and fail at that game. At Rise from the Ashes we
will see if you two have any actual talents at all.”

[Darius Walker pauses for a brief moment before speaking.]

Walker: “My opinion of the Thrillers … well everyone knows that by
now. So onto the Royal Family, another team that has been together for
years; with Pride or Power we will get to see just how good they are
against The Unrivaled Funky Ones.  If it was which team does the
better robot I would have bet money on the UFOs. But the question
remains is being a behemoth and a loud mouth enough to win the tag
titles?”

[Darius Walker looks across the desk at Shawn Covell and Gideon Frost
for a brief moment.]

Walker: “I understand that the wrestling world views Extreme
Conditions as the underdogs … the long shots to walk out as the PVW
Tag Team Champions, but who would have thought that Davidson would
have shocked the basketball world as much as they did. Rise from the
Ashes … I hope the PVW is prepared to be shocked.”

[Slowly all fades to black.]


<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
RFTA Promo featuring Caleb Foley
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[Darkness...]

VO:  Heart... Dertimination... Desire...

[The screen flahses with action shots of matches featuring Major
Damage, Chris Hartt, and Rob Cole...]

VO:  ... Blood... Sweat... Tears...

[More flashing... This time you see Outlaw, "The Golden One"
Christopher Michaelson, and "The Conceited Bastard" Chase Williams...]

VO:  ... VICTORY!!!

[You now see a still image of a blurred out individual standing in the
center of the ring.  His arms in the air, victorious, and the roar of
the crowd behind him is nearly deafening.  It then cuts to darkness
again.]

VO:  ... And NEW Beginnings...

[A still shot of "The Fighting Irishman" Caleb Foley.  And then back
to darkness.]

VO:  The first chapter is ending...

[Against the darnkess come a series of brilliant white words beginning
from the infinite darkness and shooting past you...


APRIL...


13TH...


2008...


RISES OF ASHES...]


FOLEY:  ... ARE YOU READY?!?!?!?!?!

[Fades to Darkness...]


<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
OmniFly
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>


[The camera opens with nothing but the word "OMNI".]

Voice: They all ask...who is Omni? The more appropriate question,
though, is who is CKD Abdullah.

Voice: Abdullah is a man who would allow his followers to take a
beating for him. He's a man who would hide as his followers suffered
in his stead. Where were you? Did you not see him cry? Hear him? That
chair, oh, that chair made a sickening thud, didn't it? It wrapped
around his head. Surely you saw, right? You saw and you did nothing.

Voice: I know you're afraid, Abdullah. You're going to come face-to-
face with Omni and you can't stop it. You've begged me. You've sent me
presents...chocolates, watches, plasma screen televisions...anything
that you can think of that might convince me to spare your career.
What you don't understand, Abdullah, is that I am above all this.
There is nothing that you have that I cannot have on a whim.

Voice: Are you married, CKD? Your wife dreams of me. She speaks of me.
I hear her cry out for Omni. Your parents? They look at Omni as a true
son, as opposed to some worthless schmuck who will waste their hard-
earned money as he follows his wrestling dreams. How about children,
Abdullah? They long to call me 'daddy'.

Voice: You may think that it's all rampant speculation. That Omni is
simply trying to get under your skin. Deep down, though, I think you
know it to be true. Ask your woman about me. Do it, I beg you. She'll
deny it, but look deep into her eyes. See the joy that she is taking
in knowing that, after Rise from the Ashes, she will be a free woman.
She thinks that she'll stand beside Omni, but in reality she will
simply be cast aside like the rest.

Voice: It's funny, CKD. After having tapped your b*tch...I will make
you tap out like a b*tch. And when that light shines and Omni appears
before you...when you face the very thing you've been dreading...the
thing that you hid from while your disciple was left broken...the fear
in your eyes, Abdullah, it will give me so much more pleasure than
your betrothed ever did.

[Black.]


<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Jessica Realty
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

* a somber Dean Hayes, in a black PVW golf shirt, is seated at a desk
in the PVW television studios. There is no theme song or fancy
graphics to start us off as a serious, but sad, Dean shuffles a few
papers *

Dean Hayes: Last week on PVW Heatwave Rob Cole, proving he is as crazy
as ever, abducted and terrorized a young woman that is under contract
as an assistant to the mysterious Masked Outlaw in PVW.

* a news style graphic of the young woman appears over Dean's left
shoulder *

Dean: And although Rob Cole is known as one of the most extreme men in
professional wrestling, there is concern within the PVW front office,
the locker room and the fans that Rob went too far when he confined a
ninety five pound woman in the basement of The Armory.


* Dean's look of concern grows as he selects a specific piece of paper
off the desk *

Dean: The attack has gotten the attention of the community and Channel
12 News, the local Phoenix NBC affiliate, has run stories throughout
the week about the young woman. And we are fortunate to have with us
Joe Pequeno from Channel 12 who had lead the investigation into the
story. Mr. Pequeno, thank you for being with us.

* the camera pulls out to reveal local Phoenix sports anchor Joe
Pequeno seated to Dean's right in a sharp suit and tie, and has a
demeanor as somber and serious as Dean's *

Joe Pequeno: Thank you, Dean. I would also like to thank you for
inviting me to your program to share with your audience what I have
uncovered about the young woman that was assault on your program.

* Dean fidgets in his seat uncomfortably, embarrassed about what has
happened *

Joe: The young woman who stands 5'1" at 95 lbs is twenty four year old
Jessica Realty. A Phoenix native that attended Phoenix High School,
where she spent three years as Cheerlead Captain. Go Pirates. The
popular young woman also attained honors and enjoyed a three year
reign as prom queen. She recently completed a degree in public
relations and was hired on as an assistant to The Masked Outlaw.

Dean: What is her condition since the attack?

Joe: Well she's extremely shaken as a result of what's happened, but
plans to stay on as The Masked Outlaw's assistant. But the community
has begun calling for an investigation into PVW as a company to see
how a young woman can be abducted and sexually assault during an
event. And then broadcast on television.

