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##                           ##
## Phoenix Valley Wrestling  ##
##       Burning Effect      ##
##           02.03.09        ##
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Presenting....

-> Doc Holliday
-> Will Geddings
-> AD: Who is the Real Tom Landis?
-> Jokull Baldursson
-> Danny Daniels
-> Joshua Curtis
-> Sinister
-> AD: El Outlaw LOCO the man under the mask
-> Jokers Wild
-> Chase Williams
-> Rick Marley
-> Urban Legend
-> AD: Dark Soul not just a name
-> Marcus Manson
-> Masked Maniac
-> Herscher von Donkerhardt
-> AD: Joshua Curtis member of the British Yakuza
-> Killing Machines
-> Larry Gionet
-> Livestock and The Gutch
-> Justin Cruise
-> Marcus Manson #2
-> AD: Gavin Cassel embarrasses America
-> Prophets of Rage
-> William Craven, Tommy Ryder, & Dark Soul
-> The Wild Cards
-> Chase Williams #2
-> The Mercenary
-> Gavin Cassel
-> Tom Landis
-> El Outlaw LOCO
-> Made Men
-> Gibson Hayes
-> Xavier Feyr
-> Dark Soul
-> Chad Grimsson
-> AD: Danny Daniels a hero fraud
-> Tommy Ryder
-> Ronan Benedict
-> Widowmakers Inc.
-> Rob Cole


<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
	Doc Holliday
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[Backstage, after Heatwave.

We're just outside the gorilla position.  Technicians from SSN are
starting to pack everything up... not far from here, the audio mixer
where the theme music and PA controls are set is being wrapped in
bubble-wrap for transport to PVW's next show. Pyro technicians are
collecting the unused material, and the announce crew is just
arriving in the backstage area.

Front and center here is Doc Holliday.  He's still in his ring attire;
full length black trunks with gold outlined Old West/gambling-themed
objects printed on them.  He's also still sopped in now-dried glue,
with a few large white feathers stuck to his skin.  His shoulder-
length light-brown hair is matted into an utter mess by this gunk.

The look on Holliday's face is relatively neutral, though.  Almost
matter-of-fact. He peels a feather from his shoulder, and holds it up
to the camera.  He regards it with a hint of incredulousness in his
eyes.]

Doc Holliday: Thet's it, Rick?  Thet's whutcha got?  Feathers?

Feathers.  Really?

[Doc shakes his head sadly, tossing the feather aside.]

DH: Ah guess ya was right 'bout mah teachin' skills aftah all.  Ah
knowed ah learnt ya better'n THIS.  Ah knowed ah learnt ya about
ruthlessness.  A man jes' cain't have no ruth when it comes down ta
blood ag'inst blood.  Or mebbe ya jes' don' realize whut this is.

[Holliday's gaze locks on the camera.  The confusion is gone, replaced
by a stern glare.  He practically whispers his next line, squeezing
the words through his lips with emphasis.]

DH:  War Games, Rick.  War Games.

Ten men, two rings, a big ol' steel cage with a roof so's ya cain't
git out... an' we fight until someone quits, breaks, or dies.  Now how
many quitters ya reckon we got in thar?  'Taint a one as ah kin see.
Now ya gotta step in thet big ol' cage with five men whut want yer
hide stripped an' mounted, an' ya cain't git away until someone gits
themselves all crippled up.

An' yer droppin' FEATHERS?!

...PLEEEASE.

[Doc holds the feather in front of him, and lets it go.  It wafts back
and forth as it slowly falls.]

DH: They's an old trick ques-chin: "Whut weighs more, a ton o'
feathers or a ton o' lead?"  Th' ques-chin's a trick on account of
mos' people say lead without thinkin'. But now we gonna see if they
weren't right aftah all.  Ya dropped a ton o' feathers on us... we's
fixin' ta drop a ton o' lead on you.

Right heah's th' first half-ton...

[Doc holds up his left fist.]

DH: ...an' right heah's th' othah.

[Doc then holds up his right fist.]

DH: An' when ah drop these heah in on ya, time an' time ag'in... we
gonna see which one did more damage.  Ah kin git these feathers off
with a shower; but whut ah slap on you, soap an' water cain't remove.
You think Craven cares about feathers?  He inked hisself GREEN, fer
cryin' out loud.  Prob'ly thinks he's Quetzlcoatl now.  Ya think Ryder
cares about feathers?  Ya'll went aftah his woman, why would feathers
change his mind 'bout wreakin' vengeance on ya?  Ya think Merc cares
about feathers?  Thet man hadda kill with his bare hands ta survive
th' jungles he got stranded in back years ago, feathers're probly his
idea o' dietary fiber.  Ya think Sinister cares about feathers?  After
how ya backjumped him, ya made him so mad thet ya coulda dropped
photographs o' Fred Hoyle inna nude on him, an'n he wouldn't even
notice.

War Games, Rick.  We ain't droppin' feathers.  We ain't dressin' each
othah up in pink.  We ain't tryin' ta embarrass or humiliate nobody.
We tryin' ta put people out fer life.  We tryin' ta break bones an'
put out heads.  Unless ya laced this heah glue with anthrax... an ah
ain't keelin' ovah so it ain't likely... all ya did was waste an
opportunity.  Doc Holliday don't waste opportunities, Rick.  Thet's
why they speak mah name with respect an' fear.  Thet's why ah got a
list o' men ah put onna shelf fer good thet reads lak a damn Hall Of
Fame.  An' thet's why you shoulda knowed better.

Ya been in War Games at mah side, Rick.  Ya fought one in Texas late
las' year, whut they callin' match of th' year.  Ignorance ain't an
excuse, ya been heah before. But not as a leader.  Not as th' man
callin' shots.  An' thet's th' difference between me an' you.  When ah
ran Widowmakers, we took alla gold an' laid anyone low who didn't like
it.  Because ah WILLED IT TO HAPPEN.  WILL, Rick.  Ya ain't got th'
ability ta impose yer will.  It's why ya run from Craven, while ah
look 'im in th' eye lak any othah man.  It's why ya git police
intervention instead o' makin' yer own justice.  An' it's why yer IN
War Games, but Doc Holliday OWNS War Games.

[Holliday turns away as if to leave, but stops halfway.  He's now
facing the gorilla position.]

DH: Tucson woulda tore through thet curtain tonight, an' put on a
show.  He loved it.  Only thang he evah loved in his life.  Tucson is
gone, an' he cain't nevah come back.  Mah legacy dies when ah do, Rick
Marley, an' if ya evah knew me, ya knew ah settled fer no less than
immortality.  As ya done ta me, so ah will visit upon you. An' if all
ya kin defend yerself with is feathers?

[One last time, Doc turns to face the camera...]

Game's over fer ya, Rick.  Welcome ta yer last level.

[With that play on Marley's longtime catchphrase, Holliday walks off.
And we cut.]

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
	Will Geddings
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[The scene opens to Will Geddings, mask and all, sitting in a
projector room. The pull-down screen is open and the projector is
playing one image over and over again: the fireball that shocked the
world after the Chase Williams - Will Geddings match. Geddings notices
the camera and raises a lone finger, asking the crew to hold on. He
stops the projector feed on a still shot of Vandal Gomez after he had
unleashed the fireball.]

[Geddings stands and leaves the projector room, beckoning the camera
to follow him. He heads into the other room and has a seat on a
couch.]

[Geds]: Please...join me.

[Geddings motions to the seat across from him. The camera man obliges.
Geddings has on a pair of jeans and a PCWF "Teen Idols" shirt. His
hair can be seen sticking out the back of his modified mask.]

[Geds]: I watch that video every day. Every day, I see what Vandal did
to me and I focus in on that sneer. That...that smile.

[Geddings shakes his head]

[Geds]: As we head into Boiling Point and our little grudge match, I
am given a moment to reflect on exactly how we got here. How you and
your schmucks thought that I, blindly, should walk the line with SSN?
The Powers that Be? To what end, Vandal?

[Geds]: So we can say that we are better than everyone else without
actually having to man up and show it?

[Geddings chuckles]

[Geds]: You think I'm not familiar with that little tactic, Vandal?
With using abusive and obscene means to get what I want? I've been
doing that for longer than I remember.

[Geds]: You, Acorn, Maniac...you're all simply cheap imitations of
Will Geddings. And the irony? You guys want to be me more than I do.

[Geddings shakes his head and scratches the bridge of his nose through
the mask.]

[Geds]: You seem to enjoy this aura of untouchability that is produced
through trickery and chest-thumping. You seem to think that makes you
worthwhile. Take it from me: at the end of the day, you will be a
paper champion, a transparent person, and...alone.

[Geds]: Am I the best person for the job? Am I the person who should
be here, preaching down to SSN's lackeys and telling them exactly how
pathetic they are? No. There are men in this federation, men who have
looked their demons in the eye and stared them into submission who are
more qualified to fight this battle.

[Geds]: Well...more qualified as people. But as a wrestler...as a
wrestler, Vandal...as a wrestler, Acorn...there are none better. The
aura of invincibility surrounding the Powers that Be gets cracked at
Boiling Point when I take Vandal Gomez and beat him from one side of
the ring to the other. At Boiling Point, I expose Vandal Gomez and
through the acts of the agent, the principal will be impugned. Isn't
that right Livestock?

[Geddings can be seen smiling]

[Geds]: I thought I'd have more fun beating a lawyer, truly. I thought
I would have more fun pinning Vandal at Damage Control, too. The truth
is, once I got close to the Powers that Be...once I began to
understand what they do and what they're all about, I find that I am
unimpressed. Is this all you've got, "Bad Boy"? Aren't you supposed to
be the Chosen One? Was SSN banking on me joining your little posse and
making them relevant? Was that why they were pissed enough to attempt
to blind me??

[Geddings' voice betrays him, his anger beginning to come through]

[Geds]: How petty can you *censored* be? At Boiling Point, I will end
Vandal Gomez...his career, at least. And I will do it within the
confines of the rules.

[Geds]: I know...it'd be more appropriate if I were to badly injure
him. If I were to maul or disfigure him...but what does that prove?
All it does is justify your M.O., SSN. It only shows that you're
right.

[Geds]: If I have to sink to your level, then there is no victory for
Will Geddings at Boiling Point. To allow Vandal Gomez to pull me back
into the depths that I have waded through before would be to allow him
to beat me, regardless as to how the three count falls.

[Geds]: Vandal Gomez will be pinned. It is as simple as that. If SSN
has a problem, I'd suggest they rethink their approach. Their offense
so far has not come close to defeating me.

[Geds]: Long Live the King.

[Scene fades]

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
AD: Who is the real Tom Landis?
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[Black screen, white text in the middle reading: Tom Landis - Judas
Arnold. A voice over occurs. The voice is a smoothe one, with a hint
of smarm to it. Astute listeners pick up that it is none other than
Tyrone "Purple" Hayes.]

V/O: You think you know Tom Landis...

[Picture of Tom Landis, probably his high school year book photo,
slowly zooming in.]

V/O: ...but you're wrong.

[Picture flashes negative then back to normal color then negative
again.]

V/O: What do you know about Tom Landis?

[Another picture of Tom Landis, from some wrestling promotion guide.]

V/O: Tom Landis murders kittens.

[A poor kitten sticking out of a meat grinder is shown.]

V/O: Tom Landis eats kittens.

[We get a picture of a hamburger with kitten ears and a tail sticking
out of it then the picture changes to a photo of Tom Landis in the
upper right corner and a burning American flag.]

V/O: Tom Landis hates America.

[A photo of Tom Landis giving a thumbs up in the lower right corner of
the screen while someone who looks suspiciously like HUGE's own
Preston Mayfield violating a hooker dressed up like the Statue of
Liberty.]

V/O: Tom Landis hates freedom.

[A rapid fire session of pictures of Tom Landis in between images of
someone kicking old people, baby tossing, L. Ron Hubbard and Leonid
Brezhnev plays on the screen.]

V/O: Is Tom Landis really someone with the bests interests of America
at heart...

[A normal picture of Landis and his wife, Tara Marshall, is now on the
screen. The camera zooms in and begins a slow spin, with the picture
going to negative.]

V/O: ...or is he beholden to women who have reproductive cavities the
size of large metropolitan areas as well as foreign interests?

[Video of a massive amount of anonymous soldiers appears and a burning
America is shown behind them.]

V/O: Too bad Tom, no one is going to fall for your tricks any more.
America cannot afford to let her guard down. Foreign devils try to
break down the gates at every turn. Now, more than ever America
needs...

[Yep. Your ever loving double champion, Gibson Hayes, appears on the
screen. He's in a business suit and his hair is FANCY~, parted to the
right, of course.]

V/O: America needs Gibson Hayes, now more than ever. And Gibson Hayes
needs you, America. Donate your money to help Gibson fight off those
who would threaten our glorious nation. Cheer on our one and only
savior. America, and Gibson Hayes, are counting on you.

~The preceding message was paid for by the American Society for
Safety, Health, Obedience, Liberty and Education and generous
donations from viewers like you and was in no way paid for by Gibson
Hayes.~

Voice of Gibson Hayes: I'm Gibson Hayes and I know this message is
100% true!

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
	Jokull Baldursson
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[The scene opens in the Golden Nugget Hotel and Casino. While others
are downstairs gambling their life savings away, in a game they have
no hope of winning. Jokull is not amongst them. No, the big man from
Iceland is in his Motel suite. Simple blue jeans and a PVW t-shirt
cover his muscle structure, his blonde hair hangs loose as his beard
is pulled into a ponytail by a black elastic. Jokull does not seem to
be in high sprits. In fact he looks grumpy. Focused may be the word we
are looking for in this situation. The big Nordic man struts back and
fourth.]

JB: I asked the PVW cameras to come here tonight 'fore there is
something i must get off my chest.

[The East German accent is heavy in Jokull's speech. The language of
the old generation. A language still spoke today through most of
Iceland.. Some people say they are among the best writers in the
World. Jokull rubs at his left bicep as he continues.]

JB: You must forgive if my language you cannot understand. Forgive
Jokull, if you have troubles listening to my words. There is no Howie
Mitchell here tonight. He had other engagements to attend to. So i
stand here before you, my own man.... my own voice.

Herscher, you have gone out of your way, weeks belittling me. You have
told the World that you will destroy me. That you will leave me for
dead. That my blood be on your hands. You criticize my way of living.
you talk about my look. You talk about my clothes. You even went so
far as to insult my own country.

[Jokull shakes his head. His anger noticeably rising.]

JB: I do not need Howie Mitchell to do my talking Herscher. I let him
do it so i can concentrate on becoming best wrestler in PVW. I let
Howie take care of all business things, so myself can spend more time
training for what will be a very important time in my life.

You walk around as though you are so confident Herscher. But when i
look in eyes of yours Herscher.... i see self doubt. I see a man,
nervous like me. Not nervous of combat.... but of what American people
think of you. About how these Americans and the PVW will accept you.
Will they accept two men from beyond their realms.. Will they accept
us for who we are?

I took the honorable way to these question Herscher. I know we both
feel same way. We feel scared and we feel unsure about future. But
instead of throwing insults at a man who's country is on the same side
of the water as mine, i talked respect Herscher. I gave you your
due... only for you to throw it back in my face.

You decided to take the less honorable road. You hurl insults at me.
You call out my way of life. You make idle threats, getting in my
face. What did i ever do to you Herscher, except be signed to fight
you in PVW. What i have ever done besides show respect?

I have done nothing Herscher. But here we sit, days before our battle.
Instead of wishing each other good luck, we stand on opposites sides
of town, thinking of ways to hurt each other. Instead of us putting
aside our match and banding together. Here I am before the cameras
being forced to tell you exactly what i do to you when we meet.

[Jokull shakes his head. The frustration hitting a boil. He punches
his chest then points at the camera.]

I will defeat you Herscher! I will show the World that when it comes
to you and me, you are all mouth, while i am substance. I did not want
this to be a war, but you not let it go. You disrespect Jokull. Hurl
insults to all those who listen to your foolish mouth and at Boiling
Point, you will be _crushed_! I will show you that I am more then just
a buffoon who need people to talk for Jokull. I will prove to the
world that when it comes to athletic ability, you are not on my
level!!

Did it ever run through mind Herscher, why Jokull was picked to be
your opponent. Did you mouth ever stop to let brain process why Jokull
was picked?

[smirks]

Probably not cause mouth never stops dopes it Herscher. You want to
try and intimidate everybody [shakes head] You no intimidate Jokull.


Cause i am more then just buffoon Herscher. The PVW picked Jokull,
cause Jokull has great ability too. Out of all Europe, _WE_ were the
two picked to represent Europe. To represent our countries and to show
the PVW fans, what we do in the ring. Out of millions Herscher, we go
to war with each other.  Jokull do it for pride, you do it cause you
have to feel you belong in United States.

[Jokull leans forward.]

So you keep thinking that Jokull nothing. But remember out of
millions, it was us two who got hand shake and PVW contract. Out of
all applicants, it was _us_ that got the honor of being in PVW.

But if you still convinced Herscher. Then i promise you, i will show
you at Boiling Point _exactly_ how wrong you were of Jokull. I will
show you that this is no buffoon, but a warrior of Iceland, the pride
of the Nordic and conqueror of those who do not show me respect. You
Herscher, you did not show me respect...

and now.....

[sighs heavily, he stares at the camera with his icy blue eyes.]

Now you will pay for your foolishness.

I see you Herscher. Then the talking will be done.

[FADE]

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
	Danny Daniels
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[The camera fades in to see the smiling face of "Your Hero", Danny
Daniels.  Danny has the Supreme Title belt over his left shoulder, and
a yellow t-shirt reading YOUR UNDEFEATED HERO on.]

D"YH"D:  Greetings... and Salutations!

[Danny gives a finger wave to the camera]

Did you know that, in my illustrious PVW career, I've NEVER been
pinned? Not once!  It's astounding- even for a wrestler of my caliber!
I have to admit that, when I realized it was true, even I was
impressed!  And I plan on keeping this trend going through Boiling
Point!

It's no wonder the people in Portland want "Your Hero", Danny Daniels-
a man so nice they named me twice- to wrestle, not for once, but TWO
titles in the same evening!  Now, originally, I was going to defend my
[Danny pats his belt]  SUPREME World Title against Willie Chase and
Rick Cole in a Triple Threat match.  Sadly, politics got in the way,
and Portland Valley was afraid of merging the title with the SUPREME
Title belt.  But, as consolation, they've allowed me to earn TWO more
belts in one night! Now I'll be able to wear one over each shoulder
AND keep the SUPREME Title snugly around my waist!

[Danny gives a 'thumbs up' for the camera.]

Now... I'm a guy who's tough but sweet.  I'm so fine, I can't be beat.
I've got everything that you desire.  Sets the summer sun on fire

And I want Candy... I want Candy Malone to understand.  While the
SUPREME World Title is, correctly, the championship OF the fans, BY
the fans, and FOR the fans.... that does not mean you should hand it
out to the audience!  It could get lost in the thousands of people who
worship "Your Hero", Danny Daniels- a man so nice they named me twice!
None of us want the title to be damages in any way.  So please, next
time, let the professionals handle the belt!

[Danny cradles the belt in his arms]

So last time, I was in a tag team match.  This time, I'm fighting
three men at once... for the chance to fight THREE MORE men at once.
Luckily for the fans, "Your Hero", Danny Daniels- a man so nice they
named me twice- LOVES a challenge!

Gavin Cassel... [Danny pauses, then shakes his head]  excuse me, Gavin
Daniels... he changed his name out of respect for all of the valuable
lessons I taught him... he, David Soul, and Curtis Joshua all are in
the ring against "Your Hero"!  All three of them have a lot in
common... they are young, talented wrestlers who keep very good
looking women in their corner.  I would as well, but so many women
volunteer to be in the corner of "Your Hero" that it'd create a fire
hazard, and we'd have to shut down the arena!

Also, all three men are confused.  Gavin changed him name because he's
looking for an inspiration, and found one in me.  David is trying to
decide if he wants to go back to acting or remain in the ring.  And
Curtis can't figure out if he's Belgian or Lithuanian!  They are all
young, and don't have the self-confidence that comes with being the
SUPREME World Champion!  And that confidence, as well as my god-like
skill, will carry me over the top!

Then, after winning the Scramble, I'll have ANOTHER match!  Four way
scramble... three opponents... two titles... and one HERO that will
come out on top!  While all three men will have a severe case of ring
rust, "Your Hero", Danny Daniels- a man so nice they named me twice-
will be properly warmed up from my earlier match.  I expect Hayes,
Landis, and LOCO...

