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##                           ##
## Phoenix Valley Wrestling  ##
##       Burning Effect      ##
##           01.16.08        ##
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Presenting....

-> Charles Lassiter
-> Nagano FLASH
-> Thrillers
-> The Spectre
-> 'Golden One' Christopher Michaelson
-> Rob Cole
-> Wild Cards
-> Extreme Conditions
-> 'Bad Karma' RJ Souza
-> 'The Fighting Irishman' Caleb Foley
-> 'Paladin' Chris Hartt
-> 'The Shark' Johnny Oakes
-> 'Rolemodel' Paul Styles
-> Outlaw
-> 'Long Haul' Greg Embrey
-> Chase Williams
-> Major Damage
-> Montana Bishop


<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Charles Lassiter
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

"They say I had it all..."

[We fade in to see a big man, built like an offensive lineman, sitting
on a wooden stool.  No bright lights.  No fancy scenery.  The man
wears a plain white t-shirt and jeans.  He has soft, thinning blond
hair which hangs down a bit over his forehead and dark circles that
bulge beneath his sleepless eyes.  He's hunched over - not looking
altogether confident or camera friendly - and his face is blank white.
His voice... tired, hollow, shaken.]

Man:  A high school sweetheart who became my wife.  Two beautiful,
healthy kids.  A multi-million dollar bank account.

[He considers.  A deep, slow inhalation through the nose and out just
the same.]

Man:  But ...

...

[Confusion.  He rubs his eyes.]

Man:  ... sometimes...  well, sometimes I wonder if maybe it's all a
practical joke.  Ya know?  That I might have just been some bum off
the street when they found me.  Or even worse... a serial killer
guinea pig in some crazy scientific mental reprogramming experiment.
The mind can play tricks on you.  For a short time, I had myself
convinced I wasn't even a real person.  But...

[He struggles to find the words.  The he moves his hand up toward his
head as if he could physically describe to us what's going on inside
there, but comes up empty.]

Man:  ... then ... I get these glimpses.  And I've _seen_ the
pictures, so I _know_ it was real.

I...

[He swallows.]

Man:  I just wish I could remember it.

[His rate of speech begins to quicken and he becomes more animated as
he grasps at straws...]

Man:  And sometimes I think I do.  Like I'll see a picture and then a
memory will creep into my head and we'll be there... the four of us.
Me, her, and the kids playing whiffle ball out back, and the smell of
hot dogs grilling and, and... and... maybe... like a dog barking or
... something...

[His hand clutches his forehead.]

Man:  ...but the doubt is so powerful.  And once _that_ creeps in it's
all over.  It's that nagging voice that says 'You're creating this.'

[Faster and faster, gesturing wildly!]

Man:  But I fight for it.  I keep fighting back 'cause I want it.   I
want to believe the memory is _real_ and a large part of me does!  But
that's the whole problem, ya see... what is real and what is not?  And
the truth is, I...

I dunno.

[But his frown and his dejected tone tell us he does.  His chest
heaves, his face bright red, and his deep sigh releases a swirling
cacophony of undefined emotion into the room.  He reels another breath
in to contain it and then let's it all out again.  His mouth lingers
open and he shakes his head just a bit.  He turns back to the camera
to speak...]

Man: ...

[... but nothing happens.  And so he breathes.  Again and again.]

Man:  Sometimes it helps to just breathe, ya know?

[A long pause is filled with more breath and attempted reflection.
Finally he busts into a laughing fit.]

Man:  I must sound fucking ridiculous.  Ha!  Like a raving lunatic.

[As his face gets red and his smile vanishes, it appears as though his
laugh is turning into a cry, but he stifles it, laughing it off
again.]

Man:  Because I know if you actually piece together what I've just
said, none of it makes a lick o' sense.

[Arms thrown wide, he makes light of his situation the best he can.]

Man:  Welcome to my world.  A world that makes less sense than 'Jews
for Jesus.'  A world where memories are worth twice their weight in
gold and the truth?  Well, it might as well be locked in a trunk and
buried down bottom of the Grand Canyon.

[He wipes sweaty palms on his jeans and places his hands on his knees.
He looks directly into the camera.]

Man:  To be honest with ya.  I'm not really sure what I'm supposed to
say right now.  Never done anything like this before.

[An interesting thought...]

Man:  Least I don't think I have.

Um... I guess... I guess I'm here because, well...

[Dumbfounded.]

Man:  Well, let's see... No family.

[Holds up index finger.]

Man:  No friends.

[Second finger.]

Man:  No money.

[A third.]

Man:  No memories, no life.

[Fourth and thumb.]

Man ... the only thing I can think to do is cave in skulls 'til I get
it all figured out.  It's kinda like therapy, right?  Heh.  Only I'm
the one getting the paycheck.

Wrestling isn't my passion.  It's isn't my dream.  It's my choice.

For better or for worse, here I am.  And I'll be damned if I don't do
it like my whole life depends on it.  'Cause... what else?  What else
do I have besides my ability to choose and follow through?  Really...

[A pause.  A genuine question, more to himself than anyone.]

Man:  ...what else?

'Sides... I have been 'wrestling' a lot lately.  With questions.

[With his right hand, he pulls back the blond locks covering his
forehead, revealing a nasty but fully healed scar over his eye that
curls up his forehead and disappears into his hairline.  Serious as
cancer, he continues each word increasing with intensity....]

Man:  Who did this to me?  Why?  What happened to my money?  Where is
my family?  Are they alive? And why can't I just remember them!?  And
do I still love them!? WHO THE HELL ARE THEY!?... and...

[He's too worked up to continue.  He buries his face in his hands, but
almost immediately peeks up, blood vessels popping out of his eyes,
forehead, and neck.  His eyes seem to say 'This isn't going well.'
Apologetically...]

Man:  ... uhm ... a whole lot of others.

I don't want your sympathy.  I don't want your pity.  I don't want a
free pass.

[Breathing.]



....



[More breathing.]



Man:  _I want answers!_

[He says about as matter-of-factly as can be, then tries an anecdote.]

Man:  Heck, for a couple days there, when I first came to...

I didn't even know my name.  Then they told me.

[His eyes well up, failing again as a storyteller.  He holds up a soft
hand to wave 'hello.']

Man:  Charles Lassiter.

[Shrugs at words that mean nothing to him as a single tear streams
from his right eye.]

Man:  I...

Don't want to talk anymore.  You'll figure out who I am.

[Nods.]

CL:  Just as soon as I do.

[Fade.]


<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Nagano FLASH
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[Inside a high-scale nail salon, a slender Korean woman gives a
pedicure to a pair of relatively large but surprisingly soft and
somewhat feminine feet. As she deftly works on each toe, she mutters
under her breath as she listens to her customer bicker on the cell
phone. From the voice, a bit haughty with a hint of a Japanese accent,
the viewer can discern one important fact: Whoever is talking is an
absolute prick.]

CUSTOMER: And do not get me started on the cuisine here. If you can
even call it 'cuisine'. Personally, it's not even fit for my shih-tzu.

[The nail stylist rolls her eyes before returning to work on the feet.
The camera pulls back to reveal a rather toned, muscular Japanese gent
clad in a rather ornate Versace t-shirt and jeans, reclined
comfortably in plush leather chair gabbing away on an expensive,
hi-tech cell phone. His countenance changes from slightly amused to
utterly dejected as the camera focuses in on him.]

CUSTOMER: Excuse me, Hideo. I have to do this.

[He closes the cell phone and slides it into his pocket. He then
glares at the camera with disdain.]

CUSTOMER: In Japan, we have this awful habit of letting our wrestling
speak for itself. You know, instead of having cameras follow us around
as we shout inane banter back and forth at each other, we simply
wrestle. I know that is a rather foreign concept to you people; so,
alas, here I sit, in the midst of the most pathetic pedicure
imaginable, to banter with you.

[He gazes down at the Korean stylist who mutters what are assuredly
curse words in Korean as she continues to work.]

CUSTOMER: It just occurred to me that you philistines most likely have
no idea as to whom I am.

[He reclines further into the seat as a slight smirk spreads across
his face. There is a slight glint in his eyes.]

CUSTOMER: I am Nagano FLASH. But, more importantly, I am your GOD.

[The smirk widens into a cocky grin as he regards the manicure he
received earlier.]

NF: Not just any god, no. An incredibly well-dressed, highly athletic,
pinnacle of perfection type GOD. However, I know I have strung
together a group of words of which most of you will not understand so
let me make it simple for you ...