Dean: Well... it was broadcast without the knowledge of PVW other than
the director, and it's rumoured Rob had threatened his family if his
live feed wasn't aired. And I agree, it was a terrible attack, no
doubt an assault, but I don't know if it was a sexual assault.

Joe: When the shock value of the video has worn off it's obvious Mr.
Cole is taking immense pleasure in this woman's terror. And Mr. Cole
has a history of stalking and preying upon females associated with his
rivals. I've heard that Ms. Realty has already been approached by
legal council for action against both Mr. Cole and the PVW.

Dean: A lawyer? I think you're overstating things, Joe.

* a video clip from Cole's opening on Heatwave last week airs: "Cole
drops her face down, staring down at her trembling form... he slowly
smiles and shakes his head." the final frame freezes and shrinks to a
small graphic over Joe's shoulder *

Joe: That is perverted, Joe. And it's disgusting.

* Dean moves to offer a counter point but he can't think of anything
besides his aching sympathy for Jessica after just watching the clip.
Deflated, Dean slumps back in his chair, bows his head and sighs *

* black *


<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Masked Outlaw
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>


(a camera in the rafters of the darkened Armory shows the only visible
lights are the distant corridors and a single overhead spotlight
shinning into the ring. The darkness is so heavy that the guardrails
around ringside are lost into the darkness)

(The Masked Outlaw doesn't care. He stands in the middle of the ring,
arms crossed at his chest and slowly tapping his foot, waiting...)

(For Dean Hayes, who stumbles out of the dark, nearly falling as he
steps through the ring ropes in the the shadows. He looks
uncomfortable, nervous, and slightly intimidated by the setting. He
carries a PVW microphone as the main camera level with the ring turns
on instead)

Dean Hayes: I'm Dean Hayes, here with The Masked Outlaw in the Armory.
With Rob Cole's attack against his assistant, Jessica Realty, PVW has
been in some pretty serious talks with Ms. Realty's lawyer about ways
we can avoid legal action... and... as a gesture of good will... I'm
needed to fill in for her this week as she recovers.

(Dean looks uncertainly at Masked Outlaw for a script. MO reaches
behind his back but instead of the neatly wrapped cards Jessica
received Dean is handed an awkwardly large stack of computer paper
from an old matrix printer. The surprised Dean struggles with it
before it drops, unfolding in a pile)

(Dean, not knowing if MO is going to explode with a violently childish
temper like Rob Cole, looks at MO holding just the first sheet of
paper. MO just shakes his head and lets out a visible sigh as he
continues to look towards the camera with Dean. The relieved Dean
relaxes slightly and begins)

Dean Hayes: Disappointment.

(Dean has to move on to the next sheet of paper, and MO obviously made
the pile intentionally large with many blank pages as Dean has to go
through 8 sheets before finding the next sentence)

Dean: I don't expect anyone to understand or appreciate the amount of
work that went into becoming The Masked Outlaw. The intensity of
negotiations involved in signing a PVW contract anonymously? The
hassle of wearing a mask all the time? The impossibility of finding
quality solid white masks? All the planning, anticipating, and
calculating that went into The Masked Outlaw? And it was all for you,
Rob Cole. Long after his prime, the biggest bully in professional
wrestling was going to have to pay for his past and finally be put out
of his misery. And what does Rob Cole respond with?

(Dean has to run through more blank pages as a pile of the sheets he's
looked though starts to form in front of him)

Dean: Rob makes a young woman cry.

(Dean runs through more pages but is startled when he finds a picture
and a wince of shame forms on his face as MO points towards the camera
for Dean to show it, which he reluctantly does)

PICTURE: From the opening of Heatwave, Jessica Realty is laying on her
stomach, bound and gagged, crying on the basement floor of The Armory
as Rob Cole stands over her evilly smiling into the camera as though
it was just a normal photo shoot

(MO reaches out and takes the picture to hold for the camera to see as
Dean continues with a naturally more sombre demeanor)

Dean: At the end of The Monster Under The Bed's path of destruction
Rob Cole has degenerated into a a creepy old man at best, and a sexual
predator at worst. The term Monster Under The Bed was never suppose to
be taken literally and your professional wrestling career can't be
used as an excuse to be a sadistic pervert, Rob. At Rise From The
Ashes, Dad is finally going to shine a flashlight under the bed and
show everyone, especially the beautiful and innocent Jessica, that
there is nothing to be afraid of.

(MO reaches behind his back with the picture and it disappears when he
returns his now empty hands to his sides)

Dean: So what monster am I going to find under the bed at Rise From
The Ashes, Rob? Will it be Pro Wrestling Veteran Monster from Blood
Bowl? The laid back journeyman stopping to talk in the parking lot
with a down to earth perspective? The father figure of the locker
room? The man that was only saddened that Paul Styles wasn't
interested in talking to him? I hope it isn't that monster... because
he was boring.

Dean: Will it be Liar Monster? The man that in the parking lot at
Blood Bowl claimed his rivalry with Paul Styles went beyond the ring
and into the personal side of the business and into the politics of
the industry? The same man that last week frothed at the mouth as he
screamed about never playing politics in the business? But you
admitted to it over a month ago when you weren't trying to be scary a
violent, right Rob? You must not have meant it in your speech a month
ago because it doesn't fit your speech today. I hope it isn't that
monster... because no one takes a liar seriously.

Dean: Will it be Mentor Monster? The man that trained The Paladin
Chris Hartt to try and show up Paul Styles? The man that embarrassed
himself by training the future Heritage Champion straight into defeat?
The man that, when Chris Hartt questioned him about the terrible
training all he could do was scream threats that were greeted with
laughter from the rookie? I hope it isn't that monster... because who
is laughed at by The Paladin?

