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##                           ##
## Phoenix Valley Wrestling  ##
##       Burning Effect      ##
##           03.17.08        ##
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Presenting....

-> Rob Cole
-> Derek Rage
-> The Thrillers
-> Christopher Michaelson
-> Urban Legend
-> Royal Family [POP]
-> Chris Hartt
-> OmniFly
-> Chris Hartt & Rob Cole
-> The Spectre
-> Caleb Foley
-> Extreme Conditions
-> Wild Cards
-> Major Damage
-> Masked Outlaw
-> Chase Williams




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

[Rob Cole paces before the PVW banner, laughing in frustration as he
runs his fingers through his hair… gripping his skull to keep him from
shaking out of control.  He licks his lips and turns towards the
camera with a quirked grin, eyes wild as he regards the camera,
office, opponent, and fans.]

RC: I am starting to feel neglected.  I’m starting to feel spurned,
tossed aside, dismissed, and thrown over… I’m starting to feel
unappreciated, no matter how much I give and I give and I give.  Maybe
the veneer has worn dull, maybe the shine is gone, or maybe the glory
of my youth is a fading memory from bygone days.  You see, that’s what
might be happening… it might be that I’m not the monster I thought I
was, that I’m not the beast I used to be, and it might be that my best
days are long behind me.  You see, Paul, it could be all that or it
could be that you lack even the slightest bit of courage to take a
stand!  We took our first steps through the door, saw each other over
the vast sea of blood between us… and I decided that I’d danced around
you long enough!  You send out Johnny-boy with some choice words… let
me break it down for you, now:

[Cole licks his lips, shaking his head in disgust.  He pauses for a
moment, and then takes a deep breath.  He smiles.]

RC: No… I never played politics.  It’s not the way I do things, kiddo…
I don’t play the office. I don’t throw down the compliments or light
up the grin for a few happy slaps and well wishes.  You see, I’ve
always played things my way… it doesn’t always work and people don’t
always let me run with the opportunities I make for myself, but I
always do things my way.  When some guy told me to be funny, I bathed
in some poor saps blood.  When some guy told me to be more
professional, I hung another man with his tie.  When some idiot told
me to play the hero, I carved the memory of that night in another
hero’s back!  I took titles when I wanted them, I left blood and flesh
behind because I could, and I’ve never tried to be anyone’s friend…
not a single person in this business.  But I made a few friends,
anyway… not because I complimented them, not because I glad-handed
them, not because I backed them up.  I made friends for the same
reason I made enemies… respect.

[Cole chuckles, folding his arms as he licks his lips and leans back.]

RC: I respect the people I face, Paul.  I give them the exact same
respect I demand for myself… I give them my best, my A-Game, my every
effort, my blood, sweat, tears.  I give them everything I expect them
to give me… and I do it out of respect.  You want to show me no
respect?  You want to dismiss me?  I know you don’t fear me, kiddo… I
know you’re not trying to avoid me… I know that Jonathan Monarch was
your messenger boy.  The message is loud and clear:  You have no
respect.  Not for me, not for Monarch, not for PVW, and none for the
business.

[Cole unfolds his arms, rolling his neck as he glares into the camera…
taking a step closer.]

RC: It’s the same message I’m getting from the mask, Paul.  I don’t
know if it’s you, but I don’t really care… you see, I have this really
long list of enemies that have been tagged on over the years that I
can’t afford to discount a single one.  But the message is heard loud
and clear… you wear a mask like that, you have no respect.  Not just
for me or this business… you have no respect for yourself.  You don’t
have the guts to stand toe to toe, face to face.  You’re a miserable
coward, kiddo.  You think you’re playing games with me?  You think
you’re getting in my head?  Take a look around you… I know the mask
prohibits your peripheral vision, so I want you to turn your head and
twist it in all sorts of angles. You hear that hungry gurgle in my
belly?  You feel the hot breath on the back of your neck, the drool
spilling out as my mouth waters for the taste of your blood?  Do you
have any IDEA who the hell I am?!?!!

[Another step closer…]

RC: My name is Rob Cole.  The scars on my body are a testament to a
career washed in blood and bathed in violence.  I know what it’s like
to stand, I know what it’s like to fall, and I know what it’s like to
“Rise from the Ashes”.  So wash the fear-stench sweat from your mask,
pat yourself on the back for getting my attention.  In a few nights,
you’re going to be the center of my world…. And I am going to show you
precisely why I am the Monster Beneath the Bed!

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Derek Rage
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[Fade in:

The PVW banner and interview set is obscured by the presence of kings
... Prophets.  Derek Rage leans against the backdrop.  He's dressed in
a cream linen suit with a powder blue shirt.  He wears a professorial
brown paisley bowtie.  His expression could not be any more
uninterested.  Pizzazz is to his left, holding onto one massive arm
that threatens to split the seams of his finely tailored jacket.  Just
upstage of him, his back to the camera and flexing in a rear double
biceps shot is Shadoe Rage.  He wears only a pink sleeveless T-shirt
and designer jeans.  He sports a matching fuchsia bandana tied around
his skull.  He pumps the double biceps pose for a moment before he
turns to face the camera, his eyes hidden behind gold aviator glasses.
He flicks his tongue at the camera as he claps his hands together.]

SR: Freak out!  Freak out!  It's a celebration!  Power of Pride for me
was a washout.  Yeah, it was.  I went over to Tokyo, Japan to fight
for my country, to fight for me and I lost.  And that loss cost me big
time. Forget the one million dollar prize.  Forget that.  No, what it
cost me was much more important.  It cost the Prophets an opportunity
to wrestle for the eighth seed in the PVW tag-team tournament to crown
PVW's inaugural tag-team champions.  That hurts!  That eighth seed
would have guaranteed the Prophets a victory.  Now, we've got to get
our hands a little dirty.  We've got to soil ourselves with the common
masses. Highway 44 ... out of here.  Sexual Energy ... finished.
Who's next on the list?  Yeah, Urban Legend.  PVW did the right thing.
They split us up.  Maybe they think the big man on his own would be
less likely to put another tag-team out of commission.  Talk to them,
brotha!  Let 'em know that that's just wrong!

[To punctuate his sentence he claps Derek Rage on the chest with two
meaty thwacks of his hand.  That seems to wake the giant up.  Derek
Rage looks down for a moment.  He chews his lip.  He looks up at the
camera for a moment and squints his eyes.  He looks down again and
chews his lip some more before tugging at his chin.  Finally, when his
head raises the second time his focus is locked in on the PVW
viewers.]

DR: A friend of a friend of a friend of mine went to Cancun for spring
break.  She had a great time.  Partied a lot.  Got herself really
drunk. Met some guy.  Yadda yadda yadda ... she passed out in her
room.  When she came to her back hurt.  She limped to the hotel
bathroom and was stunned by what she saw on the mirror.  In lipstick
the guy had written "Welcome to the Wonderful World of AIDS."  She
fell back against the doorframe and bumped her back.  Pain shot down
her side.  When she checked herself in the mirror she saw a crescent
shaped scar where her kidney used to be.  He'd stolen her kidney to.
She came back home to Kentucky.  As she was downloading her digital
pictures she came across a picture of the guy sticking her toothbrush
into his rectum.  Bad trip all around, I'd say.

P: Incroyable.