[He stops looking at his fingernails momentarily to glare intensely at
the camera.]

NF: ... I am your champion, no matter what these other peons have to
say to the contrary.

[Nagano FLASH resumes examining his fingernails as if this
conversation bores him.]

NF: Now, I suppose that the rest of you will prattle on about your
prowess. I expect little else from you barbarians. But know this:

[He once again looks at the camera.]

NF: I could not care less about what you say. I could not care less
about with whom I am paired. I could not care less about anything
other than the PVW Heavyweight title. Everything else is, well, as one
of your more amusing commercials suggested ...

[A cocky grin once again spreads across his face.]

NF: ... uncivilized.

[The scene fades as Nagano FLASH smiles at the camera, laughing lowly
and smugly to himself.]


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

[We open inside one of Phoenix finest golf courses.  An older
gentleman in a full white suit is seen taking out a golf club.
Standing a little distance away from the older gentlemen are two well
built men in nice golf t-shirts and slacks.  They are known to the
wrestling world as; 'Handsome' Steven Hayes & ‘Greek God' Jimmy Lane
.]

CUNNINGHAM: You boys stand over there and stay quiet you hear?

[The Thrillers manager, Samuel Cunningham measures the golf ball up.
He takes a nice deep breath and reaches back and gives a picture
perfect golf swing…. The only problem is the ball shanks hard left.
Heck lets be honest my grand ma can swing a golf club better then
that!]

HAYES: Nice hit boss!

LANE: WOW, Tiger Woods has nothing on you!

[Samuel Cunningham stands there for a moment admiring his swing and
turns towards his golf bag and places his club back in.]

CUNNINGHAM: Now that’s how you hit a golf ball eh boys?  Your old
manager here can not only lead you boys to tag greatness, but he still
can play a little golf it appears.  Speaking of tag greatness by now
you received the lineup of Heatwave.  It appears we have ourselves a
little Lethal Lottery.  You know what that means right?

HAYES: Jimmy and I will probably be on separate teams?

LANE: Heck we could even be placed on opposite teams in the same
match.

CUNNINGHAM: Right, but let me worry about that.  You two are twice the
wrestlers the rest of the roster is.  All you two have to worry about
is preparing yourselves like you do every match.  In the end that
Blood Bowl spot is as good as yours.

HAYES: You better hope you aren’t facing, ‘Handsome’ Steven Hayes.
You know I’m twice the wrestler you are.

LANE: You wish!  The last time we stepped in the ring against one
another I broke you like a twig.  If I were you I’d start praying that
you are placed against _anyone_ else then, ‘Greek God' Jimmy Lane !

CUNNINGHAM: Enough!  I told you two not to worry about that.  Let ol’
Samuel here take care of that.  I have a meeting planned with the
brass of PVW later tonight.  If this here has anything to say about it
then you two will have nothing to worry about.

[Samuel Cunningham has an envelope filled with something green in his
right pocket.  Hrm I wonder what that is for?]

HAYES: I like how you think.  However that better be taken out of
Jimmy’s cut.

LANE:  What!?!  It better be from your cut!  I’m not only better
looking then you, but I can wrestle circles around you!

CUNNINGHAM: You know what why don’t you BOTH go get that ball I just
hit.  Apparently you aren’t listening to a word I am saying.  So your
time will be better spent digging through brush and NOT thinking.

['Handsome' Steven Hayes & ‘Greek God' Jimmy Lane are heard grumbling,
but they know their place in this here food chain and head right.
Since the ball was shanked hard left it might be awhile before they
find that golf ball.]

CUNNINGHAM: Those two boys might not be the brightest two in the
litter, but they can wrestle.  PVW the Thrillers are on their way to
Blood Bowl.  The Wild Cards and Sexual Energy appear to be the cream
of the tag team divisions.  I dare you two to step in the ring with my
boys.  They have the looks…  They have the skills…  Come Heatwave they
will provide you all with the Thrills.

[Fade to Black.]

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
The Spectre
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[The scene opens on a darkened ally at night.  Rain cascades gently
down from the blackness, providing a sickly sheen to the overturned
trashcans, oil slicked blacktop and garbage-strewn fire escapes.



Dumpsters provide a drum for the larger droplets, a muffled background
staccato to the small, scurrying forms darting in and out of cover in
their search for a meager scrap to eat.



The camera shot pans around the dumpster and comes to rest on large
huddled form squatting against the wall behind it.  Dark dreadlocks
cascade down over a pale face, partially obscuring the icy blue eyes.
The form is covered in a ragged black trench-coat fingerless black
gloves, blue jeans, a black tank top and blue jeans.]



"Horrifying, isn't it?"



[The voice comes like almost a whisper, but against the rain, it's
presence is overwhelming…almost jarring.]



"We sit here and watch…we sit here and wait.  We bide our time among
the cast offs of society…amongst the decay…amongst the offal.  We sit
and we wait.



Soon, like the proverbial Phoenix rising from the ashes, we will
return, and we will ask the bird: Why?  What about your death do you
fear so greatly that you continuously flee from it.  What about the
darkness claws at you so profoundly that it allows you to defy death
itself to escape its clutches.



Why does the Phoenix deny such a fundamental aspect of its being?



The Phoenix: A creature of fire and light…and without the dark, could
there be light?"



[The broad shouldered ghoul stands, turning his neck slowly first
right, then left and allowing it to crack loudly, which sends rats
scurrying for cover.]



"Philosophy is an amusing way to pass the time, but a pastime it
remains.



We have been asked to join an organization in the Valley of the
Phoenix, and the symbolism involved cannot be denied.  A whole roster
of individuals, each of whom wishes to prove their worth in some
capacity or another:



This one wants to show that he belongs as one of this sports elite.
That one wishes closure for an abusive past.  Another wants to find
out who he is.  A forth is simply a miscreant looking to misbehave.



All of them not realizing the fight that they are about to find
themselves in…a fight for their very souls.  And so we shall arrive,
bringing their hell with us, looking to unchain The Beast gnawing in
each and every one of them and in doing so unmaking who they were.



In short, we shall teach them to fear the dark."


<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
'Golden One' Christopher Michaelson
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[The scene opens in from black with a figure sitting a nice leather
recliner reading what appears to a copy of the latest addition of GQ
magazine.  He seems to notice the camera and closes the magazine
motioning for the camera to come closer as he places the magazine on a
highly polished cherry coffee table. The figure smiles, a smug smile
towards the camera. He is wearing a pair of black pinstriped dress
slacks, highly polished dress shoes, a cobalt blue dress shirt with
the top button undone. His suit jacket is neatly resting on the arm of
the chair. His long blond hair is tied back into a next ponytail.]

Figure: I assume you’re from the PVW …

[The figure looks at his Rolex and slowly shakes his head.]

Figure: And you are late. I was hoping that you would be prompt as I
have other matters to attend to but I’ll just need to make due now.

[The man sits back in the chair before he continues speaking.]

Figure: For those of you who live under a rock I am Christopher
Michaelson one half of world renowned tag team Solid Gold, the team
that redefined the tag team wrestling industry.  I know I know you are
all surprised that I am gracing with my presence as it has been a long
while since I stepped into the ring as a competitor, but that’s
expected when you been as successful as I have been in this business.
I’ve been one half of the greatest tag team in existence … in a
business that doesn’t understand the value of tag teams as everyone is
constantly worried about themselves.  Tyler Rose and I though would be
unselfish and sacrifice for the betterment of Solid Gold. The
spotlight shined upon the two of us equally and extremely brightly.
There wasn’t a place that we could go where people wouldn’t recognize
us. And we loved it!

So when we heard that the PVW was opening their doors and that they
were going to bring about the resurrection of tag team wrestling we
knew it was only a matter of time before they came knocking on our
doors … and a knocking they came. Only one problem …

[Christopher shakes his head in disappointment.]

Michaelson: Tyler tore his ACL. You see we wanted to come back full
strength showing the world that Solid Gold is still the measuring
stick for tag team wrestling but in a match against two hicks for the
SWA member federation RW, Rose’s ACL tore as those two losers had no
business in this business! So here I stand before you as the
representative of Solid Gold; a man who for the first time in his
storied career is embarking on a quest to attain Championship Gold on
his own!

[Michaelson smiles as he looks at the camera. For a few moments his
cocky demeanor seems to disappear as he seems happy.]