Dean: Or will it just be The Loser Monster? The man that has been
pinned by Chase Williams and then Major Damage? The man that has had
to win his last two matches by DQ? The man that has been left laid out
in the ring in his last four events? I hope it isn't that monster...
because he sounds like a loser.

(Dean looks through the papers, growing frustrated as he sees nothing
but blank pages until he reaches the last one. Dean just shakes his
head, frustrated he didn't think to just check the last sheet as he
tearsoff the previous paper so he only has to hold one piece. MO
reaches behind his back and once again reveals the large glossy
picture of Rob Cole standing over the crying Jessica)

Dean: But I wont find any monster under the bed. All I will find is an
old, insecure, bullying pervert. And after Rise From The Ashes, there
wont be anything to be afraid of anymore.

(MO holds the picture as Dean stands beside MO in the messy pile of
papers he's looked though, embarrassed and uncomfortable with the
image being shown as the camera fades out)


<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Prophets of Rage
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>


[Fade in:

We enter the scene inside a bar somewhere.  Although it seems business
as usual, the music being played is classical.  The bartender is
studiously polishing beer steins.  The waitresses crowd around the
bar.  There is none of the usual hooting and hollering that is typical
in this kind of bon vivant pup.  Shadoe Rage comes down the steps,
dressed in a jeans and a linen shirt that’s half-buttoned.  He stops
on the landing and looks around, his eyes darting back and forth.
Carefully now he eases his way into the scene.  He moves towards a
table cautiously, still looking back and forth over his shoulder as if
expecting something.]

Voice: So, Pizzazz found you.

[The voice belongs to Derek Rage.  The shot moves to him sitting at
his table.  There are a litter of empty shot glasses strewn across the
table top in front of him.  He leans back in his chair.  His shirt is
open at the front and his tie hangs loosely around his neck.  His
linen jacket is turned inside out and thrown over the back of a chair.
He puffs a cigar.    The other hand rests on a bottle of Jack Daniels.
With one foot he shoves a chair out to his brother. ]

DR: Sit down.

[Shadoe turns the chair around and sits in it backwards, resting his
forearms over the back.  The two brothers look at each other for a
moment, neither saying a word.  Derek puffs his cigar pleasantly.]

DR: Drink?

[Gently, Shadoe nods.  He reaches forward tentatively to take the
bottle.  There are no clean glasses so Shadoe tips the bottle to his
head and takes a swig.]

SR: So, how are we doing?

DR: Good.  Why?

SR: Pizzazz seemed kind of worried.  She thought you might need
someone to talk to.

DR: Why?  [He waves the cigar around.]  Because of this?  Nah, I just
needed to unwind.  You know how it is.

SR: Sometimes, I do.  Why don’t you tell me how it is this time.

[Derek’s eyes narrow at Shadoe.  For the first time something akin to
irritation passes across Derek’s face.]

DR: You remember Berry Downey?

[Shadoe struggles to remember.  Finally, he has to shake his head no.]

DR: He’s younger than you.  He was just a year older than me back when
we were in junior high.  He used to get on me every day about my
height.  He always said that for all my height I was soft.  I was a
wimp.  I couldn’t fight.

[Shadoe’s eyebrows raise.  He doesn’t say a word.  His brother
continues.]

DR: I’m feeling a might parched.  Oblige me?

[Shadoe slides the bottle of Jack Daniels back to his brother who
takes a long quaff before he sighs contentedly.]

DR: Berry couldn’t have been more than 5’6 when we were in Junior High
and I was 6’10.  He always wanted to fight me.  I didn’t understand
why.  Then I found out one day that it was because of Ginette
Morrisson.  Some girl he liked who liked me.  One day he was waiting
for me after school with a pipe.

SR: You never told me this.  I would’ve done something.

DR: Nah, I told Lady D.  See, I ran away that day.  He talked all
kinds of shit about me after that.  I started believing the hype, too.
Said I was a big coward and I wondered if I was.  See, I didn’t want
to hurt him.  Not over Ginette Morrison.

SR: Okay.

DR: You know, I didn’t want to hurt that man, Stalker, either.  What’s
his name, Johnny Styles?

SR: You didn’t hurt him.

DR: And now we’re second in the tag-tournament.  Rise From the Ashes
and we’re sitting as the second entrant.

SR: We’ve faced longer odds in our time.

DR: We didn’t need to face those kinds of odds.  I just needed to find
that place in me.  I just needed to find that core of anger inside me.
I mean, I needed to take it to that next level.

[Shadoe is beginning to look a bit horrified.]

SR: And you found that level?

DR: (smiling) Yeah.  You know Ginette and Berry got married.  I looked
them up the other day.  Called them up and flew them out.

[Shadoe is rubbing his temples.]

DR: Invited him down here for a drink.

SR: And how did that go?

[Derek shrugs his massive shoulders. ]

DR: Why don’t you ask him.  He’s right over there.

[Derek points absently with his cigar.  The camera follows his
gesture.  Berry’s there at the end of the track.  He’s face down on
the bar floor, moaning and twitching.  A pool of blood and teeth forms
around his mouth.  A short length of pipe lies across his back.  Derek
blinks at him.]

DR: You had a chance, you simple bastard.  [He looks at his brother.]
Ready?

[Shadoe looks around at the bar full of witnesses.  Derek follows his
gaze.]

DR: Don’t worry, I got it covered.  Right Steve-O?

[The bartender simply keeps polishing his beer steins.]

DR: He came at me with the pipe.  He swung first.  I swung last.  Self
defence.

SR: (standing) I think it’s time to get you back to Pizzazz.

DR: Yeah, she’s a good woman.  Always looking out.

SR: I know.

DR: Nah, you never did.  So, at Rise from the Ashes let’s take our
time and beat the hell outta all them, cool?

SR: Yeah.

[Derek lurches to his feet.  He regards Berry for a moment before he
traipses towards the downed man.]

DR: Just remember something, I was merciful this time.

[Berry can only moan a response.]