[Danny pauses]

Aren't they a law firm?  It might very well be that "Your Hero" will
be facing a three on one situation...

[Another pause]

And you know what?  That's fine!  Because "Your Hero", the inspiration
to each and every one of you, will overcome the odds to win both belts
and continue my Undefeated Streak here in Portland.

[Another finger wave to the camera]

TOODLES~!

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
	Joshua Curtis
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

{A picturesque night and a starry one at that in the Nation's Capital,
Washington, D.C. The moon isn't out on this night, but the scene in
this case doesn't need it...no just the image of having the stars out
is more than enough for the people out and about walking up and down
Constitution Ave. and observing one young lady as she begins her turn
towards the National Mall.

This woman is Ami Mizuno, PVW's "Ice Princess" and the brother of PVW
wrestler Joshua Curtis. She is dressed in a light blue blouse, black
dress pants and brown loafers. As she walks down the sidewalk she
notices the camera and begins to speak...]

Ami: Konnichiwa and good evening! I was just on my way to meeting my
brother at the what you call "The Wall" a. k. a. The Vietnam Veterans
Memorial because he has some strong opinions on a couple of your
competitors and not the least of which I hear is the self-professed
"American Hero" Gibson Hayes. I've my own opinions on him as well as
Gavin Cassel and Danny Daniels but I'll reserve those until we go and
meet up with my brother.

I would personally like to thank PVW for even giving my brother a
chance in the company and the fact that he's wrestling in your
federation means a lot to him and our family believe me. He knows what
tradition is all about and the fact he's locked on against people that
spit in the face of tradition is something that you all should be
eternally grateful for. My brother will do what it takes to become a
factor in the promotion and against those bastards in Strickland
Sports and the "Powers The Be"!

[As soon as she mentions the "Powers that Be" she looks down the
street and spots Joshua in his "Patriotic Blazer" with a white
turtleneck underneath, blue jeans, and a new pair of New Balance
sneakers on and as Ami spots him she runs up to him and gives him a
big hug before pausing to catch her breath and this gets a chuckle
from Joshua...]

Joshua Curtis: Sis what do I tell you about breathing when running?

Ami: Ha! Ha!

Joshua Curtis: Sorry sis. So I guess you started telling the fine
folks at home about what our mission is becoming slowly but surely?

Ami: Not quite. I figured we could do that together no?

Joshua Curtis: Fair enough!

[Joshua turns back to the camera and looks up into the night sky
before speaking again...]

Joshua Curtis: Stars are a beautiful thing aren't they? Its a shame
they don't last that long and nights like this for me come too few,
far and between for someone like me and my sister here. We have
wrestled in front of 500 people before with the heat cranked up so
much that within 10 minutes you were sweating like a pig! You'd be
wrestling someone and all of a sudden the you got a "shield of sweat"
as we called it blocking your vision and then you had a hell of a time
locking up with someone! Ami can tell you what its like when the women
wrestled and you go for a hip toss only to have your hand slip and
then you get a handful of locks.

Ami: It wasn't fun and after the matches no matter what we ended up
apologizing to each other for the goof. The good news was that
eventually the problem was fixed but...

Joshua Curtis: But we had left the company for greener pastures.
Eventually we started wrestling for bigger and better places and yet
oddly we found ourselves going back to those bingo halls and
auditoriums that we started in. Why? Because we owed it to the fans
and because the fans would always ask for it.

This brings us to the here and now: PVW is under attack by a group of
thugs called the "Powers That Be" that work for a guy whom probably
needed Viagra...yesterday in Mr. Strickland and their goal is simple:
To ruin the company and force the [BLEEP] down other people's throats
that is unnecessary, unwarranted and damn sure a waste of people's
time!

So what happened? Well the road to someone like Gibson Hayes, whom
despite not being affiliated with the group, is still on my radar for
desecrating the Phoenix Heritage Title and has slowly but surely
started to build.

Where do we begin? Well first I ended up facing Gavin Cassel mano y
mano and he won using "questionable tactics" to say the least on
Damage Control. Two weeks later I got my chance at revenge against
Cassel and someone called the "Supreme Champion" Danny Daniels with
the aid of former New Age Wrestling TV champion Dark Soul and we won.
The good news was two fold: First off we beat those two jokers and
then I got a measure of revenge on Cassel for spitting on me. Granted
the fans took an exception to that, but I went on a national talk show
recently and seriously apologized for it.

Some asked me on that talk show what caused me to go off with the
chair and for that I have to thank Ami being in my corner again for
the simple reason that without her I don't have the edge that I need
in this sport. She's been one of my greatest supporters along with my
mother and someone that all women should look up to for how she
carries herself in and out of the ring.

This brings us to the big scrambles coming up at Boiling Point. The
winner of the first scramble goes on to face El Outlaw LOCO, whom from
what I understood no one thought was coming back to the promotion,
some cat named Tom Landis that I seriously never heard of and of
course Gibson and THAT brings us to why we are here.

[Joshua turns and looks down the length of the Memorial before
speaking again...]

Joshua Curtis: This should be YOUR Schtick shouldn't it Gibby?
Shouldn't YOU be the one pulling this off for all the world to see
just how much of an "American" you are? [Laughs] Let me explain
something to you Hayes and let me make this deadly clear to you: I'm
more American that YOU will EVER be?!

Was I born in America? No.

Was I ever a naturalized citizen in this country? No again.

So why should these people, the ones that voted a black man into
office care about what a Japanese born - Currently English residing
wrestler care about that fact that I'm here standing in front of this
great Memorial talking to someone whom lives in the [BLEEP]ing
country?! Simple: Because I give a damn! Because I WILL go down the
aisle waving the American flag and hoist it proudly when I stand in
with the crowd during house shows and at presers for promotions to
help them promote things and the fact that I do it and have done it
make me a very popular wrestler Hayes! The fact that I have a place in
the Big Apple where one of the biggest [BLEEP}ing melting pots in
this country in New York City and pay a visit to memorial there in a
way that not you, not Gavin Cassel and [BLEEP] Damn sure bot Danny
would EVER do! When we would go to the memorial set up there we quite
literally would make sure to intentionally spill our own blood there.

And so Sunday night is a gut check for us isn't it boys? The way I
see it is this: If I don't win the Network Title from someone like
Hayes I'll feel like I let all these men and women that are on the
wall down and trust me now...now you haven't a CLUE what exactly you
are dealing with!

Last Heatwave was the start and slowly but surely the "Bloodlines of
Traditon" will start to form in PVW...how will you be able to handle
it?!

[As Joshua and Ami walk away the camera pans down the wall before
fading to black...]

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
	Sinister
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[The scene fades into a shot of Sinister soaking in a tub of ice in an
undisclosed training room.  Per the typical training room, there are a
few tables aligned in a row that have various medical supplies aligned
on either side of them.  The gentle hum of fluorescent lights can be
heard as the camera now pans the room.

No one else is seen in the room with Sinister and off to the left a
faint glow is seen.  The camera turns its focus to that faint glow and
we see a 32" plasma TV that currently displays a replay of the battle
between Rick Marley and Sinister.  As the action unfolds to the point
where Xavier Feyr leaps from the crowd and tosses Rick Marley a beer
bottle, the action is paused.

The camera turns to Sinister and we see a remote control in his right
hand.  The big man's face is a reflection of calm, surprising to some
who view this.  Sinister lowers the remote and, after a deep breath, a
smile slowly spreads across his face.  He lowers the remote control
and raises his right hand to clap his hands together a few times,
obviously in a mocking fashion, then rests his hands on either side of
the tub]

Sin: Well done prick, I mean Rick...very well done.  You emphasized
the point that I raised from the very beginning and I appreciate that.
Now I have no problem giving kudos where they are due and up until
your little playmate there interjected, you wrestled a hell of a
match.  You took the intelligent approach and went after my knee, just
as I thought you would and you managed to kick out of some pretty
heavy impacts, which I thought you would.  I never said that you
weren't a good wrestler or intelligent. However, I did say that you
were a coward and despite you standing up to me like a man, for the
most part, in the end you proved to be a coward indeed.

[He takes a moment to shift his body in the tub and he stretches his
back by turning all the way to the left then all the way to the right.
He rolls his neck then continues]

Sin: Now I know what you're going to attribute Xavier Feyr's
interference to and that will be a portion of a battle plan.  You
wanted to ensure I was less than one-hundred percent for the War Games
and you have accomplished that. You have placed a large target on my
right knee and that's fine with me. You and your leeches will go right
after my leg and believe me, I've been there, done that, numerous
times and yet, I'm still here. Stubborn? Perhaps. Or is it that I
know, even with a less than one-hundred percent engine going into this
battle, that I don't NEED to be one-hundred percent to get done what I
need to get done? I'll go with the latter.

Hell Rick, just ask your boys there what it feels like to have me hit
them with a simple crutch. Imagine if I were the one with the
sledgehammer in hand rather than you? You claim to understand
everything about me and know exactly what I'm going to say and do,
right? If that's the case then I'll keep this very simple. After all
is said and done, while I may be right back in this ice tub freezin'
my sack while I get my body back in check, you may very well end up in
a far...worse...predicament. Enjoy your moral victory of sorts Rick
because it may very well end up being short-lived. Now, if you'll
excuse me, I'd like to watch my crutch-swinging abilities while I
relax.

[And with that, the camera fades out]

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
AD: El Outlaw LOCO the man under the mask
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[Black screen with white text: El Outlaw Loco - Job Stealing
Miscreant. A voice over occurs. The voice is a smoothe one, with a
hint of smarm to it. Astute listeners pick up that it is none other
than Tyrone "Purple" Hayes.]

V/O: El Outlaw Loco claims to be defending the pride of the southwest.

[ A picture of El Outlaw Loco from the last Heatwave.]

V/O: El Outlaw Loco says he's thinking of Americans... but then why
did he sell the old Heritage belt to a pawn shop?

[We get to see the Heritage title at some place called "Mel's Coin and
Book" and a mysterious man with a dot covered face. This man is large,
black, wearing a very nice orange suit with the sleeves cut off. He
appears to be handing the Heritage title to another man, fat, greasy
who is most likely Mel, in exchange for a wad of cash. Most likely it
is El Outlaw Loco... seriously, who else could it be?]

V/O: El Outlaw Loco assures us he is playing by the rules.

[Footage of the vicious aftermath of "The Chairshot Heard Around
America", with Gibson Hayes laying on his back with "blood" on his
forehead and El Outlaw Loco holding a folding chair.]

V/O: But can we trust this boarder jumping, rule breaking, boastful
masked man?

[El Outlaw Loco's image appears yet again and once again it goes into
a photo negative and spins slowly.]

V/O: Why does he wear a mask? Is he afraid to show his face? Is he a
wanted criminal? How could someone with a criminal record like the one
El Outlaw Loco surely has get employed by PVW? Does El Outlaw Loco
plan on kidnapping your children and selling them into slavery? He
must be thinking about doing something because he wouldn't have to
wear a mask otherwise?

[A woman crying, holding her child greets us.]

V/O: No thanks, El Outlaw Loco. We don't want you stealing any more of
our stuff. America cannot afford to let her guard down. Foreign devils
try to break down the gates at every turn. Now, more than ever America
needs...

[Yep. Your ever loving double champion, Gibson Hayes, appears on the
screen. He's in a business suit and his hair is FANCY~, parted to the
right, of course.]

V/O: America needs Gibson Hayes, now more than ever. And Gibson Hayes
needs you, America. Donate your money to help Gibson fight off those
who would threaten our glorious nation. Cheer on our one and only
savior. America, and Gibson Hayes, are counting on you.

~The preceding message was paid for by the American Society for
Safety, Health, Obedience, Liberty and Education and generous
donations from viewers like you and was in no way paid for by Gibson
Hayes.~

Voice of Gibson Hayes: I'm Gibson Hayes and I know this message is
100% true!

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
	Jokers Wild
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[Fade in to a black truck in a dimly-lit carpark. Leaning against the
side of the truck is a man, dressed all in black. He doesn't have his
clown make-up on, but Phoenix Valley Wrestling viewers might recognize
him as one half of Jokers Wild, Harley Quinn O'Connor.]

HQ: [Looking at the camera.] We would never question the network's
decisions . . .

[His partner, 'El Salvaje' Joseph Rizal Estrada, also dressed in
black, walks into the shot, carrying a black duffel bag which he
throws in the back of the truck.]

ES: [Without missing a beat.] But some things just beg to be asked . .
.

HQ: Like, why would you relegate a team like ours to the studio show .
. .

ES: Two weeks in a row . . .

HQ: And then put us on the pay-per-view PRESHOW . . .

ES: [Leaning against the truck, next to O'Connor.] Against, of all
people, the Masked Maniac and 'Big' Gene Gaines?

HQ: But we know better than to doubt the powers that be.

ES: Still, the questions keep coming . . .

HQ: Like, what does the network see in the Masked Maniac, anyway?

ES: A hired goon who needs his own bodyguard? What's up with that?

HQ: Jokers Wild, on the other hand, have only got each other . . .

ES: No associates to watch our backs . . .

HQ: We watch our own backs.

ES: Anyway, we could keep throwing up questions . . .

HQ: Questions we might never get the answers to . . .

ES: Or we might just find out what the Masked Maniac and Gaines are
capable of in Vegas.

HQ: Or maybe, just maybe, Jokers Wild might shed some light of our own
. . .

ES: Maybe, just maybe, after we're done with them, we might just make
the network sit up and realize . . .

HQ: That maybe, just maybe, they've got their money on the wrong guy.

ES: We don't always get dealt the right cards . . .

HQ: And the odds don't always favor us . . .

ES: But this time round in Vegas . . .

HQ: My hometown . . .

[Harley Quinn opens the door of the driver's side and gets into the
truck.]

ES: I have a feeling it might just be, well, Jokers Wild.

[And with that, Estrada walks over to the passenger's side and gets in
as the shot fades to black.]


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

"Destiny."

[One overly dramatized  word.]

"How can a word. A arbitrary object, mean so much to so many?"

[Chase Williams is seated on a steel chair following his battle of
attrition with Larry Gionet. Still covered in the grime, sweat, and
blood of what may have been his toughest match to date. Body heaving
with exhaustion and head lowered he speaks]

I've heard people talk of Robert Cole fulfilling _his_ destiny by
winning the PVW Heavyweight championship. To these people, I say -"

"If it is a cowards destiny to claim what does not belong to him, when
he should not even be in position to steal such trophies....

"Then yes, it is Rob Cole's Destiny to defeat me and claim his belt.
Unfortunately, The truth is, this destiny thing, its about me."

[He still won't acknowledge the camera, staring at the floor. Upon
closer inspection, crimson is slowly pooling on the concrete below his
lowered head, and that is what he is staring into.]

"Robert thinks he is the only with an _insatiable_ taste for blood?
Yet he's like a mosquitoe, sneaking, only acting when he won't be
caught, or seen. He screams for carnage and death when its convenient
to do so. But Remember, this was the guys that admonished a guy named
Bryan Young for taking shortcuts to get a title shot. Then he pulls a
Young himself and screams of hardship and destiny."

[A pause. A long exasperated breathe.]

"No one has walked through the fires that I have. LET COLE CLAIM WHAT
HE WANTS!!

[Drip.]

"Let Cole scream to the heavens about what he is [beeping] destined to
do but the fact still remains, only through an act of utter cowardice,
and the actions of Rick Marley are you even in position to get beat by
me again."

[Drip.]

"You know it Cole. I know it. The world knows it. Craven had you
[beep]ing beat and your over-hyped ass got lucky agan. You see what I
did Cole? I Broke the [beeping] arm of the other toughest guy in this
rathole, because he refused to tap. He should be standing across the
ring from me at Boiling Point, not you. You piece of garbage.
Absolute filth. But you know what happens now right coward under the
ring?"

[Drip. Laughter.]

"I AM GONNA BEAT YOU AGAIN!!! PISS ON YOUR DREAMS!!! EXPOSE YOU FOR
THE COMPLETE AND UTTER FARCE YOU TRULY ARE!!"

[He finally looks up at the camera and I for one wish he hadn't. His
face is a gruesome mask of crimson rivulets beginning at his forehead
and running in many paths downs his face. What was dripping onto the
flooring, is now dripping off his chin onto his chest, legs, and
hands.]

"YOU WANT THE _REAL_ MONSTER_ COLE!?! BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU ASK FOR
KIDDO!"

[A flick of his tongue and the smile is unsettling as he tastes the
copper of his blood.]

"You speak of monsters and dragons Cole. Fantasy creatures. Now look
into _my_ eyes. See the _real_ beast. I'm not some make believe
creature. Fear _me._ I don't hide under rings. I don't jump people
from behind. You should be scared of the fact, that _everything_ I've
said, I've done it all. I said I would find my way into this
tournament, and I said I would break Larry Gionet's [beeping] arm if I
had to to get where I am today."

[He catches droplets from his chin with his taped fist.]

"You want this Cole? My blood? My sweat?? You would bleed me dry in
the name of your false crusade, and To a point I understand your
plight, The hunger, you feel slighted.'

[Beat.]

"But resorting to cheap tactics and shock value Cole? Thats so minor
league. It got you this far, _barely_.It worked against a moist-ass
wet behind the ears little punk like Tommy Ryder But now you stand on
the precipice of a war with the only man in Phoenix that has put your
dirty worthless shoulders to the mat for a three count. After what
I've been through, to not think I'll finish the job, frankly its
insulting."

[He shakes his head in disgust.]

"Your destiny... Your destiny Cole, is to once again fall vicitim to
the once, future, and _only_ king of Phoenix Valley Wrestling, as he
once again ascends the throne."

[A wild-eyed bloody-toothed smile is flashed for the camera.]

[Fade]

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
	Rick Marley
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

"You people wanted to see a war?  You got one."

[The camera cuts to a closeup on the face of "Showtime" Rick Marley.
Gone is his normal smirking countenance...in its place, Marley's face
is a mask of barely contained violence.]

"I tried to inject some reason into the situation...tried to make
things better between me and Holliday for old times' sake.  The man
was one of my best friends in this business...taught me the ropes on
what it took to be the man in an organization, so not even I'm so
callous that I don't know that I owe him something...

Hell, the playbook that I've run since Craven put me on the shelf all
those months ago is one that Holliday could have written: abandon the
good guy act, bring in help, pay off some old debts and put people on
the shelf to show everyone that we're serious, then make a play to
take the place over.

It was all going according to plan: Tyrone Parker got retired.  We
chased off wannabe heroes like 'No Worries' Rob Magnum and Alex
Kidd...

Then Holliday's half trained punk of a student went and started
running his smarmy little mouth about me...he wrote a check, and I
chased it.

End of story...

Right?

Apparently not.

You see, now Doc...no, not Doc.  Doc would never have gotten all gooey
eyed over some kid that couldn't get the job done.  This is 100% MATT
Holliday...the little orphan kid that's still desperately trying to
earn someone's love and attention, no matter what it is that he needs
to do in order to get it."

[The camera pulls out, showing a full bust shot of Marley as he leans
against a table.]

"So Matt got upset and started spouting off: Tucson was gonna be Doc's
legacy.  Tucson was gonna be what people talked about...what Holliday
could have left behind when it was all said and done.  He feels his
mortality, feels the years starting to pile up on him...he knows the
time is coming soon when he can't fly anymore.  Where he loses another
step.  Where his jabs lose that crisp snap to 'em.

Tucson was going to be his ticket to immortality, and he's saying I
stole that from him."

[Marley closes his eyes, takes a deep breath as the camera zooms in.
His eyes snapped open and glared back at the camera.]

"I've never heard a bigger pile of horse(BLEEP) in my entire life.

You want to talk about a legacy, Matt?  You want to talk about
something worthwhile that you left behind?

Take a good f(bleep)ing look.  Enjoy it.

YOU made this.

You made ME.

That's right...I fully admit it: without Doc Holliday, there would be
no "Showtime" Rick Marley...I'd still be "The Rocket", flying under
the radar in some bingo hall in the middle of nowhere.  HOLLIDAY is
one of the guys that talked me into turning my back on guys like my
brother Judd...his partner Jack...on Jason Keening...on Gabriel
Whitecross...

He convinced me to turn because it was what was best for me and my
family at that point...

And now he's gonna come back and try to say that he's shocked at what
I did and he's gonna PUNISH me?

F(bleep) you, Matt.

