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##                           ##
## Phoenix Valley Wrestling  ##
##       Burning Effect      ##
##           11.22.08        ##
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Presenting....

-> Rob Cole
-> Will Geddings
-> Chase Williams
-> Shadoe Rage
-> William Craven
-> The Mercenary
-> Vandal Gomez
-> Jokers Wild
-> Mark Masterson
-> Chase Williams #2
-> Larry Gionet
-> Caleb Foley
-> Marcus Manson
-> Judd Marley
-> Tommy Ryder
-> The Gutch
-> Ronan Benedict
-> Overkill
-> Sininster
-> Urban Legend


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

[A distracted and somewhat wounded Rob Cole stands in front of the PVW
banner, dressed for business in his traditional red shirt attire,
soaked from the water dripping off his hair and face. Dean Hayes
stands at his side, waiting to catch a few words from the Outcast
regarding his upcoming match with the Caleb Foley.]

DH: Rob Cole... you've managed to earn a number one contender shot at
Brian Young, but Tradition 2 took away your title opportunity and is
now forcing you to earn even the chance to wrestle for the title.
You're scheduled for a match with a man you might consider a friend,
an enemy, a good kid, or a stumbling block on your way through the
rest of this company.  What are your thoughts right now?

RC: Thoughts? You know what? I have no idea where my thoughts are
right now... I mean am I a good Rob Cole, a bad Rob Cole, or some sort
of twisted up crazy Rob Cole who doesn't know whether he's coming or
going? Does it matter?  DO I MATTER?!?!!!  I don't know... do you
know? Everyone wants to know, Dean! Hell, I want to know what kind of
Rob Cole I'm going to be tonight... good or bad, but always violent, I
might just wear a frilly little dress to the ring and sing "tiptoe
through the tulips" with the kind of career I've been having as of
late. I've got no idea why I'm really going out there and wrestling
Caleb freakin' Foley!

DH: Bad blood? Foley isn't happy with the way you assaulted Brian
Young...

[Cole licks his lips hungrily, chuckling as he looks at Dean Hayes
with sly regard. He turns to look back in the camera, eyes twinkling
with blood-thirst and madness.]

RC: I don't know... is there such a thing as "Bad" blood? The truth is
kind of stupid, not nearly as deep and meaningful as you might expect
with the kind of history I've had in this business. I didn't steal his
wife, didn't kick his dog, didn't take his lunch money, and he never
really attacked me or left me for dead before our last show... I just
gave Brian Young an incentive to get better, to heal up, to come back
and fight fight fight!  But, you know what?  Foley gets beneath my
skin, itches my skull, and he makes me want to do violent things.
Everyone talks about what a good kid he is, with a good heart, and
they talk about that situation with his daddy, that drama with Chase
Williams, and all that stuff between him and Brian Young.  I mean,
what happened to all that talk about how Brian turned his back on him
and all that?  WHAT HAPPENED TO IT?!?!!!

I'm really good at violence... despite how confused I am right now,
despite how mixed up in the head I get, I'm still a good source for
violent entertainment. I'M REALLY GOOD AT IT!!!!!  That's what the
people are here to see... that's what the front row fathers, sons,
mothers, and daughters are paying to see. They may not know where I'm
coming from, or where I'm going.  They saw it a few weeks back. They
saw what that miserable piece of crap did to Foley, to that title, to
the prestige of that belt, and they watched him roll out and apologize
for not being able to defend that belt against the number one
contender. That was me, in case you forgot.

When Foley steps in the ring with Rob Cole, the fans also know exactly
where he's going. And while they may not know whether to cheer me, boo
me, or send me packing for the funny farm... they know damn well that
I'm going to sate their bloodlust with the things I do to the that
lucky lucky boy. We may not have any special stips that will let me
unleash all the cruelty in my arsenal, but it's about time that people
start to recognize how dangerous the Outcast can be with or without a
weapon. I can wrap you in barbed wire or I can wrap you in the cobra
clutch, and either way I will make you feel pain and I will hurt you.
Everyone... *chuckle* Everyone seems to think that I'm this hardcore
icon who doesn't know an armlock from a headlock. I'm one of the most
decorated athletes in this sport...

I've beaten men with barbed wire, I've beaten men in cages, and
I've even beaten men with submission matches and I actually have a
pretty good amateur background. Oooh, amateur background...

DH: I actually just found that out a few days ago, when I was watching
some matches of you in the old AWMC...

RC: What is with you people?!?!!!  Leave the past where it belongs...
we already had one "champion" living off his glory days. Everyone
knows who I am, what I've done, and how I did it... this is the age of
youtube and DVD, so any dang kid could google my whole career without
the added bonus of hearing me brag about it.  Here is how it is: Drag
me from pillar to post, beat the snot out of me, drive me to the mat
again and again and again... but I can assure you that I'm going to
fight back. I don't have to worry about over eager security, lawsuits,
or a lack of knowing what to do in that ring.  I'm going to pound you
with my fist, I'm going to pulverize you with my knee, and I'm going
to twist you in knots and stretch you out. Let me guess... you're not
afraid of the monster beneath your bed?

*laughter* Everyone says that, Caleb! You think anybody in this
locker room is going to admit that they're afraid to get in the ring
with me? You're just quoting every Brian Young promo from a few months
back, every Spectre promo last cycle, every Masked Outlaw Promo before
that, and every single Chase Williams promo since the day this company
opened it's doors. You think you sound brave? I am the number one
contender... I beat masked jokes, I put down the unstoppable, and I am
BLED the gold out of Phoenix Valley's One and Only!

Don't be afraid of me, Kiddo... I don't want you trembling, don't want
you running, don't want you screaming... I just want you to lay still
and stop breathing.

DH: And what about Brian Young?

RC: I thought that was clear... it's "Over"... it's done, finished,
and the truth is that I simply don't matter enough.  The fact that he
was going to end my career... no, my friend, that doesn't matter.  The
fact that he's an opportunistic scumbag?  Nope... not in the equation.
The fact that I was number one contender, that Daddy can't hold him
when the Monster in the Bed comes for him, that brother Brett isn't
gonna' bail him out, that he turned his back on everything he believed
in...

IT'S OVER!!!!

It doesn't matter, Dean-o.... it just doesn't matter.  You see, in his
mind, Brian Young is the One... the Only... and nothing matters more
than that title, than that belt, than that prestige he's decided to
lord over our heads.  All hail the PVW Champion!!!!  Last time we
walked down that aisle, he said it was over... and I just put the
period to the end of his point.

[Cole snatches the microphone, his gaze serious and deadly as he
glares hard into the camera.  He licks his lips once and smiles,
hungrily. He shakes his head slowly, chuckles and then leans forward
once again.]

RC: You think because you say it's over that it's done?  It's
finished? It hasn't even begun, kiddo... you don't even know who I am,
yet.  I've watched your career since Knoxville... I saw you fight
wars, saw you win belts, and I saw you change from a kid with a good
heart into an arrogant piece of crap.  It's not about that belt,
jerk... it's about this sport, it's about who we are as people, and
it's about what we do in that ring.  It's not over, Brian.  I'm the
number one contender... I am going to receive a shot at your belt, get
a taste everyones blood, and I'm going to rip out a pound after pound
of clean flesh.  You fashion yourself some sort of teacher for guys
like Foley? I'm going to teach him something about this business,
about this sport, and about all the monsters STILL...

Beneath your bed.

[Cole spins and walks away from the interview, Dean Hayes watching
after him with his mouth hanging open. He turns to face the camera,
seems about to say something, and then shakes his head as Cole pretty
much said all there was to say.]


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


[The scene opens to a room...or what was, no doubt, formerly a room.
Now it looks something like Baghdad...shelves destroyed, tables
overturned, a distinct hole in the wall. Shards of broken glass can be
seen via reflection. A paperweight flies across the camera's field of
vision and is quickly followed by an irate Will Geddings. Geddings can
be seen sweating, his face red and his eyes look bloodshot. He turns
to the cameraman and pushes him to the ground.]

[Geds] (off camera) Are you *censored* kidding me?!?!?!

[The cameraman struggles to get to his feet and refocus the camera.
Geddings can now be seen sitting against the wall.]