Michaelson: This waist has missed the weight of Championship Gold and
for once I get to be just like everyone else in the world, absolutely
selfish. Now don’t take that the wrong way there has been nothing like
being a member of Solid Gold, dominating all teams that stood before
us. Now though it is time for the Golden One to shine alone at the top
of the PVW!

[Christopher looks directly into the camera and pauses for a moment.]

Michaelson:  When I walk into a bar I have my pick of any woman I want
as they come begging for a minute of the Golden One’s time. You see
diamonds maybe forever but I’m the 24 karat shaft of gold all the
women want to hold.

[Michaelson extends his arms to the side and just smiles as he shows
his stylish dressed self off to the camera.]

Michaelson: I have had the accolades of being a member of the great
tag team in the world. I know each and every single one of you knows
once Tyler Rose recovers from his torn ACL that those accolades can
once again be mine if I so desire.

Michaelson: The simple fact is guys like me … We _can_ have it all.

Right now I am going to show the world that I _am_ the greatest
wrestler in the business today. And it all starts here in the PVW with
30 wrestlers, one lucky son of a bitch and me the Golden One
Christopher Michaelson!  When I enter the 52nd Street Armory for the
first time, I will walk down that aisle to wrestle in a tag team
qualifying match for a shot at Championship Gold. I truly don’t care
who my opponents are as I have one goal and that’s to qualify for the
Blood Bowl.

PVW Heatwave I'll do what I always do.  I'll walk down that aisle and
step into that ring and wrestle.   It's what I do! And all my partner
needs to do is show up and cash in on the luckiest day of his damn
life!

[Michaelson motions for the camera to move from his presence as he
picks up his suit jacket and begins to leave the room. Slowly all
fades to black once again.]

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

[Rob Cole sits in front of a locker, his wet tangle of hair falling
before his features as he stares down at his scarred up arms and his
clutching fingers.  He takes a deep breath before speaking, composing
his thoughts before speaking about his entrance in the Blood Bowl of
the PVW.]

COLE: Another day... another dollar.  Alot of these young kids are
coming up in this world, but the mangled up body sitting here is on
his way down... he's on his way out...

He's on his way to the place where they put forgotten stars and buried
monsters.  Too bad. So sad.  My name is Robert Cole.... I've wrestled
in Hellholes throughout this world, left parts of my body on sawdust
floors, and I've climbed the highest peaks of heaven.  I've held
championships.  I've lost championships.

I've beaten and I've been beaten... and when Blood Bowl begins, I'm
going to show all you little kiddies trying to enter the deep end of
the pool precisely why they call me....

THE MONSTER BENEATH YOUR BED!!!!!!

[Cole laughs maniacally, turning a blood hungry gaze towards the
camera as he clenches his fingers into fists.]

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

[The scene opens on a gym.


Like oh so many of these scenes do.

But this isnt' just ANY gym.
'Cause none of them ever are, are they?


THIS gym happens to be the KSGA Allentown's main training area.


NOW aren't we impressed?


In any case, this oh-so-impressive-gym-in-Allentown currently holds
five men.  Two are students (clearly labeled Thug 1 and Thug 2 by
their t shirts).  The other three are figures that are at least
relatively well-known to professional wrestling fans:


The first stands six feet tall and is in street clothes.  His sandy
blond hair is cut short and he's currently leaning on the apron as he
exhorts the other two men of note in the ring.]


JM: KEEP MOVING, JACK!


[He slaps the apron in frustration as the target of his verbal assault
shrugs in the ring and starts hopping up and down for no good reason,
an impressive feat coming from a man standing 6'10" and tipping the
scales at over 300 pounds.  But then again, Black Jack Baldwin always
COULD make an impression.]


JB: Is this what you had in mind, Judd?


[The manager, Judd Marley used to have the "honor" of being Jack's
partner…1/2 of The Wild Cards…a dubious distinction now being held by
his younger brother Rick.]


RM: I'm thinking he wanted more hurting and less dancing…


[Rick would be none other than "Showtime" Rick Marley, currently on
the outside of the apron and leaning against the steel post waiting
for a chance to get into the ring against the always impressive
Thugs.]


JB: Look…I don't care what the stupid teaser page said about Sexual
Energy being the most decorated team in PVW.  Only way those guys are
more "decorated" than us is if they wrapped themselves in tinsel over
Christmas.


RM: (shuddering) Dude…some of us are visual thinkers!


JM: Do I need to remind you two that none of that means a damned
thing?  No one here cares how many times you've wrestled with or
against Doc Holiday.  They don't care how many titles you've won.
Your resume won't wrestle for you.

JB: I just want credit where it's due.


JM: Fine.  Thugs…give it a second.


[Marley the elder slides under the bottom rope and hands Baldwin a
large stack of papers in a manilla folder.]


JM: There's a history of every match you've ever been in…I hope it
does the job for you.


JB: What're you talking…Judd, my hands are stuck to the folder…


JM: Huh…sorry, couldn't hear you…


JB: Dammit Judd…my…oof.


[Rick has doubled over laughing in his corner as Jack gets hit in the
gut by Thug 1.]


JM: You can't do that to him!  He's a former UEW Tag Team champion!


[Thug 1 hits a running lariat as Baldwin attempts to free his hands
from the glue.]


JB: This isn't funn-guh.


[Thug 2 has entered the ring and hopped onto Baldwin's back, applying
an old school sleeper hold.]


JM: Did I ever tell you boys about the fine job Jack here did
wrestling in the Partners In Crime Tourney with Jason Keening?


[Thug 1 and 2 are so impressed that Thug 1 uses a drop toe hold to
send Baldwin to the mat as the big mans' face begins to redden.]


RM: Uhhh…Judd…


JM: Or about the times that we took The Outlaws to draws?  It's not a
win, but not many people can even say that draws against those guys.


[Baldwin's face continues to darken as his temper begins to get the
better of him…]


RM: Thuuuuugs…you may want to…


JB: RAAAAAAAAAAHR!


[Baldwin flexes mightly, ripping the large, phone book sized folder
and bound sheets package in half and throws a hard elbow that stuns
Thug 2.  Coming quickly to his feet, he delivers a crushing headbutt
that floors Thug 1.]

RM: Run Thugs!  Run for your weedy little lives!


[Baldwin makes quick work of the two thugs now that he (sort of) has
his hands free while Rick pretends to cover his eyes to avoid seeing
the carnage.]


JB: What…the…hell…was…


JM: That about?  Just proving a point.  How'd wrestling with your
resume work for you?


JB: Piss off, Judd.


JM: That's what I thought.


RM: I dunno…I think the page where you snuck into that big Samoan's
locker room and left baked beans for a snack might have worked pretty
well…I mean, c'mon…the residual odor alone had to…


JB: Fiiiine.  I get it.  Prove it now.  It's just as well,
really…it'll really give us a chance to go Wild.


[Fade out]


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

[The scene slowly fades up from black, with the camera focusing upon a
door which is slightly ajar. The cameraman’s hand pushes the door open
and pans an elegantly arranged office. After a few moments the camera
focuses upon a figure of a well dressed black gentleman sitting behind
a large oak desk. The gentleman is wearing a grey suit and white dress
shirt with a grey and blue tie. He adjusts his glasses as he speaks on
the phone.]

I know it’s what he wanted but from what I can tell he’s not making
the smartest decisions there. Okay just make sure he lets me examine
that lucrative contract for me. I’d hate to see him make a bigger
career mistake playa.

[The gentleman hangs up the phone and as he does he removes his
glasses placing them upon the desk.]

Excuse me playa don’t you know how to knock on the door? That was
private business conversation you got there on tape. I’m going to want
to review that tape before it hits the airwaves, I mean I’m sure the
PVW will understand my client’s right to privacy.

[The gentleman stands up, walks out from behind the desk and shakes
the cameraman’s hand.]

Let’s not get off on the wrong front. Please feel free to make
yourself at home my office is your home for at least ten minutes.  Now
please do not think for a moment that means you can touch anything
playa. My possessions are still my possessions.

Now allow me to introduce myself, as any true fan of the wresting
industry already knows I am Darius Walker. Many of you are expecting
me to tell you that I am bringing the one true monster Aries Priest to
the PVW but alas that is not the case. I know your heart breaks that
you shall not bear witness to the Gospel of War but here at Walker
Incorporated it is my desire to usher in a new era in wrestling and I
will once again do exactly that.