Craven I get.  He's crazed.  I took something away from him.  He
wanted a fresh start...a chance to NOT be William Craven anymore...a
chance to RUN from the legacy that you so desperately crave.  Craven
had that with Major Damage, but I helped to take that from him.  It's
personal with him.

The Mercenary I get.  He's a gun for hire...he's stabbed WMI in the
back before, so I cut him loose before he did it again...another thing
you taught me, Doc: Better that you fight when you know its' coming
rather than getting surprised by it later.

Tommy Ryder I get.  He's a wet behind the ears kid who's out to show
everyone that he can win doing things the 'right' way...hell, he
reminds me of how I was before Doc opened my eyes.

I even get Sinister.  He doesn't like the whole gang thing, and WMI is
the closest thing to one in the business today...we're a natural
target for a guy like Sinister.

But you Doc?  I don't get you...

But unfortunately for you, I don't really NEED to, do I?"

[Marley's lips crack into a sadistic smile that never comes near his
eyes.]

"That's right...I don't.  You see Doc, you and I BOTH know you're not
as fast as you used to be.  All of those matches have taken their
toll.  You can't keep up with me anymore, and when speed's your game,
that's a recipe for disaster.

Bring your boys, Doc.  I'll bring mine.

You asked for a war?  All you did was sign up for your own
funeral...after all, Doc, you know better than anybody: WMI pays our
debts."

[fade to black]

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
	Urban Legend
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[Cut to Urban Legend's locker room.  Stalker is already back in
sweats (and mask), while the larger Semi peels on a fresh T-shirt.]

Semi : That sure has heck didn't go as planned.

Stalker [shrugging] : At least a match went by without direct
involvement.

Voice : A card game?

[Stalker doesn't move -- in fact, he's stock still as Semi slowly
turns to face the locker room door.  A rather annoyed female stands
in the door way.  Her unkempt, brown hair is cropped short, aside
from long, straight bangs framing either side of her face.  In
camoflauge cargo pants and a military green tank top, Saraphina
Styles glares at both of them in turn.  Semi's jaw drops.]

Saraphina : A [bleep] [bleep] card game?

[Semi flinches visibly.]

Semi [carefully] : Uh, hi Sarah.   How ya been?

Saraphina : I'll tell you how I've been -- I haven't heard from you,
or Andy, or Aimee and El even for months, and I randomly see the lot
of you at the Cristo the other week.   I do some digging and find out
you've been sowing your oats again.

[Stalker turns around as well, giving her an even look.]

Stalker : Then you know we've been busy.  Regular check-ins aren't
exactly what we do.

[Without missing a beat--]

Saraphina : Not the point -- I haven't cared less what you do with
your free time in years.  [Stalker's frown deepens at that.]  What is
the point is that you've been [bleep] bad at it -- you're going soft
in your old age, and what's behind that mask isn't making a bit of
difference.

Semi : I'll have you know these greys give me a distingui--

[Sarah shoots him a withering look, and Semi's mouth snaps shut.  She
turns back towards the masked Stalker as the big man quietly begins
inching for the door.]

Saraphina : I know you, Johnny.  They broke your [bleep] arm, and
you're joking around playing cards and having a half-assed match with
those guys?  Letting 'law run around even   more [bleep]ed up than
usual, and messing with this idiot Hayes, and Will and Justin on the
side?  [Her face contorts, blatant anger evident.]  [bleep] JUSTIN?

[Stalker just looks at her, silently.]

Saraphina : I don't know what they did to cow you, but the Urban
Legend I know would be making sure those... Rage, whatever.. are in a
world of hurt pretty much up until the match, and not l--

*SMASH*

[Saraphina dodges as Outlaw's trademark duffel bag goes flying past
her, colliding with the lockers with a crash.   She pops back up,
staring with some surprise at the masked member of Urban Legend,
already turning back to his own locker, if not completely composed in
the process.]

Stalker : We have been ordered... by Michaelson, to not... interact
with the Prophets directly unless provoked, on risk of suspension.
The distractions have been... necessary as of late.

[Stalker closes the locker and turns back around.  Sarah visibly
deflates.]

Saraphina : ...oh.

Stalker : Luckily, that stipulation ends now.  Unfortunately, they
don't appear to be in the building this evening.  If you care to join
us in... a bit of aggression release, you're more that welcome.
Otherwise-- [His stare softens a bit under the mask.] --I will be in
touch.

[Without another word, Stalker walks out of the room.  Saraphina
sighs heavily and looks around, taking in nostalgic surroundings.
Looking past the door, she shrugs, then starts walking after...

[...then notices a glint from the duffel bag.  She bends down,
fishing a particular title belt, stares at it blankly for a moment,
then scowls.]

Saraphina [under her breath] : Oh, that [bleep] little [bleep]
[bleep].

[Removing the PCWF Women's title from its makeshift communal home,
Saraphina storms out of the locker room with her old prize as the
camera fades out.]

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
AD: Dark Soul not just a name
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[Black screen with white text: Dark Soul - Decrepit Lech and All
Around Useless Pimple on the Anus of Humanity. A voice over occurs.
The voice is a smoothe one, with a hint of smarm to it. Astute
listeners pick up that it is none other than Tyrone "Purple" Hayes.]

V/O: What do we really know about this "Dark Soul"?

[Chris Warner is shown pimply and akward... thanks year book staff!]

V/O: Can we really put our faith in a man who hides behind a woman?

[Candy Malone's ample derriere graces the television screen... but
then the Warner pimple photo is shown very fast! SCARY!]

V/O: Dark Soul is known to help illegal immigrants come into our
country and steal jobs from hard working Americans.

[Former WWO and NAW wrestler Apex appears on the screen with former
WWO and PVW wrestler Miguel Quesada. Both of them are standing next to
Chris "Dark Soul" Warner.]

V/O: In these tough economic times, do you really want more jobs
outsourced to cheap, inferior labor?

[The image holds on the screen and blinks to a negative then back
again 3 times.]

V/O: Do we need someone who traffics people - people that will steal
your jobs. People that will take the bread out of your mouths? People
who are not American and, thus, obviously inferior?

[A large shadow over the entire continous 48 states is shown.

V/O: Dark Soul indeed.

[The flag at half mast.]

V/O: We don't need any more foreigners in this country, Dark Soul!
America cannot afford to let her guard down. Foreign devils try to
break down the gates at every turn. Now, more than ever America
needs...

[Yep. Your ever loving double champion, Gibson Hayes, appears on the
screen. He's in a business suit and his hair is FANCY~, parted to the
right, of course.]

V/O: America needs Gibson Hayes, now more than ever. And Gibson Hayes
needs you, America. Donate your money to help Gibson fight off those
who would threaten our glorious nation. Cheer on our one and only
savior. America, and Gibson Hayes, are counting on you.

~The preceding message was paid for by the American Society for
Safety, Health, Obedience, Liberty and Education and generous
donations from viewers like you and was in no way paid for by Gibson
Hayes.~

Voice of Gibson Hayes: I'm Gibson Hayes and I know this message is
100% true!

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
	Marcus Manson
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

The most persistent sound which reverberates through men's history is
the beating of war drums.  ~Arthur Koestler, Janus: A Summing Up

"War Games. A misleading title for what we are about to put ourselves
through. For you see, this is no game. This is very, very real."

Marcus Manson stood before a museum display in a long hallway. He wore
a black trench-coat and black wrap around sunglasses. As was
customary, his long black hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail.
The glass case before him held various swords and shields, and a full
suit of armor. He turned and started walking down the hallway.

"This is not the first time I have gone to war. I've partaken in the
Unholy War, and I've been in War Games before. Funny thing is, Doc
Holliday was involved in both of those wars with me, first as a foe,
then as an ally. And now he is once again a foe."

Manson paused and looked into another glass case which contained
various Native American spears, bows and arrowheads.

"Holliday recently spoke of the Code. Code of the Old West. Yet he
challenges us to War Games. There's no Code in war, "Doc". Only Chaos.
Chaos is an old friend of mine, you should know that. You've seen what
I have done to men with and without the aid of a steel cage or a lead
pipe."

Manson glanced into another case, filled with muskets, bayonets and
flintlock pistols from the American Revolution.

"You've seen me destroy men. Great men and lesser men. Ivan Kolinski.
Lobo Fraggus. Guts and Glory. Penance. All because I felt like it. All
because of Chaos."

Manson stopped, pulling a brochure from a display and thumbing through
it briefly, but he didn't appear to actually be looking for anything
within its pages.

"Even in PVW men who have crossed my path have disappeared without a
trace. Where is El Hijo del Sol? Where is Jeremiah Page? Where is
Chris Tate? They have all crumpled at the feet of the Misery Machine.
They have all succumbed to Chaos."

Manson smiled to himself, a smile that contained a hint of glee... and
evil.

"At Boiling Point, the five men that will oppose my associates and I
will come to regret that folly," Manson said, moving on. "I do not
fear them, and I do not fear war. I welcome it. For you see, like
Chaos, War is also an old friend of mine."

Manson removed his sunglasses and peered into a case holding
revolvers, rifles, and other weaponry of the Old West. The lights of
the display case shone over the wicked scar that runs from above the
center of his right eye to his chin.

"Doc Holliday, The Mercenary, Sinister, Tommy Ryder and William
Craven...." Manson said, contemplative, "Boiling Point will be your
very own Last Stand. Much like Custer's." Manson paused, "Which of you
will be the first to give in? Who will scream for mercy, begging for
the assault to end? Who will cry out, pleading with the Widow Makers
to quiet the drums of war?"

Manson made his way to a nearby exit, and paused for a moment.

"I have but one more question for the five of you to ponder. Come
Boiling Point - Can YOU handle The Misery?"

A slight chuckle, and Manson exits.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
	Masked Maniac
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[Fade in on a garage, where the Masked Maniac, in his new SSN-logo
mask, walks alongside a cinderblock wall.  Various mechanics and other
workers shuffle about, carrying car parts and pushing tool carts.]

MM: Hey, this is the Masked Maniac, and you're watching the SSN
Merchandising Corner!  Today, we're looking into the wonderful world
of cross-promotion.  I know, no products to buy this time, how sad,
but in this case, we're looking at SSN's cross-promotion of PVW with--

[Pan rapidly to show a gigantic truck with wheels that make up more
than half it's height.]

MM: Monster Truck Madness!

[Pan back to Maniac.]

MM: MTM is a show where monster trucks race, ramp, and have demolition
derbies where they do their best to crush each other.  In the last
half of 2008, no fewer than 5 PVW trucks were put into production.
They bore the vague likenesses or logos of the Widow Makers
Incorporated, William Craven, Rob Cole, Chase Williams, and of course,
the one just known as "The Phoenix"...

[Pan over again to show a different truck.  This one has superfluous
exhaust pipes scattered all over its back like a dinosaur's spiny
back, and in response to Maniac's introduction, they shoot flame
skywards.]

MM: These trucks, in addition to being huge and just plain awesome,
are very marketable.

[Pan back again to show a toy version of the same truck in Maniac's
hand.]

MM: Like this tiny toy Phoenix...  Only a few hundred of them were
made, and all are currently in the hands of collectors.  Why?

*POOF!*

[Like a firecracker, the toy shoots off flame from it's mini exhaust
pipes.]

MM: 'Cause they shoot off sparks that like to start fires, and
Strickland didn't wanna get sued.

Now ... who wants to see me take the real thing for a spin?  I thought
ya would!

[Cut.  A dirt-track built specifically for monster trucks, and one
goes rocketing by, spewing flames out the backside.  A human scream
can be heard.  Guess whose.  Go on, guess.]

MM:
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
HHHHHOLYCRAPAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!

[Cut again.  This time, a stationary camera mounted on the side of the
truck captures Maniac, his mask being nearly ripped off by wind,
tearing around.  He's got a wild look in his eye as he tears around
the track in a most unsafe manner.]

MM:
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
HHHHHOLYCRAPAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!

[Oh, that was the same footage from a different angle.  A moment
later, Maniac hits a ramp, and "The Phoenix" goes hurtling end over
end as it vaults several school buses and lands upside down on the
last one.  The insane shriek ends abruptly as crews spill out into the
floor of the monster truck arena, the fans going absolutely crazy for
having seen a crash.]

MM: I don't wanna fight him.  He's bigger'n me.  But he's the number
one contender ... just let him fight the champion!

[Cut to show Maniac being extracted from the wreckage via the jaws of
life.  His eyes flutter open mid-sentence.]

MM: It isn't fair ... don't call me that.  I'm ... a former world
champi—on?

[Raising his head, Maniac looks around in a daze, then realizes that
he's still on camera and shows the camera a cheesy grin ... with a
missing cuspid.  An EMT hands him the tooth, at which point he
realizes for the first time that it's missing.]

MM: What the F--

[Cut.  Maniac holds a mirror up to his face, examining his mouth.]

MM: Welp, that just about does it for this SSN Merchandising Corner.
Today we learned that fire ... no, uh, we learned that driving without
a safety ... no.  Okay, we didn't learn anything, but weren't those
trucks AWESOME!?  Anyway, this is the Masked Maniac signing off, and
remember ... the corporation owns you.

[Maniac flashes a cheesy grin, causing his tooth to fall out again.
His smile slips as we fade to black.]

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
    Herscher von Donkerhardt
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[Scene: What appears to be a generic hotel room complete with double
bed, Television and bay Window. On that bed is a black trench coat.
From out of the bathroom next to the bed emerges Herscher von
Donkerhardt. He is wearing the same black suit with red shirt that he
wore for the contract signing, the same signing where he finally met
face to face with Jokull Baldursson. Herscher turns to face the camera
and begins to speak]

Herscher von Donkerhardt(HvD): Hello again to you the fans of SSN's
Phoenix Valley Wrestling. I have just returned from the latest
television tapings, where I not only met with the officials of this
outfit, and its fans but also with my opponent for my first match, the
"Glorious" Jokull Baldursson.

[Herscher sits on the bed and unties the laces on his black dress
shoes]

HvD: Today I met my opponent I sized him up physically, I listened to
his manager speak, and then I finally heard my opponent speak. What he
had to say wasn't worth repeating, I'm surprised his vocabulary was
that large given the brain power available to him.

[Herscher takes off both of his shoes and then takes off his black
dress socks]

HvD: I'll admit I had a negative impression in my mind when I first
heard of this man. I thought he was a musclebound buffoon who could
not think for himself. I thought he was an imbecile being led by the
nose by a weasel of a man. I thought his manager saw an opportunity to
make lots of money and  bilk the oversized dope out of all of it. I
thought this man would end up on the streets after his body is broken
and that leech of a manager has kicked him to the curb after finding
the next meal ticket to suck dry. I thought, his man in time will end
up a tragedy of our sport. Then I met him and thought...

[Hersher takes off his jacket and places it on the bed]

Hvd: This man will be a tragedy of this sport....after out match. No,
that's not right, I thought this man MUST be a tragedy in our sport. I
have seen what this man is about and now I know that he must be
destroyed.

[Herscher begins to undo the buttons on the left sleeve of his shirt]


HvD: What I see in this man, is what I see in the place he comes from
the people he calls countrymen, disgrace. Jokull is descended from a
once proud people, the Vikings. These were men of power, men who were
both feared and respected, men who thought nothing of attacking
looting and raping their neighbors as they were men who answered to
nobody but themselves!

[Herscher now starts to undo the buttons on the right sleeve]

Hvd: These were men who could hold their head high, but what of their
descendants? Their descendants are not the same men their forefathers
were. Their descendants are not men of power,or respect, in fact they
are not men at all! These....Icelanders... turned a blind eye on their
birthright. Instead of following their forefathers and forging a proud
empire, they became a land of farmers and fishermen. Rather than
seeking power and domination they became a colony of others, first the
Norwegians and then Danish, only gaining their "independence" because
the Danes were tired of these cowardly parasites suckling at the
collective tit of their nation!

[Herscher takes off his shirt to reveal a white wife-beater style
shirt underneath.]

HvD: Even then these cowards were too afraid to stand on their own two
feet, they begged and pleaded for the Americans to protect them from
the Germans in World War II and the Soviets in the Cold war by
allowing them to have bases on their land. Would the Vikings allow the
soldiers of other lands on their soul? Would they need others to
protect them?

[Herscher stands up]

HvD: Jokull is a person of strength and size and might be the best
that Iceland has to offer. The only problem is that Iceland has had
nothing to offer for hundreds of years. While Jokull is a large
individual, he is nothing but a hollow frame. The heart of the Vikings
does not beat in his chest and their blood does not flow through his
veins. Jokull is what passes for a man in a nation of eunuchs. Europe
is also  emasculating itself with an agenda for peace, progressiveness
and inclusivity. I jumped at the chance to come to America because
what I see happening to my country and the rest of my home continent
makes me sick!

[Herscher turns his back to the camera]

HvD: It is fitting that we have been chosen to represent Europe in
this promotion Jokull. We represent Europe's two sides. You represent
what Europe has become, weak, impotent, passive, afraid to offend
anyone by standing up for their people, their history, the values that
once made these peoples great.  And I on the other hand...

[Herscher, now very agitated faces the camera once again]

HvD: I represent what Europe once was, strong, respected, and
admired.  I represent a Europe that could  stand on its own, think for
itself, do what it wanted. I represent a Europe that wielded power
around the world, that is contemporaries accommodated, for fear of the
retribution that they could unleash otherwise. I represent a Europe
that cared less about the sensitivity of others and more about who
needed to be held underneath is boot. I represent a Europe that wasn't
afraid to act upon the darker impulses of its heart, to create its own
destiny, to unleash the power within their very blood!

[Herscher laughs to himself and scratches his head.]

HvD: At our match Jokull, I will show you that not all Europeans have
turned their back on the power they possess. I will show you, the
people watching in the arena and around the world, that I still have
power in my blood. I will also show you while you look powerful, you
don't have power in your blood. I will show everyone your blood is
powerless as I wear it on my hands as the spoils of our war and I will
show my hands to all as I raise them over you in victory, Goedenacht!

[Herscher exits the room and goes back to the bathroom he was in
before. We hear what sounds like running water from a shower.
Everything fades to black and the scene ends.]

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
AD: Joshua Curtis member of the British Yakuza
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[Black screen with white text: Joshua Curtis - Schitzophrenic Menace
or Confused Retard. A voice over occurs. The voice is a smoothe one,
with a hint of smarm to it. Astute listeners pick up that it is none
other than Tyrone "Purple" Hayes.]

V/O: Joshua Curtis... does he even know where he is?

[We see our Japanese-English martial arts knowing, ass kicking, woman
defending, insane chair wielding psychopath in a portrait that looks
kind of like Curtis... if you think a crayon picture with the words:
cuckoo, head case, possible cross dresser looks like Joshua Curtis.]

V/O: Um... he... has Yakuza ties and beats up guys who try to rape
women? Seriously, who writes this drivel?

[A giant question mark shows up in the middle of the screen.]

V/O: Really, I want to know! What can I say about him that he hasn't
already said about himself?

[We are treated to a still photo of Curtis from the last Heatwave. You
know the image. The insane look and the murderous intent, chair held
high and Gavin Cassel in his sights.]

V/O: I think he needs counselling.

[Curtis, blinking negative to regular photo.]

V/O: America cannot afford a crazy man in charge. America cannot
afford to let her guard down. Foreign devils try to break down the
gates at every turn. Now, more than ever America needs...

[Yep. Your ever loving double champion, Gibson Hayes, appears on the
screen. He's in a business suit and his hair is FANCY~, parted to the
right, of course.]

V/O: America needs Gibson Hayes, now more than ever. And Gibson Hayes
needs you, America. Donate your money to help Gibson fight off those
who would threaten our glorious nation. Cheer on our one and only
savior. America, and Gibson Hayes, are counting on you.

~The preceding message was paid for by the American Society for
Safety, Health, Obedience, Liberty and Education and generous
donations from viewers like you and was in no way paid for by Gibson
Hayes.~

Voice of Gibson Hayes: I'm Gibson Hayes and I know this message is
100% true!

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
	Killing Machines
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

(Scene opens to a very darkened room. Heck, we're not even sure that
we're indoors or outdoors, as it is basically pitch black, a small
amount of light visible in the background. As the camera slowly
approaches the source of the light, we can tell we are indeed inside,
at the very least. A single light bulb hangs from the ceiling,
illuminating a small wooden table. We can see two shadowy figures
sitting at the table, seated on chairs facing each other. Foot steps
can be heard in the distance.)