[Geds]: Explain it to me. Explain to me how it is that some people get
chance after chance after chance to disappoint...and when they
disappoint again, it's as if it's some big thing? Look at Caleb Foley.
How many shots did he get at the strap? How many more does he continue
to get?

[Geds]: How about Chase Williams? A loser everywhere he goes. Every
time that Chase Williams steps into the ring, you can expect two
outcomes: Chase Williams losing and whatever schmuck of a federation
leader happens to employ him at the time running down the aisle with a
box of Kleenexs and a contract for a championship match. It never
fails.

[Geds shakes his head and slams the wall he's leaning against with the
side of his hand]

[Geds]: Then we come to the Grand Poombah of losers. The man who, time
after time, will tease you with his alleged greatness. He'll tell you
how amazing things are going to be this time around and he'll tease
you with a promo here and a spot there. Maybe he'll even join a tag
team. *Censored*, maybe he'll join you and win Tag Team gold. And
then, inevitably, he runs away. He runs away and leaves people like
myself to pick up the pieces of a fed that has been ripped asunder.
EVERY TIME!!

[Geddings shakes his head]

[Geds]: Why should he stay? There's no incentive. He knows that once
he leaves, that same federation promoter will pine over him. He'll
call him late at night and leave two to three messages at a time,
begging "The Savior" to come back. Dex Willingham...he's nothing but
the ugly girl who thinks she's found her dream guy...and then, once
said guy is done *censored* her, he's gone. And she waits every day
for his return.

[Geds]: I bet your wet, Dex, your lover is back. Justin Cruise is
back.

[Geddings chuckles]

[Geds]: And you welcomed him with open arms. You allowed him to sneak
into some match after making the rest of the roster earn a spot to
compete for the title. Why? You owe me an explanation, you two dollar
slut. You owe the entire federation one. What has he done? Who has he
beaten? It was a travesty for Caleb Foley to continue getting shots,
no doubt, and this ranks as an even greater miscarriage of justice.

[Geds]: You're a joke, Dex. A joke. Everything you touch turns to
junk. And instead of letting the talent fix it, you go and fluff
Justin Cruise.

[Geddings rubs the bridge of his nose]

[Geds]: I won't allow this to stand. No. Justin Cruise will not make
it to your little tournament. He. Will. Not. When he goes home, I'll
be waiting. When he arrives at the arena, waiting. When he tries to go
out with his wife or girlfriend or whatever that tramp is now, he
knows I'll be waiting.

[Geds]: I will destroy you, Cruise. I will take from you everything
you love. Your family? Mine now. Your fame? Ripped apart at the seams
when I am finished with you. When I finish with Justin Cruise, he's
going to be nothing more than a stain. Consider it...a welcome back
present.

[Geddings takes a deep breath and forces a smile]

[Geds]: As for Chase Williams...meh. I didn't care for him before, I
don't care for him now, and I won't care for him after I'm finished
with him. I've teamed with him once or twice before, yea...but let's
be realistic. It's not as if anyone...not even our *censored*
boss...thought that he and I were on the same level. That's never been
the case. Instead, we were simply the two most hated guys here and Dex
thought it'd be a good pair.

[Geds]: The thing is, Chase...I'm hated because the rank and
file...they're jealous of me. You're hated because you talk mean and
you get undeserved chances. We are not the same, mon ami...you're
filler. Someone to throw out there for me to beat so that I can "earn"
a shot that I should have been given. A shot that numerous people
before me have been handed while I continue to be overlooked.

[Geds]: No more, Chase. I will leave my mark on this federation
through you. Know this...while you and I are in the ring, Chase, I am
going to envision Justin Cruise. I can see him now...looking to the
crowd for support, using them for inspiration...I can even see you
blowing kisses to 'em. And then, I will unleash years and years of
fury on you. And I will be sure to do it quick.

[Geddings smirks]

[Geds]: If I know Cruise...and I think I do...then I'd better do it
quick. You never know when he disappears again and leaves Dex hot and
bothered. Long live the King.

[Scene fades]


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


[Cursing, the sound of shattering glass and heavy objects being
slammed about can be hear from behind the door leading into the locker
room of Chase Williams. The camera pushes the door open and steps
inside what looks like a war zone. A bench is in splinters, and what
was one a mere is now a pile of glass shards strewn about the room.]

[Chase stands like the devil himself, still in his ring gear, he
breathes through clenched teeth as he speaks in a tone that could
freeze water.]

"Michaelson. You are [beeping] with the wrong guy. You and the PVW
brass think its okay to disrespect me? You think its okay to take the
man that made this company what it is and push him to the back of the
line? Lemme ask you one question... You think its a coincidence that
the minute my title was stolen from me by Bryan Young, that the fed
closed?"

[Pause.]

"Its not. People come to see what the [beep] Chase Williams is gonna
do next. They come to see who I send out in a [beeping] box. But I
digress, I can't sit here and talk to you all day because I've got
bigger fish to fry. I will leave you with this. Be careful. I've
played way too nice for you to be treating me this way, and you're
going to make me do something even I cannot even fathom right now if
you insist on treating me like some guy that just got here. Trust me
when I say, that if you force my hand any further, I will burn this
[beeping] federation to the ground and piss on its god-forsaken
ashes."

[He shakes his head as the digust mounts.]

"Onto _slightly_ more important matters. mainly, one Flybitch Will
Geddings. Hows longs it been since we did the damn thing Will? six,
seven, eight years? and while you've just been getting older and more
irrelevent, I've been winning heavyweight championships. While your
pathetic ass was hiding under a mask calling yourself KGB just so
someone might actually care again, I was carrying this [beeping]
company."

[He chuckles at what a pathetic entity Geddings has become before
continuing.]

"But the best part Will... Oh the best part was when you took off that
stupid [beeping] mask, and everyone was like" Oh its just Will
Geddings... You've become such an afterthought in this business that
half the people don't know who you are, and the other half don't care.
Unfortunately for you Mr. afterthought, you get the pleasure of
becoming the first permanent stain on the new Phoenix Valley canvas. I
don't know who thought it would be funny to see me squeeze the
pathetic over rated life out of you with my bare hands, but make no
mistake, you will be my testament to the chaos I am about to unleash
upon this [beeping] flea-market.

[His eyes flash as his anger builds.]

"_I_ built this company. _I_ carried it on my back to unrivaled sucess
and for my effort I've been cast aside and overlooked but that just
_isn't_ going to happen."

[A half smile half sneer frames his face]

"Just remember Christopher, that when the [beep] hits the fan, I
warned you, and you've got _nobody_ to blame but yourself. All I ever
asked for was to be treated with respect. You can't even fulfill that
simple request, and its gonna get this company buried all over
_again_."

[He spits.]

"Starting with you Gedsey."

"Believe that..."

[Fade]


<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
	Shadoe Rage
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>


[Fade in:

Shadoe Rage stands with his back to the camera.  We know it's Shadoe
Rage because of the braids spilling down his back, the navy blue robe
with I'M THE CHAMP across the back and the presence of one of the PVW
World Tag-Team championship belts draped over his right shoulder.
Rage spins to face the camera.  His facial tics are in full effect as
his tongue flickers at the camera and he shakes and twists.]

SR: Someone's missing, aren't they?  Yeah, they are.  No Swingin' Dean
Hayes.  No, Shadoe Rage coming to you live and direct.  I'm the Champ.
I'm better than the Wildcards.  Told you, they tried to do everyhting
they could to stop destiny, but it's impossible.  Portland is one of
the seats of Rage Country and there we ascended to our destiny yes we
did.  But in Rage Country we do not dwell on fallen foes.  No we
don't.  We only think about the glory of victory and look forward to
the next challenge.  And the next challenge is three men.  Yes, Shadoe
Rage leads a team into battle against Semi, Overkill and El Savaje.
One more battle one more victory.  Let's talk about that.

[He looks off camera.]

SR: Swingin' Dean get in here.  Get in here and celebrate your
champion!

[Shadoe Rage waits for a moment.  He waits for another moment, his
face pulled in disgust.  Finally Swingin' Dean Hayes enters the frame.
He looks embarrassed trying to do a Shadoe Rage entrance.  He doesn't
have the grace for it.  He can't come in off camera as smoothly as
Rage can.]