DR: I see you around again and we’ll settle it good.

[And with that he walks to his table, flips out a couple hundred
dollars for tip and picks up his jacket.  He turns it inside out,
shakes out a few wrinkles and swings it over his shoulders.]

DR: I do believe I’m ready to go.

[With that Shadoe takes his elbow and walks him up the stairs and
out.]


<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Christopher Michaelson
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[Fade in. The camera focuses in upon the figure of Christopher
Michaelson who is standing before a large sliding glass door looking
out upon the Phoenix cityscape. The sun has set and Michaelson just
stares out observing the lights. Slowly he turns around and faces the
camera.]

“I know we’re all going to hear how all you need is a little luck and
you can beat anyone … honestly Foley all you needed was the help of a
ditch digger, a man who was lucky to even be touching my boots. So
Caleb, go ahead tell the world that the Heatwave before Rise from the
Ashes you defeated The Golden One of the PVW. Tell the world how your
precious little bit of LUCK came to your aid and helped you secure
your greatest victory to date.”

[Michaelson pauses and covers his mouth with his right hand for a
second. When he removes his hand it appears as though he is almost
seething.]

“But LUCK Caleb, was not what secured your victory. No it was once
again the gang land tactics of the PVW resident no talent ditch
digger, the Mean Green Outlaw! The two bit hack once again is doing
everything in his power to embarrass the PVW including allowing you,
Caleb, the chance to claim victory!”

[After exhaling for a long moment, Michaelson glares at the camera.]

“I’m tired of your antics Outlaw, tired of watching you in the back
trying to make the enhancement talent feel like they have a future in
this business, I’m tired of watching you embarrass people like Robert
Cole and myself with your so called wrestling talent … hell I’m just
tired of you Outlaw! Rise from the Ashes … “

“It should be called Dust to Dust, Ashes to Ashes as I’m going to once
and for all bury your so-called career!”

[Christopher takes a moment to compose himself before continuing.]

“One more time Mr. Arizona Kid … Dragon King … Outlaw whatever your
name is, I’m going to walk that aisle and make you look good. I’m once
again going to have people saying your name as they talk about how
Christopher Michaelson can make a broom or even a ditch digger look
great in the wrestling ring. I _will_ beat you with style and when I
am done, I’m sending you back to the American Ditch Digging
Association where you can make a fool out of yourself there _where you
belong_ and not in my wrestling ring.”

[Michaelson looks away from the camera for a brief moment.]

“Well I’m on the topic of people embarrassing themselves there’s the
boot licker Carl Stevenson … a man who has the audacity to act as
though he knows who I am and what I can afford in my life. Stevenson,
like your running mates in the Royal Flamers your mouth is writing
checks you can’t cash. You want to tell the world I can’t afford an
Aston Martin, that’s fine but if you go through my financials you’ll
see I do not need my wrestling career to survive. I’m a silent partner
in two casinos in Las Vegas, I have bank accounts all over the world,
I have more money right now that you and the rest of RFers will ever
see in your life time … hell I ran a successful wrestling company that
would have never employed the likes of you … well maybe I would have
used you as enhancement talent but that is a stretch. “

“I’m tired of you Stevenson, completely and utterly tired of you. I
hope one day you can’t speak anymore … wait that’s unfair to the rest
of the world it would take away from their nap time.  Stevenson, I
have wasted enough of my breath on you … but I will give you a little
piece of advice be careful who you run your mouth about cause one day
it will be shut for you.“

[After a moment’s pause Michaelson begins to speak again.]

“Rise from the Ashes … it’s a time for new beginning for some and for
you, Outlaw it just happens to be an ending. You see you won’t be
rising from ashes, you’ll just be realizing that it’s time to accept
the life that God has laid out for you …”

[Michaelson pauses and begins to laugh.]

“It’s time that you accept you are a nothing more than a bottom
feeding ditch digger.”

[All fades to black.]



<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Chris Hartt
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>


[Chris Hartt is out at a Phoenix area ballpark. The field is empty and
Hartt stands idly holding a wooden bat.]

Hartt: Here I am. Out in this field, with this bat.  I look at the
field and see a game that should be played, but isn't right now.  This
bat isn't getting used like it ought to be.  Same thing as with
Louisville at Burning Effect.  RJ Souza once wielded that bat as a
defining piece of his character.  His open defiance to those who would
discount him as being lesser than anyone else.

Now he carries it merely as a means to cause greater damage and hurt
more of those he once cared for.

Souza lays claims that I had snuck in around him to be with Destiny.
That I was an adulterer and a liar.  But the lies are al RJ's.  I
loved both of them and when Souza dismissed Destiny for his sack of
crap manager, Sandler, I consoled Destiny with no other thoughts than
to simply be her friend.

Souza has gone so far as to attack me physically with Louisville.

[Hartt holds up the bat, staring at it with painful regret.]

Always from behind.  Never in front of me, like a man.  Friend or no,
his actions were cowardly and reprehensible.

But now, at Rise from the Ashes, he and I meet in the ring over who is
right, who is wrong and who will get to use Louisville on the other to
a 10 count.  Those may be the longest 10 seconds of my life, but they
will be the most important.  I will die to defend my honor and
reputation.  And I would break myself to nothing to make sure that the
deceitful, no good, lying son-of-a-bith, Souza, walks away knowing how
wrong he's been. Whether I win or lose, he will know that he falseleyt
blamed the wrong man.

Be prepared to carry the sting of that pain forever, RJ.  From here
out, you and I will never be the same again.

[Hartt drops the bat to the ground.  The camera watches it as Hartt
walks away.]


<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Outlaw
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[Cut to the inside of a bank.  A credit union to be more precise.  Two
men walk in through the door, PVW fans instantly recognize them as
Outlaw and Semi.]

Semi: Please explain to me again why we came to San Francisco.

Outlaw: [exhasparated]  How many [bleep] times do I need to [bleep]
tell you this?