Man #1: OK...so we're sitting in a darkened room, and no one can see
us. Quite the unique set up. Someone has been watching too many 1940s
detective movies. Either that or this is the opening scene of a really
bad adult film from Cinemax or something. I don't think I wanna be
here, either way.

Man #2: It's something different, I guess.

#1: Yeah...differently dumb. I don't remember anything about doing
this kind of stuff in our contract. I thought we were supposed to come
in, kick ass, win matches, and that was it. I'll never get this
fascination with talking on camera. Then again, who wouldn't want to
hear me speak? I guess that will at least get some ratings going for
this company.

#2: Yeah, right. You're a regular master orator.

#1: I'll orator you. So, where's the master mind behind all of this
anyway?

#2: Running late as usual. What else?

#1 *sigh* And here I could probably be having a drink or something. Is
there a fridge in this dump, at least?

#2: There will be time for drinking later. There's more to life than
that. We need to take care of business first, and you need to show
some patience.

#1: I'd rather not. At least I'd rather not be as patient as you.
You're getting soft in your age, man.

#2: Oh, here we got again...

#1: It's true and you know it. You're getting soft, and you're getting
too tolerant.

#2: Tolerant? Tolerant of what? I'm the same person I've always been.

#1: Tolerant of people jerking us around. Tolerant of running second
best around this place. Tolerant of people wasting your time.

#2: I think you're under estimating me, once again. And I'm getting
tired of you, just a bit.

#1: Is that so?

#2: Yeah...I think it's a fact.

(Suddenly, we see a third figure appear, his face obscured by the
shadows. He is standing slightly behind the table in the foreground.)

Voice #3: Gentlemen...enough. I can't stand to see you fight.

#1: It's about time you got here.

#2: Yeah...I'd have to agree. I thought I was going to have to jump
over the table and put an end to this.

#1: I'd love to see you try...

#3: Enough! Can someone raise the dimmer all ready?

(Just as he says that, someone, presumably a member of the PVW camera
crew, raises the lights, just slightly. We can see the voices belong
to the men perhaps some intrepid wrestling fans suspected...seated on
the left is Overkill, wearing a gray hooded sweatshirt and some faded
blue jeans. On the right, Demolisher, wearing what looks to be one of
the new Boiling Point t-shirts, and a pair of dark denim pants. In the
center, of course, stands the manager of the Killing Machines, the
former owner of NICW, "Midnight" Jawaad Mahmood. He is dressed in a
black business suit.)

Overkill: *Ack!* Those lights are like fire on my eyes! You should
have warned me...we've been in the dark for half an hour here!

Demolisher: Some people would say longer than that...

Overkill: Shuddup!

Mahmood: All right guys. Enough. Boiling Point is here, and it's time
for a tag team war. In one corner...you guys. The legends. The masters
of mayhem. The twin engines of destruction. The men who stand for
wrestling tradition and all of that.

Overkill: And beating the hell out of chumps who get in our way!

Mahmood: Precisely. And in the other corner, you've got the "Powers
That Be." The devious legal gurus...the thunderous twosome of flab.
And a possibly inbred manager named "Zeke." What more can I say? It's
going to be a tag team showdown of epic proportions.

Demolisher: Even more than when we faced Action Packed? I don't know
if we can surpass that one. Anyway, we know who we're facing, Jawaad.

Mahmood: You do? Of course you do. I know that. But do you both
realize what is at stake here? More than just bragging rights, and the
satisfaction of shutting up two of the biggest mouths, literally and
figuratively, in all of Phoenix Valley Wrestling?

Overkill: You're going to take us to Red Lobster afterwards to
celebrate?

Mahmood: No, sorry. I'm not big on the sea food personally. In fact, I
think you two are old enough that you can handle getting your own
meals at this point in your careers.

Demolisher: *sigh* What's at stake? I'm sure you're going to tell us.
And hopefully soon, as I know somebody is getting a little fidgety
over there.

Overkill: Me? Hell yeah, let's get on with this! Enough with the small
talk.

Mahmood: All right guys. Let me tell you what's on the line here.
What's on the line is you guys either go into this match and beat the
lawyers...you re-establish your credibility. Or you lose and people
say "Yeah, the Killing Machines just don't have it any more. They
can't win the big one." If you win, you will probably be next in
line for a shot at the World Tag Team Titles. A chance to become FIVE
TIME World Tag Team Champions? What more could you want? If you
lose...well, you're going to be back near the bottom of the ladder.
Maybe you can maintain an exciting feud with Action Packed...or more
likely, fade back into retirement, your last shot at glory lost for
good.

Demolisher: You think we don't know? We've heard the talk. "Yeah, the
Killing Machines aren't what they used to be. They've gotten slow in
their age. They just don't have that killer instinct anymore. They
can't really go like they used to." It's all a bunch of garbage,
Jawaad, and you know it.

Overkill: Yeah...well, is it?

Demolisher: Of course it is, 'Kill. Look, I'm really tired of you two
questioning me. Here's what's going to happen, tonight...Jawaad is
going to handle the outside stuff, and he's going to take out that
Zeke Craven if he has to. I'm going to bring the power, and 'Kill,
you're going to bring your speed and high flying. We're going to beat
these "Powers That Be." And we're going to establish ourselves as the
top contenders to the tag straps. Not too complicated, is it?

Overkill: Not really. But talk is cheap. Let's show these people what
we've got. Let's show 'em we can still go in that ring. And if after
this show, if anyone doubts us? Well, they can learn first hand what
the Killing Machines are really about.

Mahmood: Haha! There we go! That's the spirit!

Overkill: It's Boiling Point...and I think it's time the Killing
Machines boiled over, once again. Let's show 'em our fury! Let's show
'em what two pissed off wrestling legends can do in that squared
circle! Let's show these lawyers that no amount of atomic egg farts
can slow us down!

Demolisher: Ugh! Don't remind me!

Overkill: It's time for some revenge! We're not going down like that
again! Neither one of us!

(Overkill turns toward the camera, and knocks his chair over.)

Overkill: Livestock. Gutch. I don't think you understand what's
coming. We're not going into this match like it's just some other
match, just another date on our booking sheets. We aren't looking to
get another paycheck and then go home and celebrate...we know you guys
ain't Action Packed or even the Made Men. We know you two fat slobs
are basically the king pins of the tag team division right now. Well,
that all changes starting tonight, because there's a new boss in town.
We're taking back our crowns as rulers of the tag team wrestling
world. It's just a real shame that you guys are going to get that
lesson first hand. I'll admit, you guys have even amused me, just a
bit.

Mahmood: That's right. This has been a very amusing run so far. But
play time is over, and it's time for the Killing Machines to take
their next steps in their journey back to the top of the pro-wrestling
universe. And if it means standing for tradition and all that's right
with this sport, in the face of filth and gluttony like the Powers
That Be, then so be it. My two men here are going to teach you boys
the meaning of pain, first hand. Get ready for a hard lesson under the
learning tree, because when that bell rings, these two are going to be
running the show.

Demolisher: That's telling 'em, 'Kill. Listen, boys...I know being men
of the law and all, you're going to have your insurance premiums paid
up, and you're going to have your wills in order. That's pretty damn
smart, because you're going to need 'em after Boiling Point. Kiss your
asses good bye, because you've got a date with destruction in that
ring...courtesy of the Killing Machines.

(Overkill and Demolisher turn to each other...)

Both: Notify your next of kin!

(Scene fades out as the two Killing Machines stare holes through the
camera, and Jawaad Mahmood folds his arms, a look of grim satisfaction
across his face.)

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
	Larry Gionet
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[The camera pans to a beautiful skyline.  The sun has set in Vegas and
neon lights flash around at lightning speed to dazzle tourists and
lure them into their casinos, bars and strip joints.  People rummage
around looking for ride to their proverbial addictions.  Amidst the
insanity stands the man looking to be #1 contender for the PVW World
Title Larry Gionet.]

Larry Gionet:  Las Vegas, where people come from all over the world
for a night that they can remember.  They flock to the casinos to roll
the dice, to be everything risking it all for the slim hope in their
hearts to change their live forever.  At what price will be paid to
become richer beyond their wildest dreams?  Their mortgage, their car,
their wife and kids?  Despite what had happened to me at Heatwave, I
DID risk everything.  Even though we saw the referee calling the
match away out of "my safety", Chase Williams could have pulled my
damn arm out of my socket and I STILL would have never tapped out or
utter the words I quit.

[One can see the car whiz by occupied by impatient people  unwilling
to take the time to appreciate the glorious sights before them.
Gionet looks up at the starry night closing his icy blue eyes for a
moment.  Larry clenches his hands into a fist full of rage before
continuing to speak into the camera.]

The wrestling world would have seen my blood spilling across the mat.
Blood that has seen war after war in that squared circle.  In these
cold blue eyes though, there is NO greater war to be fought than the
one for the PVW Heavyweight Championship of the world.    You see,
this isn't a setback at all just a detour.  This is nothing but
another path that I must take before I am that much closer once again
to wearing those fifteen pounds of gold around my very waist.
unfortunately for Acorn and Cruise this is one road they would wish I
have never walked on come Boiling Point!

Randy Acorn you bet you could run away from your problems.  Thinking
you could erase your problems away without dealing with them head on.
Where did it get you Randy?  You're opponent got replaced by Chase
Williams who beat you to advance in the title tournament.  The only
man in SSN not to clinch that final spot.  I know deep down you will
be seeking retribution for losing your shot at the world title as am
I.  Unlike you I'm not the man walking on thin ice YOU are.  I know
you will be dangerous but just remember I got wounded last week thanks
to Williams and the wounded can become the deadliest of them all!  I
will get the title shot I never truly lost out on and I will make it
my mission to make sure you don't weasel out of defeat in MY grasp.

[Despite the numbers of people darting back and forth to reach their
final destinations, Larry Gionet is focused.  In his own little world,
Larry puts his head back into proper alignment meeting the camera's
lens.  He blinks twice showing the coldness and intensity in his blue
eyes.]

Justin Cruise, what are you going to do to me now huh?  You tried to
break my legs in two like a wishbone but I was able to push out of it
with my last bit of strength.  Chase Williams twisted my arm like a
pretzel to make me beg for mercy.  To make me cry to the heavens?  Did
I do that?  Hell no!  I was never going to give that sorry individual
the satisfaction of making me tap out or utter the words I quit.
Believe me, it is going to take a hell of a lot more than a dislocated
shoulder to stop me from claiming the grandest prize in the
professional wrestling world.  Fear exists only in the mind while
defeat flows from the lips.

At Boiling Point; Acorn, Cruise you both will be exposed for one
or the other in sin city.  Unlike the place's motto that stands before
me, you two will sleep that your hopes will disappear in a puff of
smoke just like the man whose greed told to risk it all to gain
nothing in return.  In this life only the strong endure and this
warrior is stronger than ever!

[Larry rubs his hands together resonating a sound like sparks
beginning to fly.  He clasps them together taking in the chaos around
him while staying intent on the task at hand.  At becoming the #1
contender for the PVW World Title.  The camera begins zooming out as
we fade to black.]

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

[Open up on the glitz and insanity inherent in a Las Vegas
hotel/casino.  A very confused-looking Livestock Zappa walks with a
purpose.  That purpose is unclear, but by his driven pace and agitated
manner, you can bet it exists. Wearing a tracksuit that's miles away
from his usual 3-piece suit, one thing's for certain, this lawyer
won't be trying a case today.]

Livestock: Gutch!  Gutch, you fat bastard!

[Stopping a passing showgirl, Livestock frantically implores her--]

Livestock: Lady, uh, I mean "ma'am", you seen a big, fat guy, about my
height?  He's got oversized hands, feet, and a head that looks like it
belongs on that statue up there.

[Pointing up at an oversized fountain, Livestock indicates the head of
a 20' tall Apollo statue adorning its peak.  The showgirl sparkles
with her many pieces of bling that make her look vaguely like a 3rd
century Egyptian princess.]

Livestock: Only, uh ... mostly bald...

[The girl, looking perhaps 21, if that, blows a pink bubble of gum,
and her reply is with a tone of vapidity matched only by characters in
a movie such as "Dude, Where's My Car?"]

Showgirl: Yer lookin' for what now?  Football mascot or somethin'?

Livestock: No, I--

Showgirl: Oh, I know...  Yer one of the guys what dance, right?  Well
hon, I can be the one to give ya yer ... "orientation".

Livestock: No!  I'm ... uh, really?

[A coy look crossing her pretty face, the showgirl nods knowingly.]

Livestock: Well ... no, no, I have to find my partner.  His name's
Gutch Bartilucci.  He's ... uh, from New York, his voice kinda grates
on you after awhile...

Showgirl: Ohhh...

Livestock: Oh?  Have you seen him?

Showgirl: Yeah, yeah!  He's the high roller over at table 3!

Livestock: High roller?  Craps?

Showgirl: Yeah, that way.

[Pointing, she indicates a direction, and Livestock dashes off without
another word. Looking put off, the showgirl shrugs, then walks again
in her original direction. Following Livestock, the camera rapidly
gains a view of a very crowded crap table. In the middle of it all, a
few inches taller than the rest, the smooth dome of a very large head
can be seen.]

Livestock: Gutch!  You were supposed to meet me down at the hotel gym!
What the HELL are you trying to pull!?

[Pressing in past the throng, Livestock finds his partner, or at least
someone that looks like him.  Wearing more gold chains than Mr. T,
sparkly sunglasses such as those worn by Elton John in the 1970s, and
a tracksuit similar to Livestock's.  He looks even more like a goombah
than ever before.]

Gutch: 'Stock!  Hells yes, man!  Check out the chips!

[Said pile of plastic chips run the gamut of color, and are very tall
indeed.]

Livestock: Wha'?  How ... how much cash does that translate to?

Gutch: What?  You ain't never gambled before?

Livestock: Uh ... no.

Gutch: Yeah, me neither.  I dunno, started with ten grand, and let it
ride a few times.  Then ... a few more times.  Hold up.

[Rolls the dice.]

Dealer: Eight on!

Livestock: 8?  Is that good?

Gutch: Not yet!  Only if I get it again.

Livestock: How the hell you get the cash to start with?  Geez, what's
with all these people!?

Gutch: These guys?  Aw, this sorta thing gets a crowd goin', man.  The
first roll, not so much, but after a dozen...

Livestock: The cash, Gutch!

Gutch: Ehhh ... I got a card...

Livestock: An expense account?  Aw, and how you gonna explain away ten
grand!?  And why didn't you show up at the gym!?

Gutch: I ain't lost the ten grand!  And y'know, I was gonna show, but
then ... I didn't lose! Hold up.

[Rolls again.]

Dealer: Eight again!  Winnah!

[His eyes crossing, Livestock looks down at the dice, up at Gutch, who
has women hanging off of him, men in cowboy hats laughing and offering
him cigars, and other casino cliches, and shakes his head.]

Livestock: Dammit, Gutch, we have to go!  There's a match to prepare
for!  You stopped training when Zeke let you off your diet.

Gutch: Yeah, it's great, ain't it?

Livestock: Nobody expected you to press Demolisher, okay?  You need to
blast your damned deltoids!  Your shoulders are gonna degenerate back
into bread dough!

Gutch: One more roll!  I, uh, don't know the math, same as you ... but
I bet this puts me over a mill.

[Rolls one more time.]

Dealer: SNAKEEYES!  Goodnight, Irene!

[A massive "awww" escapes the gathered crowd as they all scatter.  The
dealer shrugs, and motions for Gutch to shuffle off.  The fat man
looks around at his newly found and now lost friends, horrified.]

Gutch: Ladies!  Dudes, c'mon, I'll bounce back!  Aw ... daaamn...  I
should've ... gah.

[Clearly angry, Livestock grabs the sleeve of Gutch's windbreaker, and
tows the big man behind him as they depart the casino.]

Livestock: Great ... lost ten grand on an expense account.  That'll go
over really great with the corporation.

Gutch: Hey, no problem ... it ain't my card!

[Cocking an eyebrow, Livestock looks momentarily stunned, then
satisfied by his partner's explanation.  They head out the exit as the
screen fades to black.]

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
	Justin Cruise
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[A standard PVW logo backdrop.  Old school promo studio.]

Voice off camera: It's ready?

[Justin Cruise steps into the camera's view.  His hair disheveled, a
bit  of stubble on his face, it's not the Justin Cruise we're used to
seeing.  His hand scratches his chin.]

I don't know what happened.  A couple of weeks ago I had Gionet where
I wanted him, and I couldn't finish him off.  I was that much closer
to the PVW Heavyweight title.  And it got away from me.  I follow that
up with a six man tag match where I basically mailed it in.  Had it
not been for my partners and my old friend Johnny Styles, it probably
would've ended on a much worse..

[Shakes his head.]

All this, after talking the talk of being the man who would right the
ship around here.  And this is what I have to show for it?  I know I'm
better than this.  The fans know I'm better than this.  Hell, the guys
in the locker room know I am better than this...

Or am I?

I was away a long time.  Maybe, just maybe I'm no longer the person I
used to be.  There was a time when I would have lambasted anyone who
put up performances like I have over the past month.  And now I've
suddenly become that person?  Have I been away TOO long?  I don't know
anymore.  What I do know is that there are a lot of people who are at
the top of their game right now, and quite honestly, I'm not so sure
that I am able to compete with them.

[pauses.....]

Is this it for me?  One final hurrah before fading off into the
sunset?  I can think of worse things that can happen.  Maybe this was
a mistake, maybe I should've stayed retired.  It's not like I need the
money, I'm set for life. I don't need the titles, i've won my share,
I've been there done that.  So now what?  Do I go into this match as
if it will be my last?  The final moment of what I hope is a career
that will be remembered ten, fifteen, twenty years from now?

Or..

Do I do what I've always done in the past, which is to give it my all,
knowing that I can be the better man ?  That I can be the guy in the
middle of the ring with his arm raised in victory... I've gone head to
head with some of the biggest names in the industry, and I've come out
on top.  Can I be that man again?   I've been in countless ironman
matches, always finding a way to keep my opponent from getting the
victory.  Can I be that man again?   I've won titles, I've defended
titles, I've lost titles, I've headlined supercards, I've done
everything that was asked of me.  Can I be that man again?

[he lowers his head..]

Can I be that man?   Can I walk into Sin City, take on not one, but
two of the biggest superstars in PVW for a shot at the PVW Heavyweight
title..  A title being fought over by Rob Cole and Chase Williams..
Can I be that man?  Or should I just give up right now, save myself
the possible embarrassment of losing once more.

No..

[He lifts his head and looks into the camera.]

No..

Not now, not yet.

I'm not ready to give up, I'm not done.  I can be more than this.

[Fade to black..]

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
	Marcus Manson #2
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

"Now, we get serious."

Marcus Manson sat alone. His long black hair was not back in the usual
ponytail. Instead, it lay strewn about his shoulders, framing his
face. He was shirtless, forearms resting on his knees. His eyes were
cast downward to the floor.

Manson had been issued a handheld camcorder by SSN. A camcorder that
was recording him now. PVW camera-men seemed to have developed an
aversion to following Marcus Manson around. Really, who could blame
them? Following around a perpetually angry six-foot-nine monster like
Marcus Manson was not the most enviable of tasks.

So, someone in Strickland Sports Network's offices had decided that it
would be a good idea to have Manson take a camera with him, and have
him record his own "interviews", if they could be called that. It was
more like some kind of pseudo-reality TV program, except that the
camera only recorded Manson when he wanted it to.

Apparently, he had something to say.

"War Games is upon us. No matter the result, ten men will beat the
hell out of each other for intangibles."

He paused, a beat between each word.

"Victory."

"Pride."

"Glory."

"Revenge."

"Redemption."

"And somehow, I feel that nothing will be resolved. Craven is liable
to still cling to Rick Marley's coat-tails, despite the outcome. Some
sense of ignorant pride will lead him to believe that he did not get
his true vengeance, because he did not do it on his own."

"Man to man. Mano-a-Mano."

Manson shook his head and rolled his eyes.

"Please."

"The Mercenary will probably continue to dog Xavier, for whatever
reason his rattled brain can come up with. Wounded pride, perhaps?
Does Merc lust after Lillith? Is he envious of that which he does not
have? Does his greed extend to more than money? Whatever the case may
be, as far as The Mercenary is concerned I would not be surprised if
he continues to chase Feyr, to prove to the Widow Makers that he is
better than us."

"Good Luck."