SR: Not as easy as it looks, is it?

SDH: No, it's not.  I won't lie to you.

SR: You can't be me.  It's just that simple.  You can't make an
entrance like me and you can't be a champion like me.  You don't have
the grace.  You don't have the power.  You don't have the touch of
destiny that I have.

SDH: I also don't have a big match coming up at the Gill Colisseum.
Tag team showcase.  And you're the team captain.  How are you going to
get along with the captains of Made Men and Livestock and the Gutch?

SR: As long as they know their role there's no way we can lose.  It's
just that simple.  I've been part of great tag-teams all my life and
the Prophets of Rage are the greatest tag-team of all time.  It's just
that simple.  I am the greatest tag-team wrestler alive and Masterson
and Gutch have the benefit of my wisdom.  All they have to do is stay
in line and serve their King.

SDH: Their King?

[Shadoe Rage violently slaps the tag team championship belt draped
over his shoulder.]

SR: I AM THEIR KING!  I am the champion and the greatest tag-team
wrestler in the ring.  I am their king.  There's just nothing else to
say.  And that's real bad news for Semi, Overkill and El Savaje.
Let's not fool ourselves.  This is a game of chess.  And everybody
wants to kill the King.  And I am the King.  But regicide isn't
painless.  And it is illegal.  In Rage Country it is a capital
offence.  They're headhunting.  They're coming for me.  They're trying
to beat me.

[Rage holds up the tag-team belt for Hayes to see.]

SR: They don't believe they can take this from me.  They just want to
hurt me.  They want to do to the Prophets what the Prophets have done
to all of them: Sexual Energy, Highway 44, Urban Legend and now the
Wildcards.  We've put them all out of business.  We put them all on
the shelf.

SDH: Um, Semi is Urban Legend, he's still active.

SR: (eyes goggling) He's finished.  Urban Legend is washed up.  Their
buddy Outlaw is gone, too.  No more room for ridiculous characters.
The world of the PVW has changed.  The greatest tag-team of all time
is their representative.  And all the people out there should come
down on December 1 to the Gill Colisseum and celebrate their champion
because I will stand victorious over all!  They will all Die in
Darkness!

[With that Shadoe Rage sweeps out of the shot stage right, flourishing
and waving.  Swingin' Dean Hayes stares after him, shaking his head.]

SDH: He's loud, he's brash and between you and me he's really insane,
but he's right, come down to the Gill Colisseum and see all the
action.

[Fade out.]


<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
	William Craven
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>


[Fade in slow to show "Swingin'" Dean Hayes walking uneasily down the
hallway of a hospital.  Looking around himself, confused at the bustle
of what a sign high on the wall says is the "Intensive Care Unit",
Dean tries to stop an orderly--]

Hayes: Pardon me, sir?  OOF!

[--and is almost knocked down as the large man shoulders past the
interviewer.]

Hayes: What the hell?  Miss, I--

[His eyes crossing, Dean thinks better of stopping the pretty nurse
who is carrying a bedpan full of something horrible and probably
diseased.  Covering his mouth and nose, Dean retreats somewhat,
motioning to the cameraman to follow.]

Hayes: This was a bad idea.  We'll just have to try again later.

Doctor: Can I help you gentlemen?

[Stopping abruptly, Dean turns to see a young man dressed as a doctor,
waving them into an unoccupied room.  A pair of orderlies prepare the
room, presumably for the next patient.  Hayes, cameraman in tow, moves
into the room.]

Hayes: Yes, Doctor, I'm looking for a patient here.  I'm afraid I
don't have a real name, he was very private, but in his job as a
professional wrestler, he goes by the name of Tucson Kid.

Doctor: Well, I've only been on duty for about thirty minutes, but I
think I may be able to help you.  Haven't seen anyone here identifying
himself as "Tucson Kid", but... there's a guy in a coma.  Fit, tough
kid, young too.

[There's some irony in a guy in his late 20's calling another guy
young.  Trying to look serious, but looking like Zach Braff from
"Scrubs", he continues.]

Doctor: He's busted up pretty bad ... if that microphone you're
holding is to interview him, you're wasting your time.  He hasn't
woken up yet, and we don't really know when he will.  Or ... if...

Hayes: Wow ... that's, well, blunt.

Doctor: That besides, there's a bigger guy hovering over him, and I
don't think he's really happy with anybody right now.  We were going
to eject him, and a nurse even had to hang up on 911 just 'cause he
scared her so bad.

Hayes: Scared?

Doctor: Well, he took off his coat and hat, and underneath, he was
green.  Like a biker with too many tattoos.  Way too many.  Teeth like
a carnivore, split tongue, lots of scars.  I'm guessing from what you
said, he's a wrestler too.

Hayes: Craven...

Doctor: So you do know him.  Tell you what, I'll show you the room,
but you're on your own inside.  Don't get that guy angry.  You
wouldn't like him when he's angry.

[Smiling slightly, he again emotes the JD character from Scrubs.
Hayes just shrugs off the reference to the Incredible Hulk, and shakes
his head.]

Hayes: Yes, please, I think I'll do fine with Craven.  Bill.  Let's
just say he's used to me.

Doctor: Okay, let's go.  Just stick to the walls.  We've had a perfect
storm today in the hospital, and in addition to our regular load of
patients, we've got an overflow from the ER.  Food poisoning.  They
think it's another outbreak like with those salmonella-laced tomatoes
last spring.  Hell, this room's about to be full too.

[Just a short distance down the hall, and opposite where they began,
the Doctor points to a door.]

Doctor: Right there.  Room 443.  He's inside.  Try to keep it down,
all right?

Hayes:  Right.  Fine.  Thanks, doctor.

Doctor: Don't mention it.

[Consulting his clipboard briefly, the doctor strides down the hall.
Dean goes the other way, takes a deep breath, and crosses the hall,
receiving a few dirty looks from hospital personnel as they break
stride to avoid him. Inside the room, bare to the waist, still wearing
the vinyl camouflage slacks that serve as his ring gear, William
Craven sits with his head buried in his hands.]

Hayes: Uh ... Bill.  Bill, can you hear me?

[No response from Craven.]

Hayes: Bill?

[His fingers parting on one hand, Bill aims one bloodshot eye at PVW's
intrepid interviewer.]

Hayes: Hi.  Uh ... any word on the 'Kid's condition?

[Silence.  Bill's shaven, green brows knit, the scars that crisscross
them creasing harshly.]

Hayes: Bill?

WC: None that I care to share.

[The quality of Craven's voice is positively unearthly at this point.
Already rough from over a decade of screaming, it's now nothing but a
choked whisper forced through a throat that struggles to swell
closed.]

Hayes: But will you talk with me?

[Covering his eye again, Bill breathes in and holds it, then leans
back in the padded hospital chair, which creaks with his weight.
Staring at Hayes, he merely waits, stone-faced and utterly without
emotion.  Faintly, an electronic beeping sound is heard in the silence
as someone (presumably the cameraman) shuts the door to the room,
blocking out the racket in the hall.  Hayes looks around for a moment,
wondering where the sound is coming from, then stiffens as Bill curls
his upper lip at him in irritation, exposing a few pointed, as well as
a few missing, teeth.]

WC: It's the machines, Hayes.

Hayes: Right.  I, I know--

WC: Do you?  Do you understand what has gone now before us?

[Silently, Dean grabs a wooden chair, sliding it closer to the
hospital bed, and extends the microphone towards Craven while
simultaneously shifting the focus of the conversation.]

Hayes: I'm sorry, Bill, I know you and the 'Kid were close.

WC: Such ... clarity, in a time of confusion.  An event that drags the
mind, befuddled by frustration, up into the light.  Selfish desires
evaporate ... all the same ... all the same.

Hayes: I'm ... sorry?

WC: I never knew the dead man ... only admired him from afar...

[A pregnant pause.  Dean decides to change the subject, although not
to anything more pleasant.]

Hayes: I know this must be a hard time for you.  The Tucson Kid, and
also your old friend Brian Young being injured in the same night.

[Looking down at the floor, Bill slumps forward a little bit.]