DR: (smirking) Incredible indeed, isn't it.  Three urban legends all
wrapped up into one bad trip.  Unbelievable.  In fact, I'd say it was
all a lie.  Kind of like the lie some one's telling when they say that
Johnny Styles can match up with me.  Kind of like the lie they tell
when they think Semi on the outside is going to be any kind of factor
at all. Kind of like the lie they tell when they say that the Prophets
of Rage are going to be the number two seed in this tag-team
tournament.  It's just not going to happen.  PERIOD.  Johnny Styles, I
want you to understand something, you're a pale version of Shadoe
Rage.  You can move.  You can fly a little bit, but you can't do it
like my brother can.

SR: (arms folded) And that's the God's honest truth.

DR: And if you can't do it like he can do it then you're no threat to
me.  I spar with my brother all the time.  I know what he does.  I
know how he thinks.  And that leads me right into your soul, doesn't
it, Styles.  You're going to try to outlast me, keep the pace up, tire
me out, chop me down and then maybe get some help from Semi when you
realise you can't hurt me on your own.  I'd do the same thing if I
were in your shoes.  It's the only possible way you can win unless you
try to cheat.  Well, if you try to cheat ... that will only make
things worse for you.  It might make me a little bit upset.

[Derek Rage tightens his eyes and shakes his head.]

DR: You wouldn't like me when I'm upset.

P: C'est vrai.  C'est pas qu'elques chose que tu peut survivre.

DR: See, I don't have any individual needs when it comes to wrestling.
I don't dream of being the great heavyweight champion of the world.
I'm one hundred per cent focused on making the Prophets of Rage the
greatest tag-team in the world one more time.

[Shadoe Rage winces at those comments.  Derek notices and he slaps a
hand on his brother's shoulder.]

DR: Shadoe learned a valuable lesson in Japan.  He learned that he is
part of a team.  He learned how important that team is.  We are not
going to accept being the second team in the gauntlet match.  We're
not going to put ourselves in a position where we have to expend too
much energy and let some pathetic team sneak in a victory over us
because we're tired.  The fact is, and you can mark it on your
calendars today, we're going to be the Phoenix Valley Tag-Team
champions.  We're going to walk away with that title because we want
it and we deserve it.  And it starts with you, little Johnny Styles.
I'm going to take you out.  I'm going to hurt you.  Not because I
enjoy it, but because that's the way the system works.  I feel sorry
for you, I really do.  You're sitting there thinking of ways you could
possibly win.  It won't work.  You can't win.  It just isn't in your
destiny.  When I get my hands on you... well, your hopes and dreams
will just fade to black.

[He gives the slightest gesture of his chin towards the camera,
indicating that the interview is over.

Fade to black.]



<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
The Thrillers
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[We open to The Thrillers manager, Samuel Cunningham sitting in his
wheel chair.  The neck brace sits firmly around the near broken neck
of the well respected southern gentleman.  A look of pain and agony
sits across the older man's face.]

Cunningham: Walker I told you things were going to change.  Last week
Steven Hayes pinned Gideon Frost's shoulders to the ground fair and
square. That is exactly what happens when your no good cheating
carcass is banned from ring side.  Justice was served last week and it
put a smile on my face for one night.

[Cunningham cackles.]

Cunningham: However there is still work to be done.  There is a lot
more pain and punishment to dish out on you.  Covell and Frost are
just pawns in the way of the ultimate goal.  You see I don't care what
happens to them either way.  They are just in the way of the pain and
suffering that you will soon endure.

[The camera pans backwards and The Thrillers appear standing behind
the wheel chair of Samuel Cunningham.]

Cunningham: Jimmy Lane and Steven Hayes will stand side by side by the
great justice system the PVW has in place.  Mr. Craven and his boys
have taken it upon himself to aid us in the good fight.  Consider
Heatwave your warning and message of what is soon to come.  As for the
rest of our opponents since they will be involved in the match and it
helps our good friends in some of their dirty business I have no
problems with Jimmy and Steven smashing a few skulls as they make
their way to Darius and Extreme Pawns.

[Cunningham wheels backwards a tad allowing Hayes and Lane time to
speak.]

Hayes:  Gideon Frost I beat you last week.  I listened to the hype
about how you were a ring wizard.  How you dished out pain that most
didn't know was possible.  I admit when I walked that isle I was a bit
intimidated, but after facing you in the ring I now realized that it
all was a myth.  You aren't anything, but a two bit hack masquerading
around the PVW as a wrestler. Anytime you want a match boy I can take
a few minutes out of my time to school you again.

[Hayes nods with full confidence.]

Lane: Covell nice try... Nice attempt to come down and help your
partner cheat his way to a win just like you did against me.  This
time I was ready for you.  I was ready for your dirty little plan.
Times have changed and The Thrillers will no longer sit back and watch
you two STEAL victories. Covell you like to sit around full of
attitude making fun of everything around you.  Let me ask you a
question.  How did it feel to taste the bottom of my boots?  How did
it feel to lay on the cold cement floor looking up at the lights as
you listened to the sound of the referee slap the mat while your
partner lost the match?  Then when you finally mustered enough energy
to get to your feet....  How did it feel to see the disappointment in
the fans faces around the 52nd Street Armory?  Just then you realized
that maybe all the hype Darius Walker had been saying wasn't true.
The doubt sinked in...  You then realized that you didn't stand a
chance against a Greek God.  No Shawn Covell I am twice the man you
are and come Heatwave I will prove it.

[Lane flexes his muscles and you see every muscle bust out in his skin
tight shirt.]

Cunningham: Walker look around at the confidence of my two.  While you
stand there looking at the doubt and dose of reality on the faces of
the Extreme Pawns.  Soon... Very soon we will finish what we started.
Covell and Frost let me apologize our beef isn't with you, but to get
what we want we must start by destroying you.  It's nothing
personal...

[All together..]

It's just business...

[All three cackle as the camera fades.]



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

[The camera slowly fades in from black to reveal Christopher
Michaelson sitting upon a black leather chair in his spacious
apartment which is lit by a single light in the far corner of the
room. Michaelson is leaned back in the leather chair with his eyes
closed. After a few moments he opens his eyes and begins to speak.]

Michaelson: “You know I can hear it now … once again Christopher
Michaelson is once again not able to deliver on his promises … all he
does is talk a big game … how can a man be so cocky and not accomplish
what he says he is going to …”

[Michaelson sighs.]

Michaelson: “I can’t blame anyone but myself … you see Chris Hartt
walked out of Tradition because I was confident … over confident.
Instead of pinning Chris I wanted to make an example of him. I wanted
him … actually I wanted the PVW to witness the burial of Chris Hartt’s
career. So I pulled him to his nearly crippled legs and wanted him to
meet his maker … The G.O.D …”

[Michaelson pauses.]

Michaelson: “Yet, my over confidence caused me to not lock the front
chancery in tight enough and Chris Hartt was able to catch me off
guard … I will admit it I made a mistake … a mistake I need to live
with. “

[Another pause from Michaelson.]