"Sinister will no doubt come after us more as well. He seems a glutton
for punishment, and for whatever reason has tasked himself with
cleaning up Phoenix Valley Wrestling and taking The Widow Makers out
of the picture. He would be well advised to move along. Don't try to
kill the Black Widow, Sinister, because even in death its bite could
kill you."

"Tommy Ryder..."

Manson simply laughs, shaking his head again. After a momentary pause
he regains his composure and continues to speak.

"Doc Holliday's wrath will likely still burn within him. Righting
wrongs was never Doc's thing. It doesn't suit him, and he knows the
Widow Makers and what we are capable of better than anyone who would
do battle with us."

Manson shakes his head, almost out of remorse.

"This washed up sap is not the Doc Holliday that I fought with and
fought against in UEW. That Doc Holliday is dead, and will truly never
have the legacy he wished for. Don't dare blame Rick Marley, though.
This is the Tuscon Kid's fault. Blame your torch-bearer, Doc. It is
his fault for not being able to hang with the big boys. It's his fault
for not being of a high enough caliber to survive the beating he
brought upon himself. No, don't blame Rick Marley for all of this Doc,
As a matter of fact, don't even blame the Tuscon Kid..."

"Blame yourself."

"Did you prepare him well enough? Maybe you should have taught him a
few more tricks before you sent him out into the wide world. God only
knows where the Kid would be today if it had been _ME_ that he decided
to tangle with instead of Rick Marley."

Manson shifts, sitting straighter.

"I hope you can handle it, Holliday. You'll have a lot more blood on
your hands soon. You got these four into this mess. YOU played the
trump card, Doc, by declaring War Games. Whatever happens in that
cage, whatever befalls Merc, Sinister, Craven, and Ryder is all
because of you. You already have your legacy's blood on your hands,
Doc. I hope you like the color red, because you're about to become
very familiar with it."

Manson stands, moving closer to the camera.

"Intangibles. Such a silly thing to fight over. Fueled by Wrath, Lust,
Gluttony, Pride, Envy, and Greed. All we need is Sloth and you have a
Full House."

Marcus scowls into the camera.

"But, after all is said and done, and the smoke has cleared, The Widow
Makers will stand tall. I sincerely hope that you can handle it, Doc.
I hope that you can handle the misery, because this time..."

Manson reaches towards the camera, presumably for the stop button.

"..you brought it on yourself."

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
AD: Gavin Cassel embarrasses America
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[Black screen with white text: Gavin Cassel - Nepotism at its Finest.
A voice over occurs. The voice is a smoothe one, with a hint of smarm
to it. Astute listeners pick up that it is none other than Tyrone
"Purple" Hayes.]

V/O: America is a land where hard work and sticktoitiveness pay off...

[Luke Kinsey and Gavin Cassel photoes are pictured side by side.]

V/O: ...or is it?

[Those photos spin slowly.]

V/O: Gavin Cassel claims to be making it on his own. Gavin Cassel
claims to be his own man.

[Close up of Gavin Cassel's eyes.]

V/O: But then why is it always brought up that he's Luke Kinsey's
protege? What's the matter Gavin, afraid to stand on your own two
feet?

[Cassel, ranting about something in the footage from the Dark
Soul/Curtis vs. Daniels/Cassel match goes negative then back several
times.]

V/O: What's the matter Gavin? Can't think of any good excuses? America
needs people who can stand on their own two feet, not people that need
someone else propping them up.

[Cassel, again, but this time a pacifer has been super imposed on
Cassel's face.]

V/O: Baby want his bottle now? America cannot afford to let her guard
down. Foreign devils try to break down the gates at every turn. Now,
more than ever America needs...

[Yep. Your ever loving double champion, Gibson Hayes, appears on the
screen. He's in a business suit and his hair is FANCY~, parted to the
right, of course.]

V/O: America needs Gibson Hayes, now more than ever. And Gibson Hayes
needs you, America. Donate your money to help Gibson fight off those
who would threaten our glorious nation. Cheer on our one and only
savior. America, and Gibson Hayes, are counting on you.

~The preceding message was paid for by the American Society for
Safety, Health, Obedience, Liberty and Education and generous
donations from viewers like you and was in no way paid for by Gibson
Hayes.~

Voice of Gibson Hayes: I'm Gibson Hayes and I know this message is
100% true!

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

[Fade in:

Here are the tag-team champions of the most important wrestling
promotion in the world: The Prophets of Rage.  On the left hand side
of the screen is the animated Shadoe Rage, dressed in his favourite
colour of fuchsia.  His hair is unbraided and straightened and held in
place by a grey paisley bandana.  His eyes are hidden behind dark
brown sunglasses, but as usual they shine with a fire that cannot be
denied.  On the right side of the screen is the massive Derek Rage.
He is dressed in a light grey suit with a crisp white shirt unbuttoned
at the throat.  He squints at the camera as his right hand absent-
mindedly strokes the neatly trimmed beard the younger Prophet has
grown for 2009.  And in between the brothers is Pizzazz Elysee.
The 6' model/wrestler is holding a microphone in one hand while she
casually smokes her cigarette in its holder in the other.  Her bright
emerald eyes gleam as she replaces Swingin' Dean Hayes in the shot.
When  she speaks she mimics Dean's accent.  She does a surprisingly
credible job with her English.]

P: Happy New Year, Prophets.  Tank you for agreeing to meet wiz me.

SR: (pulling the microphone towards himself) Thank you for having us,
Pizzazz. Thank you for having us on the show.  I might say you're
looking exceptionally beautiful today, but for you exceptional is the
average, isn't it?

[Pizzazz glows at the compliment.]

DR: (pulling the microphine away from his brother)  Exceptional
certainly is your standard, but you are beyond that right now.  You're
positively radiant.

[Shadoe Rage pulls a face as his brother tops him.]

P: Tell me, you are ze greatest tag-team wrestlers in ze world.  How
do you prevent boredom from setting in as you are faced with boring
challenge after boring challenge from second rate wrestlers just
looking to brush wiz your greatness.

DR: How do we prevent boredom, Pizzazz?  That's a very good question.
It isn't easy to prevent boredom when you are obviously superior
wrestlers as we are.  The only way we know to stay focussed is to
treat every team we come across as a real threat.  We have to view
them as if they are the champions and that we are the challengers.

SR: But we're in a tough position this time.  We're facing Urban
Legend.  How difficult is that to get up for?  How do we even pretend
that they could be champions?

[The three Prophets share a nasty chuckle.]

DR: Big brother, you ain't never lied.  Urban Legend, now here's a
team that wants to be sports entertainers ... not wrestlers ... not
champions.  A bunch of stale and lame jokes that any college sophmore
across the country hopped up on weed and beer can spout off, a foolish
partner that can't decide whether he's Spanish or Canadian.  Some
people might find them entertaining, but they are not built to be
wrestlers and they are not built to be champions.  Because when it
comes right down to it they don't have a chance to win.  They aren't
nasty.  They aren't dangerous. They aren't killers.

P: Please describe to me what it means to be ze killer.

SR: Freak out!  Yeah, let me handle that one!  Let me tell them all
what it means to be a killer.

[Derek Rage simply nods his approval.  The camera frames a tight head
and shoulders shot on Shadoe Rage as he lifts his glasses so that
those insane eyes are revealed.]

SR: What you say in front of the cameras doesn't matter.  We've been
around this game so long that we no longer even notice who all the big
talkers are any more.  See, talking in front of a camera means that
the promotion or you have a big production budget.  That's all it
means.  That's why we always do it old school. One camera and a
microphone.  One simple backdrop.  [He jerks his thumb at the PVW
logo behind him.]  Why?  Because the truth is that we don't need to
capture (air finger quotes) the audiences imaginations with a bunch of
fancy words and goofy situations.  We don't need the approval of the
Pedros or all the people on their computers making lists.  We don't
need to run around backstage and run a whole lot of gimmicks like
pouring out ball bearings or putting itching powder down people's
trunks.  All we need is two men in the ring with us.  We simply prove
that when the physicality starts that we don't quit nd that we don't
give a damn what you said or what you did on the camera it's all about
what you did in the ring.  We just know that the bell rings and that
means it is time to hurt someone.  It is time to break someone's
spirit.  That is the art of professional wrestling.  Do you know how
difficult it is to pin someone's shoulders to the mat?

[Derek Rage chortles and Pizzazz's eyes gleam as they think about past
conquests.]

SR: It takes a lot to immobilise a wrestler's shoulder for three
seconds.  All the wrestler has to do is jerk his body.  No, to get a
wrestler to stay down for a three count you have to break his soul.
You have to hurt him in a place where he can't heal.  You hurt him in
a place where he doesn't want to kick out any more.  He just wants to
go hime.  He just wants to collect his cheque and see his family and
he wants to get out of Rage Country on the first train, plane or
automobile because he just doesn't have it in him any more.

[The shot cuts to Derek Rage.]

DR: Urban Legend, we hurt you so badly that your bodies broke the last
time we met. And you aren't any better than that now.  so Semi,
Stalker, you come to the ring with the champions one more time at
Boiling Point and you try to prove that you belong in this new tag-
team scene.  You try to prove that you are still relevant. We don't
care about your health or your livelihood.  We care about the PVW tag-
team championship and we are the champions.  We care about our
livelihoods, our health and our livelihoods.  We are not going to be a
footnote in your careers.  We are not going to be a bad comedy act.
We are not going to be embarrassed in the ring against you.  We are
the standard bearers of the PVW tag-team scene.  We are the champions
and we set the tone.  And all the jokes, tricks and gimmicks stop now.
It is time that this promotion retains its roots.  Even as it grows
world wide we refuse to let the tag-team world become entertainment.
We will make sure that it is pure and home to wrestlers and only
wrestlers.  And if that means we have to eliminate you one more time
then we will do that.

SR: Every team that has challenged us on our way to the top has been
put out of business.  Urban Legend, you are nothing more than a myth.
You are no threat because you will not go as far as you need to go.
You can't hurt us.  But we will hurt you because you don't care about
the belts.  You don't care about wrestling.  You just want to be
funny.  Well, laughing jackasses, you will find out how hard it is to
be funny in an emergency room.  You mess with the Prophets of Rage you
die in darkness.

DR: Fade to black.

[Fade out]

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Craven, Ryder, Dark Soul
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[Solid black.  A rustling is heard, then a squeak, and finally a hard,
deep thump. Then, soft, muffled sobbing.  White text appears, glowing
in the center of thescreen.]

Text: ...Breakdown...     Last Heatwave, January 25, 2009.  After the
show.

[Fade in slowly to show William Craven displayed with footage that
must be from a stationary security camera.  Bill has his face buried
in his hands, and periodically rubs his bald scalp, and gives it the
odd slap while sitting on a bench. Always the guy voted most likely to
be in the wrong place at the wrong time, "Swingin'" Dean Hayes enters
behind Craven, perhaps drawn by the frantic, anguished noises the big
freak is making.]

Hayes: Bill?  Bill Craven?  What ... are you doing okay?

WC: Okay?

[Broken from his hypnotized self-pity, Bill half turns in his seat to
look at Dean.]

WC: "Always a bridesmaid", they say of the girl who wears nothing but
ugly dresses.  "Underachiever" they call the one with potential who
never grabs the brass ring!

[Rising from his seat, Bill turns to face Dean, and the intrepid
interviewer, in spite of knowing the Green Man for over a year,
doesn't like what he sees.]

Hayes: Hey, uh, buddy, you stay here ... I'll go get you some help.

WC: NO!  Stay?  Stay here, let's ... have a little interview...

Hayes: Bill, I don't have a microphone or a cameraman!

WC: Then just TALK ... to me?  You have time for the losers too, yes?
Yes, of course you do...

Hayes: Oh ... okay...

[falling back onto his bench, Bill faces the lockers, and Dean gets
between them and Bill, all the while eying the exits.  Clearing his
throat, Dean finds his voice, and speaks in a tone borne of equal
parts concern and fear.]

Hayes: In your match ... with, with Rob Cole tonight, you clearly had
the "Monster Under the Bed" on the ropes, some even say afraid ... of
you.

WC: Yes.  Heh.  I heard his protestations and found them hollow.  FELT
his mortal coil buckle with every blow.  It was mine ... the crown was
mine...

Hayes: Actually, Bill, it was only a semifinal match--

WC: AND!?  What's your point?  I've never been the champion of the
world, and I've never had a chance to be ... what's the difference
between being champion and having a chance?  I_wouldn't_know ... now
would I?

[Snarling, bearing his sharpened teeth, Bill looks up at Dean Hayes
and rubs his head from chin to brainstem, becoming increasingly
agitated.]

WC: I'm ... I'm sorry, Brad.  Do go on?

Hayes: Brad?  Oh ... oh, no, not this again.

WC: No, no ... Dean!  I know!  I know who you are.  You're Dean Hayes,
this is PVW, the year is 2009!  I'M THE GREAT AND MIGHTY KING OF
NOTHING!

[Turning to bolt, Hayes is caught instantly.  In his frenzy, even with
his age starting to slow him, Bill easily intercepts the far less
conditioned interviewer. Still scrambling on what part of his feet can
touch the floor, Dean starts to panic.]

Hayes: Bill!  Please, let me go!  I didn't do anything!

WC: No, no!  YOU'RE FINE!  Everything's fine!  Please, don't leave me!
Everyone's gone away ... I said I was okay, and they believed me ...
because they don't really know me, you see, Dean.  Holliday ... he's
seen me in good times, Ryder sees me as someone to learn from, and
perhaps well adjusted, just from being so long in the business.
Sinister ... Merc ... we've mostly fought, so why ... why would they
care?

Hayes: Bill ... you're hurting me...

[His voice growing more forced, a locker can be heard to pop behind
Hayes, which causes him to twitch as Bill presses against him,
bodily.]

WC: But you understand, don't you?  You ... you talk to everyone.
Tell me.  Tell me why...

Hayes: Why?

WC: WHY NOT ME!?  No titles, no chances, just theft and chicanery at
every turn!  Do I not deserve success?  HAVE I NOT PAID MY DUES!?

[Eyes bugging out almost as much as Bill's, Hayes grasps feebly at the
big man's wrists as a faint metallic screeching is heard.  An
observant individual would discern that the lockers behind Dean are
slowly giving way.]

WC: Thirteen years, a record envied by most champions, and a persona
that rivets most, wouldn't you say?  What do I need to do?  Isn't who
I am enough?  What do I need to do?  Does the Major need to return!?
A third coming of flame and flag worship!?  Shall the Devil's Hand
emerge again!?

Hayes: N-no, Bill!  Please!  You're ... hurting me...

[His eyes welling up, voice nearly vanishing in a choked sob, Bill is
clearly on the verge of doing something very bad...]

WC: I'll even bring the old Gimp suit back out of retirement!  I'll
carry a puppet that looks like Devil Elvis!  MISTER YUCK KILLERS THE
REDEUX!!!

Hayes: Bill ... please ... you're ... crushing me...  Stop!

WC: I, I'm trying ... I ... CAN'T!!! Every week ... I fight the good
fight!  But it gets worse!  IT GETS WORSE!  IT GETS WORSE!!!  IT GETS
WORSE!!!  IT GETS WORSE!!!  IT GETS WORSE!!!

[Hayes' head falls forward as he starts to lose consciousness, and
conveniently, just at that moment, who should enter but ... Dark
Soul.]

DS: What the...?  Is Bad Billy back after a long vacation?

WC: Wha'!?  WERNER!!!

[Leaping on Bill's back, Dark Soul and he both topple backwards over
the benches, and Bill clutches wildly at DS, struggling to detach the
desperate cruiserweight.  Slumping to the ground, Hayes shows little
sign of life.  In the background, following her man, Candy Malone
catches sight of this fracas just as Bill manages to get one meathook
into the throat of his former WWO foil.]

WC: You!  It's come full circle!  YOU'RE WHY I'VE NEVER BEEN CHAMPION!

[Bill swings a fist toward Dark Soul's head, but his anger makes him
telegraph the punch a bit to allow Dark Soul to duck and Craven dints
a locker.  Dark Soul ducks to the side as Bill heads his way.]

DS:  You can take out your anger on me, I guess...but if you want
gold...that won't do you any good.  Hell, it might get you farmed out
to Ohio for being a problem-child.

[Bill starts to take another swing as another wrestler jumps on his
back grabbing his arm.  Bill slams backwards into the lockers
dislodging the smaller wrestler.  In a single motions Bill spins
around grabbing his new target by the neck pinning him to the
lockers.]

WC: You?

[With the motion paused it becomes obvious that the new wrestler is
Tommy Ryder.]

TR: Bill, don't do this...

WC: But I NEED to... It's WHAT I NEED to do!

TR: No it isn't Bill.  This isn't what you need.  It's not what WE
need.

[Bill's eyes seem to pleed with Tommy.  Bill turns to see that Laurel
is standing in the door of the locker room.  The presence of the two
seem to calm him down slightly.]

TR: Bill, I don't know what's happened in the past.  Hell Bill, I'm
not sure what's going to happen in the near future.  I just know that
you need to stop.

[Suddenly, Tommy drops about two inches.  Bill had been holding him
against the lockers, suspended from the ground.]

TR: Bill, I need your help... and you can't help me like this.

WC: Need... my help.

TR: Thirteen years... remember.  I haven't made thirteen months.
We've got a big mess ahead of us and honestly you're one of the people
that's helped me make sense of it.

[Bill doesn't seem to come out of the haze he's in but he does seem to
be listening.]

TR: Bill, let's go talk this over.  I think we just need to get out of
here for now, come on.  We've got other things to talk about too.

[Bill pauses before nodding and following Tommy and Laurel out of the
locker room.]

DS: Well...that was fun.  Candy, does my contract have hazard pay in
it?

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

[The screen goes black...white block letters fade in and out in
sequence:

The Wild Cards Present

A Wierd Al Yankovic Song...

brought to you by Phoenix Rising Productions.

the opening guitar riff from Green Day's "American Idiot" kicks into
gear as the shot fades in on "The Gambler Judd Marley and Black Jack
Baldwin standing next to bins full of stuff...]

Don't wanna be a Canadian Idiot
Don't wanna be some beer-swillin' hockey nut

[Marley holds up a Toronto Maple Leaf's Jersey, while Baldwin produces
a case of Labatt's, each shrug and toss them over their shoulders.]

And do I look like some frost-bitten hose head?
I never learned my alphabet from A to Zed

[The Wild Cards look at one another and shrug.]

They all live on donuts and moose meat

[Marley pulls out a box of donuts, Baldwin produces...a live moose,
which wandrs in from screen right, yells "JESUS!" and steps out of the
way as it wanders by.]

And they all leave the house without packin' heat
Never even bring their guns to the mall

[Marley and Baldwin each grab and toss a bundle of guns over their
shoulders.]

And you know what else is too funny?
Their stupid monopoly money
Can't take 'em seriously at all

[Reaching into the bins, each of the wrestlers grab a bucket and toss
what could be confetti, could be Canadian money, or could be monopoly
money (and almost certainly involves "Two-nies") up into the air.]

Well, maple syrup and snow's what they export
They treat curling just like it's a real sport

[Each of the Wild Cards produce an umbrella from their bushel...Marley
opens his, but Baldwin's appears to be jammed, as a figurative
avalanche of snow descends from above...and is quickly followed up by
a geyser of maple syrup, coating Baldwin, who glares at Marley and
mutters under his breath.]

They think their silly accent is so cute
Can't understand a thing they're talking a-boot

[Baldwin appears to be cursing a blue streak at Marley, who simply
offers a smile before doubling over and pointing at his partner while
laughing hysterically.]

Sure, they got their national health care
Cheaper meds for prime rates and clean air
Then again, well they got Celine Dion
Eat their weight in Kraft macaroni
And dream of driving a Zamboni
All over Saskatchewan

[Marley steps back while Baldwin continues to harangue him...and
almost gets run over by the large Zamboni with a poster of Celine Dion
on the side, causing the large bald man to glare at the machine.]

Don't wanna be a Canadian idiot
Won't figure out the temperature in Celcius

[Marley pulls out a pair of large thermometers, one with a large C,
the other with a large F on it.  Baldwin takes his thermometers and
throws them at Marley, but misses badly, hitting the moose in the
butt, and causing it to turn around and glare at him, while he holds
up his hands and begins backing away slowly.]

See the map, they're hoverin' right over us
Tell you the truth, it makes me kinda nervous

Always hear the same kind of story
Break your nose and they'll just say "Sorry"
Tell me what kind of freaks are that polite
It's gotta be they're all up to something
So, quick, before they see it coming
Time for a preemptive strike

[The moose trumpets and charges at Baldwin, who turns tail and runs
with the beast in hot pursuit...Marley just shakes his head, reaches
into the bin and pulls out a sign:

"Now it's time to go Wild, Eh?"