Hayes: Add to that word that Rob Magnum has been unreachable since PVW
restarted operations, and, well ... Phoenix Valley is looking like a
harsh wasteland for the green man from Detroit.

[Clenching his jaw, Bill tears at the red gauze that covers his right
wrist.]

Hayes: Bill?  What...

[A veritable cloud of disintegrating, dried blood begins to slough off
as it cracks away from the cloth.]

Hayes: Bill, What are you doing?  You're in a hospital, full of sick
people, Bill.

[Stopping dead what he'd been doing, Bill rubs his wrist, which bears
a dark stain of moisture on the lower layers of gauze.]

WC: What do you want of me, Hayes?  Yes, a boy is struck down for
wanting to help me.  A man I thought my friend ... who abandoned my
side so that he could pursue gold to the exclusion of all else?
     Then ... Magnum ... who didn't remember me from over 20 years
     before...

Hayes: 20 years?  Did you go to school with Rob Magnum!?

WC: Does it matter?

Hayes: It sounds ... as if you have a lot to get off your chest, so
maybe you should just start talking?

[Silence.  Bill stares at the microphone offered him by Hayes.  The
camera focuses on the inert form of the Tucson Kid, whose chest rises
and falls, assisted by a breathing machine.  There are a great number
of tubes, wires, and other types of medical apparatus attached to him.
Bill turns his head, noticing the camera's focus.]

WC: Don't look at him.  You damn his memory by showing his frailty.

[Pause.  The lens wavers somewhat.  Baring sharpened teeth, Bill
starts to rise, and Dean, not having quite sat down yet, steps out,
waving the cameraman back.  A second later, both intrepid interviewer
and green wrestler are sitting, and the camera is coming around to the
other side, facing the door to the hall.]

Hayes: So ... Bill?

WC: The Kid was everything ... I thought I'd be when I was young.
True, I'd had my problems, and I had my dark side, but we thought the
Army would help with that...

[Scooting closer, finally realizing that Bill isn't going to take the
microphone, Dean listens intently.]

WC: And wrestling ... he and I came into it the same way.  The wrong
way.  He tried to assault a wrestler, and I jumped, heh, jumped the
guardrail and assaulted the owner of a small promotion.

Hayes: Never heard that one.

WC: ACWA ... Atlantic Coast Wrestling Alliance.  Didn't train one day
before getting in a ring.  ACWA became American Continental Wrestling
Association after it was bought up by Strickland Sports.

Hayes: What!?

WC: That's how my brother knows Strickland.

Hayes: Zeke...?

WC: But the Kid, despite his flaws, was still pure.  Still good.  All
he wanted to do was help ... help against WMI.

Hayes: He's a good guy.

WC: Others.  Young.  A collector of shiny tin straps.  All the same.
Showed ... his true colors, I think.

Hayes: I'd say ... at this point that Brian Young's paid whatever
price in spades for wanting the championship.

WC: Perhaps.  Perhaps something made him go out for that joyride.  As
for Cole?  His mind ... makes more sense by the day.

[Looking perplexed, Hayes purses his lips, perhaps disturbed by this
revelation.]

Hayes: You mean that, in Cole's position, you also would've attacked
Young?

[Uncertainty mars Craven's already destroyed face as he struggles with
his own meaning.]

WC: I ... maybe.  It's hard to say what I'd do now...

Hayes: And what about Rob Magnum?

WC: What of him?  Big, tough, with the reputation of a traitor.  Cass
Tech, Detroit, two years separated and on different sports teams.  He
didn't remember me when he came to PVW, and now he's gone.  Perhaps
the war between corporations bored him.  Perhaps ... he never really
cared...

[Rubbing his scalp in frustration, Bill leans forward on his knees,
covering his face.]

Hayes: I see...  So who does that leave, Bill?

WC: William.  Craven...

[Bill relaxes, then his eyes dip down again as he gingerly re-wraps
his wrist.]

Hayes: And what about your upcoming match?

WC: Match?

[Raising a single green brow, Bill looks legitimately surprised to
hear he has a match.  It's almost as if he forgot he was a wrestler.
This change of subject brightens his demeanor a little, and he sits up
straight.]

Hayes: Yes, with Vandal Gomez.  It's a qualifying match for the Title
Tournament.

[Going slack-jawed, Bill seems suddenly very far away.]

Hayes: I'm aware you have a history with Gomez.  He's your ex-wife's
adopted brother?

WC: Yes...

Hayes: Are you okay, Bill?

WC: Fine ... I ... I have to destroy him.

[Not expecting such a strong reaction, it's Hayes' turn to go slack-
jawed.]

Hayes: Why?  Because he set your face on fire?  Because of his
connection to your brother?  Because your brother married your ex-
wife?

WC: What?  No.  Because then ... I'll finally have the crown, and the
right to sit once more on the throne of madness...

Hayes: You actually ... want the title?  You?

WC: There is another collector of tin belts.  A man who holds in his
hands the right to challenge for any of those belts he so chooses.
This man is my enemy.

Hayes: I don't understand.

[Surging forward, Bill grabs Hayes by the shoulders.]

WC: Do you not see!?  Marley, with his "called shot".  I'll take that
belt, and if he wants it ... he'll have to finally face me.  Face the
end.

[His former, somber, mood takes over again, and Bill looks down at the
Tucson Kid.]

WC: This ... this is not enough.  This is only the first step.  I must
go further now than ever before.

[Glancing first to Hayes, then to the 'Kid in the bed, Bill speaks in
a hushed whisper, grimacing.]

WC: Now is the time for you to go, Hayes.

Hayes: But I have a few other questions--

WC: No.  You have gotten more than enough answers.  Tell them I'm
coming.  Give them this message, so familiar, so that they'll know who
spoke it.

"It gets worse".

Hayes: What?  Who?  Bill!

[Shoving both Hayes and the cameraman abruptly out the door and into
the hallway, Bill shuts the door behind them.  Hayes throws his hands
up in frustration, scoffing incredulously.  Fade to black.  End.]


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


(Scene opens. We're in one of those big-box home renovation/hardware
stores, and we see that the Mercenary is pushing a shopping cart full
of stuff down one of the aisles, and heading towards one of the
checkout counters. He seems to be mumbling to himself, like one of
those homeless people you see pushing a shopping cart on the street.
The camera catches up to him just as he's starting to unload his cart,
so that the pimply-face teenager working the till can run them through
the price scanner. First through is roll of silver duct tape, followed
by a tub of finishing nails, a nail gun, a coil of rope,  a couple
cans of spray paint and an economy size can of superglue.  These items
are put into their own plastic bag, and then the big stuff starts
coming out... several two-by-fours, a pick-axe, a gallon of flammable
paint thinner, a chop-saw and a package of razor wire.)


Clerk: (in a typical, squeaky, pre-pubescent teenage voice) Hey,
Mister... Looks like you've got some heavy-duty renovations planned.

Merc: (stopping his conversation with himself, arching one eyebrow
over his ever-present silver mirrored shades) You could say that.  Got
a special project to do on some guy named Eric Williams.

Clerk: Huh? Did you say on?

Merc: (ignoring the clerks question). Gotta prove to my employer that
I can do the job better than he can and that I can earn the money he's
paying me. I mean, I can't let people say that he demolished Tucson
Kid, while that green dilapidated eye-sore is still standing.

Clerk: You're employer demolished Tucson? Didn't see that on TMZ...

Merc: (still ignoring the kid). Besides, what was I thinking? Did I
actually believe I could take down the green monster with just a fork?
Stupid me. Gonna take more than that. But first I'll have to show the
world and WMI, that I am the most feared man in the industry. And once
I get done destroying and/or remodeling Mr. Williams, I'll have
regained my rightful position... Yeah, that's it...

Clerk: Destroying? But all of the things you've bought here are for
building stuff...

Merc: (yeah,he's still ignoring the kid while putting his new tools
and hardware back into the cart)...I'll show them... (picks up a
container of Tic-Tacs and tosses them into the cart, and starts to
push the cart out the door)

Clerk: Hey... Mister!!! You didn't pay for that stuff...

Merc: (continuing out to the parking lot) Just bill it to Widow Makers
Incorporated.