[Darius Walker motions to the far side of the room where two figures
enter through another door. One of the gentlemen is attired in a light
blue dress shirt, and black dress slacks his long white hair is tied
back into a ponytail. The other gentlemen, who appears around ten
years younger than his partner is wearing a pair of blue jeans and
white long sleeve pullover shirt. He seems a little preoccupied with
the setting sun in the far window. ]

Ladies and gentlemen please allow me to introduce you to the future of
tag team wrestling EXTREME CONDITIONS, Shawn “Wildfire” Covell and
“Black Ice” Gideon Frost.

Shawn Covell is a former HRW Television Champion and Gideon Frost is a
wrestling wizard.

[Shawn Covell suddenly looks Gideon Frost up and down and a quizzical
look falls upon is face.]

Covell: A wizard? If he’s a wizard where’s his staff?

[Gideon Frost just looks at Shawn Covell with a puzzled look on his
face.]

Covell: Or even the long white beard …

[Gideon Frost gets ready to say something then lowers his head shaking
it. Darius Walker though continues to speak as if Shawn Covell did not
say a word.]

Walker: These two gentlemen are the future of the tag team industry.

Covell: Well based on age I think I’ll have a longer future.

[Gideon Frost glares at Shawn Covell once again before speaking.]

Frost: If you’re smart mouth doesn’t keep quiet you’re future may not
make it through this interview.

[Darius Walker looks at both men for a brief second.]

Walker: Personalities clash in life and with a new combination of
partners that’s to be expected. PVW when the focus and the spotlight
shines on these two men I personally guarantee you that they will
prove why I am investing my experience and knowledge into this team.
This interview is not about me so I shall let Extreme Conditions have
the floor.
[Gideon Frost uncrosses his arms and begins to speak.]

Frost: I know Darius that you would love to have Extreme Conditions go
out there and prove our tag team dominance on the very first edition
of PVW Heatwave, but let us all be realistic the chances of that
happening are about 3 percent.

[Shawn Covell covers his mouth as he begins to yawn.]

Frost: Every fiber in this body was made to be a wrestler.  I live,
breath, eat, and sleep wrestling...

[Shawn Covell's arms are extended behind Frost doing the brain washed
zombie walk. Gideon Frost pauses and looks over his shoulder at Shawn
Covell who quickly stops moving.]

Frost: Every single wrestler comes out and says they are a wrestling
god or that no one is better in the squared circle than they are …

[Gideon Frost smirks.]

Frost: The truth of the matter is there is always someone better than
you and that someone is Gideon Frost.

Covell: Gideon Frost … hey that’s you.

[Gideon Frost looks at Shawn Covell stunned and just sighs.]

Frost: Heatwave, Shawn and I have the chance to qualify for Blood Bowl
and there is nothing I would rather have than the PVW Heavyweight
Championship upon my waist. Proving to the world that even as single
competitors Extreme Conditions is the force to be reckoned with in the
PVW.

[Darius Walker pats Gideon on the shoulder and looks towards Shawn who
looking out the large window at the setting sun.]

Walker: Shawn … Shawn Covell …

[Shawn quickly looks at Darius Walker.]

Covell: Yeah?

Walker: Is there something that you say?

Covell: Unlike my partner I am a former champion … umm no offense
Gideon …

[Darius Walker shakes his head no at Gideon Frost who is clenching his
fists.]

Covell: I know what it takes to be the best, to have the crowd cheer
your every action but more importantly I know how to win. If I can’t
have Gideon … man that’s a long name, isn’t there something else I can
call you?

[Darius Walker looks at Shawn Covell.]

Covell: Sorry Darius. PVW a wildfire and some black ice … Darius is
that like the ice you find on the road?

[Gideon Frost throws his arms up in disgust and looks away from the
camera.]

Walker: They might not be the finely polished unit when it comes to
interviews yet but I guarantee Walker Inc has just presented to you
the future of the PVW … Extreme Conditions.

[The camera fades to black as Darius Walker turns towards Shawn Covell
and begins to speak to him as Gideon Frost just looks towards the
floor.]


<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
'Bad Karma' RJ Souza
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

"You are going WHERE?!?!?"

(The high pitched voice of Destiny Souza catches your attention. Near
the front door, there is a black gym bag and a big suitcase waiting.
Destiny has her hands on her hips, in a nice looking pink sweat suit.
Down the stairs comes the Man In Back, RJ Souza.)

"Bad Karma" RJ Souza: Arizona. Look. I need to get back into the ring.
I know it's very difficult for you to understand.

Destiny Souza: Damn right it is!! When were you going to tell me??

"Bad Karma" RJ Souza: This seems like a good time.

Destiny Souza: I'm not laughing. Look, I was there during the Union,
the PCW and ..... EVERYTHING!! Now, I am not even told when YOU are
going??? We are partners.

"Bad Karma" RJ Souza: We are. But I need to get back into the swing of
things. I can't wrestle and worry about something happening to you.
Face it. Eric Draven and Jericho Hill.  Do you remember what they did
to you
when I was a full strength?? I am still recovering from the torn ACL.
I
need to get stronger, razor sharp before I can have the distraction of
my sweet wife at ring side.

Destiny Souza: You forget..... TEAM!! That's what we are. I pinned
Draven. I know how to watch your back. You forget who finds Louisville
when you need her??

"Bad Karma" RJ Souza: I see why you are mad, but understand. This is
about me getting back to basics. Before Destiny was at my side.
Before
everyone cheered the Champ. This is about the return of Bad Karma.
Besides, there are some old friends I need to see and one son of a
 who needs to pay. I owe him for everything he's done. Besides,
who's
going to hold down the fort for me?? Who's going to help your sister
with her kids??

Destiny Souza: I guess you are right. When can I come down there to
see
you??

"Bad Karma" RJ Souza: Give me a couple of weeks. I'll make
reservations
at the best spa/hotel down there. But I need to focus on all the
energy
I have on the return.

(RJ holds Destiny's chin up)

"Bad Karma" RJ Souza: Trust me??

Destiny Souza: Okay.... But no more surprises, okay??

"Bad Karma" RJ Souza: You will be the first to know, I promise.

(RJ kisses Destiny passionately until a horn honks)

Destiny Souza: Bye Lug!!

"Bad Karma" RJ Souza: Bye Bunny!!

(RJ grabs his bags and head to a black stretch limousine. The driver
takes his bags as RJ climbs into the back seat. He sits across from a
man
dressed in a black Armani suit. )

Paul Sandler: Bad timing??

"Bad Karma" RJ Souza: Could have been here on time, Paulie. She caught
me walking out the door. I had to feed her a line just to get out of
the house.

Paul Sandler: I take care of my stars, RJ. That's the way I work. I
got
the best hotel, the best gym and the best chef.... all ready for you
in
Phoenix! You are going to love it there.

"Bad Karma" RJ Souza: I need you to do me a favor. You need me
focused,
right??

Paul Sandler: Yes sir. I need to give it everything you have.

"Bad Karma" RJ Souza: Good. Here's a list of things I need done once
we
touchdown in the desert.

(RJ hands a list to the Mega-Agent. Paul looks at the list. He cracks
a
smile.)

Paul Sandler: RJ, RJ, RJ!! I believe this will be the beginning of a
beautiful friendship.

"Bad Karma" RJ Souza: Damn Right!!! The year of BKD begins NOW!!

Paul Sandler: I'll drink to that

(ftb)


<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
'The Fighting Irishman' Caleb Foley
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>


"Another day, another night, another story to be told"


[The camera slowly pans in on a man hanging over a
railing as the sun slowly sets overhead. The evening
rays of sunshine slowly begin to drift away as the
rainbow colored skies hang above head. The gleaming
sight of the sun drifting behind a set of a light
brown mountain range is captured by the camera's eye
as the man stands in silence as the night slowly
begins to roll in.]

[The light winds begin to pick up and they breeze
threw the man's reddish hair as he stands perched
against the railing. With the pearl waters underneath
him and not another soul in sight, the man slowly
swings his body around to reveal himself as Caleb
Foley.]

[Caleb's hair continues to be kept out of place by the
soft evening breeze. His eyes gleam back towards the
camera who seemingly is about ten feet away. His chest
is covered up by a white polo shirt that is tucked
into his favorite pair of blue jeans. With a dark
brown belt laced between the buckles Caleb stands
firmly with his feet pressed into his black boots on a
picture perfect bridge. Caleb leans his elbows back
placing them upon the wooden railing as his soft voice
begins to pick up.]