[fade to black]

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
	Chase Williams #2
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

"I've been called many things in my time. A monster. Unfeeling,
uncaring. I've been called a terrorist, a fascist, and I've been
called many other unmentionable things."

[Chase Williams stands before you, as usual, looking like a couple
billion dollars. Pressed suit, polished shoes, this is what you people
should want to represent you as champion. The smile that completes the
out fit is wide, and could power the sun. Yes people, life is good.]

"And you know what? It hurts. It hurts that nobody remembers the good
things that I have done. Nobody remembers the dreams I made come
true."

[Is he being serious?]

"People so quick to forget about a wonderful, giving saint of a man. A
man that stood strong in the face of cancer and battled to the bitter
end. I granted the wish of the Elder Foley, and I allowed him to go
out a winner for the first and _only_ time in his life, when I
dedicated a heartfelt victory over his own worthless son, TO HIM! _I_
gave him the ultimate gift his son could _never_ hope to give."

[There it is. I was wondering where the asshole went.]

"I'm like a living breathing Make-A-wish Foundation. People should be
_lucky_ that such a prestigious and honorable man is in position to be
your champion! In a position that allows me to continue such important
work for humanity."

[Seriously? The ego of some people. He smooths his lapels and winks at
the camera.]

"Now I know what you're asking yourself. Whose wish is the great and
mighty Chase Williams going to grant next?" Well I'll tell you. but if
you'll allow me to indulge in my greatness, this wish, its
magnitude... I could end up with Mother Teresa status on this one.
Trust me, _this_ one, this might be my most important work to date"
My... Crowning achievement, if you will..."

[At least his isn't full of himself. Haha. He pulls a manilla folder
from inside his jacket and slides a 8x10 photograph out of it, tossing
it away. He holds up the picture for the camera..]

[Three people, a women on the left, a small boy in the middle, and a
man you all know and recognize on the right. That man is known as the
Outcast. The Monster Under the Bed. Rob Cole.]

"There is a women and a small boy in the photo I hold before you, that
have suffered more hardship and disappointment than any family should
_ever_ have to. They've had to endure the constant shortcomings of the
man that at best _pretends_ to be anything but a complete and utter
failure as a _husband_ and a _father_!."

[He shakes the picture for emphasis.]

"That poor women has been forced to bed with a _loser_ for her adult
life! That poor boy has been the subject of constant ridicule, having
a coward like Rob Cole for a father. How would you like to be the butt
of every joke among your peers because your father is a COWARD!!! A
_LOSER_!!! AN ABSOLUTE _JOKE!_ "

[In full crusade mode now, he his arms and speaks in loud tones as his
emotion builds.]

"I SAY NAY!!!! I WILL NOT STAND IDLY BY AND ALLOW ROBERT COLE TO RUIN
THE LIVES OF THE INNOCENT. Ylanna Cole and her son will not have to
lower their heads in shame _anymore_."

[He calms himself, lowering his gaze from the camera he recomposes,
speaking in a little more than a whisper without raising his head.]

"For I, the Paragon of Virtue, the King of the Impossible and a damn
good looking bit 'O man. am once again making dreams come true and
granting a wish."

[Oh No...]

"Thats right Mother[beepers]. I hereby, dedicate this victory, to the
family of ROBERT [BEEPING] COLE!!!"

[Here we go. Wild-eyed, his gaze returns to the camera. Goodbye any
sense of decorum]

"AFTER I  WIN ROB, I'M GONNA GO TO YOUR HOUSE, WEARING NOTHING BUT
_MY_ TITLE BELT, AND YOUR WIFE CAN SEE FOR THE FIRST TIME WHAT ITS
LIKE TO SLEEP WITH A REAL MAN!! SHE CAN RIDE THE WILLIAMS WAVE, AND
DISCOVER WHAT AN ORGASM IS!!!!"

[Did he actually just giggle? Perhaps Cole isn't the only looney tune
after all.]

"THEN I'M GONNA DRIVE YOUR SON TO SCHOOL, AND HE'LL ASK ME TO GET OUT
OF THE CAR WITH HIM, SO HE CAN SHOW ME AND MY BELT OFF TO HIS FRIENDS
WITH _PRIDE_. SOMETHING HE'S NEVER KNOW WITH YOU RIGHT ROB?!? HE NEVER
ASKED YOU TO GET OUT OF THE CAR, BECAUSE YOU'RE AN _EMBARRASSMENT!_"

[And the gloves finally come off.]

"You're family will finally understand pride. They'll understand what
its like to win. To accomplish the ultimate goal, and they'll have me
to thank for it. Not you, miserable, cowardly little Rob Cole. The
Monster under the bed?"

[Pause.]

"Please. What does tired and played out mean to you Rob? This [beep]s
over. I said it, and now I'm gonna do it."

[He spits, and a cold calculated look returns to his eyes.]

"I'm gonna take you apart Rob, and rip your arm out of its socket just
like I did Larry, and I'm gonna do it in the name of your own
[beeping] family."

[Smirk]

"Because even if its just _once_. Everybody deserves to be a winner.
Even your miserable family."

[And that final verbal slap mercifully ends this public service
announcement. Fade]

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
	The Mercenary
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

(Scene opens. We're outside of a small postal outlet, and out through
the glass doors comes PVW's one and only hired gun... The Mercenary.
He's carrying a medium sized package, approximately 15 inches tall,
and wrapped in regular plain brown paper. Merc comes towards the
camera, and approaches a bus stop bench, where he sets the package
down and takes a seat beside it. The camera approaches and Merc looks
up and addresses the lens)

Merc: Huh... Should have known that I wouldn't be able to avoid you
guys for too much longer. What with the big War Games match coming up
and me not saying anything since WMI 'terminated' my contract, it was
only a matter of time. So, before you ask the obvious question, let me
give you the obvious answer... I haven't said anything verbally,
because I intend to do all my talking in the ring... or the parking
lot... or Denny's... you name it... Anywhere I can bring the violence
is where you'll hear me the loudest.

But since WMI isn't exactly made up of Mensa members, I may as well
take this time to spell it out the them in terms they can understand.
I am going to take out every single member of this bunch of wannabes.
I knew at the time when I came to PVW and joined Rick Marley in his
version of WMI that it wasn't the real WMI. Nothing can ever beat the
original, but hell, the money was too good to pass up. It was only
going to be a matter of time before I got bored of playing along, but
for the first time in a long time, I got beat to the punch. Yeah, I
admit it... I was going to turn against Marley sooner or later, and
leave him laying in a pool of his own blood, just like I did a couple
years back in the UWF. But alas, I waited just a tad too long, and he
brought in not one, not two... but three people to replace me. Just
cuz I was taking my time in removing Craven from the PVW. Well, I
guess that'll learn me for trying to milk some extra money out of the
sap. Oh well.

And yes, I did mean it when I said he brought in three people to
replace me. You got the Misery Machine, Marcus Manson. The muscle. Eh,
whatever. I've known him for years, and there's a reason he was part
of a tag team for so long... He just can't seem to get things done by
himself... Needed to rely on other people to be the brains, which is
where Jonathon Renigh comes in. Course, he's not the sharpest knife
in the drawer either, but you don't have to be to be smarter than
Marcus.

Then there's the psychotic red-headed step-child, Xavier Feyrie... er,
Feyr. He likes to dish out pain,and... well, that's all about you can
say about the guy. Well, except he likes to be led around by his one
single ball by Lilith.  Which brings me to the third person of the
trio that replaced me. Out of the three, she's probably the one that
scares me the most... Ok, scares me is a bit of an overstatement. But
she is the most underrated and forgotten about one in the group.
And that's why I took her out the way I did a few weeks ago. As every
good military strategist knows, you always take out the strongest link
first. Which is what I did.

Now, as for the Made Men... well, I don't have much to say about them.
Every stable needs a tag team for some reason or another, and well, I
guess the Palladium Powers must not have been available. So, Rick
settled for these guys instead. Better than nothing I guess, but not
much.

So that only leaves the Rocket, or Showtime or whatever the hell
adjective he's using this week. It doesn't matter what he calls
himself... All that matters, is that in the end, he's going to be
nothing more than a smudge in the PVW history books. It may not happen
by my hands, but I'm going to make sure that I'm there to witness his
annihilation.

But before I go Rick, I'd like to just thank you one last time. You
see this package here beside me? It just happens to be the last thing
I was able to put on my WMI charge card. Yeah, I know its a little
late getting here, but that's what happens when you order stuff on-
line during the X-mas rush... Takes longer to get here. But it was
definitely worth the wait and every penny that you paid for it. But
you're just going to have to wait a little longer before you see what
it was that you bought me. Trust me... you'll get a kick out of it.

(With that, Merc picks up his package and starts to walk towards his
parked Hummer, which is now painted solid black with a fluorescent
dollar sign on the door. Fade to snow)

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
	Gavin Cassel
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[We open to a crude drawing of the world, done in pencil. The world
begins to spin, with helpful lines to show that it is moving, as the
letters G and C come from above and below, and intersect in the
middle. As the world stops spinning... a hammer comes down and smashes
the lovely drawing. Underneath the drawing comes the phrase, "GaVIN
CASSeL WoRLd TouR '09".

The scene is a seedy, run down old honky tonk bar, with a sign that
says "18 HOUR HAPPY HOUR! 10 A.M. TO 4 A.M. DAILY!" hanging behind the
bar itself. Up against the wall, standing next to the jukebox is Gavin
Cassel, in his Sunday best of ripped, faded jeans, engineer boots and
a Mickey Mouse t-shirt. Mickey, of course, is a little punked out in
the picture, with a bunch of piercings in each ear and a nose ring.]

GC: Sundays. My one night a week to not have my court appointed human
ankle bracelet drag me down. Sunday is God's day. It's Allah's day.
It's the Honorable Elijah mohammed's day.

What could possibly go wrong?

[Gavin shrugs his shoulders.]

GC: In the old days, I'd be five steps into that fight over their, or
I'd be pissing on that bar over here, or I'd be hustling that pool
game over there. And while loose floozies can still manage to bring
the rock star out of me, not much else does.

Call it time. Call it wisdom. Call it the long arm of the law punching
you around a bit.

It seems like these days my only release is the time I get in the
ring. From bell to bell, I can be who I truly am... but once that bell
rings and my hand gets raised, oh boy, the chain gets wrapped right
back around.

Except, as you can see, on Sundays.

[Gavin sits down and slides his glass down the bar.]

GC: Y'see even God rested on Sundays, so all the really good shit goes
down then. All the real cool people come out to play on Sundays. My
kind of people.

The kind of people that give Joshua Curtis nightmares. The kind of
people Curtis would love to rail against and protect PVW against, but
I'll tell you what chum, you've proven that you don't have it. This
grapplin' thing isn't for you. You know what is calling your name?
Tabletop gaming. Comic book message boards. Gilmore Girls fanfic.
You've got a great imagination, kid, I'll give you that. You're
pulling everything out of your ass to make people notice you. Crazy
ass sisters, powers of bi-location, abilities to conjure up stadiums
like that girl in the Crucible... you're a veritable Carrot Top,
without the red hair or the talent.

What you are is another pain in the ass that I've got to deal with in
PVW, but you're one I can be proactive with. You've proven time and
again that you're not in my league in the ring, and at Boiling Point
I'm turning it to eleven. I'm calling my shot, broheim. I'm sending
you packing from PVW. One way, or another, you're out on a rail. Thank
you very much-o Mr. Roboto, it's been fun, but your stay has come to
an end.

Mark it down.

[A glass gets slid toward Gavin, and he stops it with his hand, then
looks at it.]

GC: As for the other two in the match, it's all about timing. Do I
think Danny Daniels is a bit of a special child? Yes. Does Katrina
legitimately think he has a live in health care provider? Yes. But can
Danny Daniels go?

Yes, Virginia, Danny Daniels can go. He just has a tendency to get
tricked. And distracted. And sidetracked. Until any momentum D-Dan has
is pissed away.

You're a selfless teacher, Danny, you're thoughtful educator and
purveyor of the wrestling world, but give new meaning to the term
clueless putz. And don't think for a minute that's not factored in to
the game plan.

[Gavin takes a small drink.]

GC: I have a game plan now, by the way. Those are new. Katrina says
they help me organize my thoughts.

[And another drink.]

GC: Dark Soul is a guy whose got a pin on me. Sure, i dominated the
entire match, had my personal shadow following me along and was teamed
up with a big tool like Daniels, but you got the pin on me. I respect
that, Darky, you took what God gave you. You saw a situation where the
most impressive part of the match was at a disadvantage, and you
struck. You took the opportunity and you got the three on me.

I'd say that's luck, but I don't believe in luck. I believe in making
your own luck, and I sure as hell believe I made your luck for you the
last time out. I gave it to you on a silver platter, I teed it up for
ya and ya hit it 300 yards down the middle. Good on you, sir, that's
excellent.

That's just giving me another log for the fire. As it turns out, I
haven't really accomplished a whole lot in my life. It's been a lot of
coulda, woulda, shoulda and a whole lot of, "Wha ha happen wuz...".

A motivated Gavin Cassel is not a Gavin Cassel PVW is prepared to deal
with. And yet here I am, smack dab in the middle of a match I
shouldn't be in for a title I've never seen, and I can't help but
feeling like I could lick every motherfucker in the first match and
trick everyone in the second match. The numbers are in my favor,
everything's going my way. I'm flying so far under the radar that you
can barely detect me. The time is right for a guy like me in a match
like this in a place like this to hit it just right... and take home
some gold. Someone is trying to _hand_ me a title match but making me
wrestle Joshua Curtis and friends, and then someone is trying to put a
title in my hands by sticking me in a match with two guys who want to
rip each other's heads off and a fag in a mask.

And if there's one thing I learned so many years ago.... in
"university". It's that even if you wouldn't eat a tuna sandwich on
your own, when someone offers you a tuna sandwich, you chow down on
the motherfucker.

[Gavin drains his glass.]

GC: That's an old proverb about hooking up with ugly chicks at the end
of the night. Probably won't find that in any Bible. But the message
still rings true... when it's being offered up for free, you never
turn it down.

I would be foolish not to make the most of my sitch at Boiling Point.
And maybe in the past I would. But this is a new Uncle Gav, for a
brighter tomorrow...

[The bartender comes back and fills up the glass.]

GC: Cranberry juice. A natural diuretic.

I learned my lesson. Time to teach some new ones.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
	Tom Landis
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[Fade up on a close shot of a television monitor.  The screen is in a
paused state, on the face of PVW's double champ himself, Gibson "Red"
Hayes.  The camera slowly pulls out as a voice starts to talk.  That
voice belongs to "Hellraiser" Tom Landis.]

TL: Surprise, Gibson.  I'm sure you thought back in San Antonio a few
weeks ago you'd found a nice soft target to exploit.  Get a few cheap
shots in, rile up the locals at the expense of a man who's poured his
blood, sweat and tears into this business for years.

[The camera continues to pull out, and now we can see Landis standing
next to the monitor.  He's dressed just like he was at Heatwave,
bluejeans and a sleeveless black t-shirt with the PVW logo on the
front
of it.]

TL: Not a lot bothers me anymore, Red.  But somehow you managed to
really get under my skin that night, and for several days after.  I
have to thank Jack Britain and everyone at PVW for welcoming me and
giving me this chance to get my hands on you at Boiling Point.  It's
not every day you can debut in a company with a spot in a double
championship title match on pay-per-view television.

You mocked my national pride.  That was your first mistake.

[Tom holds up one finger.]

You insulted my wife.  That was your second, and much larger, mistake.

[Tom holds up a second finger.]

Boiling Point is going to be your final mistake, Gibson.  Because
you've bitten off more than you can chew, and you have three different
men coming after you.

[Tom holds up three fingers.]

Unlucky for you, titles aren't what I'm after here.  Gibson "Red"
Hayes, you're going to live up to your nickname when I bust you wide
open and show you what kind of American I really am.

[Tom drops two of his fingers, leaving the middle one extended.
Fade.]

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
	El Outlaw LOCO
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[Dean Hayes stands in a hallway, next to a closed door.]

Hayes: He should've been here by now.

[He knocks on the door.]

[It opens, and we see El Outlaw LOCO.]

Hayes: Outlaw, a moment of your time.

El Outlaw LOCO: Senor, I've [senal] explained this before.  I'm not
[senal] Outlaw, the greatest wrestler ever to enter the [senal] ring.
I am simply El Outlaw LOCO.

Hayes: Uh, right.  But the last time we saw you, Outlaw was there, and
then you were there, and then Stalker, and then Johnny Styles, and
then ....  Well to be honest it was kind of confusing.

El Outlaw LOCO: Yes Senor, it is very [senal] confusing times in
[senal] PVW.

Hayes: That it is.  So can you give us some info on your match.  How
are you feeling about it, the chance to possibly leave with not one,
but two championships?

El Outlaw LOCO: Ah yes, the [makes quote sign] [senal] Network Title,
and [senal] American title.  Did you know I am [senal] Mexican?

Hayes: Eh, sure.

El Outlaw LOCO: Did you know that Gibson Hayes says bad [senal] things
about my people?

Hayes: Well Gibson Hayes doesn't represent the opinions of most
Americans.

El Outlaw LOCO: Yet he [senal] represents Americans, since he's the
American champion.

Hayes: That's just the name of the belt, anybody from any nationality
can win it.

[El Outlaw LOCO looks surprised, well, as suprised as you can look
with a mask.]

El Outlaw LOCO: Si?  I could be the [senal] American Champion?   Could
I rename it the [senal] Mexican Championship?  That would be [senal]
cool.

Hayes: Uh, I think you'd need to check with management.

El Outlaw LOCO: Si that makes mucho [senal] sense.

Hayes: So what's your strategy going to be in this match?  At the
moment you only know two of the three opponents you need to face.  How
can you prepare.

[El Outlaw LOCO shakes his head.]

El Outlaw LOCO: I do not need to prepare.  I am El [senal] Outlaw
LOCO.  I am born prepared. Plus, how [senal] hard can it be to fight a
[senal] communist.

Hayes: Pardon?  A communist?

El Outlaw LOCO: Si.  His names is "RED" Hayes Senor.  We all [senal]
know that being a [senal] red is being a [senal] communist.

Hayes: I don't think that's what it means.

El Outlaw LOCO: Poor silly little interviewer.  If there is one
[senal] thing that El Outlaw LOCO knows is how to [senal] understand
his [senal] opponents.  I'm a [senal] master-o of, how you says,
psychology.  I [senal] know things.

Hayes: But it's just a nickname.

El Outlaw LOCO: Of course it is, and Stalin was a [senal] communist.

Hayes: Stalin WAS a communist.

EL Outlaw LOCO: Exactly!

Hayes: Exactly what?

El Outlaw LOCO: Exactly.  Gibson "Red" Hayes is a [senal] communist.

Hayes: What?

El Outlaw LOCO: It's not clear no?

Hayes: Uh, no.  Ok, lets move on.  Gibson Hayes beat you in your last
encounter with his usual dirty tactics.

El Outlaw LOCO: Only a [senal] communist would use such [senal]
tactics.

Hayes: Ok, lets move away from the communist.  How can you counter
Gibson Hayes strategy this time around.

[El Outlaw LOCO pauses, thinking.]

El Outlaw LOCO:  It's easy senor.  I pin one of the other [senal]
wrestlers in the match.

[Hayes stare dumbstruck.]

Hayes: Eh..  That actually makes sense.

El Outlaw LOCO: Of course senor.

Hayes: Alright, lets talk about the other man in the match.
"Hellraiser" Tom Landis.  What can you tell us about this opponent.

El Outlaw LOCO: Not much.  I enjoyed his [senal] movies though.

Hayes: Really?  I didn't realize Tom Landis was an actor.

El Outlaw LOCO: He's a great actor.  He made eight [senal] films.

Hayes: Eight movies?

El Outlaw LOCO: Si.  His character was named [senal] Pinhead.

[Hayes groans.]

El Outlaw LOCO: It is simply a [senal] fantastic name.  Pinhead. I
think I will call him that now.  "Hey [senal] Pinhead."

Hayes: Only if you have a death wish.

El Outlaw LOCO: He is friends with Charles [senal] Bronson?

Hayes: No, I just meant .. wait, nevermind.