[Semi tickets off on his fingers.]

Semi: [mock-cheerfully] ...four.  Four times, counting now.

[Outlaw walks up to a table and drops his duffel bag, which clangs on
the floor.]

Outlaw: Let me draw you a [bleep] picture.

Semi: Sure thing.

[Outlaw grabs a loan application, and begins drawing what appears to
be the United States of America on the back.]

Outlaw: I'm [bleep] Canadian, so this might not be to [bleep] scale.

[He draws a big X somewhere near Boise, Idaho.]

Outlaw: This is [bleep] Phoenix, where we [bleep] wrestle.

[Semi nods, a smile curling up.  Outlaw then draws a second X near
Austin, Texas.]

Outlaw: This is [bleep] San Francisco.  Where we [bleep] are now.
What's so [bleep] complicated about that?

Semi: Well, other than the fact you've obviously never looked at a
map, that doesn't tell me WHY we are in San Francisco.

Outlaw: Because I needed to do some [bleep] research for the [bleep]
supercard.

[Semi groans.]

Semi: You're doing research again?

Outlaw: [bleep] right I [bleep] am.  I don't want to get [bleep]
caught with my [bleep] pants caught down.  So I'm doing some [bleep]
research on Michaelson.

Semi: Alright, so now I understand why were in San Francis...
[Pause.]  No, wait.  I still have no idea why were in San Francisco --

[He looks around.]

Semi: -- in a bank.

Outlaw: Credit [bleep] Union.

Semi: In a credit union.

Outlaw: A [bleep] Golden 1 Credit Union.

Semi: A Golden 1 Credit Union.

[Suddenly, it hits him like a ton of bricks.]

Semi: [groaning] Ah, hell.  You've got to be kidding.

[Outlaw grins.]

Outlaw: Come on.  Golden 1 Credit [bleep] Union, and "The Golden One"
Christopher [bleep] Michaelson?  Coincidence?  I don't [bleep] believe
in coincidence.

Semi: I would love to get a ticket to ride on your train of thought
for a day or two.

Outlaw: [bleep] that.  I know this [bleep] place has all the [bleep]
info i [bleep] need on Michaelson.

[Outlaw picks up his duffel bag and walks up to the counter, with Semi
in tow.  The cashier looks at the two men with a startled expression.]

Cashier: Uh.  May I help you?

Outlaw: [bleep] right you can help me.  I need the [bleep] info.

Cashier: Pardon?  What info.

Outlaw: Come on. Don't [bleep] [bleep] me around.  I need the [bleep]
info on Christopher [bleep] Michaelson.

Cashier: I'm sorry, we can't give out customer information.

Outlaw: Don't [bleep] try.  I know he [bleep] runs this [bleep] place.
It's got his [bleep] name on it.  The [bleep] Golden 1 Credit Union.

Cahsier: Uh, sir, that's just a play on words.  You know California is
the Golden State.  And we're "The One".

[The cashier cracks a smile, hoping the joke will satisfy Outlaw.]

Outlaw: What?

[Outlaw looks back at Semi.]

Outlaw: Can you believe [bleep] Michaelson?  He [bleep] told his
[bleep] people not to talk to me.  What the [bleep] kind of [bleep] is
that?

Semi: Scandalous really.

Outlaw: [bleep] right it is.

[He turns back to the cashier.]

Outlaw: Listen you [bleep]. I need my [bleep] info on [bleep]
Michaelson now!  I'm not [bleep] leaving till I get that [bleep] info.

Semi: [to himself] ...or we get thrown in the slammer...

Outlaw: So go [bleep] get me somebody who can [bleep] help me out.

[The cashier quickly ducks away and heads to the back.]

Outlaw: What kind of [bleep] place is this?  Thank [bleep] god I don't
have my [bleep] money here.

Semi: Eh, 'law, do you have any idea where your money is?

Outlaw: [bleep] no, Amy doesn't [bleep] trust me to handle my own
[bleep] money.  What's up with that?

[He turns back to the cashiers window as a lovely blond woman
appears.]

Manager: May I help you sir?

Outlaw: Yes, you may.  I am trying to acquire some information on a
certain someone.  You see, I'm a professional wrestler, and my
opponent is a young lad named "The Golden One" Christopher Michaelson.
I assume since you share the same name that you are in fact associated
with him?

Manager: I'm sorry to say sir, I don't know anyone by that name.  We
are in fact a simple credit union.

Outlaw: Of course, how silly of me to think something like that. A
thousand apologies to you.

Manager: No problem sir.  I wish I could help more.

[She disapears as the cashier comes back.]

Cashier: Is there anything else sir?

Outlaw: [bleep] you all.  I know you're [bleep] hiding him from me.
I'll [bleep] find out yet.  And I'll [bleep] kick his [bleep] ass at
Rise from the Ashes.

[Outlaw storms out of the credit union leaving a bewildered cashier
and Semi behind.  The cashier looks at Semi with a confused look on
his face.]

Semi: [shrugging] I dunno know how he keeps pulling me into these
things. At least he's keepin me entertained.  And buying lunch.

[Semi heads out the door as we fade to black.]


<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Wild Cards
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[The scene fades in on a doctor's exam room.  PVW high flier Showtime"
Rick Marley sits on the exam table, his electric blue silk shirt
unbuttoned, glaring straight ahead.  In the room with him are both
Black Jack Baldwin and Rick's older brother "The Gambler" Judd Marley
and a doctor, who is currently shaking his head.]

Doctor: Given the nature of Mr. Marley's injuries, I cannot in good
conscience allow him to take part in any sort of physical activity
that could lead to further complications.  Head, back and neck trauma
are nothing to laugh about.  Whomever this Major Damage fellow is...

RM: (muttering) Bill Craven...not Major Damage.  It's.  Bill.  Craven.

Doctor: Whoever he is, he knows how to hurt people.