"Can you hear it? Can you hear it all? Do you hear the
sounds of silence as they surround us?"

[Caleb calmly shakes his head from left to right and
back. A twitch in his smile is followed by a small
gesture of "do you" from his hands.]

"I think not, for silence speaks for itself. When such
profound men stand before the world with nothing to
say it is because infact, they can't say nothing at
all. I don't silence men threw hateful words and
insults, no, I put them in their place with a little
dosage of medicine called reality. We are all gathered
in this place, this world, with different expectations
on our minds. We all live in a giant field with
millions of paths to choose from. But on one given
night out of the year, a night just like this, thirty
two of us are all choosing the same path in a journey
in search of glory."

[Caleb still braces himself against the railing as he
crosses one leg over the other as he still stands with
a slight angle in his stance. The rays of sunshine
have nearly all drifted away as the scene slowly
becomes darker by the second.]

"On this night we don't necessarily get to_choose_our
destiny but a certain part of knows that we must fight
to proceed on. Nothing will be handed to anyone on
this night, this we all know. Some may say otherwise,
but deep down inside we all know that a quest of
impossibilities is in our way. For thirty two men are
chasing after one single dream and that is to become
the first ever PVW World Champion. The only difference
is many of us have different ways of approaching this
dream. Many of these men will do whatever it takes no
matter what."

[Caleb slowly pulls his body away from the railing and
he begins to pace down towards the north end of the
bridge. Over the wooden planks he walks with his head
held high and looking straight forward the entire
way.]

"There are men that I can respect and men that I can
say I don't. I don't hate them or look down upon them
for I really don't know them. But with a new
federation on hand, how many people truly know one
another, or one single person for that matter. Yet, so
many men bring their attention to others comments and
words in which they express. I myself have done this,
and a strong reaction has taken place. Again, it
wasn't threw insults or name calling, it was threw
that little thing called reality."

[Caleb is no longer on the bridge as he follows a
small dirt trail down to the water banks below. Threw
rocks, bushes, and rubbish along the way, Caleb finds
himself now on the edge of the riverbank.]

"You see the Blood Bowl is all about luck. I mean it
depends on who you get as your tag team partner and
then who you two draw to face in the tag round of the
blood bowl. Then if your lucky enough you advance to
the 16 man battle royal. And then you better consider
yourself lucky if you become the first PVW World
Champion. But I wish to everyone in the PVW Blood Bowl
the best of LUCK. And you see I may just be lucky
enough to win the PVW World Champion because I have
the LUCK OF THE IRISH on my side..."

[With this said the camera slowly pans away from Foley
as he walks away into the darkness of the night, the
sun is gone, the stars are out, and Caleb Foley knows
exactly where he is going.]


<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
'Paladin' Chris Hartt
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>


[The scene opens to a darkened wrestling arena. Dim lights from
overhead shine down onto the ring.  The set is dark, the screens
black.  Scaffolding surrounds the set. From up high on one of the
stage-side support scaffolds, Chris Hartt stands high above.  Dressed
in his white tights, wrist wraps and black boots. His face is hidden
in the darkness by his wavy, wet hair.]


Hartt:  It all happens here.  Like dogs fighting over a scrap of meat.
24 hungry souls all seeking the same thing.  A bite at the
championship.  Bodies will be broken, blood will be spilled.  All for
the chance to catch some gold.


This is the doorway to the path of violence all of us here in PVW are
now travelling.  What better way to start out this new chapter of our
careers than to collectively assault each other for the top spot.


I'm determined to get that belt.  I'm born and bred to be the best
ever.  And I will do what it takes to prove that.  Up here, down there
in that ring, no matter where. No matter what.


The History of Violence begins tonight!


[fade out]



<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
'The Shark' Johnny Oakes
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>


(In a smoke filled room, 8 men sit around a card table. Large amounts
 of chips and hard cash litter the scene. Everyone is focused on the
 game, but a healthy level of chatter and sociable conduct is evident.
 The characters vary from grizzled old men to scrawny young guys.
 Sitting in front of a healthy stack of chips and cash is ‘The Shark’
 Johnny Oakes. Oakes is dressed in a plain black t-shirt and has his
 shark logo
 baseball cap pulled down low over his face. He takes a drink from his
 beer bottle and pushes a bunch of chips into the pot.)

JO: Hey folks. Johnny Oakes here, thought you guys in PVW land should
get a little taste of the Shark in his natural habitat. It's match
time
coming up, and damn me if it ain’t a big one!

(Oakes smirks as a guy at the table folds his cards with a sad shake
of
the head.)

JO: So it all begins again, the past is gone guys. Past records are
like miniskirts, they give you good ideas but hide the important
things. All I'm interested in... and all you should be interested in,
is what's coming next. Now anybody who thinks that The Shark ain’t got
the guts for a fight is making the biggest mistake since the Captain
of the Titanic demanded some more ice for his drink. I'm tellin ya
right off the bat. The Shark is in this to win the gold.

(Johnny pauses to let that last sentence hang.)

JO: I ain’t some backwater hick with a candy cane for a spine. I am
Johnny Oakes. Out of Willcox, Arizona. Some call me The Shark,
everyone calls me the hardest damn fighter this side of the elite
tournament for pissed off ninjas. I ain’t askin for your approval, I'm
tellin ya that I'm gonna earn it. Facts speak for themselves. I like
to fight, I like to hit people and I likes to be hit. I ain’t gonna
flap my gums about everything I’ve done before. The tapes are there.
Go watch em if your interested. Anyone can see what the Shark has been
up to.

(Johnny pushes his cap up so that you can clearly see the fire in his
eyes, he takes another large chug of beer.)

JO: Thirty two guys are gunning for a shot at the big prize. Now
THAT'S
the kind of situation I like! Its perfect for the Shark. There is
gonna be a big debate and a whole heap of talkin. All thirty two guys
will be
jabberin on and I fear the words "I will win" are rapidly marching
towards our ears with ill-deserved confidence… thirty one times over.

(Its down to 2 guys in this poker hand, Johnny eyes his man up with a
steel gaze then shoves even more chips in.)

JO: Lots of people are gonna find that talkin don’t get the job done.
Too many of the clowns floating round PVW been bleatin that they
should be given this and that for free. Let me give y’all some advice.
Just get
in the ring, make sure your fists are taped up, and get busy. No more
no
less.

(Johnny finishes his beer and leans forward)

JO: Cos I can assure y'all, any jerk who thinks it’s a good idea to
bait Johnny Oakes, think he is a soft touch, or someone to score
points off with their fancy microphone juggling. I tell ya this...
They say, that insults hurt more than physical pain. They are of
course wrong, as you will soon discover... when I stick this fist in
your head.

(Without moving his eyes from the table he extends a hand to signal
for
more beer.)

JO: My name is Oakes, not schmuck. Just like the Shark, Johnny Oakes
strikes fast, and he strikes hard. What ever you throw at me, I throw
back. Ain’t nothin gonna stop me from ramming anything I can find
anywhere I need to. I fight to win, and bad news for you is that it’s
damn near impossible to keep me down.

(The other card player throws his chips in with a cocky smile, then
the
colour drains from his face as Johnny turns over a monster hand
without
so much as a flicker. Johnny rakes in the chips with no emotion, he
just
carries on talking.)

JO: Tag Match, Battle Royal then One on One? That sounds like a tough
old time hahaha. Sorry guys but I ain’t intimidated by facing thirty
one
other fighters. In fact I thrive off it. I know it’s going to be a
blast
out there. They are all tough as a bag of hammers, I’m tough as a bag
of
hammers. We are all gonna get up from some hellish shots, and I like
that.

(Johnny is carefully stacking his newly won chips while more cards are
being dealt, a new beer is set down beside him and he nods a polite
thanks to the serving girl.)

JO: I guess I’m turning into one of them guys that does too much
talkin. So I’m gonna send one message to the other guys, all of them
will be spewing words out, most of them will be obnoxious, most will
claim they are too damn good to be fightin for a title, that it should
just be handed to em… Well I don't care that you all talk like a plate
of beans negotiating their way out of a cow's digestive system. It's
no skin off my rosy nose that there are bits of lemon peel floating
down the Colorado that would make better champions than some of you. I
got all I need, a good old chance to get my knuckles bruised. There is
no way I'm going down without the fight to end all fights. The fans
pay their money to see me, they get ALL of me.

(Johnny looks at his cards, and tosses them away.)