Michaelson: “It was a mistake ... but it was a mistake that cost the
PVW a true champion. Chris Hartt is not a champion … he is nothing
more than a back stabbing, wife stealing … sorry, allegedly a wife
stealing individual. A man like that can’t be representing a
federation as a champion … so for that PVW I am sorry. But as I said
it is only a mistake and mistakes can be fixed and I do intend to fix
that mistake. Chris Hartt there will be a time when you and I step
into the ring again, yet this time it will be ‘The Golden One’
Christopher Michaelson who steps out victorious.  Will I be the Rising
Phoenix Heritage Champion after that victory? Only time will tell for
at Rise from the Ashes you have to deal with a man who is outraged …
RJ Souza.”

Michaelson: “You’re a wounded individual Chris … well nearly crippled
and I can honestly see RJ not stopping till you are completely
crippled. “

[Michaelson begins to laugh.]

Michaelson: “I’m sorry Chris I don’t mean to laugh at your future …
I’m lying I do mean to laugh at your future, you deserve every single
thing coming your way. But again Chris if you happen to survive Rise
from the Ashes I guarantee we will meet again.”

“Now everyone wonders why I decided to interject myself into your
match with the Outlaw … and the answer is simple … I could not fail
the PVW twice in one night. You see Chris; you may not be an ideal
choice as a champion but Outlaw is an absolute embarrassment! I could
not sit idly by in the back and watch the future ditch digger of
America win a title as prestigious as the Rising Phoenix Heritage
title.”

[The camera slowly zooms in upon the stern glare that graces the face
of Christopher Michaelson.]

Michaelson: “You see Outlaw I am a company man and I did what was best
for the company, which is not allowing you be a champion. The PVW will
be known as the company Christopher Michaelson built … the company
that was put on the map at Wrestlebowl because of the efforts of
Christopher Michaelson. And at Rise from the Ashes I will continue to
do what is best for the company by defeating you one more time and
making you realize once and for all this business is not meant for
you.”

[Michaelson smirks as the camera slowly fades to black.]


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

[Sunset, outside the Church at Litchfield Park.  A few random folk
mill about, heading into or out of the church or just admiring the
landmark, but the camera is focused on two figures.  Taking up a
whole bench, the larger Semi leans back, reading a book.  The Bible,
in fact.  On another bench, Urban Legend's Stalker, Johnny Styles,
sits up; for some reason, a cast covers his right arm, adorned with
faded signatures.  He stares at the camera, almost smiling.]

Stalker : Monarch... Paul.   Y'know, I'd be pretty damned pleased
that y'took our bait... if we'd left any.  We really could've cared
less 'bout our run-ins with your lapdogs V.I.P. back'n the Motor City
days, and I ain't even sure we said two words t'each other
personally, then.  No point, really.

Stalker : What y'got is a couple announcers tryin' to stir the pot
and get a good fight goin'.  And y'fell for it hook, line
n'sinker.  You ain't as smart as y'claim to be... [He smirks.]  But
I've watched y'long enough that it ain't a surprise, there.

[The smirk fades.  He easily slips the cast off his arm, looking at
 it.]

Stalker : On the other hand, Mark'n I don't mind a good fight.  And
th'rather simplistic attack last week did jog m'memory some: a few
years back, representin' the Family, V.I.P. broke my arm.  And I
never got a chance t'properly repay them.

Stalker : And I suppose we can't let the attack like that go... even
though it'll make y'think y'still matter.   Just remember... at Rise
from th'Ashes, when yer sittin' on the sidelines 'cause you got
y'self a few too many enemies after ya -- you started it.

[Semi, not looking up from his apparently enthralling read, gives a
brief thumbs up.  Styles stands, beginning to pace a bit.]

Stalker : On t'more current matters.  As a warm up t'the gauntlet
match next month, I get t'fight one'f the many opponents -- Derek
Rage, a self proclaimed prophet. And, I've gotta admit, a guy 'bout
twice my size.  [He shrugs slightly.]  Wouldn't be the first
time.  [He nods towards Semi.]  I've been trainin' with that one for
years, both next t'me and across from me.   In fact -- [Semi
grimaces.] -- I've managed to beat the boy on an occasion'r two, for
 gold.

Semi (mumbling) : And I dare ya ta do it again.

Stalker (glances over, not hearing) : Hm?

Semi (reading) : Said it's gettin to the good parts.

[Styles looks at him for a long moment, then shrugs.]

Stalker : Like I said, wouldn't be the first time.  But th'past is
just that, n'right now the question's if I can get one over on y'now,
outside'f a tag team match.  Bluntly, I'm thinkin' yes.  I ain't just
a tag team player, as a few people'n the roster can attest.  I can
take down a bigger man.  And frankly, y'have the misfortune of bein'
a prime target, between th'stakes of this match, and you bein' the
first in my way for the gauntlet itself.

[Styles pauses, cocking his head a bit.]

Stalker : Although y'know, maybe losin' wouldn't be such a bad
thing...  Gettin' t'run through every team on th'way to some more
gold.  [Semi perks up.]  But -- [Semi slumps.] -- th'shortest
distance to a goal is always th'best.   So it's time t'get goin' --
first stop, Rage.

[The camera clicks off.]



<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Royal Family [POP]
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[the camera opens on a cheap cloth Pride of Powers Night 3 banner.
Carl Stevenson casually walks into frame and pulls a green piece of
paper, a PVW press release, from the vest pocket of his grey three-
piece suit and calmly dictate it for the camera]

Carl Stevenson: March 29th from Madison Square Garden in New York
City, PVW's invitational Match will be The Unrivaled Funky Ones v.
Royal Family.

[As Carl continues, a smiling “Rolemodel” Paul Styles steps into the
right side of the frame wearing a blue sweater-vest over a brown dress
shirt. He is also sporting his small round glasses. A disinterested
Johnathan Monarch steps in on Carl’s left in a dark blue dress shirt
with pale blue suspenders]

CS: These two teams have been at one another's throat since day one
and will represent the PVW at the biggest stage of them all, Madison
Square Garden at Pride of the Powers! The winner will receive the
eighth spot in the tag team gauntlet match while the loser will
receive the first spot.

[Carl looks at the paper for a moment smiling]

CS: They might as well just give us the tag titles tonight and get it
over with.

[Carl hands the paper to Paul who just crumbles it up and tosses it
off camera without even looking at it]

“Rolemodel” Paul Styles: What a joke. We expected some lame promotion
from a second rate tournament like Pride of Powers, but that was
laughable. We've been at each other’s throats since day one? Apollo
Creed might be annoying and embarrassing but he isn’t anywhere near my
throat. The only time Apollo was able to get the better of me was when
he was suppose to be my partner, and I still won the match for us
anyway. Unless they're considering The UFOs saving Urban Legend from
us on Heatwave being at my throat, but I just consider that pathetic.
Apollo and Bones get one underwhelming victory over a loser tag team
like Sexual Energy and they start policing the locker room like two
western sheriffs.

CS: Sexual Energy were terrible. And what does it say about Apollo
when Andrew and Ian were so humiliated by losing to Funky Rookies that
they quit? Maybe Apollo can beat Urban Legend on Heatwave some week so
Stalker and Semi and get out of here to.

PS: It’s obvious Urban Legend still have a problem with how we
humiliated them into retirement eight years ago. I haven't even though
about Stalker or Semi in seven and a half years, but we obviously need
to straight things out again. What we don’t need is Apollo Creed, the
laughingstock of Blood Bowl, interrupting our reunion.