JB: Doc, I don't think you understand...we've got a shot at the tag
team titles, and...

Doctor: I'm sure your little belts will wait, Mr. Baldwin.  Mr.
Marley's health will not.  Chronic headaches, memory loss, faqiting
spells...all of these things are possible with post-concussion
syndrome.

[Judd shakes his head, sighing loudly.]

JM: Thanks Doc.

[The doctor nods, turning and walking out as Baldwin opens his mouth
to protest once again.]

JM: Drop it, Jack...you heard the Doc.  No is no.  We can pull out of
the match and take our chances down the road.

RM: You're just gonna let him put me on the shelf?

JM: Listen Rick, you heard him.  This is...

RM: You ARE?  If this were reversed...

JM: You tried that last time, and look what happened.  No way in hell.
 You don't wrestle without clearance.  Not again.

[The younger Marley glares at his older brother, years of bitterness
and anger welling to the surface.  Finally, he simply shakes his head,
glowering.]

RM: This...screw this, Judd.  I'm out.  Later Jack.

[Rick stands gingerly and moves out the door, shaking his head.  As
Rick storms out, Judd shakes his head once again.]

JM: Let him go...he needs some time to work through this nonsense with
Major Damage.

JB: Listen, Judd, I'm not really in the mood for psycho-babble.  Come
hell or high water I'm not going to miss out on a shot at gold.  Not
now, not ever.  I got back into this to prove to everyone that The
Wild Cards are the best in this business.  No joke.  You and me, Judd.
We tore the roof down on more places than I can count.

JM: Jack, the fact is that the only reason that Rick is getting torn
up the way that he is.  If it weren't for me getting taken down by
Fire and Ice, it'd be ME in that ring, not my little brother.  He
isn't hardwired for tag team wrestling the way that we are...his
head's not on a swivel...he focuses in on one guy, and forgets about
what's going on around him.  And Jack?  You can't count that high, so
not being able to remember how many places we got big receptions at
isn't something to be proud of...

JB: You know what I'm saying, Judd.  If I have to go out there alone
and murder however many other teams are out there by myself, I'll do
it.  If I have to get some random fat guy out of the crowd who'll fart
every time someone so much as looks at him, I will.

JM: Charming image.

JB: If some air-headed ditz with boobs bigger than her brains shows up
and smiles like a moron in the corner, then I'll take her.

JM: I'm liking that image quite a bit more.

JB: But the only way they get me out of that ring at Rise to the Ashes
is to carry my bald ass out of it, you understand?

[Judd looks at Baldwin for a long moment, then shake his head.]

JM: We'll come up with something Jack...

JB: You bet we will...something Wild.

[cut]


<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Major Damage
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[Deep in the bowels of the Armory, in perhaps a sub-basement designed
to serve as a bomb shelter, the camera finds a man clad in head to toe
camo, wearing a gas mask.  For those not in the know; this is Major
Damage, the massive masked incarnation of all things military.  Viewed
from a distance, Damage can be seen to push a few bits of clutter
about a sheet of pressed wood laid up on a pair of sawhorses that
comprise a makeshift table. It ranks just below a game of risk as far
as tactical maps go, but the Major seems to treat this room as some
sort of planning area.]

Hayes: Major?  Major Damage, sir?

[Flashing to life, the red LED bulbs that look for all the world to be
flaming eyes appear in the lenses of the Major's gas mask.  Damage
pushes a crate over to the “table”, and takes a seat, looking the
board over.  The voice just heard, that of “Swingin'” Dean Hayes, does
nothing to draw Damage's attention.]

Hayes: You wanted to see me, sir?

[Speaking with a deference born from the knowledge of Major Damage's
military obsession, and realizing how isolated he is with the nut job,
Hayes steps into view from stage right, microphone in hand.]

MD: As Phoenix Valley rises from the ashes, the choir builds to a
crescendo, and in each engagement, the sides clash together, creating
a great cacophony.

Hayes: Uh ... what?

MD: Working the gun in an M-1 Abrams, now that was a sweet gig.  But I
was just infantry ... they trained me, but kicked me out on foot.
Bull*BLEEP*, just...  Music in the tank.

We got to play music...

[Hayes steps up to the side of the makeshift table opposite Damage,
and tries once more to get his attention, looking like he regrets it
before he even opens his mouth.]

Hayes: M-Major?

[Damage looks up at Hayes, strangely relaxed.]

MD: I would play “Mars, the Bringer of War” by Holst, and we would
roll straight through

Sunni neighborhoods, gathering soldiers who were scared out of their
heads by the airstrikes.  We were gods as compared to those people,
although they would never admit it ... even today...    Sit down,
Civvy.

[Starting a little, Hayes looks around, and Damage, with a loose
gesture, indicates that he should pull up a nearby crate.]

Hayes: Okay, alright.

[With great effort, Hayes scoots the heavy box over to sit opposite
the massive military monster, then sits down, uncomfortably.]

Hayes: So why am I here?  Are you wanting me to interview you for
Burning Effect?

[Ignoring the question, Damage gestures to the table.  Zooming in, the
camera shows that, in addition to pieces of concrete and other bits of
trash, there are crude chalk outlines, showing the approximate layout
of the Armory's arena area, with PVW ring and guardrails to hold back
the crowd.]

MD: I'm trying to determine the best angle of attack here.  Where do
you think Oakes will be least expecting me to come from?

Hayes: Why are you asking me?

MD: Good question, civvie.  Good question.

[There is an awkward silence as Damage moves a single, green, plastic
figure.  Yes, it's an “Army Man” brand soldier figurine.  The figure
winds up on its back in the ring area.]

MD: Maybe under the ring...

Hayes: Major, sir, at the risk of being beaten to death and maybe set
on fire, I have to ask ... why am I here?  I assume you want something
from me?

MD: Just like a civilian, no patience for planning.  A properly
planned engagement can be joined in the morning, won by noon, and
withdrawn from by evening.  Victory being complete, all goals
accomplished, no occupation necessary.