JO: I ain’t sittin here telling anyone I’m too good for this match.
The Shark is gonna prove that he should be wrestling for the
Championship. Johnny ain’t gonna back down… I can do what it takes.
Nothing wrong with losing your temper, if it's for the right reasons.

(Johnny downs about half his beer in one go, then cuts a half smile)

JO: And what better reason, than to prove that The Shark is gonna make
big big waves in PVW. This is what I do best. I spent a lifetime
provin
myself. I wanna do it again. I coming for the gold... and yeah, I do
bite.

(Fade out as the Shark watches the card game unfold before his
watchful
eyes.)


<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
'Rolemodel' Paul Styles
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>


[the camera opens on “Rolemodel” Paul Styles and Carl
Stevenson seated in Paul’s den in antique leather
chairs. The room has a classic look, with dark stained
bookshelves built into the walls from floor to
ceiling, filled with old books without slipcovers.
There is a small table between Paul and Carl’s chairs
and they each have a glass of scotch on the rocks.
Carl is dressed in a classic three piece suit, while
Paul has a sweater vest on over a dress shirt and tie.
A talk radio station is playing quietly in the
background]

Carl Stevenson: Why would the legendary Paul Styles
come out of retirement to join the roster of an
upstart wrestling promotion? Why would a highly
decorated former heavyweight, cruiserweight, tag team
and Great Lakes Heritage champion return to compete in
the ring?

“Rolemodel” Paul Styles: I’m back because this
company, specifically the roster, need me. I am a
legendary professional wrestler.  My accomplishments
are what everyone's career is measured against. I
retired as the greatest professional wrestler of all
time. I worked hard for my legacy and destroyed a lot
of careers to earn it. But what does being the
greatest professional wrestler of all time mean now?
Since I’ve left professional wrestling its degenerated
into a pathetic carnival with depressing losers
performing at events. I didn’t know if I should of
laughed or cried when I read the list of participants
in Blood Bowl.

CS: I liked how Johnny Oakes name dropped a title he
won by accident two years ago. Outlaw was pretty funny
too. The guy’s career is so boring all the biography
had to talk about was that he swore a lot.

PS: What does MLW even stand for, Oakes? At least
references companies someone will recognize. I’m the
only AWMC Triple Crown Champion in the history of
professional wrestling. I’m a former multiple time
heavyweight champion and the manager of multiple
heavyweight champions. No MLW championships though.

CS: Oakes might as well keep talking about it though
because its the only championship he’s going to hold
if he stays in this company. You can’t honestly think
you have a realistic chance in the Blood Bowl, Oakes.
You’ll be lucky to even make it through the tag
lottery. Everyone knows drawing Johnny Oakes as your
partner is an automatic elimination.

PS: What’s worse than having a tag partner not show
up? Having former MLW Champion Johnny Oakes replace
him.

[Paul laughs to himself as he takes a drink from his
glass in celebration of the joke]

CL: This roster is so lame it’s the reason were here.
I got a phone call from an old friend of ours that use
work in the front office of the AWMC. He said he was
part of a group of investors putting together a new
wrestling federation and the roster they put together
was so bad he knew he was going to lose his investment
when the company went broke in a month. We’re the
franchise. The PVW is just a chance for the rest of
the boys in the locker room to make it big. Anyone in
the PVW can now go from being a professional wrestler,
to a man that beat Paul Styles. All you have to do is
beat him.

PS: And that list of men is extremely short and there
is no one in his company that even has a chance to
join it.

CL: So the next best thing to help  career? Be
Rolemodel Paul Styles tag team partner. Even if it’s
just for one match.

[Paul raises his glass of scotch to the camera as if
to toast]

PS: Good luck in the lottery guys.

[takes a sip from his glass and smiles as Carl puts
his glasses in his shirt’s chest pocket]


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


[A tall man, known in the wrestling world as Semi, walks into view.  A
 little disheveled looking, running hand through his hair, he makes
 his
 way towards the kitchen. One can only assume coffee is his objective
 this early in the morning.]

[A knock on the door.]

[Semi walks over to the door.]

Semi: Who is it ?

Voice: Open the [bleep] door.

Semi [to himself]: The heck?

[He opens the door, and standing there dressed in jeans, a black long
 sleeve t-shirt and a nike baseball cap, carrying a blue "Judgement
 Day"
 dufflebag, stands every television network's worst nightmare,
 Outlaw.]

[Semi cocks his head to the side and looks at his former tag partner.]

Semi: 'sup?

Outlaw: What the [bleep]?  Aren't you going to [bleep] invite me in?

[Semi steps back from the doorway allowing for Outlaw to step in.]

Semi: Come on in.

[Outlaw walks in with a purpose, like the superheavyweight he
obviously
 isn't.]

Outlaw: How ya [bleep] doing you big [bleep] goof?

Semi: Yeah, I've missed you too.  I'm doing good my little friend.
But
 I'm a little confused.

Outlaw: Big [bleep] surprise.

Semi: Shouldn't you be out in Phoenix?  Amy told me you signed with a
 fed out there.

[Outlaw looks at him with a dull expression on his face.]

Semi: You know, wrestling federation.  What we do for a living.

[The expression remains on Outlaw's face.]

Outlaw [hesitant]: Wrestling... yes...

Semi: Phoenix Valley Wrestling?  In Phoenix Arizona, this doesn't ring
 a bell?

Outlaw: Should it [bleep] ring a bell?

Semi: I would hope so, since you're gonna be wrestling there.

Outlaw: [bleep]?

Semi: Yes, you will be.  'law you really need to remember this stuff.
  Hold on, I think I have a copy of your contract that Amy faxed to
  me.
  [looks over his shoulder at Outlaw]  Yes, she sent me, Jonny and
  Justin
 your contract to make sure it was all good.

[Semi looks through some papers.]

Semi: Here we go.  PVW Inc.  [thumbs through the papers.]  Looks like
 the first card is next week....ooh, nice, a Blood Bowl.
Outlaw: Blood [bleep] Bowl?

Semi: Yep, you remember those, you wrestled in one in AWMC a couple of
 years back.

Outlaw: Ooh.. [bleep] AWMC.  That's where I beat [bleep] Bobby Cole
for
 the [bleep] Extremist title.  I think I still [bleep] have that belt.
  I was never [bleep] beat for it.

[Outlaw reaches into his duffle bag.]

Semi: You're not still carrying around all those old belts are you?

[Outlaw pulls out and old POW Cruiseweight title belt.]

Outlaw: Here it [bleep] is.

[Semi can't help but shake his head and smile.]

Semi: Right.  [Looks at more papers.] Well what do you know.  Rob Cole
 is signed as well.

Outlaw: [bleep] Bobby.  I hate that [bleep].

Semi: I'm sure it's mutual.  [Semi tosses a copy of the roster to
 Outlaw]  Here's a list of the guys that've signed.

[Outlaw looks over the list.]

Outlaw: [bleep] me!

Semi: I'd rather not.

Outlaw: [bleep] Chase Williams!

Semi: What?  [gets up to look over Outlaw's shoulder at the paper.]
  Huh.  What do you know, looks like old Chase is still around and
  kicking.

Outlaw: You know, I [bleep] beat him.

Semi: I don't remember that match.

Outlaw: In [bleep] EWM.  It was a [bleep] Ironman match.

Semi: What?  You never wrestled in EWM.  Wait, is there even an EWM
 federation.

Outlaw: Paul [bleep] Styles?  I [bleep] remember him and [bleep] VIP.
  Remember we [bleep] kicked their asses.

Semi: Actually, that I DO remember.  Wonder what ol'Paulie is up to.

Outlaw: Probably lame [bleep] jokes, along with his [bleep] manager
 Steve Carlson.

Semi: Carl Stevenson.

Outlaw: That's what I [bleep] said, ya big [bleep] goof.

Semi: Of course.

Outlaw: All we [bleep] need is Will [bleep] Geddings and
 Retro[bleep]bution and we could have a [bleep] reunion.  So what's
 the [bleep] Blood
 Bowl?

Semi: Seriously?

Outlaw: Am I ever NOT [bleep] serious?

Semi: Yeah, I'm gonna let that one slide.  Anyways, Blood Bowl, first
 round you team up with someone..

Outlaw: ...you?

Semi: No, I'm not involved.

Outlaw: But, but, but.. You're my [bleep] tag partner.  You and
[bleep]
 Jonny..  You and [bleep] Jonny and the rest of the [bleep] oWo.