[Paul pauses and shakes his head as he sighs thinking about Apollo as
he brought the subject up]

PS: And to be honest, I don’t need to be dealing with Apollo or his
lame friend Bones at all. Apollo will never be able to make up for
costing me the PVW title at Blood Bowl because he just isn’t relevant
enough and I don't move up the rankings by beating him because he has
no credibility. And it isn't even as much fun as a few weeks ago
because I'm going to enjoy slapping Urban Legend more than two dancing
rookies. I can't even understand Apollo when he talks. It's been two
months Apollo, just speak english or shut up.

[Paul pauses and calms his voice down]

PS: All I can still get out of wrestling Apollo is the PVW tag team
championship, and I had to travel to New York to get it. If PVW are
going to award us the final number for the team gauntlet the match
will already be decided and Rise From The Ashes will just be our
coronation.

[Johnathan's interest picks up slightly when the tag titles come up
and acknowledges Paul's claim with a lazy nod in Paul's direction]

PS: Two guys that will recognize The Royal Family being crowed
champions are Urban Legend themselves,  Johnny Stalker and Semi. And
let me be the first to say how entertaining Urban Legend's return to
wrestling has been because it's been a fantastic train wreck. A random
returned greeted with apathy from the fans, pretending their opening
match against local joes was a big deal, needing The UFOs to save them
from being humiliated by The Royal Family… again. And I didn’t realize
Mastery Of Afrodynamics was considered an Urban Legend already.
Welcome back to the business Stalker, we needed a team to replace
Sexual Energy at the bottom of the roster anyway.

[Paul pauses and looks to Carl who nods and motions that Paul has time
for one more]

PS: And Chris Hartt with his two Ts is the first PVW Heritage
Champion! It’s not often that a wrestler as pedestrian as Chris gets
to wrestle in a tournament so prestigious it airs exclusively over a
website. And there is little more prestigious than wrestling [bleep]
’in Outlaw in the finals of a title tournament. But one of the few
more prestigious events was when I beat The Paladin, easily, fifteen
days before a bunch of nerds watched him on the internet. If the
aladin is as righteous as claims he’s going to admit that Paul Styles
is the true PVW Heritage Champion and that a Paladin only won because
a Rolemodel is too well respected to wrestle on websites.

CS: We should also be too well respected to be associated with a
carnival tournament like Pride of Powers. Even on Night 3.

[Paul can't hold back his soft laughter to Carl's remark, breaking his
concentration. Johnathan smiles and pats Carl on the back as the
camera quickly fades to black]


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

[Chris Hartt stands backstage at the Armory.  He just finished his 3rd
match of the night and now he clutches the Rising Phoenix Heritage
Title in front of him with both hands.  The sweat and toil of the
night covers him.  His breathing is fast and heavy, but the smile on
his face and the wild gleam in his eyes speak volumes to the
excitement the young man feels.]

Hartt: This....has been everything....I ever hoped it could be.  I
thought I was gonna fall apart, having to wrestle 3 times in one
night, but it was all worth it.  All and more, if necessary.  Just to
hold this belt right now....it's the greatest feeling ever!

I can't explain just how great it feels.  The rush of the fans
cheering for me, knowing that they're going home, having seen an
outcome they can be proud of.  They have someone to look up to and
feel like they've managed to succeed along with me.  They can put
their faith in a champion that will represent them in the best
possible way.

It's...unearthly.

[Hartt drapes the belt over his shoulder and wipes his hair back out
of his eyes.]

I know I have farther to go.  This moment is one to remember forever,
but there's still work to be done.  RJ Souza needs to pay for his
arrogance and false accusations.  He needs to pay for his lies.  And
that time will come next week.  But even then, it's only the
beginning.  We meet in a tag match and punishment will be given.

And at Rise from the Ashes, this belt and our association will be on
the line.  We'll meet in the ring to bust the hell out of each other
with Louisville and finally, your lies will be beaten down just like
I'll do to your body.

The line starts with you, RJ.  Once done there, I'll move my way up to
bigger and badder threats, but my resolve will always remain.  I may
break and bend, bleed and bruise, but I will never back down!

[Hartt takes the title off his shoulder and looks hard into the
camera.]

You can have faith in that!


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

[A blank screen. Simply the word "Omni".]

Voice: Debut? At your whim? I will debut when I am ready. You have no
dominion here, boy.

[CKD Abdullah appears on the board.]

Voice: Are you innocent? Are you guilty? None know but me. Will you
bow? Or will you crumble?

["KGB" replaces the word "Omni"]

Voice: The choice is yours.

[Scene fades as laughter is heard.]

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Chris Hartt & Rob Cole
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[Backstage of the Armory, Chris Hartt stands before a PVW banner.  He
wears a white hoodie with his name across the front in arcing black
letter and his wings & cross logo on the back.  With the Rising
Phoenix title wrapped around his waist, Hartt looks out from under the
hood and speaks.]

Hartt:  Tonight is a new step onto my path to greatness.  Tonight,  I
get a chance to mete out my anger and frustration on someone who has
brought about great wrath.  Tonight, we meet and will be able to stop
all the talking and get down to the doing.  Get to what's real and
show just who's the more deserving of their own triumph.

RJ Souza, you destroyed our friendship with the swing of your bat!
You lied, declaring I was sneaking around with your wife, but
you...you left her behind and turned on everyone you knew.  Your
little pal, Paul Sadler, has your brain wrapped around his finger and
is plucking your strings like a guitar.

You wanna make me believe that my continued friendship with Destiny
was more than you claim it to be?  Meet me in the ring.  You won't
listen to reason from a man you trusted for so long, so maybe a few
well placed punches and kicks will set things right.  As you plan your
strategy with your corner man, Styles, keep in mind that there's only
one plan on my mind for you.

Pain.

I am out to make you see the truth through the stinging, watery view
of your tears.  Your blood will wash away the cloud of doubt in your
mind.  Your breaking bones will sing the praises of the truth you so
easily deny.

And once we reach Rise from the Ashes, it'll be a Slugger on a Pole
match to fully determine who's more righteous in their vengeance.
Who's more worthy to wear this distinguished belt.  I can't wait,
Souza!  My hands ache to ruin you.  To feel your joints pop in my
hands.

No more talk.  No more lies and false accusations.  Now, it's down to
you, me, Styles and Cole all in that ring to do what we do best...

[Chris Hartt turns at the sound of a door slamming, and Rob Cole steps
into view… at least, it looks like it might be Cole.  But the Outcast
is wearing a luchadore mask.  Cole flexes, but he doesn't really have
the body for that kind of look… he grunts a bit, and then gets down to
business as Hartt watches suspiciously.]

RC: Whoah, there, brutha'… I know you got worries about your partner,
but let me put your mind at ease.  You see, Rob Cole ain't gonna' make
it to the next show!  He's writin' letters to his favorite soap dish
company and he gave me a call… he said, "Beasto Magnifico"… that's me!
He said, "Beasto!  I need you up in Phoenix to wrestle a masked man
and a guy who swings a baseball bat for fun!  I need you to be Chris
Hartt's partner!"  And I said, "Whatcha' gon' do, BRUTHA?!?!?!!"

[Cole flexes again… ]

CH:  Did I suddenly drop into a Saturday morning cartoon?  What the
hell is going on here?  What do you think you're doing, Co..