[Pause, Hayes blinks, and Damage, thankfully, begins talking again.]

MD: The battle, joined as it was, with equal sides, was nevertheless
uneven.  My allies fell by the wayside, leaving me alone with superior
forces to contend with.  In my arrogance, I felt that I could simply
roll over them.  I do not enjoy being taught humility ... it makes me
... angry...

Hayes: I can see where you might--

MD: You see nothing, civvie.  Now me, I have chosen my targets
carefully, and now, it's simply a matter of elimination.  Of
attrition.  Oakes, an ally of my primary target, must be eliminated
first, then those he calls family, both blood, and other.  When he is
alone, that is when the final engagement can begin, to finally end
this...

Hayes: You mean Marley ... what is your problem with him, anyway?

[Lifting his glowing lenses up towards the intrepid interviewer,
Damage looks every bit the devil, and he adjusts his heavy, razor
wire-handling gloves demonstratively.]

MD: My problem?  I didn't fire the first salvo in this conflict, I was
merely the first to declare open war!  Just as diplomacy can end
hostilities between two powers, so can they inflame them.  Richard
Marley, a civilian, like yourself, went out of his way in an attempt
to reveal the identity of a covert operative of these United States.
That is treason, but he can yet be brought back into the fold...

Hayes: And what is the fold, exactly?  It seems sometimes like you
want to recruit Marley, other times, it's like you're trying to kill
him dead.

MD: Those are the two options, civvie, yes.

[Leaving it at that, Damage stands, and begins pacing the room.]

Hayes: Oh ... okay.  So what about Oakes?  Your attacks on him have
been particularly vicious...

MD: Guilt by association.  I've explained that.  Try again.

Hayes: I'm just saying ... it doesn't seem like he's part of this war
of yours.

MD: He is ... BECAUSE I SAY HE IS!!!

*CRASH!*

[Sending his war-map across the room in a fit of pique, Damage bends
down to loom over

Hayes, bracing on the crate beneath the interviewer.]

MD: Understand, this is all in  your best interest.  Yours, and
others.  Imagine, imagine for a moment, no covert agent is ever able
to operate in hostile territory because enemies at home blow the
whistle.  Everything is right out in the opening.  A CIA agent is
chased down the street in the middle east, be it by reporters wanting
the latest scoop, or by mujadeen wanting his head!  No more black ops.
No more America.  Do you understand?

Hayes: Yes!  Yes, please, just ... let me up.

[Standing upright again, Damage turns away from Hayes.]

MD: You've compromised my war-room, civvie.  It's time for you to go.

Hayes: (Fine by me).  Thank you for your time, Major!

[Half running, Hayes charges the cameraman.]

Hayes: Move.  Go.  Go!

[Brushing roughly past the camera, Hayes jostles him somewhat, but the
lens remains focused on Damage, who doesn't move.  He simply stares
down, the lights in his mask casting a dim red glow on the basement
floor.  End.]


<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Livestock and The Gutch
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>


[Scene: Interior view of a white-painted, cinder block-constructed,
concrete-floored room that's been made up to look like an office.
It's a windowless affair with a single halogen tube overhead providing
both bright light, and a sallow, urine-colored tint to the entire
scene.  Shot from 3/4 perspective, sitting at a pressed wood desk and
shuffling papers, is everyone's favorite redheaded stepchild,
Broderick Ezekiel Craven.  Zeke is dressed in a stylish powder gray
suit with matching tie, out of control beard and off-white neckbrace.

Pulling a binder from the pressed wood bookshelf behind him, Zeke
opens it, flips through, and pulls out a sheet of paper.  Collating
this with the pile he's been shuffling, Zeke snaps the binder shut,
taps the pile even, then thrusts it into an electric stapler that
instantly binds it together.]

Zeke: Hello, Phoenix Valley fans.

[Continuing about his work, Zeke hits a few buttons on the keyboard of
his laptop.  Taps enter repeatedly while scanning the screen, and
finally, satisfied, shuts the computer's lid, and turns to the
camera.]

Zeke: It's a momentous occasion that we have before us now.  Not just
because Rise from the Ashes represents the first really large-scale
event.  Not because I'm doing my best, right now, to get it carried on
a major cable network.

[Holding up the packet of papers, Zeke does his best to make the cover
sheet visible to the viewers at home.  The letters “SSN” are legible
in bold, even for those who don't have HDTV.]

Zeke: No, it's a big deal because at Rise ... the tag gold goes to the
team ... with the most pull.

[Whoa, Zeke used an industry term!  Smarks, get out your keyboards,
it's time to argue about wrestling all over again!]

Zeke: These papers, right here, they make me a very important man in
PVW.  Not just the guy pulling two paychecks as manager and lawyer,
who manages two men who also pull two paychecks, if you were
wondering.  No, the money we make in PVW, (more than PVW's other
employees,) doesn't make us the most important, but the money showing
PVW's product nationwide; worldwide, if you have a satellite dish,
will bring into the company ... that makes us the most important men
in the company.

As such, this contract, all but finalized, waiting for ratification
from executives and a time slot on the tube, gives us the most pull.
This pull makes it so we have more leeway, and when certain provisions
which have been written into this contract come to light...

[Pulling another collated and stapled pile of papers from the stack,
Zeke holds it up to the camera, and the print is so fine that even
those with HDTV can't make out a single letter.]

Zeke: ...It won't matter.  You could say that I've stacked the deck
somewhat.  I mean, honestly, I take a pair of towering men, one with
natural athleticism and grace, the other with power and toughness born
of great size, and I write a contract like this for them...

I won't lie, it's a dirty ploy, nasty as you please, but let's face
it, the tag division is deep, wide, and filled with a lot of big fish,
so trying to play it fair just chums the water, and everybody gets
bitten.