Clerk: I can't do that...

(The clerk, not knowing any better goes running out after Merc,
attempting to catch the hitman before he drives away. And since we all
know that this isn't going to end well, we just fade to snow instead)


<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
	Vandal Gomez
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>


[Cut to an undisclosed location, where a veritable blizzard is coming
down, covering everything in sight in white.  The area is heavily
forested, with a sole lonely cabin sitting in the middle of it all,
set about fifty feet back from the camera.  Light flickers in the
windows, and smoke twists up from a chimney atop the wooden
structure, as "Christmas Time is Here" plays joyfully over the
surroundings.  With the scene set, a voiceover begins.  The voice is
rough and raspy; not at all complimentary to the scenery.]

???: Once upon a time, there was family.  People that looked out for
each other; loved ones that celebrated the passing of time with those
they cherished most.  Maybe, somewhere, that family still exists.
Gifts exchanged, laughter had.  I've never experienced that, never
seen it with my own eyes, but I'm sure, somewhere, this is true.

[Entering from stage left is a man in a heavy winter coat, the hood
pulled over his head.  He walks towards the cabin, a small pine tree
attached to a rope being dragged with one hand, a rather hefty looking
axe swinging low in the other.]

???: But once upon a time, masking all the dysfunction, masking all of
the pain and hatred within each member, there were families that truly
felt safe surrounded by those of their ilk.  It wasn't perfect, as
nothing ever is, but it was a comfort that has slowly slipped away as
the years passed.  When is the last time a Christmas tree was freshly
cut, father and son side-by-side, smiling at the fruit of their
labor?  When is the last time a mother and daughter decorated that
tree, stringing it with lights and tinsel, hanging every decoration
with admiration of the spoils of their work?

[The man throws open the cabin door, still in the distance, and drags
in the tree.  He shudders, drops the tree by the door, and rubs his
gloved hands together.  His breath hangs in the air for a moment, the
man seemingly taking in his surroundings.  With a nod, he closes the
door behind him.]

???: Family was once important.  More important than money.  More
important than possessions.  What happened to that?  Where has the
love for those of your own blood
gone?

[The flickering in the windows gets brighter.]

???: I may never have felt the power of family like once upon a time,
but I always thought, through it all, my family would stand beside me.
A sister who would dote over me.  One brother-in-law who understood my
pain.  Another who fashioned me into a tool, crafted me into a point
to be set loose on those that would hurt our family.  But, as it
always seems to be, life has set a different course for us.

[The door to the cabin opens, smoke billowing out, and the man seen
entering strolls out, oblivious to the fire beginning to rage behind
him.  He trundles through the snow, stumbling at times, but coming
straight forward, towards the camera.  The man speaks, revealed as the
source of the voiceover.]

???: Do not think this is hatred, brother.  While our blood may not be
familial, I do see you as my "big" brother.  On December first,
though, the blood we will share will not be contained within our
bodies.  It will drip from our brow, into our eyes, blinding us from
the pain we deal to the other.  All over a piece of gold that
proclaims us "the best".

[The man stands in front of the camera, somber, as the cabin behind
him burns to the ground.]

???: Maybe, one day, our family can be whole again.  You will join us,
come to live with us, and we will welcome you with open arms when that
time comes.

[Reaching up, pulling his hood back, Vandal Gomez reveals his visage
to the camera.]

VG: For now, we burn the home we once shared to the ground, in the
name of glory.  What happened to our family?  What happened to us?

[Vandal lowers his head, shaking it.]

VG: I'm sorry, William, but there can be only one of us who survives
after December the first.  Don't let this destroy what little we have
left of our family.

[Now Vandal raises his head, sadness in his eyes.]

VG: Once upon a time, there was family.  Then we burnt it to the
ground, like everything we've ever loved.

[The hood back up over his head, Vandal puts his hands to his face and
breathes, trying to warm his face.  He then walks away, out of camera-
view, but with one parting comment as he does.]

VG: You will burn for us in effigy.  But we won't ever stop loving
you.

[Fade out.]


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


[Fade in to a weight room. Harley Quinn O'Connor, sans face paint, is
sitting on the bench of a weight machine, although, in a pair of jeans
and leather jacket, he is not exactly dressed for a work-out. In fact,
the only weights he's lifting is a beer bottle in one hand and a glass
containing some clear liquid in the other. Just for the heck of it, he
does some leg lifts in between imbibing his drinks.]

HQ: [Slurring slightly] We've still got it, kid, we, well, at least
I've still got it, because you never lost it . . . Which is why, which
is why I do not get why you won't let up. Sure, we lost, but we should
still celebrate . . . Celebrate OUR successful RETURN to the GAME!
[Picks up an unopened bottle of beer] Come on over here and have
yourself another beer, kid.

[The camera pulls back to show 'El Salvaje' Joseph Rizal Estrada lying
on an opposite bench, doing bench presses. He shuts his eyes to block
out his partner's blabbering.]

HQ: Kid . . .

['El Salvaje' holds the weights aloft. He blinks.]

HQ: Kid . . .

[Estrada lays the weights down and sits up. He stares at his partner,
part in annoyance, part in wonderment.]

ES: You've been celebrating since after our match . . .

HQ: I've got lots of celebrating to do! I figure every time I come out
of a match without making a fool of myself . . .

ES: That's a little hard, you know, face paint and all . . .

HQ: Speaking of which, did you catch that mask on Stalker? I wouldn't
mind . . .

ES: Harley, I'm going to stop you there for just one moment. See, you
can celebrate if you want, get piss drunk, whatever. You don't have a
match coming up. I do . . .

HQ: And you'll do great.  You're . . . you . . .

ES: The smallest [BLEEP] dog in the fight. And not just any fight. A
fight against one-half of the tag team champions, the Prophets of
Rage; one-half of the Made Men and the Gutch. Sure, I've got Semi and
Overkill on my team, but I've got something to prove. I've got to
prove that I can hang with the best of them, that I can take on the
biggest, the roughest, the strongest and come out on top. Not just for
myself, Harley, but for . . .

HQ: I know, I know . . . For the team as well. And you know I'm a
hundred percent behind that. But can you blame a guy, a guy who's been
down and out for a while now . . .

ES: Firstly, you need to stop talking like you are in your twilight
years, like you haven't got so many more years in you. Second, I know
you want to celebrate, but your doing it here isn't helping me any.
You want to drink, go to a bar. I've got a bit more work to do here.
Maybe I'll catch you down there later. But, please . . .

HQ: [Getting up to leave] Alright, alright. I get it. Kid's got a big
match and I'm just a distraction. I'll go.

[O'Connor walks off, looking chastised and slightly disappointed.
Estrada looks like he has second thoughts and wants to call his
partner back, but doesn't. Harley Quinn reaches the door and opens it,
but before he steps out, he turns back.]

HQ: But, kid, remember, I'll always have your back.

ES: Yeah, I know . . .

HQ: So, you damn well make sure you go down to the bar later and help
me back to the hotel.

[He walks out, letting the door close behind him as the camera fades
to black.]


<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
	Mark Masterson
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>


[The camera is focused on a television, which itself is in a
well-appointed apartment.  On the television runs video of the end of
the Wright/Ryder match.  Nick has just laid Ryder out with the
unidentified object as the scene opens.]

(From the TV)
CL: Wright looks to be calculating his next move and taking a
breather. Ryder has yet to move from where he landed.
FH: Finish him!
CL: What is this Mortal Kombat?
FH: Shut up Chip. Pay attention.
[A vicious DDT lays Ryder out again.]
CL: Good god just pin him Nick! Haven't you done enough!?!
[Wright scales the box truck and flips down to the concrete below.]
CL: Spin Cycle 360 Splash, but Ryder just rolled out of the way!
FH: Both men are laid flat on the cement ...
[Ryder goes for the pin...]
ONE ...

TWO ...

THREE ???