El Outlaw LOCO: I have never [senal] seen Tom "Pinhead" Landis
wrestle, but his [senal] supernatural abilities do seem impressive.

Hayes: He doesn't have supernatural abilities.  Argh!  Ok, lets stop
there.

El Outlaw LOCO: Si senor.  I must stop at the [senal] hardware store
to pick up a hammer and a [senal] sickle.  That takes care of [senal]
pinhead, and the [senal] communist.

[El Outlaw LOCO exits the camera shot.  Hayes stares at the
cameraman.]

Hayes: How is it this guy ever wins a match?

[Fade to black.]

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
	Made Men
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[A lecture hall at UNLV.  Around 150 students fill the seats.  A short
man with a beard, mousetache, and glasses takes a spot at the front of
the class, standing at the side of the podium.]

Professor: Ladies and gentlemen, please take your seats and grab your
notebooks.  Today, in lieu of our typical philosophy class, we have a
pair of guest speakers joining the class today.  They're in town for a
large [air quotes] "event" this weekend, and the Dean, hoping to show
that he's [air quotes] "hip" and [air quotes] "with it" has invited
them to invade my class.  And I'm THRILLED.  Please welcome Phoenix
Vallley Wresting's [air quotes] "Made Men", Mark Masterson and Nick
Wright.

["Pokerface" Mark Masterson and Nick "Always" Wright enter from the
back of the room to mixed applause; some students know the pair and
are greeting them enthusiastically, some have no idea who they are.
Nonetheless, they still slap some high fives as the wander down the
aisle, both dressed in street clothes that make them resemble the
students more than the teacher.]

MM: Ladies and gentlemen, WELCOME, if you would, to The Theory of War.

[The Made Men both take a step back and look impressed with
themselves.]

NW; That's right, kids.  We're here to school you.

[The crowd chortles.]

MM: Now, surely you've read The Book Of Five Rings...

[The faces stare blankly back at Masterson.]

MM: ... von Calusewitz's On War?

[Heads shake.]

MM: ... The Art of War?

[A few nods and grunts of assent issue from the mass of students.]

MM: Ah, we finally hit one, Nick.

NW: Good.  Well, the good news for all you kids is that Sun Tzu was a
friggin' moron.  He wrote a lot of words, but I didn't catch anything
about where he ran over his enemies in a stolen car, did you?  I sure
as hell didn't.

MM: That's right.  [Masterson motions to one of the students in the
front row.] Write this down, buddy.  There'll be a quiz later.

NW: Sun Tzu also didn't write jack about War Games.  You know what War
Games is, right?

[Heads shake again.]

NW: Dammit people!  You can be forgiven for not knowing Tolstoy's pile
of dung War and Peace, but this is important, people!

[Masterson moves over to calm his tag team partner.]

MM: Nicky, Nicky, these are mostly freshman here.  Most of the guys in
here haven't been touched by a girl, and most of the girls were
probably too busy with the football team "amateur" wrestling to keep
up with pro wrestling.

[Some male students blush.  Some female students follow suit.  Two
jocks in the back give each other a high five and smile.]

MM: You see, kids, War Games is a five on five wrestling match.  There
are two rings, one cage around them all, and we trickle into the cage
at timed intervals.  [Masterson smacks the kid he admonished earlier
on the back of the head.] I said write this down, boy!  [The boy
starts scribbling.  Masterson continues...]  The match ends only with
a KO or a submission.  Got it?

[More grunts of assent fill the lecture hall.]

MM: Now, this match favors whichever set of five men can work together
in a closed space better.  The group also needs to be able to think on
its feet.

NW: Now, this weekend, two teams enter War Games.  One team has a
noble history.  {Wright bows his head and places his hand on his
chest.]  Widowmakers Incorporated has existed for years, and while the
incarnations have changed, sure, but the reason bringing them together
has never wavered!  Domination!  Gold!  The GOD-GIVEN RIGHT to do what
you want to whom you want when you want to!

MM: And there's another team.  They too have a history, but it's
hardly as shared or as storied.  A green freak.  An idealistic
pussy-whipped loser.  A man who'd just as soon hug you as stomp you,
if you paid him enough.  A little boy who thinks having a
mean-sounding name makes you cool.  And a washed up veteran who took a
few too many shots to the head and therefore doesn't know when to
quit.  Separately, they've got history oozing out of the asses.  They
lack a shared history though... [Masterson looks down at his whipping
boy student, sees that he's feverishly writing, and smiles] ... and
it's this lack of a history that will be thir downfall.

NW: Now, my friend here likes to use big words like 'downfall" and
stay away from my niece, Nicky", but that doesn't mean you should
ignore him.  [Masterson casts a sideways glance at his partner.]  So
what have we learned?  We learned that the Widowmakers are the team
that can work together, because, you know, we're an actual TEAM, and
not a collection of pretenders, beggars, those that try to hang around
the cool kids thinking that'll make them cool.  It don't work like
that kids.

MM: No, no it doesn't.  Now, the other thing that needs to happen is
thought in the blink of an eye.

[As Masterson talks, Wright throws a textbook at full speed into the
fourth row.  It knocks a nerdy freshman right out of his seat.]

MM: Now, you see that?  THAT is not thinking on your feel.  That's
thinking on your ass: thinking about how much your life sucks because
the cool kids just asserted how much dominion he holds over you.  The
Widowmakers aren't waiting for life to happen.  We're taking the fight
TO life, and life -- and out opponents -- generally end up on their
asses.

NW: We didn't get here because we sat around.  We got here because me
made it happen.  Holliday's crew is there because they're in our way,
like that geek was in the way of that book.

MM: And so, today's lesson.  Get out there and make s*** happen.
Class dismissed.

[The professor steps forward and can be heard saying "You can't do
that!", followed by the sound of a professor getting pushed to the
ground and the Made men laughing, as the scene fades.]

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
	Gibson Hayes
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[A back yard BBQ! Our double champion, Gibson Hayes, is dressed in a
fine checkered shirt with blue jeans and cowboy boots. He is wearing
a: "America's Hero" apron and is grilling burgers! Let's see what he
has to say!]

Gibson Hayes: Folks, at Boiling Point I, America's first love, Gibson
Hayes, shall be defending my two titles against two louts and one
player to be named later. I wracked my brain to try and figure out
something to say but I'm just too good of an American to slander my
opponents.

[Hayes flips a few burgers.]

GH: I play fair America. I believe in mom, dad, baseball, apple pie,
football, money and television. Heck, I have this here Network title
to prove my love of television and, of course, the American title just
reassures everyone that America and I are as thick as thieves.

[Everyone nods.]

GH: Not that either of us steal. No siree. That's something only a
dirty foreigner would do.

[Everyone laughs.]

GH No folks, I'm not hear to run down my opponents. So what if Tom
Landis's wife has had more people go in and out of her womb than
O'Hare airport during the holidays? What is wrong with El Outlaw Loco
being a coward and trying to cripple me on the last Heatwave? Is it a
crime that Dark Soul has done nothing in his career but ride coattails
and hide behind a piece of eye candy? Is it so wrong that Danny
Daniels is a clueless putz? Could we be nicer to Joshua Curtis and his
obvious inability to tell fantasy from reality and need for anger
management? Should we think any less of Gavin Cassel who's only claim
to fame is that Luke Kinsey wipes his ass for him and got him a job in
PVW?

[Everyone looks at Gibson with baited breath. Gibson smiles and
everyone breathes a sigh of relief. Hayes goes back to his grill.]

GH: No, of course not. I'm not here to run them down. No sir, I'm here
to celebrate America and, of course, celebrate America's greatest
champion, me, Gibson Hayes. So I'll see all you fine folks at Boiling
Point. You know, Boiling Point, the pay per view extravaganza that
pits America's last, best hope, me, Gibson Hayes against all the paid
assassins that PVW has found because I'm such a threat to their
foreign interests and they are trying to get rid of me.

[We see a smile from Gibson as he takes a hamburger off the grill and
puts it on the waiting bun of a little girl who smiles big and bright.
Gibson pats her on the head and looks at the camera.]

GH: Well, we'll see who has the last laugh. Ta-ta for now!

[Gibson and everyone at the BBQ wave as the camera fades out.]

V/O: America needs Gibson Hayes, now more than ever. And Gibson Hayes
needs you, America. Donate your money to help Gibson fight off those
who would threaten our glorious nation. Cheer on our one and only
savior. America, and Gibson Hayes, are counting on you.

~The preceding message was paid for by the American Society for
Safety, Health, Obedience, Liberty and Education and generous
donations from viewers like you and was in no way paid for by Gibson
Hayes.~

Voice of Gibson Hayes: I'm Gibson Hayes and I know this message is
100% true!

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
	Xavier Feyr
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[The scene opens on a darkened room... most of the lights have been
turned out, the dim lighting only allowing us to make out the vague
silhouettes of the displays against painted backdrops as the camera
pans through.  In the shadows, we can make out a few shapes.... a
spear raised overhead... a sword in hand... a horned helm... the
lights click on, and the room is now fully lit, showing countless
mannequins and display models dressed in full war regalia of various
ages in human history.  The camera pans back through the room,
following in revers chronology, starting with a mannequin dressed in a
US soldiers combat gear, an AK47, or at least a convincing model of
one in hand.  The camera pans back, showing a model of a WWII
battleship... then a cavalrymen mounted on a horse clashing with a
Native American... still further, it spans back past medieval knights
and Japanese samurai... past Roman legionnaires manning a catapult...
to Spartan warriors... to primitives wielding crude stone weapons.  It
is at this point the camera pans over the entrance sign of the
exhibit:  "A History of Human Conflict".]

[And standing next to the sign, looking at the primitive warriors
fighting, surrounded by what we presume to be members of their tribe
in a circle, we see the form of "Bloodlust" Xavier Feyr.  Xavier is
wearing his usual attire of a black trenchcoat worn open, black jeans,
and a WMI t-shirt.  He stands, his cat like eyes fixated on the scene
in front of him.  His tangled mass of crimson red hair a total
contrast to the finely groomed mustache and goatee in on his face and
chin.  Xavier turns his head to look at the camera as he speaks.]

XAVIER FEYR:  War.  One of the oldest human trades.  Often erroneously
argued as being one of the things that separates us from the
animals... a way in which we are some how "less" than the beasts we
evolved from... heh, another foolish notion by those that would try to
claim some natural order of peace and harmony.  It's wired into our
DNA really... since time imemorial.  Really, it is the time that we
are most like the beasts that we came from, though many today dread to
admit it.  For where does war come from but the age old conflicts
between predators fighting for their territory... over their chosen
hunting grounds.  Even within the tribe , battles were fought for
status.

[Xavier gestures towards the primitives.]

It is not unlike wolves vying to see who is the alpha male.  The
strongest becomes the leader of the pack... or the tribe... or the
city-state... or the nation.  We're really nothing more than animals
in the end.

[Xavier walks on, over towards the exihibits of Romans and barbarians
clashing.]

People try to make it into something noble... by the civilized
definition of such anyway.  The Romans sougt to spread their "great
civilization", bringing "barbarians" under their sway.  Upon vicotry,
they "graiously" allowed these barbarians to enjoy the full rights of
citizens of Rome.  Through these military victories, they came to be
the most powerful nation on Earth.  All looked to Rome then, and for
centureis to come as the epitome of human civilization.  History,
after all, is written by the victors.

[Xavier walks a little further, to an exhibit showing two men before
the backdrop of an arena.  One wielding a trident and net, the other a
swords and shield.  The crowds in the background looking on, frozen in
poses of cheering or booing, not unlike the fans in a sports arena.]

XF:  And yet, "civilization" always finds a way to appeal to baser
instincts.  To appease the masses, a blood sport was the athletic
competition of the day.  Man against man, often slaves, in a fight to
the death.  Much as we try to pretend we are above that beastial
state, we are, in the end, bloodthirsty animals... and a part of us
craves conflict, even in times of peace.

[Xavier moves on to the next part of the exhibit, with warriors
clashing on a battlefield in armor wielding swords.  The exhibit is
entitled, the Dark Ages.]

XF:  Yet, ultimately, it was the uncivilized barbarian, combined with
the festering corruption within Rome itself that led to its downfall.
And the world was plunged again into chaos.

[Xavier marches on.  Now standing before the display of knights and
samurai.]

XF:  Though civilization rose again, war and conflicts naturally
continued.  Duels of honor were fought.  War was considered a pursuit
of the nobility.  The tradition of the strong warrior leading
remained, though they tried to pretend otherwise.  It was a
gentleman's honor to fight for one's lord or lady.  The arts of war
practiced along side poetry and music and song.  To wield a sword was
as crucial a skill for a nobleman as there ever was... even more so
than being able to read or write.  And even now we look back on
knights in shinging armor and honorable samurai with respect and
admiration.

[Xavier finally stops, next to the WWII display.]

XF:  Days that will live in infamy... times that try men's souls...
battles fought for glory... for country... for lord... for lady... for
land... for life... for libery... it's what we are as human animals.
We are meant to be warriors above all else.  And so, now I stand,
ready to face my own a war.  You could call it a civil war even.  The
leader I now follow clashing with his own mentor, the leader whom I
followed before.  The enemies I before me have many faces... a self-
made monster... a noble knight... a giant... a soldier of fortune...
and a friend... and as I think of the coming bloodshed, I can only
bring myself to smile with delight. For this will be the greatest
battle I have ever fought.  And as my opponents and allies both
try to argue some moral high ground, I can only laugh.  History is
written by the victors, after all... leaving survival as the final
judge of who is "noble" and who is merely a "monster".  There is no
moral high ground, or any rules of War here.  It is merely... survival
of the fittest.

[Xavier exits the room, a faint smile on his face, clicking off the
light, again plunging us into darkness.  End scene.]

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
	Dark Soul
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[Fade into...the White House Press Room?  Wow, seriously, PVW went all
out.  Even if it's the one they used on West Wing, kudos to Phoenix
Valley.  Reporters murmur about, talking about quite important, I'm
sure.  By the way, in lieu of a President's Seal, we have the PVW
logo.

From the left, a door opens and Miss Candy Malone walks in.  She is
definitely a leader of men and turns a simple women's business suit
skirt set into a moment where boys desperately need a pillow to put
over their, um, regions.  The dark blue suit with a white blouse with
a generous neckline is also cut shortly enough to allow for her rather
tan and beautiful legs to shine.

She approaches the podium with sheer confidence.]

Miss Malone:  "Please take your seats, everyone."

[They follow her lead because, really, their life is incomplete
without one to lead them.]

Miss Malone:  "It's a short day so allow me to read a few things and
then I will take your questions.  The Future Champion is pleased by
the encouraging news that our long national nightmare is over.  After
nearly six years, we can finally say with complete confidence that
yes, a new Friday the 13th movie is being released. The Future
Champion believes that it is a great moment for America and history
and wishes to express his appreciation at the bipartisanship shown by
New Line Cinema and Paramount Pictures for their steadfast leadership
to get us out of this crisis. Next..."

[From the peanut gallary, a middle-age female in a blue pants suit
rises.]

Woman:  "Candy, is the Future Champion ready to---"

Miss Malone:  "Diane, when I said I would get through a few things and
then take your questions, I didn't mean 'please interrupt me with your
questions.' Anyfrigginwho, the Future Champion would like for me to
express his great satisfaction with the Pepperidge Farm company for
their Pretzel and chedder goldfish snack.  The Future Champion
believes it is this kind of desegregation that makes America what it
is today."

[She looks up from the podium at the crowd.]

Miss Malone:  "With that, I will take some of your questions.  Diane?"

Diane:  "Is the Future Champion ready to issue a formal apology to the
member of the Coalition of the Tag Team Match Scheduled for Last
Heatwave for his actions after the match?"

Miss Malone:  "I'm not sure I follow, Diane, but if you are referring
to the Future Champion's decision to stop the senseless violence
perpetrated by Joshua Curtis on the defenseless Gavin Cassel, who the
Future Champion had already removed as a threat, than no, the Future
Champion is not ready, nor will he ever be willing, to issue an
apology.  The Future Champion believes that even an ugly-as-sin,
brainless, loser like Cassel deserves his day to be judged by his
peers and that judgment came in the form of a Soul Crusher.  Curtis's
actions were unwarranted and barbaric.  The Future Champion does not
stand for these things."

[The reporters stand in unison and Miss Malone points to a chubby man
with an awful comb-over.]

Miss Malone:  "Yes, Greg."

Greg:  "I would like to ask about your actions at Heatwave.  You threw
Danny Daniels' Supreme...Title...thing...whatever the hell he calls
that belt into the stands, forcing Daniels  to brave himself against
an unruly mob.  Do you believe your actions were justified?"

Miss Malone:  "Listen, that assmunch had that coming to him..."

[She takes a breath to calm herself down and return to a more
professional demeanor.]

Miss Malone:  "I mean, Danny Daniels had used that unsanctioned title
in the match as a weapon of mass destruction and this administration
from the custodian all the way up to the Future Champion will not
stand by and watch our enemies or our friends use WMD's.  I did my
duty and I believe that it is thoroughly justified."

[A man with short brown hair gives Miss Malone a thumbs up near the
door.]

Miss Malone:  "And with that, it is my honor to announce the Future
Champion, Dark Soul."

[The door opens and Dark Soul, fresh off a violent tag match at
Heatwave, walks out.  A bandage above his head hides the fresh wound
he suffered at the hands of Danny Daniels' title.  He is dressed
nicely in a dark suit with a white undershirt and a blue tie.  When he
dresses up, he dresses up.  His long hair is pulled back in a
ponytail.

He nods toward the reporters before approaching the podium.
Acknowledging Miss Malone, he turns toward the camera.]

Dark Soul:  "Please be seated."

[And they do.  Damn sheep.]

Dark Soul:  "First off, I want to thank Joshua Curtis for his part in
our tag match.  By sitting by as I got drilled by that belt, I took a
man card away from him and trust me, he was down to very few after I
found him watching a Will and Grace marathon.  But he earned another
one by kicking away Cassel's legs."

"I heard the question if I would issue an apology to the British
Japanese guy.  I want to be very clear here.  I will not apologize to
that man, Mr. Curtis.  He was disgraceful after our match and he
needed to be reprimanded for that."

[He seems to force away a grin before adding...]

Dark Soul:  "And for Daniels and Cassel...Daniels, I've felt gold many
times in my career.  But what you hit me with wasn't gold, nor was the
man wielding it worthy of having gold.  It is my responsibility as a
service to the American people to make sure you don't come close to
any gold at Boiling Point.  And that's a responsibility I take to
heart.  As for Mr. Cassel, I am here to make this promise.  After
Boiling Point, even Luke Kinsey will have nothing to do with you.
Your career of failure will unfortunately for you continue.  You can
bring a woman along for guidance, but I've done that myself and
I...did it better."

"For Tom Landis...El...whatever his name is...and Gibson Hayes.
You're looking at the fourth member of that little fracas.  And trust
me when I say this...I don't play nice as your buddy Ty can attest to,
Gibby.   True, you guys will have the advantage of not having to
wrestle early on like myself.  But I have never felt more
positive than right now that I can bring change to this place...this
country...this Phoenix Valley Wrestling.  I am Dark Soul and I will be
a champion at Boiling Point.  I can't lose."

[Taking a moment, Dark Soul continues...]

Dark Soul:  "I don't say that to be cocky.  I mean it.  I can't lose
because it's not who I am.  Now I will take a few questions.  Mr.
Slappy, you first."

[Apparently, he renamed Greg.]

Greg/Mr. Slappy:  "Some say Gibson Hayes can't be stopped.  What will
it take to change that?"

Dark Soul:  "Me.  Bubblebutt, you’re next."

[Yep, it's Diane.]

Diane/Bubblebutt:  "Do you feel the odds are stacked against you?"

Dark Soul:  "No.  Thanks for all of your well-thought out questions.
I have to get back to work.  God bless America and God bless Phoenix
Valley!"

[With that, Dark Soul walks off stage toward the door as reporters
call out his name.  Fade.]

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
	Chad Grimsson
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[The camera cuts to the backstage area of the Thomas and Mack Center.
Here, we find "Pit Monster" Chad Grimsson readying himself for his
match later tonight against Ronan Benedict. Already dressed for
action, Chad wears a pair of ripped and faded blue jeans, a white
wifebeater with a red anarchy sign spraypainted on the front, black
leather chaps, and black engineer boots. With his right hand already
wrapped in white tape, Chad is currently in the process of wrapping
his left hand when the camera catches his attention.]