Just so my analogy isn't lost on the low-brained, mouth-breathing
yokel that is the typical professional wrestling fan, let me explain:
A lawyer that plays hardball (that is: to win) is commonly called a
shark.  I have effectively, in this context, called all the teams
sharks, even though they aren't lawyers.  While acknowledging that my
boys,

Livestock Zappa and Gutch Bartilucci could very well get the job done
on their own in the ring as they do the courtroom, I prefer to leave
nothing to chance.  There is gold at stake, and if anybody should hold
said golden straps, it should be the lawfirm of Craven, Horowitz and
Bilker, even if those holding the titles are just junior partners.

[Looking down at the packet in his hands, Zeke begins flipping through
it, then grabs a magnifying glass from a drawer in his desk, and uses
that to read some pages towards the rear.  Finally, reaching the final
page, he smiles.]

Zeke: Signed by every last participant, and I bet not a one of them
even read it.  Not that it really matters; after all, if you want to
play, you have to sign on the line. What's more, any provision written
into the contract would surely affect all participants equally, right?

Wrong.  If you believed the previous statement, you are indeed a low-
brained, mouth-breathing, sub-simian simp with the mind of a chimp.
The fact is that this contract not only leans heavily towards one
certain team; it all but guarantees victory...

[Thrusting the contract into a manila envelope, Zeke closes it with
the attached brass clip without licking the glue to seal it, then
throws it into an out-box labeled “intra-office mail”.]

Zeke: “But Mister Craven, how could you weigh the match in your favor?
Your team can be called to the ring randomly, at any time!  You won't
even know who you're facing!”  Well now, that would be telling.  How
could I “weigh” the match in my team's favor?  You'll all find out
soon enough, when Livestock and the Gutch come to the ring at Rise.

To the other teams, I can only say this: We make the money, we run the
show, and you don't get paid unless we get paid...

[Setting back about his business, Zeke finds a third pile of papers,
and begins rifling through them.  Looks like he's done talking to the
camera.

End.]


<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Semi
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[The Embassy Suites, San Francisco.  Two full sized beds and a couch
take up most of the sleeping area, but a large, blank wall is
currently the recipient of a number of of pictures, lists and diagrams
relating to PVW's tag team roster.  Notable is the larger-cropped
picture of the Unrivaled Funky Ones, for the sole purpose of taking in
all the hair.

[Motioning towards various points on the diagram, Outlaw seems
unusually intent.

[On one bed, Semi sits, honestly attempting to pay attention, but
having to trade between that and and a to-go container of chinese
food.  On the other, occasional attache "Nightfire" Aimilee Orozco,
stares intently, sipping a paper coffee cup -- weighing in at about 24
ounces.]

Outlaw : ...Funky Ones are deceptive with their dancing antics, trying
to catch you offguard, and not take them as seriously.  In reality,
they're going to be all over the place making sure you can't get a
hold of them.  Let Johnny get 'em in mid-air, then move in for the
kill.

Outlaw : In general, you may want to let our "Stalker" go speed for
speed with the smaller guys -- [pointing at Jones and Paul Styles] --
and send them into your corner so you can keep on it for a quick pin.
In any case, with multiple opponents to deal with, you'll both need to
keep each other fresh with quick tags.

[Semi swallows a mouthful of orange chicken.]

Semi : I dunno.   We might be havin to kick each other out to get at
the Rages and Family.   I know I'm itching to get a piece of Monarch
after the past couple weeks.   Show him how a big man's supposed ta
move.

Outlaw : ...true, but you've got to look at the bigger picture here.
[He points at his duffel bag.]  Those aren't just shiny toys.  They
mean renewed recognition, respect... and the money doesn't quite hurt
either.

[Nightfire suddenly looks forlornly at her cup.]

Nightfire : Mierde! I'll be right back, I need to get another across
the street.

Semi (waving towards the washing area): Uh, the hotel room's got
coffee, Amy.

[Outlaw winces.  Nightfire gives Semi a single, long look as if he'd
just crucified her grandmother, then makes her way out into the
hallway.]

Outlaw : [bleep]  Ok, back to these [bleep] teams.  So next we've got
[bleep] Styles and that big [bleep] Monarch.  What the [bleep] is it
with these [bleep] big and small man teams anyway?  So [bleep]
generic.  And Styles?  [bleep] stupid name if you ask me.

Semi (deadpan) : Ya don't say.

[Nightfire suddenly makes her way back into the room, three more cups
cradled in her arms -- one if disturbingly larger than the other.]

Nightfire (blinking a bit more than usual) :
Omygodtheyhaveashopdownstairstheyhaveamintmochait'ssogoodyouhavetotryt
hisdon'tworryyoursaredecaf.

[The duo reluctantly take the smaller cups.  Outlaw takes a sip.]

Outlaw : That... is actually not bad.  [He turns back towards the
charts.]  Anyway, Johnny should give Monarch a pretty wide berth, no
pun intended; you can take him out with no small ammount [Semi starts
graoning.] -- sorry -- of maneuvering, and Paul's a credible danger
when he's not hiding behind the big man... or the timekeeper, or under
the ring, or in the back...

[Pause, rubbing his eyes.]

Outlaw : Maybe that should've been caffeinated -- I need a break after
today's running around.  I'm not used to talking this much.

[Semi blinks.  Nightfire, missing the irony, shakes her cup forlornly
-- it's already empty.  Outlaw shakes his head, smiling.]

Semi (grunting) : Aight, I gotta see what Johnny's up to back on the
homefront anyway.  You two go get some more.

Outlaw : Ok, and we'll see what else I can dig up for Michaelson from
the laptop myself.  Um, how do I erase this whiteboard?

Nightfire (blinking) : Uhhhh.... Ithinkthat'sthewall.

[Outlaw takes a long look at the deceptively smooth, now permanently
marked wall of the upscale hotel room, and sighs.]

Outlaw : [bleep].

[The camera clicks off just before Nightfire's jaws hit the floor.]