RC: Slow down there, bucko… We need to be partners and we can't be
worrying about whether we can trust one another!  Don't I got the face
of a man you can trust?

CH:  I can't even see your face.  Who in the blue blazes are you??

RC: I'll tell you who I am!  I'm El Beasto Magnifico!  I'm the pride
of Me-Hee-Co… I'm the MAN!   I have mucho grande machismo!  Don't you
believe me???  Don't I look like an authentic masked wrestler who
you've never ever seen before?

CH:  I do admit, you are something I have NEVER seen before...What is
going on?  Is this some kind of sick joke??  Come on!

[Cole nods, pulls off the mask, and stares hard a the camera…. He
looks at Hartt for a moment, and then turns back to face the camera.]

RC: Yeah… it's a joke.  But it's not funny.  I'm not laughing… I'm not
giggling… all I'm doing is counting the days.   March 24th is an early
Christmas for me… I get to open up the masked man and reveal him for
the cowardly snot that he really is.  I get to open up RJ Souza… a bit
of a special treat for me, since we've never had the chance to go face
to face before.  I have the opportunity to tag with the first ever PVW
Heritage champion, Chris Hartt… a man who doesn't trust me, definitely
a man who shouldn't trust me.   All the warning bells are going off in
his head, and he stands here right next to me, wondering… "What's
going to happen?"

[Cole turns, smiling as he regards Chris Hartt.  The champion doesn't
back down an inch as Cole steps closer to him.  The two men are face
to face, with the Outcast trembling a little as he regards the
company's finest technician like a filet mignon.]

CH:  So, what?  I'm facing three men tonight?  Not great odds, but I
won't back down!  You're just another target looking to hold me down.
I won't be afraid of you.  If you wanna give me some assurance that
you'll be my tag partner, I'll take it.  You wanna give me a black eye
and help the others beat my head in, bring it on!  It's not unexpected
at all, Jack!

RC: You want me to assure you that you can trust me?  You want me to
promise to be on my best behavior?  Are you stupid enough to take me
at my word, Chris?  Listen up, champ… when I tell someone I'm going to
do something, I damn well do it.  But I don't make promises,
assurances, and I don't offer comfort… you're going to have walk down
that aisle blind and deaf to the comforts of security.  And you're
going to have to deal with whatever kind of man you're tagging with,
kiddo… be it the man, the monster, the hero, or the villain.

CH:  I'll take on all three and the two others out in that ring
waiting for us.  I don't sweat them and I don't sweat you!  I thought
you had something to show me before, but all you did was show me the
door!  If you think your huffing and puffing's gonna drive me off,
think again!!

[Cole smiles, and takes a step back.  He raises the luchadore mask,
and wraps it around his head once more.  He turns to regard the
camera… claps his hand and points harshly.]

RC: So, whatcha' gon' do, brutha's… when the soopah-doopah team of
might goes wild on YOU?!??!!?!!!!


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

[The camera opens on an earnest young man in a tuxedo, his close
cropped dark hair framing a pale face and bright blue eyes holding a
mic and standing next to PVW's own resident psychotic goth: The
Spectre.

The ghoulish wrestler sits, staring at the man presumably here to
interview him, a look of mixed confusion and amusement on his
features.]

"Ladies and gentlemen this is Joshua Morgan from Pro Wrestling Insider
here in Phoenix with The Spectre, the man who has recently gone out of
his way to torment on Charles Lassiter.  The question that's been on
the mid of wrestling fans following this heated conflict is a simple
one: Why?"

[Morgan holds the camera up to the pale face of The Spectre, who looks
down ath teh camera and back up to meet the eyes of the thin
interviewer.]

"Ermm...yes.  In the past you've said that you were going to help
Charles Lassiter reach his potential...that you were on some sort of
quest to make him embrace the darkness that lives inside of him or
something like that...care to elaborate?"

[Once again the mic gets held up to the face of the dreadlocked
warrior, and once more, he stares at the mic for a moment before his
gaze once more silently locks back onto Morgan's.

For his part, the slightly-built interviewer is starting to lose his
composure.  He places a finger into his collar and loosens it
slightly, clears his throat and looks away from The Spectre for a
moment before he soldiers on.]

"Okay...don't want to talk about that either?  That's fine too.  What
about your long-range plans here in PVW?  There's been talk that you
could be the next to challenge for the Championship."

[Spectre completely ignores the mic this time, instead leaning forward
and smiling evilly at the young man seated at the table across from
him.]

"Okay...you know what?  PVW asked ME to come here.  I didn't sign up
to try to pry answers out of some Halloween-obsessed lunatic who's so
busy trying to get inside of everyone else's head that he doesn't
bother to take a look at what's going on inside of his own.  I'm outta
here."

[The interviewer throws down his wireless mic on the table in front of
The Spectre and stalks off the set, muttering loudly to himself.

Spectre watches him stalk off, smiling to himself once again...]

"And we thought it was going so WELL..."


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

VO: Tradition...  It has long been forgotten.

[Slow motion shot of "The Fighitng Irishman" Caleb Foley hitting a
moonsault on a dazed opponent.  The shot flashes to a new shot... a
still shot of Foley celebrating with the Phoenix Valley Wrestling
fans. After a moment we slowly fade back to darkness.]

VO: Today's warriors are no longer about etching their names in
history...

[Slow motion shot of Caleb Foley...bloodied and beaten after he was
eliminated from the Blood Bowl.  We return to darkness.]

VO: They would rather crush the legends...  that have set the stage...
set the standard.

[Another clip flashes across the screen.  This one much quicker than
the previous two.  This one of the the PVW World Heavyweight Champion
Chase Williams driving The Fighting Irishman's skull into the exposed
turnbuckle.]

VO: But there was a time when warriors drove to be those legends...

[With flashbulbs popping this clip shows the young rookie... Caleb
Foley connecting on a picture perfect frog splash on an already beaten
Horse Theif.]

VO: ...to be the very best in the industry.

[Yet another slow motion shot.  This one of "The Golden One"
Christopher Michaelson nailing the Goldbringer on Caleb Foley off the
top of the ropes. ]

VO: Some men willing to go to extreme measures, just to be heard...

[Shots of Rob Cole, Jonathan Monarch, Major Damage, and Rob Marley
throwing vicious haymakers at one another at Blood Bowl.]

VO: Just to be noticed.

[The horrific scene of Charles Lassiter driving The Spectre through
the windshiled.  Charles Lassiter stares down at his helpless prey...]

VO: Other men took different paths to grab their moment in the
spotlight.

[Rapid fire shots pass over the screen.  The one of Chris Hartt
becoming the first ever Heritage Champion...]

VO: Their fifteen minutes of fame...

["The Conceited Bastard" Chase Williams takes out everyone standing in
the ring, as he shocks the world by becoming the very first PVW World
Heavyweight Champion...]

VO: This summer, a new tradition will be born...

[Close ups cross over the screen.  The image is still briefly, showing
"The Fighting Irishman" Caleb Foley...]

VO: A new crop of warriors will add to the tradition these legends
worked so hard to build.

[As the blood runs down Foley's battered face, he still manages to
cock a smile.]

VO: This summer new heroes will be born...  and a new legend will be
made.

[The final image is of Caleb Foley holding the World Heavyweight title
in the air during the Chase Williams and Chris Tate ...]