*** HEEL POP !!! ***

FH: Wright just moved his shoulder!
CL: Neither one of these two men want to quit!
FH: Hell both men _should_ quit.
CL: I'm not sure either man can take quite much more.  Tommy Ryder has
overcome all odds and he came just _MILLISECONDS_ away.
FH: Come on Nick...
CL: This match needs to end ... It ranks up there with Spectre and
Cole as one of the most brutal matches in PVW history.
FH: And we still have a Tables Match to get too!
[The ref calls for the bell as the timelimit expires.]
[Wright is helped to his feet, and spits on Ryder.  The shot pans to a
limp Ryder, Laurel fawning over his motionless body.  The other half
of the Made Men, "Pokerface" Mark Masterson, reaches into the shot,
pausing the video.]

MM: Yeah, I TIVO'd this.  I knew it was going to go exactly like we
planned, and it did.  It's worth watching a couple extra times; Ryder,
if you want, I can burn you a DVD of it for later.

[The camera pans back to show Masterson seated in a cushy chair, still
facing the television.]

MM: Heck, I'll make copies for everyone.  Maybe hand them out for
Christmas.  Nick went out there and busted his ass and got the ending
he -- that WE -- wanted: him walking away, and Ryder NOT.  You see, a
lot of people think that WMI is just about victory.  About getting
gold around our waists.  About the Wins and Losses.

[Masterson faces the camera.]

MM: It only looks like that if you're not paying attention... victory
and gold and wins come hand-in-hand with what we're really about:
domination.  Nick didn't go into that match thinking about how to BEAT
Tommy Ryder; he went into that match thinking about how to CRIPPLE
Tommy Ryder.  That's my boy... that's WMI.

[Masterson leans forward, toward the camera.]

MM: So now it's come to a "Showcase" match -- as if we fought any
other kind -- where half of nearly every tag team steps into the ring
together.  What's the next move?  (Mark chuckles.)  If you don't know,
you haven't been paying attention, kids.

[Masterson points back at the TV screen, and the camera pans
obligingly.]

MM: Maybe not a win; I'm not about to guarantee that my teammates
won't do anything stupid.  But DOMINATION... _that_ you can take to
the bank.

[The video unpauses.  Laurel is on her knees at Ryder's side, and a
medical team is moving into place.  As the shot fades to black, we
hear Chip Lester's voice...]
CL: Good lord this isn't even CLOSE to being over.

[Fade To Black.]


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


"Christopher Michaelson must fancy himself some kind of comedian..."

[Chase Williams is profiling the camera, speaking to someone standing
out of view of the camera.]

"Christopher Michaelson must not realize who he is [beeping] with. But
we'll show him. He wants to serve Geddings to the one true king on a
platter of silver?

[The wierd half smile that his profile reveals is unsettling to say
the least. it just doesn't look right.]

"THEN I'LL FILET HIM AND I'LL FORCE FEED HIM TO THE GOLDEN CLONE
HIMSELF! TILL HE IS CHOKING ON THE STENCH OF FAILURE THAT PERMEATES
FROM DILLUSIONAL FREAKS LIKE THE FLYBITCH!! I _DEMAND_ A CERTAIN
MEASURE OF RESPECT AND YOU TREAT _ME_ LIKE A JOKE!!"

[His voice has become ice cold with the emotion that is bubbling
inside the real Phoenix Valley Wrestling Heavyweight champion.
He pulls at his hair absentmindedly with one hand as he pauses just
before the snapping point and cocks his head to the side as
if listening to some unheard voice. The laughter that follows the
short pause is just as unsettling as the half smile. Perhaps more so.]

"Slipping down this peripice that is known as sanity, I've got a
washed up joke of a Chase Williams clone standing behind me, laughing
with both his hands in the small of my back, pushing me faster towards
the edge. He calls himself the golden one? Yet it was I walking around
with all the gold. Ironic isn't it? Keep pushing asshole, I'll send
you back to japan in a pack of gum. Not murdering that thieving
prostitute Young should've been more than proof that I'm _trying_ to
remain on my best behavior. It seems my efforts have been dismissed
however."

[The laughter is colder this time. Though the edge remains.]

"Or ignored. Perhaps Mr. Michaelson simply feels he is above the hand
of god. Beyond reproach because he's gotta group of lackeys to protect
him since he obviously can't protect himself. If bleeding this place
dry and feasting on its dusty carcass is what is going to get the
attention of The Golden Clone, so [beeping]be it."

[Pause]

"Oh yeah. Gedsey has managed to stay out of my way for most of his
pathetic excuse for a career. That is until last week. Last week when
that irrelevant little piss stain cost me a chance to regain what I
_never_ [beeping] lost by tapping out to a [beeping] hasbeen back for
one more chance at glory. I got news for you too Justin. When I'm done
stomping a whole through the Flybitch's face, I'm gonna piss on the
dreams of a bunch of wanna-be's and get that eigth seed in the
tournament. Then your ass belongs to me."

[Beat.]

"sorry."

[Another sick smile. He doesn't look sorry. His demeanor, actions, and
tone in this interview lead this bracket to believe he should probably
be committed.]

"But the sins must be paid for, and it has been deemed by Michaelson
himself that the trail of misery begins with Geddings."

[He turns, wild eyed to the camera finally as it pans around a little,
and reveals the unstable bastard has been talking to his reflection
the entire time.]

"Call the [beeping] coroner."

[Fade.]


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


[The camera pans to the beautiful site of Willamette Park in Corvallis
Oregon.  Colored leaves scatter across the dirt covered trails with a
cloudless blue sky hoovering above.  To the right of such a scene
resides the Willamette River  almost sparkling when the sun hits its
reflection.  In the center by the shore stands Larry Gionet.]

Freedom.

LG:  How far will one go to obtain it?  What depths in one's mind will
delve into to secure it?  What deep descent into one's soul must
facilitate to win such an ultimate prize?  Some feel a life without
debt on their mortgage is freedom.  For others, its living a single
life with no mouths to feed.  You know what it is to me?  Its the
heavyweight championship of the world.  Wearing that 15 pounds of gold
grants power.  No glass ceilings, no politics, no bullshit.  Being
able to take on any and all comes THAT is wrestling freedom!  I will
change the very landscape of this company.  An industry that needs a
desperate adrenaline shot in the arm.

[Gionet veers off to the right hand side as a V shadow flies overhead.
From a clearer focus one can see it is watching a flock of birds
migrate their way south.  Seeking warmth and shelter from the cold
months ahead to find their own freedom.  Larry looks back with his
rough as leather hands in his pockets.]

Last week I admit I may have suffered the hands of defeat, but I
surely DID NOT go down without a fight!  It took not one but two
finishes to put me away.  Mercenary may have though that he had my
number but he was dead wrong.  William Craven may have put my
shoulders to the mat for the 3 count with the Thunder Malter but I
dare you to find anybody else in that locker room or anybody in this
world who is as tough enough to take such moves in succession and
aren't wheeled out on a stretcher.    If you didn't notice PVW I GOT
UP!  That should make you concerned Ronan Benedict very VERY
concerned!

[Larry walks a few feet to his right kicking dirt as he goes along.
It rises up making mini dust clouds from behind his feet.  As the
clouds settle down into the soil, Gionet takes a seat on one of the
wooden benches.  A bench with numerous cracks like flat lines is from
abuse but still standing just like the man possessing its space.]

A match being billed as two of the stiffest men in Phoenix Valley
Wrestling squaring off.  Until you do what I did out there at
Tradition 2 don't expect any respect from me!  You come out here with
wide eyes and big dreams.  What we are fighting for is to be one step
closer to the biggest dream you can have, to be the PVW World
champion!  The only difference is anybody can have a big dream
Benedict but it takes a man of discipline a man of ambition a man of
aggression to seize and grab that dream by its throat!

[Gionet without flinching, clasps his hands together as if to channel
his energy from anger to calamity.  He looks down into the water as
the camera does a turn to see the grizzled face of Larry Gionet
staring at the camera's lens through the crystal clear lake.  With his
cold blue eyes focused and stature as firm as ever.]

But you see Benedict I made a career out of choking the life out of
dreams.  Not out of malice but out of concern.  I've seen too many
punks like you Ronan get too big for their britches and when they fall
they fall hard.  Instead of learning from such a lesson, they spend
the rest of their days aimlessly in denial.  Denying the fact that
they bit a little bit too much more than they could chew.  Denying the
fact that they had no business being at the spot they were placed in
so fast.  Denying the fact that they were still clinging onto
something near and dear to them not allowing themselves to grow and
prosper.