Chad: I knew you had it in you, Ronan. I knew you wouldn't let me
down. I knew if I pushed you to it, you'd fall back on your instincts
and fight. It's what you Benedicts do best, afterall.

[A smile forms on Chad's face.]

Chad: Thing is, it's what we Grimssons do best as well. We always love
a good dust up. It's in our blood just as it's in yours. But your
problem, Ronan, is you seem to have lost your way.

[As he says that, a disgusted frown replaces his smile.]

Chad: You see, you're focusing too much attention to that Ruger woman,
and not on what you're supposed to be doing. She's a waste of your
time, Ronan. What's more, she's holding you back and making you soft.
Weak. And you're accusing me of not having my head screwed on
straight?

[Chad finishes with his hand, then tears the final strand free from
the roll.]

Chad: You see, you've got it all wrong, Ronan. It's not me who's your
enemy. I'm trying to make you remember who you are.  Trying to push
you to become what you could be. So let's just say your resistance to
it is really starting to piss me off.

[Letting out a low, guttural growl, Chad now pounds his right hand
into his left palm.]

Chad: So tonight, I guess we get to resolve everything, now don't we?
I know you're going to rip into me with every ounce of your being.
Wouldn't expect anything less. But you'd better be ready for when I do
the same to you. Maybe you'll show me that I've got this whole thing
wrong and kick my ass all over the building. But I certainly have my
doubts about that scenario. Rather, I have a feeling I'm going to walk
out of that ring tonight victorious and disappointed.

[Fade]

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
AD: Danny Daniels a hero fraud
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[Black screen with white text: Danny Daniels - In Over His Head. A
voice over occurs. The voice is a smoothe one, with a hint of smarm to

it. Astute listeners pick up that it is none other than Tyrone
"Purple" Hayes.]

V/O: Sometimes you have to know when you're just out matched.

[Hey, it is Danny Daniels and that nifty belt of his!]

V/O: Sometimes you just need to be slapped back to reality.

[We are greeting with footage from the last Heatwave: Danny is covered
in beer, popcorn, and looks to have had a rather messy dispute with
somefans over the belt. He looks around at the aftermath with a look
of abject confusion, and asks the first question that comes to mind:
Danny Daniels: "...did I win?"]

V/O: However, now is not the time for people with little conviction in
the face of adversity to shine.

[Danny Daniels: "...did I win?"]

V/O: America, is that a man you could trust with either the American
or Network titles?

[Danny Daniels: "...did I win?"]

V/O: Look closely.

[Danny Daniels: "...did I win?"]

V/O: No Danny, you didn't.

[Danny Daniels: "...did I win?"]

V/O: And you won't win this next time either, Danny. America cannot
afford to have weaklings like you represent her, or television.
America cannot afford to let her guard down. Foreign devils try to
break down the gates at every turn. Now, more than ever America
needs...

[Yep. Your ever loving double champion, Gibson Hayes, appears on the
screen. He's in a business suit and his hair is FANCY~, parted to the
right, of course.]

V/O: America needs Gibson Hayes, now more than ever. And Gibson Hayes
needs you, America. Donate your money to help Gibson fight off those
who would threaten our glorious nation. Cheer on our one and only
savior. America, and Gibson Hayes, are counting on you.

~The preceding message was paid for by the American Society for
Safety, Health, Obedience, Liberty and Education and generous
donations from viewers like you and was in no way paid for by Gibson
Hayes.~

Voice of Gibson Hayes: I'm Gibson Hayes and I know this message is
100% true!

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
	Tommy Ryder
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[The camera focuses on the locker room where Tommy Ryder and Laurel
Levinger are having what appears to be an argument.  Neither seems to
notice the camera.]

LL: I'm telling you, I think you need to back out of this match.

TR: That's not going to happen Laurel.  And why the change of heart
all of the sudden.  What, you think I'm not good enough to be in this
match?

LL: That's not it... You know my father's been sick and this is the
most dangerous match you've been in and you don't even know if you can
trust your team!  If you got hurt...

TR: Laurel stop.  I don't know if I can trust everyone on my team, but
I do know that I don't have a choice.  They ARE the team I'm with and
everyone on our team has some beef with the Widowmakers.

This isn't about who I can trust or how dangerous the match is.  This
is about our chance.

LL: What chance?  To get yourself killed?

TR: Look, I know you're worried, but you have to get past this.  This
is our chance to take it to a new level.  I don't want to be known as
a great rookie or the guy that had a lot of potential when he started.
I want to be known as a great wrestler and matches like this are
what's really going to put me on the map.

Look, payback aside in this match I'm the smallest guy on our team.  I
know that means bad things for me.  I've watched the tapes of other
Wargames and it's never good for the small guy, but I've got to go in
there and show everyone that I'm ready to step my game up.

It's time to stop being a top rookie and start being a top wrestler.

LL: I know you can be a top wrestler, but there are other ways...

TR: Have you forgotten what the Widowmakers have done to us?  They
wouldn't know how to act like men if there was a how to video.  This
is my chance to really get payback on Wright and Marley... and Feyr.

LL: Feyr is just pride, but I can see you wanting payback on Wright.
I'd like more payback on that punk.

TR: Well this is THE chance.  I'm on a team that has lots of reasons
to go after the Widowmakers.  What reasons do the Widowmakers have to
win? They want to?  The money?  To show people who the boss is?  Our
team wants... no, NEEDS revenge on them.  That's the difference.
That's what the Widowmakers aren't thinking about.

I just need to know that you're behind me and thinking about the big
picture.  Not just worrying about what could go wrong.

LL: I'm with you.  It's just...

TR: I know.  He'll be alright.  Just give it time.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
	Ronan Benedict
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[Darkness.]

"When you and I step into that ring, I expect a Hell of a fight.
Nah... a _war_.  It's just natural.  We're two guys who live for this
sh[BLEEP]t."

[The darkness dissipates somewhat.  It doesn't actually go away, but
we are able to see through it a bit more.  Maybe the darkness doesn't
change at all, but our eyes just get used to it.  Street lights
outside a window provide the faintest of illumination; revealing a
bare, concrete-floored room.  And a shadowy figure. Seated on the
floor against a wall, a glimmer of light reveals this person's
identity.  Ronan Benedict.  Head bowed, wavy red hair dangles in his
face.  Knees bent towards his chest, Ronan rests his elbows on his
knees.]

RB: I've always expected the best in you, Chad.  Just as much as I do
from myself.  You are, afterall, one of the most powerful men in this
sport.  The levels of violence you and your siblings are willing to go
to are unparalleled.  I can't help but respect that, regardless of the
fact that your head's found its way straight up your ass.  So whenever
I go toe-to-toe with you or your brother, I know that I'm in the fight
of my life.  Same's been true when we worked together.  In which case,
our enemies never knew what hit them.  And you know what?

[A smirk now spreads across Ronan's lips.]

RB: I'd have it no other way.

But like I said before, with that comes a lotta' trust.  Trust in you,
and trust in me.  Trust that when the fight's over, it's _over_.  No
bullsh[BLEEP]t afterwards. When that bell rings, and when the
proclaims the outcome, respect would dictate that the fight ends
immediately.

'Cause that's how friends act around eachother.  There's nothing wrong
with good competition and a bloody fight.  Nothing at all.  The
bloodier, the better.

[Ronan raises his head, his eyes gazing into the lens for the first
time.]

RB: Problem is, friends don't go out of their way to put eachother in
the hospital, Chad.  That ain't being a friend.

[Slowly, purposefully, Ronan shakes his head.]

RB: That's being a piece of sh[BLEEP]t scumbag who's looking for
trouble.  And now that I know there ain't any excuses I can make for
you, well...

[His blue eyes with intensity, as Ronan clenches his hands into tight
fists.]

RB: You've got a fight on your hands, my friend.  Yeah, you've got
over a hundred and fifty pounds on me, but that don't mean a f[BLEEP]
kin' thing when the bell rings.  'Cause no matter what you throw at
me, I ain't stoppin' 'til you get your head on straight.

[Keeping his hands as tightly clenched fists, Ronan cracks the
knuckles on his left hand first, and then the right.]

RB: You crossed the line, man.  And at Boiling Point...

You're gonna' regret it.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
	Widowmakers Inc
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[The scene opens on a paintball range...a paintball range last seen
over ten years ago in a much lamented organization...but now housing
the current roster of Widowmakers Inc.  "Showtime" Rick Marley stands
with his faceguard pulled up as he looks out at the other members of
PVW's most dominant stable.]

RM: Listen, I know this isn't exactly all of our cup of tea, but SSN
asked us for some sort of "Team Building" thing for the lead up to War
Games...so I figured that we'd give it a shot.  Now, the guys out
there are special forces, and we can use whatever tactics we need, but
after the last time Xavier was here, they're demanding that he not use
live ammo this time.

[Marley frowns, looking over a form with the word "DISCLAIMER"
scrawled across the top in red.]

RM: They also will request that Xavier not bring any edged weapon,
anything that might emit some sort of microwave.  Anything poisonous.
Any rope.  Any dental floss...and any thimbles.

The thimbles thing sorta throws me...but I don't really want to know
the story behind it, do I?  No, probably not...

[Marcus Manson glances over Marley's shoulder at the paper, hands on
his hips.]

Manson: The spike strips are new too. I guess they learned their
lesson after I plowed through about half the obstacles on the course
with my truck.

Regnigh: And if I recall, put about four of the range's staff in the
hospital. Among numerous members of the special forces team.

Manson: Who decides that it's a good idea to put themselves between a
fence and a speeding truck? Seriously. That's just stupid.

Regnigh: At least you showed up early this time, instead of being 20
minutes late.

Manson: I think you're taking this Vice President of Operations thing
a little too seriously.

Regnigh: [Shrug] What can I say? I'm a go-getter. [Grin]

[The Made Men sit opposite Marley and Manson.  Mark Masterson is
helping Nick Wright finish up locking his gear into place.]

NW: So, we can use ANY tactics?

MM: ... except those on that laundry list, if that's what I'm hearing.
Which means we can hug it out, maybe... sounds like shooting
paintballs might not even be allowed.

NW: But those only apply to Xavier, right?  (Wright sniff the air.)  I
smell loophole!

Manson: Well, some of them apply to me, but you guys may be in the
clear.

RM: Last time Xavier was here, there were...incidents...lawsuits...

...

...

A body count...

[Marley shrugged a bit sheepishly.]

RM: I'm sure it'll go MUCH better this time though...at the very least
the Special Forces guys signed waivers.

[Xavier stood, leaning against a tree a little away from the others,
shaking his head in disgust, Lilith sitting on a rock next to him, a
fist under her chin in a Thinker-like pose.]

XAVIER FEYR:  You'd think Special Forces would be better prepared for
these things... what happened to "all's fair in love and war"?

[Lilith perked up for a moment, and held up a finger... one could
almost see a light-bulb appearing over her head.]

LILITH:  Wait a minute!  They didn't say anything about me, either did
they? [grins impishly] This'll be _FUN_!  Heeheehee!

RM: [looking at the form] Um... actually, they do have something here
about you... "may not perform any offensive or defensive maneuver
targeting below the belt level, or resulting in permanent castration
or..." Wait a second, how did you do that without weapons!?

LP: [grins devilishly] Well, first you have to lure them into a false
sense of security, and then when they least expect it...

RM:  Never mind, I don't want to know.

[Manson and Regnigh give each other a look that echoes Marley's
statement.]

Manson: So, are we ready to get this thing started?

[Fade to black, and then back up. White text at the bottom of the
screen says "2 Hours Later". The WMI members stand amidst a group of
Special Forces guys, who are crawling away. Everyone is covered in
paint splatters, with a few notable exceptions. Xavier is covered head
to toe in red.. whether or not its actually PAINT is anyone's guess,
since everyone else is covered in white and orange. Lillith may or may
not be covered in paint too, as a big hug to her man Xavier
transferred some of the red substance onto her. More curious to our
viewers is the fact that she is gripping a pair of combat pants in her
hand like some sort of trophy. Manson's faceguard is cracked in two,
presumably from headbutting some poor schmoe. And Rick Marley is
absolutely untouched, without a drop of paint on him.]

Manson: [Eying Marley and tossing his cracked helmet to the ground.]
You sneaky bastard, did you bribe them?

Regnigh: Either that, or he's got a red costume with a yellow
lightning bolt on it somewhere, right "Flash"?

[Marley shrugs and smiles.]

RM: They said ANY other tactics were fair game...bribing worked
well...then getting them to argue about price points went even better.

[shrugs]

RM: Mostly they shot each other for me.  Special Forces doesn't pay as
well as you'd think.

[Regnigh chuckles and checks his watch.]

Regnigh: Alright, gentlemen. Let's wrap it up. Time to get lunch and
then hit the gym.

[He pauses.]

Regnigh: And come Boiling Point, we pay our debts.

[Fade.]

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

[An empty arena.  The future location of "Boiling Point", where
wargames will be played to a packed arena.  Where William Geddings
will seek revenge for his scarred features.  Where Caleb Foley will
discover the true identity of his stalker.  There is no ring now...
just an empty space where a lone man sits dead in the center, caught
in the spotlight as he breathes in deep and imagines the roar of the
crowd and the heat of the moment.  This is the place where a WORLD
CHAMPION is going to be crowned... the place where Rob Cole will
either achieve his goals, or fall to the world he's turned into his
enemy. He closes his eyes... rising slowly from his chair... before
turning his gaze to the camera, eyes dancing with hunger.]

RC: I've never been a champion.  You might think that's a lie, but I
want you to hear what I'm saying.  I have never... ever... been a
champion. Yes, it's true that I've held a couple of belts in my
career. I have held on to belts, ripped titles off my enemies, and I
walked down that aisle with gold around my waist... but I've never
been a champion. Not really.  In ILOC... I won the title for a week
before it was torn off my waist and my body was broken beyond repair,
beyond endurance, beyond my limits.

In AWMC... I took the title off guys for a couple of weeks, but
someone always came to take it back or break me down or whatever.  I
fought people... men who hurt me, men who insulted me, men who took me
down and broke me out time and time again.  I shed my blood for these
men, for you people, for pride and for a momentary taste of gold.  But
I've never been a champion.  Someone once wrote that Rob Cole was
always seeking the title... even when he held it, it was like he
didn't know what it was and he was still looking for it.  Hiroshi
Takada said it best, though... it's been a couple years so I might be
paraphrasing, but he once told me that I was never out to prove how
great this sport was.

I was always harboring a grudge and that always seemed more important
than the belt... and that a real champion is more than just some guy
with a belt.  You see, the belt isn't JUST an ornament... it's
supposed to mean something, to define something, to glorify this
sport and everything it's supposed to mean.  I've never been a
champion.

[Cole looks down at his hands... clenching and unclenching them as he
studies the scars, the discoloration, and the bruises.  He turns a
hateful gaze to the camera and continues.]

RC: I fought for a paycheck, I fought for my family, and I fought for
you people more than I ever should have. I gave you my blood, skin,
love, hate, and everything that I am... The monster, the man, the
father, the husband, and the wrestler.  Last year... last year, I
limped out of a hospital with my son who held my hand so softly... so
softly and so full of love and we went home and we cuddled up close
and watched one of the Star Wars films and not one of you people could
ever have that piece of me, because it doesn't belong to you.

I've given you so much but that was mine... that belonged to my son
and to me.  But you try to take it anyway... because my son came home
one day, bruised and battered from the play ground where some kids
heard he was Rob Coles' kid and they decided to beat on him.  Three
years old... he doesn't know how to fight, doesn't know what daddy
does, and these little monsters watch some television with their drunk
fathers and hear him yap about me and they decide to impress him by
beating up MY KID!!!!

You people raised those children, you taught them to do that, you made
them feel like they needed to do it to feel special.  My wife... she
used to pick up ingredients for my favorite meat ball recipe at the
corner store, but then someone saw me on television again and decided
to spit in her groceries.  THE BAG BOY SPIT IN OUR GROCERIES!!!!  He
wore a Spectre teeshirt and he was real proud, like he stood up to the
Monster Beneath the Bed, like he was a real man for doing something so
disgusting.  You people raised that teenager into being the filthy rat
he is.

[Cole shakes his head... ]

RC: You people were still cheering me back when all this happened,
back when my family suffered for your entertainment.  Back then, they
had to watch me heal up cuts, bruises, and deep gashes that needed
staples to get sealed shut.  My son begged me... BEGGED ME... to crawl
on the ground with him and play with his cars.  I couldn't do it... do
you know what that's like?  DO YOU HAVE A CLUE?!?!!  All you care
about is that moment where I leave my feet... where my fat body defies
the laws of physics before it pays with a terrible crash.  You never
care about the aftermath...the pain... it's all about you.

[Cole pauses, letting his words sink in before he continues.]

RC: No... I have never been a champion.  Insead of being the man I
could have been, I always fought for you people.  I always fought for
your entertainment... I always fought to get the biggest pop of the
night, to bask in a few moments of adulation. I put my body on the
line for that pop.. The Worlds' Ugliest Frog splash from a guy
my size, my weight, a guy who could feel his knees giving out as he
climbed the turnbuckle, a guy who felt waves of vertigo as I pushed
myself further and further and further.  I never did it for the
belt... I did it for you.  I never asked for anything in return... I
never asked you for your pity, your sympathy, or even the slightest
bit of concern.  But I think I earned your respect...

I think I earned it.  I think I earned the right to play with my son,
I think I earned the right to eat an occasional meatball without my
wife breaking into tears, and I think I earned the right to walk down
that aisle for a shot at a real championship.

[Rob Cole pauses again, a distracted look crossing his features once
again as a thought occurs.  He chuckles a bit, self derision evident
at the disgust blazing in his eyes for the briefest of moments.]

RC: I'm still fighting for you.  Even now, with you booing me and
jeering me and calling me coward behind my back, mocking me, throwing
trash at me... even now, even with all that's happened, I'm still
fighting for you.  But there's a little difference now...  because I'm
fighting in spite of you.  I'm fighting because, when all is said and
done, I'm fighting because I hate what you people turned me into over
the years.  I hate everything that you took from me... every drop of
blood, every pound of flesh, every bitter tear that fell from my eyes
is a testament to everything you took.

So yes... yes, it sounds like a lie because I HAVE taken belts
from monsters, I've taken belts from arrogant trash, I've taken belts
from bruisers, brawlers, and the finest technicians in the world.
But, for the first time in my life? I am here to take the belt away
from you!

[Coles' eyes are red... and they catch the lights from the arena in an
odd way.  His nose wrinkles as his voice rises, strained in pitch.]

RC:   I wasn't in that ring to wrestle Tommy Ryder... I wasn't there
to beat William Craven... and I'm not here to wrestle Chase Williams!
It's not about him this time, not about that match we had one year ago
or a few months back... this isn't about what's fair or foul or
anything like that!  I know there's all this human drama but everyone
is ignoring the real fight. All the dirt sheets are ignoring it...
because they think it's something so totally different! It's not me
against SSN... it's not me against PVW... it's not even me against
Chase.

It's me... against YOU! The wrestling fans, the people in this arena,
the people sitting at home.  I've been your hero, your villain, your
saviour, your tormenter, and I've been your monster ...

[Cole pauses... and the light begins to trace a line down the side of
his features. A blink, and the light twinkles a little more before
dripping from his jaw line. The other eye begins to leak as well, and
Cole manages to stand his ground despite the flowing tears.]

RC: Oh dear god knows, I've been your monster.  But now... I'm going
to let you swallow the taste of everything you made me, everything you
cost me, everything you forced down my throat!  It's made me so very
sick for so very long... to come out here and tap your sweaty palms,
to sign your autographs, to listen to you cheer the punks in the back.
To watch you ruin their lives, to drive them to the same life I've
been forced to live?

EVERY DROP OF BLOOD!!!

EVERY POUND OF FLESH!!!

Every single bitter tear... I've never been a real champion.  But at
Boiling Point, I'm going to be the first World Champion this company
has ever seen.  The first, Chase... you keep your regional title
claims, you keep remembering how close you came real glory, and you
remember what it was like to face Rob Cole with ring rust, to face Rob
Cole with Brian Young at ringside, and you keep thinking you're facing
someone you THINK you know.   I would love to dedicate this win to my
son... to my wife... to my family... but I'm dedicating this to the
fans. This is for them, for all they've given me over the years and
all they've taken away.  This match is for you and I want each
of you to choke on it.

CHOKE ON IT!!!!!

CHOKE!!!

CHOKE!!!!

CHOKE!!!!!

[Fade.]