[The scene fades in upon a shot of PVW superstar, Caleb Foley,
relaxing on a black leather couch.  Caleb has a grin upon his face,
one you'd just like to wipe right off.  He continues to grin ear-to-
ear as the picture ascends; giving an even better view of the room.
And soon, Foley speaks himself.]

Foley: "You know, we ain't got too much time left in this thing.  That
thing we call the first ever PVW Pay Per View Rishes from Ashes.  And
with that, only a couple more days till I get the chance to face Chase
Williams for the PVW World Heavyweight Title...

[Foley maintains the grin.]

Foley: "And yeah, I can picture it now.  The World Heavyweight
champion will bring you to his quote, unquote "mansion" in the next
couple of days telling you how he's got it in him to beat Caleb
Foley... how he's the best World Heavyweight Champion of all-time...
and how I'm beneath him...

     Believe me, I know the type.

     But the fact is, could "The Conceited Bastard" ever match what
     I've got going for me here in PVW?  I mean, I am on top of the
     world I am the number one contender ... I have the fans behind me
     ... and I am a prime example that dreams can come true with some
     hard work a little determination and some LUCK on your side...
     Chase's done his best to knock me down since he first laid eyes
     on me eight weeks ago. Whether it be busting me open in the Blood
     Bowl or getting involved in my match at Tradition against The
     Golden One. But guess what Chase I am still standing I am still
     here and I am still going to be your opponent at the PVW first
     ever Pay Per View. And Michaelson don't think I have forgotten
     about you and your cheating ways but I'll deal with you some
     other time. Right now is my chance to prove that GOOD does
     prevail against EVIL. That with all my hard work all my blood ...
     tears ... and sweat this is my chance. This is my golden ticket.
     Everything is lost if I don't win the World Title that what
     people are saying. But you know what I have already gained
     everything. You see Chase I have nothing to lose and EVERYTHING
     to gain. Everyone expects you to win no one expects some snot
     noise Irish punk to win and become the World Champion. And even
     worse if I am a Rookie right Chase. No you have everything set in
     stone everything is right where the Conceited Bastard wants it.

     Cause it's no secret, Chase, you and I never really saw eye-to-
     eye. You were always quick to say you were head and shoulders
     above the competition.  You claimed you were the "up and coming"
     star in this sport, yet, anytime you got somewhere you were being
     held back, right?  You were being shafted, you'd say.  Yet,
     anytime you came up short... anytime you couldn't get the job
     done... you were always quick to place the blame on _anyone_ but
     yourself.

     Well, I'll tell ya this, "champ" -- after we finally face off one
     on one. There will be no sneaky attacks ...  No hiding behind
     anyone skirts ... no faking an injury ... There will be nothing
     from stopping me from proving that I belong here in the PVW. And
     I have a question for you Champ what happens if the IMPOSSIBLE
     happens and I defeat you. What happens if I pin your shoulders
     down to the mat. WHat happens if I a ROOKIE walks out of Rises
     from Ashes as the new PVW World Heavyweight Champion. The who
     will you BLAME? You'll have no one to blame for your loss but
     yourself.  Not me.  Not the referre.  Not anyone but yourself.

     Nobody.

[Foley unfolds his hands now, and crosses them across his chest.]

Foley:  Because, I remember when you were going toe-to-toe with Chris
Tate, awhile back.  And, I know you do have a few advantages. YOu are
the CHAMPION and I can't take away and I must defeat you. I have to
either pin your shoulders to the mat or make you tap. But you that
WILDCARD. The title can't change hands on a count out and DQ and I
know that. ANd I also know that you will doing everything in your
power to walk out of the ring as the champion even if that means DQing
yourself. It's your claim to fame -- your greatest accomplishment.
But, if winning on some technicality is all you have to phone home
about, then I suggest you start shopping around for a new line of
work, chief.  Cause I'm coming to Rises from Ashes to give the fans a
helluva a show. And if I walk out it will be even a better day for me
and my family. Yeah thats right my family will be sitting at ringside
to watch me.
[Pause.]

Foley:  So, you can come to our match with whatever game plan you
think is gonna get you the dubya.  But the fact is, boss, you can get
whomever the hell you want to help you strategize your match with me.
But, it ain't gonna matter, Williams.  Cause as long as I'm staring
across the ring at _you_ , I know may I be in for a fight...

[Foley grins.]

Foley:  ... but I'm also in for a win.

     And if you actually think you have a say in the matter, Chase,
you can run your mouth all you want between now and the time that bell
rings.  But the fact of the matter is, champ, the only sound that'll
be heard afterwards is that of...

[An obvious smirk.]

Foley:  ... the fans chanting Foley Foley Foley.

[And the camera fades to black. Can this young rookie prove everyone
wrong. Can the Irishman finally realize his dream and win a World
Title. Or will The Conceited Bastard have something up his sleeve.
WHat will happen when these two square off at Rises from Ashes. Well
there is only one way to find out and that is by watching it...]

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

[The camera quickly fades in from black as a large glass door swings
 open.]

Frost: Darius where is Shawn? I've been waiting for him for an hour at
the gym ... how can this kid can be such a scatter brain!

[The camera pans about the office of Darius Walker, showing Mr. Walker
seated behind his desk, packing what appears to be a Fed-Ex package. A
look of annoyance is upon his face as he stares at Gideon Frost for a
moment.]

Walker: Nice to see you still can knock on a door Playa. He told me he
was stepping out so I just assumed he was going to meet you.

Frost: You assumed? You assumed?

[Gideon lets out a long sigh as he runs his hand through his long
white
 hair.]

Frost: How can you just assume with that kid? He has the attention
span of a gnat and half of the time I am surprised he can even make it
to the arena!

[As Gideon begins to pace about the office Darius Walker, Mr. Walker
continues to seal a package that he has upon his desk. A slight smile
slowly appears across his face.]

Voice: We have a driver so I always make it on time to the arena ...
relax Frost.

[Shawn Covell enters from the far side door with a bag from Wendy's in
his right hand and a drink in his left hand.]

Frost: Wendy's … you went to Wendy's are you kidding me?

Covell: Don't be upset I bought you a frosty …

[A look of absolute disdain falls upon Gideon's face.]

Frost: Is this a game to you Shawn?

Covell: huh?

Frost: The PVW is it a game to you? I mean week after week I get
screwed by the Thrillers and instead of training you're getting
Wendy's!

Covell: Hey it's not my fault you can't get a win. I already beat them
if I recall.

[The disdain upon Frost's face becomes pure contempt.]

Frost: If you were a partner instead of a punk ass …

[Darius Walker slams his hands upon his desk and pushes himself to his
 feet.]

Walker: Playas I've heard enough! If I wanted to hear a bunch of cry
babies I would tune into Colonel Sanders and his bunch of merry men.
Now both of you sit down …

[Both Gideon and Shawn begin to protest but as Darius glares at them
they both sit down upon the leather chairs in front of Darius' desk.]

Walker: I understand your frustration Gideon as from day one the PVW
has done everything it could to allow The Thrillers to stand in some
form of a spotlight. You see the owner of Kentucky Fried Chicken knew
that the Extra Crispy Thrillers were no match for anyone in the PVW
and they figured that they could attack anyone to make a name for
themselves, and why not attack the one team that no one knew. I mean
they were hoping you two would roll over and die so that they could
claim the honors of removing Extreme Conditions from the PVW … but
they never did their research, they did not realize I put together a
team of fighters, men who want to win … not two opossums that would
lie over and die.