The choice is yours Benedict   If you don't choose I will make it for
you.  Let go and gain the world or hold onto and gain nothing!  At
Heatwave Ronan, you will know fore well it's not about how or why;
it's all about do or die!

[Larry Gionet continues to stare into the water as a brisk breeze
comes through the horizon and finishes like a   like a cadence of a
song.  What follows some say would be left to fate.   Larry puts over
the hood of his black cotton PVW hoodie over his heading cuing the
camera man that it is indeed time to fade to black.]



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


[The camera fades in and you see "The Fighting Irishman" Caleb Foley
just sitting on the top step outside of the Gill Coliseum. Caleb is
holding his head in his hair as his red hair is over his face as he
begins to speak...]

Caleb Foley: "ROBERT COLE ..."

[Caleb then lifts his head up and with both hands slicks back his hair
now revealing his young face...]

Caleb Foley: "Are you proud of what you did to Brian Young? Did you
honestly think I would just sit in the back and do nothing. Yeah me
and Brian may not have been on the same page the last time we were in
the ring together but that doesn't change the fact that I have the
upmost respect for him as a wrestler. It takes a really big man to
attack someone who was already injured before he stepped into the
ring. Oh I better watch out your a so called Monster Under My Bed ..."

"Cole I might of been born at night but it wasn't last night. Cole I
am not afraid of monsters under my bed or boogeymen in my closet or
the tooth fairy. You see Rob I had the same respect for you that I had
for Young. But that respect went out the window after your antics last
week. Rob if you wanted a fight all you had to do was ask. You see
Cole thats why I asked for this match..."

[Caleb stands up and then turns towards the doors to the Gill Coliseum
and take two steps and suddenly turns around ...]

Caleb Foley: "Yeah you heard me right I asked for this match. Cole so
I am begging you to come down to the ring and give me all you got. I
want to hear my bones snap ... I want to bleed ... come on let's see
if you can make me cry ... put me threw the announcer table ... hit me
with a chair ... You see Cole I didnt ask for this match to beat you.
No I wanted this match because I wanted to show the world what you
truely are ..."

[Caleb pauses for a moment and stares into the camera ...]

Caleb Foley: "A COWARD ..."

"Yeah that's right I called you a coward. You have a yellow streak
running up and down your spine. So come on Cole UNLEASH THE MONSTER
...  I want to feel pain like I have never felt before. Don't worry
Cole I have a very good insurance. And my name isn't Randy Acorn or
Chase Williams so you won't have to worry about any lawyers coming
after you.  Cole I am not the same man you faced back at the Blood
Bowl. I have nothing to lose and everything to gain. Take a look
around ... I have no friends here ... There is no Outlaw ... No Chris
Hartt ... No Dragon Kid ... No Brian Young ... It is only I ... THE
FIGHTING IRISHMAN ... CALEB FOLEY ... So come on Rob this is your time
to prove just how big and bad you are. Your opportunity to really
prove how much of a MONSTER you really are. This is your golden ticket
to end my career ..."

"I don't care if you name is Robert Cole ... William Craven ... Will
Geddings ... Larry  Gionet or if your the SSN Network themselves. You
have all been warned A REVOLUTION IS COMING ..."

[The camera fades to black ...]



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


[The camera fades in to a shot of Marcus Manson sitting on a bench in
the locker room after Tradition, removing an elbow pad and tossing it
into his bag. He stops for a moment and looks up at the camera. He
quietly shakes his head and pulls off his other elbow pad as he
speaks.]

Manson: So, I have just been informed by PVW management that my next
opponent will be "Wildcat" Chris Tate. Phoenix's own son. Well, come
next week, Phoenix will be in mourning. Chris Tate should do himself a
favor, and not show up next week.

[Manson places his bag on the bench next to him, and pulls off his
leather glove.]

Manson: Ask El Hijo Del Sol. Ask him how he felt when his head met the
ring post. Ask him how he felt when my fist crashed into his heart.
Ask him how he felt when he crumpled to the mat, clutching his chest.

[Manson pauses.]

Manson: Tate, if you do show up at Heatwave, make sure you understand
that this could very well be your last match. You don't understand
what PVW has gotten you into. You can't beat me. Nobody can possibly
match what I bring to the ring. You will be lucky if you wrestle
another match again, much less even walk otu of that ring under your
own power.

[Manson stands, picking up his gym bag.]

Manson: Tate won't be the only one who I pay a visit to on Heatwave,
though. But I don't like to talk, I prefer to let my actions in the
ring speak for me, so next week, everybody better make sure that they
watch very carefully. Watch what I do to Chris Tate, and all of PVW
should realize that they would be better off staying out of the way of
Marcus Manson.

[Manson walks past the camera but turns back before exiting the locker
room.]

Manson: Chris Tate, I'll tell you again, stay home next week. If you
don't you'd better make sure that you've thought long and hard on
this: Tate, Can YOU handle the Misery?

[Manson exits. Fade to black.]



<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
	Judd Marley
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>


[The scene opens on a sweeping shot of "The Gambler" Judd Marley.  The
Wild Card wears a somber face as he strides out of a hospital room,
his face drawn and set.  With a loud sigh, he shakes his head.

"I have no words to express what's happened here, so I need to borrow
from someone far more talented than I...

    Friends, Arizonans, countrymen, lend me your ears:
    I come to bury Tucson Kid, not to praise him.
    The evil that men do lives after them;
    The good is oft interred with their bones;
    So let it be with Tucson Kid. My noble brother
    Has told you Tucson Kid was ambitious:
    If it were so, it was a grievous fault,
    And grievously has The Kid answered it.
    (Here, under leave of my brother and the rest –
    For my brother is an honorable man;
    So are they all, all honorable men )–
    Come I to speak from Tucson Kid's bedside.
    He was my friend, faithful and just to me:
    But my brother says he was ambitious;
    And my brother is an honorable man.
    He has brought many viewers here to PVW,
    Whose purchases did the general coffers fill:
    Did this in Tucson Kid seem ambitious?
    When that the poor had cried, Tucon Kid hath wept.
    Ambition should be made of sterner stuff:
    Yet my brother says he was ambitious;
    And my brother is an honorable man.
    I speak not to disprove what my brother spoke,
    But here I am to speak what I do know.
    You all did love him once, not without cause:
    What cause withholds you then to mourn for him?
    O judgment! Thou art fled to brutish beasts,
    And men have lost their reason! Bear with me;
    My heart is in the hospital bed there with Tucon Kid,
    And I must pause till it come back to me."

[Marley stops, closing his eyes, his jaw protruding slightly.]

"What my brother did was...inexcusable...and the fact that the only
'punishment' he gets is to have to face me...it's meant to be a
joke...well, I hate to disappoint our 'esteemed' boss, but little
Ricky is gonna get taken behind the woodshed for this one.  A young
man lies in that room back there unconscious...no one knows when he'll
wake up.  There's swelling..."

[Judd closes his eyes for a moment, fighting back emotion.]

"I'm not here to play around...not this time.  Me and Jack have some
unfinished business at this point...LOTS of unfinished business...but
I can take time out of my schedule to set this right.  The Widowmakers
have stepped over the line, and it's time that somebody bloodied their
noses and pushed them back behind it.

And you can take that to your damned bank, Rick."

[fade to black]



<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
	Tommy Ryder
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>


["Swingin" Dean Hayes spots Laurel and moves in to try and get an
interview with "The Phenom" Tommy Ryder.]

DH: Laurel, can you tell me where Tommy is?

[The camera man shivers as HE feels the cold from the glare that
Laurel shoots at Dean.]

DH: I'm sorry, um... "Lady" Laurel, do you think I could get an
interview with Tommy?

LL: Better.  Tommy will be out in a minute, but we need to get
something straight.  What kind of sexist show are people running here?

DH: What?

LL: When you look at the standings is there any mention of me, the
women's champion?

DH: But there isn't a women's title in...

LL: I showed everyone the women's title that I hold!  It's about time
that people starting taking notice of...

[At this point "The Phenom" Tommy Ryder comes out of the locker room.]