Semi: Sorry partner.  But you're going to get a random partner right
 before the match.

Outlaw: Wait a [bleep] minute.  I could end up [bleep] tagging up
 with.. [looks at paper in his hand] ...Tyrone [bleep] Parker or The
 [bleep]
 Specter?

Semi: Pretty much.

Outlaw: What the [bleep]?

Semi: Listen, it's a gimmick thing.  It's a new fed starting off, and
 this is a good way to give everyone a chance to shine.  Look at it as
 a
 way of making a new friend.

Outlaw: I don't need any new [bleep] friends.

Semi: Of course not, you're winning personality is more than enough.

Outlaw: [bleep] right.  [bleep] this, I'm not [bleep] participating in
 a [bleep] tag match with some [bleep] [bleep] [bleep] [bleep] guy
 that
 I don't even know.  What's the [bleep] point in [bleep] doing this
 [bleep]..

Semi: [cuts him off] Winners go to a Battle Royal with a chance to win
 the Heavyweight title.

Outlaw: Why didn't you [bleep] say so..  So I gotta [bleep] go to
 Phoenix huh?

[Semi sighs as the scene fades to black.]


<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
'Long Haul' Greg Embrey
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[A semi cab.

The blue and red cab faces out into the distant sky.  Sitting on the
 steel trailer hitch is long time veteran of the squared circle, “Long
 Haul” Greg Embrey.  Embrey is dressed as he always is for these sort
 of
 things; jeans, a somewhat oversized belt buckle, a grey tee shirt and
 a
 pair of black cowboy boots under his blue jeans.

The Long Hauler runs a hand over his grey speckled beard, the camera
 closes and away we go...]

GE:  Well...

[Embrey rubs his hands together, cracks his knuckles for good measure]

... guess we’re ‘bout t’ git goin’.  PVW, my redebut so t’ speak in
the
 big time.  ‘least the big time in the States, anyway.  I’ve been all
 ‘round the world, made a name for myself in lots of places.  No doubt
 ‘bout that.  But here...

[Embrey gestures, indicating either ‘in my pants’ or, more likely, ‘in
 the US’]

... in the US, I’ve never been much more then a solid guy that no one
 paid much of a second mind to.  And, truth of it all, that never much
 bothered me since renown or no I was still gettin’, night after
 night, t’
 do what I love.  But things are different, now.  I’m older an’ I’m
 startin’ t’ look back an’ wonder ‘bout opportunities I missed, ‘bout
 moments I didn’t seize an’ ‘bout bulls I didn’t grab by the horns.

[Embrey “licks” the inside of his bottom lip]

GE:  For a while, I thought I might have missed my window.  Thought I
 might have let every _last_ opportunity pass me by.  And I got real
 down.  But then...

[The Long Hauler chuckles a bit]

... a damn funny thing happened.  I got a redo of sorts.  A second
 chance t’ get all the things I thought had passed me by at this
 point.
  And, honest, I am _damn_ glad for that.

[Again, Embrey cracks his knuckles.  Right hand, then left hand]

GE:  I ain’t thinkin’ or sayin’ things are just gonna be dropped
square
 in my lap.  Professional wrestlin’ ain’t ever been like that.  It’s
 _always_ been ‘bout hard work, ‘bout takin’ your lumps an ‘bout
 dishin’
 out twice as good as you get.  And sure as I know, ain’t nothin’
 changed
 in that regard.  Goddamn dogfight don’t begin to describe this world.

[The Long Hauler smiles, confident and collected]

An’ that brings us down t’ specifics.  T’ Heatwave an’ t’ the Blood
 Bowl.  I got no idea who my partner is going t’ be.  But I’m not
 worried.
  Not a bit, not a lick, not nothin’.  This is a game I’ve played
 before, gettin’ tossed in the ring with no idea who is gonna be on
 what
 side.  An’ as they say, variety is the spice of life.  But I will say
 this...

[Embrey jabs his left index and middle finger at the camera.  Sweet,
 sweet emphasis]

... t’ my partner, you might be thinkin’ that we don’t need each other
 or that you can do your own thing and still come out with a win.
 Hoss,
 nothin’ could be further.  I’m been t’ this dance before, bub, heard
 all the songs, seen all the girls an’ I know for _fact_ that alone we
 got no chance.  Don’t matter how tough I am or how tough you are.
 So,
 partner, whatever’s goin’ on in your head, you set that aside...

[The Long Hauler nods, very serious]

... an’ _we_ get this done.

[Embrey spits off camera and gives his knuckles one more crack.  Like
 always: right hand, then left]

GE:   This match is the start of somethin’...

[The Long Hauler mouths ‘hold up’ and raises his left hand, a gesture
 that echoes the silent sentiments]

... take that back, it’s the restart of somethin’ for me.  It’s the
 restart of my career and the restart down the path I let a lot of
 things
 pull me off of.  I don’t intend or mean t’ get sidetracked a second
 time.   I may only have one more good run in me but you can damn sure
 know
 that that one run _will_ be somethin’ that no one will _ever_ forget.

[fade]


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

"All I've heard all week is why?

[Beat]

"Why Here? Why now? After so long..."

[A soft chuckle. As the camera swings up and reveals the man to go
along with the voice, you're stunned... You rub your eyes. It couldn't
actually be him could it?]

"Why? Why not? When you're head and shoulders above everyone else in
your given profession, well... At some point you earn the right to
come and go as you please and not have to answer a multitude of
asinine questions. But I digress..."

[A pause. A smirk. Oh yeah its him. You can relax Phoenix Valley, the
paragon of excellence, your savior and mine, "Concieted Bastard" Chase
Williams  has pulled his genetically perfect ass off of some tropical
beach somewhere, dusted off his wrestling boots, and is ready to
reclaim his throne. The once and future king addresses the camera with
an air of disdain.]

"There simply is no time to answer such trivalities. The reason I'm
here is of no real consequence. The fact that I am here, That is the
thing that matters. By doing nothing more than signing my name on the
contract, I changed the very face of Phoenix Valley Wrestling. Without
even stepping in the ring I have raised the bar to a level few men can
even fathom let alone attain"

"Take a simple look at the list of ne'er do 'ells that the PVW is
trotting out for the Blood Bowl. Its like the whose who of nobodies.
I've seen some of these clowns around before though. I gotta buddy
that goes by Jericho Hill that sent me a couple tapes from a few years
ago. These two [beeping] guys in particular, they're like siegfried
and Roy, dumb and dumber, a real pair of queens. Who you ask?

[He paces momentarily. The tension is palpable.]

"Chris Hartt I'll start with you. You are the very epitome, nay... the
_essence_ of what it means to be a joke in this business. A pandering
preening little metro fan ass kissing ponce. You disgust me and I'm
embarassed to admit what I do for a living because of people like you.
[beeping] alter boy." You've made a living off being a real wrestlers
punching bag. Bravo. Expect Phoenix Valley to be a little rinse and
repeat action. You stand around valiantly, I'll be the one doing my
hardest to shatter your pretty face. As long as the fans still love
'ya huh stupid?

[He shakes his head in disgust.]

"Then theres the peanut butter to your [beeping] jelly, RJ Souza and
his life partner agent whose name eludes me at the moment. I think
Souza calls him his "mega agent". You finally figure out to leave the
woman at home Souza? Or did Destiny leave 'ya after she got tired of
watching you get punked every step of your pathetic life and wanted to
see what a real man is like? And the worst part of all of it? The
_only_ thing separating you from Chris Hartt is that you believe your
own hype. You're just as talentless, just as worthless, and just as
big a [beeping] pussy. You just think you're a badass cause you where
black sunglasses and carry around a bat. Hell Rim Job,  hand Chrissy
the bat and sunglasses and you have Souza jr. You two... Its [beeping]
pathetic. I'll clue you in to something Souza, so don't ever say I
never did anything for 'ya. Little piece o' wisdom..."

[The smirk is back!]

"Just because you _think_ you're tough, and you _act_ tough, that
doesn't mean you're tough. Even if you truly believe it in that little
peanut head 'a yours, that doesn't make it reality."

[A wink.]