[Darius pauses for a moment.]

Walker: But I am disappointed in both of you. I did not expect you to
blame one another for your failures …

Covell: Wait a minute I haven't failed only Mr. Cold as Ice over there
has lost … twice mind you …

Frost: And if you were any form of a partner you would have been
there!

Walker: I said shut up!

[For the first time in his career Darius Walker appears quite upset.]

Walker: This, this right here is the reason BOTH of you are failing!
You are a team Shawn so when one loses you both lose!

[Covell looks at Frost and shakes his head to the side.]

Frost: Is this the there's no I in team speech?

[Walker signs.]

Walker: Please playa stay off my bad side today. Since day one we have
been promised a match with the Thrillers and since day two, every
single step of the way that quote unquote southern gentleman has been
doing everything in his power to make sure that does not happen. Well
playas I have had enough.

[Darius Walker holds up a Fed-Ex package.]

Walker: Right here I have everything we need to get what we want and
enough to finally put that Nascar loving hick out of our careers. You
see I am finally taking charge! Unlike Mr. Cunningham I do not need to
find a retainer to read my contract, I do not need a law team to fight
an imaginary battle ... yes I said an imaginary battle ... you see I
thought the PVW lawyers would see through the ploy but I had assumed
wrong ..

Frost: You've been doing that a lot lately haven't you?

[Darius glares at Gideon as Shawn begins to speak.]

Covell: Apparently as much as you have been losing.

Frost; You little mother-

Walker: One more word Frost and your ass will be out of a job! And
that goes for you as well Shawn! I'm tired of the blame game ... tired
of it from Cunningham and tired of it from you two!

[Walker pauses, almost as if he is daring Covell and Frost to speak.]

Walker: It all ends. You see Cunningham is in for a rude awaking as
the PVW is going to have all the evidence to know that each beating
that Cunningham may receive is his own doing. There are videos of him
throwing brass knuckles into the ring, his interference that lead to
his falling from the ring apron. His contract is even in there ...
same manager contract I was required to sign. That does state he will
not be put into harms way by the PVW management but if he is stupid
enough to interfere into a match the PVW and any party under contract
by the PVW will not be held responsible if anything occurs to him.

[Walker pauses once again.]

Walker: Mr. Cunningham and his games stop now. I am done with him and
his little ploys he throws our way. This Heatwave win or lose Mr.
Cunningham you and your good ol' boys are going to learn what Extreme
Conditions are all about!

[The camera slowly fades to black.]

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

[The scene opens on a trainer's room.  The florescent lights flicker,
cascading their sickly dim light across the clinically white room.  A
large raised table currently holds the relatively battered form of
"Showtime" Rick Marley.  The cruiserweight has his shirt off,
revealing a large swatch of white tape encasing his ribs.  Each breath
is accompanied by a slight grimace, which he obviously tries to hide.

After a few moments, a doctor enters with "The Gambler" Judd Marley
and Black Jack Baldwin in tow.  The two older men look at each other,
and at Rick and shake their heads.  Realizing that he's no longer
alone, Marley sits up and reaches for his shirt, shaking his head.]

RM: Doc, haven't you heard of HIPAA?  You're supposed to get my
permission to release medical records.

Doctor: Mr. Marley, I haven't released anything.  The fact that you
can't breathe without discomfort...the fact that you're experiencing
periods of vertigo...the fact that you appear to have been through a
war zone...these things weren't disclosed by anyone in MY office.

RM: (muttering) Till now...

Doctor: What I HAVE done is brought your brother and partner.

[Baldwin interjects.]

JB: TAG TEAM partner....not the other kind

JM: Not that there's anything wrong with that.  They make a cute
couple, don't they?

[The doctor ignores the three of them and continues, unphazed.]

Doctor: I would highly recommend that Mr. Marley not compete in any
sort of athletic even that involves his being knocked around like a
pinata for the next two to three weeks.

RM: (shaking his head) No can do, Doc.  I've got 2 events that I've
GOT to be there for...

JM: Rick, we can cancel if we need to...

JB: Like hell we can.

[The other three guys look over at Baldwin in varying states of
shock.]

JB: Nothing personal, Doc...but Rick isn't gonna stay on the sidelines
no matter what you try to say to him.  And Judd: you should know
better.  If the situation were reversed and you were on that table,
you KNOW you'd be doing everything short of gnawing off you arm to get
out there and get into the ring.  You two are kinda sick that way.

RM: (nodding) Exactly.  I CAN'T not go out there and do my thing.
It's not an option.  Even at less than 100%, I'm still better than
most anybody else I'm going to come up against in that ring, and you
know it.  I've let too many people down too many times, Judd.  Don't
ask me to do it again.  Not this time.  Not when I can do this.

[Judd looks at the doctor, who shakes his head and looks down at the
 floor.]

JM: Rick, I can't...I got laid up...I won't see the same thing happen
 to you.

RM: Nothing personal there, big brother, but you don't get to make
that call.  I'm a big boy and *I* say when I go and when I don't.

Jack...tell 'em I'm coming...and I'm gonna go Wild.

JB: (dubiously) Yeah...you're coming alright.

[fade]

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

[Open on the empty PVW arena that makes up the bulk of the 52nd Street
 Armory.  It's now the magic time before the show, when the crew's got
 the ring put together, and everybody's taking a break.  Shadows
 pervade the seats of the Armory, as only a few of the many bright
 lights are on that illuminate the PVW shows.

     Abruptly, twin points of red light flare up in the cheap seats,
 and a sardonic, mechanical-sounding voice sounds.]

MD: At last ... a proper engagement.

[Moving down, slowly, into the light, Major Damage moves through the
 stands and towards the ringside area.]

MD: Mere hours from now, two great armies will clash, setting alight
 this battlefield as the civvies cheer for their respective sides.  It
 brings to mind the time of the Operation, when Scorched Earth was the
 order of the day.

[Reaching the ring, Damage walks up the ring steps, ducking inside and
 coming to stand in the center of the ring.]

MD: But there is one man ... a man who would be soldier, but every
 week, he dodges the draft that would place him in service of his
 country.  A man who fights using his mouth...

[Looking to the camera, Damage adjusts his heavy, razorwire-handling
 gloves.]

MD: Rick Marley.  You complain; you whine; you fear.  You bring upon
 yourself the very fate you wish to avoid.  Although you seek to take
 my eyes off of you, it is by your own actions that my attention is
 drawn.  Had you held your tongue, your very presence in the Phoenix
 Valley would have gone unnoticed.  You avoid the draft, but it would
 have never chosen your name had you never made yourself known.

[Zooming in slowly, the camera fills the screen with Damage's black
gas mask.]

MD: You make demands of the civilian lawyer, as if he could do
anything to limit my actions.  You presume to know my identity ... you
presume too much...

[Lowering his mechanized, glowing gaze to level with the camera lens,
 Damage further draws the viewer in.]

MD: You call others to your cause, and they pay the price.  Whose
fault is it that your ally, Oakes, became a casualty of my operation?
Whose fault will it be ... when your partner ... or your brother ...
become casualties?

[Walking forward, the camera angle widening as he does, Damage grasps
 the top rope, and steps on the bottom one.]