"its been a few years boys and bitches, but the more things change,
the more they stay the same. I see a few of my dance partners have
changed, but the dance remains. And those two are just the tip of the
iceberg people! Thats just a snippet of what Phoenix Valley is trying
to pass off as talent for blood bowl. Why am I here? Because if I
wasn't nobody would give two squirts of piss about Phoenix Valley
wrestling! People don't pay to watch mudcutters like Hartt and Souza
wrestle. They pay to watch me kick the [beep] outta guys like the
aformentioned pair. I'm not coming to save wrestling, I'm simply here
to do what I do best. Beat, humiliate, and ruin the lives of my fellow
co-workers"

[He runs a hand over the blonde hair on his head and smirks at the
camera.]

"You people want and answer? Why? Why? Why?"

[Cheshire grin.]

"Simply because... I can... See you soon bitches..."

[Fade]


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

[Illuminated by a full moon, the night sky is a deep navy blue, and
 only the brightest stars shine through to be seen by those below.
 The
 scene portrayed on the screen is that of the Arlington National
 Cometary  in Washington D.C.; the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier.  As
 the camera pans down, the camera shows a massive headstone set on a
 concrete pad inset with many other flattened gravestones, and many
 wreaths accompany the graves of men whose bodies have never been
 identified after falling in service to their country.]

MD: Wars are fought, unending...

[Sounding like some demented cross between a talking snake and Darth
 Vader, a disembodied voice comes.  The camera pans over to find a
 dark
 figure clad in camouflage from head to toe and with a gas mask hiding
 his identity, the camera focuses in on him as he kneels before a
 wreath
 set upon one of the gravestones.]

MD: Lives are taken by the enemy, and we take many more of theirs in
 turn.  Such is the way the state conducts its business.  We give
 better
 than we get, and thus the world is ours...

[Tracing letters carved into the gravestone, indicating which unknown
 soldier lies beneath, he pauses upon the word “Korea”; the country
 and conflict in which this soldier died.]

MD: I am the Major, my face unknown.  Ask not my name, but see only my
 purpose.  Within this body resides the spirit of a soldier, powerful
 and patriotic.  I come now to wage war, as it is my life's purpose.

[From his knees to his feet, the Major nips up neatly without using
his
 hands.  Turning full towards the camera, it is now clear that the
 lenses of the gas mask emit an eerie red glow, as with night vision
 goggles.]

MD: This place holds great meaning for me.  As my spirit resides
within
 me, here the ones that surround me are those whose spirits have fled.
  The enemy has taken nearly everything from them; life, identity, all
 but honor.

[Zooming in, the camera fills the television screen with the “face”
 of the Major.  He lifts his hands before him, showing that they are
 covered in heavy work gloves that look like the kind used to handle
 razorwire.]

MD: Ours is not the beautiful America.  Ours is the kind that asks for
 sacrifice from the few so that the many can live in peace.  Our peace
 is war unending.  Now the World War Organization is gone, and the
 Operation is a memory, but I hear talk.  Talk of blood, and
 competition ... in other words, a WAR!

[His head jerking up skywards, the Major laughs sardonically in a
voice
 that can only be described as mechanical.]

MD: A war ... waged in an armory ... a focal point of military might.
  Yes, there will be blood, and by the gallon.  Those that dare to
  stand
 before the might of this man's military will be rent asunder by
 artillery.  At the end of the engagement, when all others are nothing
 but smoldering husks, Major Damage shall stand tall...

[Casting his eyes off into the distance, the Major gestures towards a
 flagpole.]

MD: Ours is not the beautiful America, nor is ours the sparkling flag.
  Ours is a Scorched Spangled Banner that bears the scars borne of
 freedom that we fight for and you enjoy!  Our time comes, and you
 civilians  shall suffer for your freedom!  Suffer like we suffer!
 For at the Armory, YOU ARE THE ENEMY!

[Turning back towards the camera, the Major crosses his arms as a flag
 raises up the previously naked flagpole.  In the moonlight, it is
 only
 a silhouette, but its intent is clear.  As it reaches half-staff it
 stops, then bursts into flame, flapping wildly as it is consumed.]

MD: And enemies of the state ... will burn...

[Fade to black as the Major laughs again, the sound of the flag
burning
 crackling in the darkness.  End.]

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Montana Bishop
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[Outside in the loading dock of the 52nd Street Armory in Phoenix,
Arizona.  A big rig truck slowly backs up as directed, its warning
bell repeatedly ringing.  The truck then comes to a stop, the bell
ceasing, and the engine cutting off.  Several men get to work
unloading the truck.  The driver's side door then opens, and a man in
his mid-thirties steps out and down.

PVW wrestler, Montana Bishop.

The big Amarillo, Texas native stands at a good 6'6" tall, and weighs
nearly 265 pounds.  He sports a blue flannel shirt with the sleeves
rolled up, black fingerless truck driver's gloves, dark blue denim
jeans, and black boots on his feet.  A dark gray cowboy hat covers his
head.  MOntana has shoulder length, wavy dark brown hair, blue eyes,
and a dark five o'clock shadow - giving him rugged good looks.

After gazing around for a moment, he closes the truck door behind him,
and starts toward the Armory.  It's at this time that local Phoenix DJ
and PVW backstage interviewer Swingin' Dean Hayes approaches him.]

SDJ: Unless my eyes are tricking me, you'd be MOntana Bishop, right?

[Montana nods his head in affirmation.]

MB: Yeah, howdy.

[He extends his hand for a handshake, which Swingin' Dean quickly
accepts.]

SDH: Swingin' Dean Hayes here, and I was hoping you'd answer a few
questions for the fans of Phoenix Valley Wrestling.

MB: Sure, why not?

[That causes a smile to form on Swin' Dean's face.]

SDH: Well first off, most people around here aren't familiar with you.
Could you tell us a little about yourself?

MB: That's fine.  There ain't many people who do know me, whether here
in Phoenix, or anywhere for that matter... 'cept for maybe some fans
up in the Midwest.  Wrestlin' wasn't my first career choice.  For the
past eighteen years, Ah've been driving trucks like these all over the
country.  And all the while, Ah kept myself in real good shape.  But
it wasn't 'til just a month ago that Ah decided to cut back on the
truck drivin' some, and see how Ah could do in the ring.

[All the while, Swingin' Dean is nodding his head as he listens.  When
Montana is done, Dean chirps back up.]

SDH: Did you do much training for this sport?

[Montana shakes his head no in reply.]

MB: Not really, no.  My fightin' skills are natural.

[Montana chuckles, a smile spreading across his lips.]

MB: At least that's what the "Long Haul" said.  He's shown me a few
things, but that's all.

[Hayes picks right up on the "Long Haul" reference.]

SDH: I assume you're referring to "Long Haul" Greg Embrey, your tag
team partner in Highway 44.

[Montana nods his head once again.]

MB: You'd be right there in that assumption.

SDH: How did the two of you meet?  And for that matter, why the name
Highway 44?

MB: Highway 44 is a reference to Ah-44, an Interstate highway
stretching from Missouri to Texas.  He's from Missouri, and Ah'm from
Texas, so it made sense.  How we met... Ah was droppin' off a load
next to a venue in Chicago, and got into a fight with some loading
dock jackass who thought he could push me around.  Didn't happen.
Embrey saw the fight, and thought Ah'd do well in the ring.  Came up
to me and suggested Ah be his tag team partner for the next show.  Ah
had seen a little wrestlin' on TV before, so Ah knew a little bit
about it.  Gave the offer some thought, and finally agreed.

SDH: Tonight you compete in a tag match with a man you don't know, in
hopes of securing a spot in the Blood Bowl next week.  It could
possibly be Greg Embrey if you're lucky, but the odds of that are slim
to none.

[Montana shrugs his shoulders.]

MB: Doesn't really matter who it is.  Ah can work with just about
everybody.  Sure would be nice to team with Embrey tonight, but Ah
won't bet on it either.  Hopefully both of us will get into the Blood
Bowl and compete for the Heavyweight Championship.

SDH: And I suppose the next question would be, what if only one of you
makes it?  Or none?

[Again, Montana shrugs his shoulders - not really seeming to worry
about it.]

MB: We're a team.  That's our focus.  So Ah ain't too worried about
this Blood Bowl thing.  If one of us makes it into the Blood Bowl, or
even wins the title, that's great.  If not, no sweat off my back.  But
if you'll excuse me, those boys are done unloadin' the truck, so I
gotta' go park it.

SDH: Well that should cover everything.  Thank you for your time, and
good luck tonight.

[Montana shakes his hand again.]

MB: Pleasure's been mine.  And thank you.

[Montana turns back towards his truck and opens the door.  He climbs
in and shuts it again, starting the engine back up.  Fade.]