MD: You started this war, Marley.  You made yourself my enemy.  And it
 will continue now until you face your fears, face your uncertainty
 ... face your enemy...

[Damage leans out to further encroach upon the camera.]

MD: But know that enemies of the state ... will burn...

[Fade out, leaving only the dual pinpoints of red light that serve as
 Damage's eyes, which fade to black a moment later.  End.]



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

[The Armory is dark and empty. Distant lights in the corridors are
seen in the background, but in the actual arena it is tough to even
see the empty seats. Suddenly a spotlight turns on, big enough to
touch each edge of the ring, revealing The Masked Outlaw standing in
the center dressed in black with his bright white hood and boot laces.
A PVW crew attendant with a flashlight helps a beautiful young woman,
dressed in an elegant dress, into the ring. She carries a small stack
of blue cards in her as she stands next to The Masked Outlaw]

[The woman appears nervous, obviously too innocent to be familiar with
the professional wrestling business. The Masked Outlaw extends his
hand as a signal to begin and the woman speaks in a soft feminine
voice, well taught on the finer points of casual public speaking]

Young Woman - I have been asked to read a prepared statement on behalf
of professional wrestler The Masked Outlaw, employed by PVW.

[The Masked Outlaw claps for himself a few times as she looks down at
her card, finding enough courage to begin until she simply takes a
deep breath and looks up]

Young Woman – The Masked Outlaw is concerned people have
misunderstooding why he is in PVW. He hasn’t come to Phoenix to create
an aura of mystery with the fans while wrestling in tag team matches.
Money, fame and glory are not motivations. The Masked Outlaw has come
to Phoenix for one reason, and that reason is The Outcast Rob Cole.

[The Masked Outlaw begins to wraps his left hand around his right fist
when Rob’s name is brought up and the young woman becomes visibly
nervous and her voice momentarily cracks as she continues]

Young Woman – The Masked Outlaw also worries people have misunderstood
the significance of his mask. It is not to gain an advantage, look
cool or embarrass Rob. The mask represents all the professional
wrestlers Rob has betrayed and backstabbed in his career. Men,
husbands, fathers, world class athletes that were trying to earn a
living to provide for their family. Men that had money taken out of
their pocket, food taken off the table and athletic reputation
unjustly destroyed by Rob simply because he’s become obsessed
with being Rob Cole.

[The young woman looks towards The Masked Outlaw for a sign of
approval but he just stands there listening, causing her nervousness
to increase and be heard in her voice]

Young Woman – For over eight years Rob Cole has tried to live up to
being the craziest man in wrestling by stalking and terrorizing men
that just wanted to compete as athletes. How many men have you choked
out with barbwire without provocation, Rob?  How many careers
sidetracked into boring but violent matches on supercards with you?
How many times have backstage politics been played with your friends
ensure The Rob Cole show continued?

[She has to take a second to glance over the card before she
continues, too nervous to still remember]

Young Woman – You’ve sacrificed a lot of unprepared men to your own
ego, Rob. Many you probably don’t even have the decency to remember.
But we remember, Rob. You’ve been a bully your entire career but
you’re getting old and tired. Even rookies like Chris Hartt are
laughing at you. Paul Styles wont even talk about you, let alone to
you. No one cares about Rob Cole anymore, except for us. What goes
around come around, Rob.

[The Masked Outlaw reaches behind his back and finds a card identical
to what the young woman is holding, only red, and hands it to her for
her to read]

Young Woman: I’m going to enjoy hurting you Rob Cole. We’re going to
enjoy hurting you.

[The Masked Outlaw reaches behind his match again but this time finds
a single red rose and hands it to the young woman who can’t help but
smile, finally overcoming the unfamiliarity of the situation]

[The spotlight is then turned off and we’re returned to black]


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

[Oh this is just too much. There is ego, and then there is Chase
Williams freaking ego. The scene is rather elaborate though. The room
is huge with a vaulted ceiling, mostly brick, with banners hanging
about that really lend to the authenticity of the attempt. the throne
is at the back of the room, raised from floor level by a small set of
stairs. Chase himself, crown on his head and a leg thrown over the
side of his throne, looks.... Bored. The PVW title is in his lap.
Yeah, they did a decent job on the kings throne room. Some peoples
kids... haha.]

"I'm bored Foley, and its you're fault. I've been drug down to the
level of a small insginificant child, metaphorically speaking, and its
really changed me Caleb. My Filet Mignon just doesn't taste the same,
the limo rides I used to enjoy so much no longer seem to matter. Hell
I had sex with _three_ [beeping] women last night and even _that_
wasn't nearly as much fun as it usually is."

[He picks his teeth absently.]

"All your mindless blithering over the last several weeks has sucked
every bit of joy out of my life. This whole situation, is a joke. This
is how Phoenix Valley treats its champion? By forcing him into a
meaningless situation with an otherwise forgettable opponent thats
only claim to fame is that he can't mind his own [beeping] business? A
loudmouthed hypocrite rookie is the best available opponent for your
champion? Heh. I'm not impressed."

[His leg drops to the floor and he leans forward on his knees really
regarding the camera for the first time. the look in his eyes, its the
look of the old Chase. The guy that caned a pregnant women and has
done things to people that would make Foley cry. Take a good look
Caleb. You brought this on yourself.]

"You think someone would be more responsible. That they would have
more sense than to hand such a promising young man to me on a silver
platter at Rise from the Ashes. If he wasn't such a punk I might
almost feel a _little_ remorseful. But I'd be lying if I said I wasn't
gonna enjoy this with a criminal amount of pleasure. I still don't
truly believe that Foley even understands the severity of this
situation. Your life is priceless Caleb, not because of its inherent
infinite value, but because in my hands it is utterly worthess"

[He runs a hand over his title, then holds it up for the benefit of
the camera.]

"This is _mine_. Ten years in this business has led me to this moment.
Ten years of broken bones and blood Transfusions. TEN YEARS of my
blood, sweat and tears have led me to the pinnacle of this industry
and I'll be damned if a toddler with a sheriff complex is gonna take
it from me. You'll have to pry it from my cold dead hands. And
Foley... You just don't hav it in ya."

[A wink for the camera. Theres the smirk :). Perhaps he's getting back
to his old jovial self.]

"I'll tell 'ya what Foley. Just to prove I'm not the man you think I
am, I'm gonna do you a favor. I'm gonna do something for you, that
you'll never have to pay me back for..."

[Pause. Drumroll.....]

"I'm gonna give you _father_ something to be _proud_ of before he
dies. I can't let him pass on knowing his sons last accomplishment was
getting _crushed_ by the PVW Heavyweight Champion. I just can't let
that happen, and thus...

[You like Apples?]

I dedicate my match and victory at Rise from the Ashes."

[How do you like them Apples?]

"Thats right Caleb. I'm giving your father a gift that you could
_never_ give him. To be proud of such a prideful hyprocrite, how could
he? You're a disgrace, and after Rise from the Ashes, you'll add
failure to that list."

"So Mr. Foley, my parting gift to you, is the destruction of your son.
We can only hope he learns a lesson from our little situation, but I
seriously doubt he has the mental accumen."

[He reclines once again to his original relaxed position on the
throne, giving the camera a dismissive wave.]

"Dismissed..."

[Fade]