DH: Um, Tommy can we get your feelings on being in a triple threat
match that could put you in the title tournament?

TR: How do I feel?  This is a dream come true.  I'm here to prove that
you can accomplish anything you set your mind on.  Winning the title
would prove that more than anything else.  And what better way to
thrill  the fans than for "The Phenom" to take it to a new level.

DH: But you took a real beating at Tradition II.  Are you sure you're
ready for this?

TR: Of course I'm hurting.  But that's not gonna stop me.  Sometime a
chance comes along for us to prove ourselves worthy and I'm not gonna
let that slip by.

You say I'm in a triple threat, well I say a big thank you should go
to the Widowmakers.  Yes, that's what I said.  Thank you WMI!  I've
sort of gotten use to having two, three, four guys on the other side
of the ring from me and in this case, there's a chance that they might
actually fight each other for part of the match!  The way I see it the
odds aren't stacked against me.  Right now, the odds are in my favor.

I'm not saying that El Hijo and Page aren't good enough, but as good
as they are they have to face The Phenom and I plan on bringing my A
game.  I want into that tournament and the only way to get it is to
get past them.  Honestly I think that the three of us match up pretty
well.  I can't wait to get in there and see which of us reaches our
limit first.  Because you see, I've seen their limits and I think mine
goes just a bit farther.  I will get into that tournament and I will
show everyone what a Phenom is.

Oh, and there is something else that I'd like to get off my chest.
Nick Wright, I really hope you don't think that we're done.  You see,
Laurel's kind of satisfied with her revenge.  Did you see a dentist
yet Nick?  I watched the tape of our match and I think you lost a
tooth when she hit you.

[A sly grin comes over Laurel's face.]

TR: She may be satisfied Nick, but I'm not.  We're not done.  I will
find a way to get my hands on you without your boys there to help you
out.  And when that day comes you will regret the moment that
Masterson convinced you to come into the PVW.

Last thing Dean, and this is a message to one man.  The man that
handed me my first loss.  The man that thinks he has everything in the
palm of his hand.  The man that will play everything he can to his
advantage, Rick Marley.  Rick, I kind of have a lot to deal with right
now, but rest assured, you are on my list.  Not because you beat me.
That coin can land on either side on any given night.  You're on that
list because we're opposites.  I work for everything I get.  You take
every shortcut you can.  I try to handle things myself.  You have a
group of guys that get the work done for you. Yea, we've got a
collision coming again some day.  But you know, I'm pretty sure that
you guys aren't done with me either.  I know that I have to keep
an eye out, but has it occured to you that at some point... you will
too?

[At this point Tommy tosses the mic to Dean and holds out his hand as
Laurel grabs it and they walk off.]


<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
	The Gutch
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>


[Cut to show Broderick Ezekiel Craven, on his cellphone, walking down
the hall. Essentially, Zeke's doing the normal routine, but for some
reason today he seems worried.]

Zeke: Hon.  Honey?  Hey, you're getting way too worked up about this.
See, Bill really isn't that ... uh, bad, anymore, I guess you'd say.
Vandal just has not to do anything too stupid, like set him on fire
again or some such, and there shouldn't
be any danger to your brother.

[Shrieking suddenly emanates from the phone.]

Zeke: Lydia!  Geez!  Sweetie, I know how much he _likes_ lighting
people on fire, but we talked it out.  The fact is that I have the
situation under control, and you just need to sit back and let me deal
with it.  This is my job.

Hey, caller ID...

[Turning the screen towards himself, Zeke furrows his furry red
brows.]

Zeke: Oh, it's my mom.  Lovely.  Sweetie, I'll call you back.  Love
you, buh-bye.

[Flipping the phone shut, Zeke waits for it to buzz, and then flips it
back open again.]

Zeke: Mom, what's happening?  Got a show going on right now.  Y'know,
work...

[Shrieking, similar to what his wife was emitting comes once more from
the phone.  Zeke looks more stressed than before, his lips
tightening.]

Zeke: Funny, uh, you should mention that.  I was just on the phone
with Lydia--

[Further, louder shrieking, and maybe some muffled cursing.]

Zeke: I know how you feel about my wife, mom, but we were on the same
subject. Bill's safe.  Hell, I'm more worried about Vandal.  I manage
the guy now, you know.

[Yap yap yap, and Zeke swallows.]

Zeke: No, mom, don't put Frank on.  I—Frank.  Hi.

[Deeper rumblings from the phone.]

Zeke: Frank, c'mon ... okay, DAD!  Dad, c'mon, Bill's a big boy.  He's
got 100 pounds on Vandal.  The guys have no beef with each other.  How
bad can it be?

Livestock: Zeke, a few words?

[Stopping dead in his tracks, Zeke looks to one side, seeing Livestock
Zappa, junior partner in his lawfirm and one half of the tag team
combination Livestock and the Gutch.]

Gutch: Yeh, very few.  Nah, I'm joshin' ... we love talkin' y'know.

Zeke: Frank ... I have to go.  Bye.

[Turning around, Zeke takes in the 400-plus pound giant-headed fat
beast named Gutch Bartilucci.  Rubber necking, he looks at both men,
clicking his phone closed yet again.]

Zeke: Boys, for the love of Pete, what?  I do have things to do.

Livestock: About that.  We noticed you haven't had much time for us,
and we were wondering if you were coming to the ring for Gutch's match
tonight.

Gutch: Yeah.

Zeke: I, uh, sure ... I can make that.  No problem.

Gutch: Oop, you was wrong, 'Stock.  He said yes.

Livestock: Gutch, dammit, shut up.

Zeke: You were betting against me coming to ringside?  Why?

Livestock: Well, Zeke, you've been so distracted lately.  Hell, even
when PVW was on Hiatus, it seemed like you were in meetings all the
time.

Zeke: I came to the ring with you at Tradition, didn't I?

Gutch: Yeh, but ... still ... y'know, we miss ya.

Zeke: Ugh, for the--

Livestock: Don't worry about it, Zeke.  I know you have a lot of
pressure on you.

Zeke: You don't know the half of it.  Between my wife, my mother, our
hare-brained paralegal, SSN and PVW, I'm down to my last wit.

Gutch: Which is why we did all the plannin' for my match without ya.

Zeke: Why does that statement fill me with an incoherent fear.

Gutch: Naw, it's okay.  See, I'll just focus on beatin' up that Rage
guy.

[Mid-sentence, Livestock is looking over Zeke's head and giving a cut-
throat motion to indicate that Gutch should shut up.]

Zeke: GUTCH!  He's your partner!

Gutch: Oh yeah, there is that.

Zeke: Why would you do that?

Gutch: 'Cause ... he took the tag titles.  We still ain't got our
return match for the tag titles.

Zeke: It goes against precedent, Gutch, and as lawyers, we look to the
precedent first!

Gutch: I don't get it.

Zeke: You want to win the match first ... then beat up the guy who has
what you want.

Gutch: Ohhh, nice one.

Zeke: Even still, with the Rage boys and ourselves being on the same
side of the wrestling equation, we have to play it close to the vest.

Livstock: You ... know he knew Rage was our side, right?

Zeke: Let's not get hung up on details ... and no, with Gutch, I never
know. Gentlemen, quick cram session, time to make magic.

[Leading the way down the hall, Zeke takes his pack of suit-wearing
lawyers with briefcases off into the distance.  Cut.]


<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
	Ronan Benedict
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>


[It's business as usual, despite the fact that the sun went down hours
ago.  The alley is wide, and not very well lit.  But it's Grand
Central Station if you've got money to spend and cops to avoid.  Sure
there's probably a straggler or two lurking around, but they're only
here for the whores, heroin, and cockfights.  And nobody's very happy
about getting their faces on camera.  We pan through the crowd as they
make their way this way and that, like wide-eyed children at a toy
store, marveling at all the wonderful things they could have.  There's
money to be made here, and spent twice as quickly.  Dirty money.

One individual stands out from the crowd.  He walks among them, but
not with them. His shoulder-length wavy dark red hair and full beard
make him easily recognizeable by PVW fans who watched Tradition II.
Ronan Benedict.  The 26-year-old Grand Rapids, Michigan native is
dressed in an unzipped brown leather jacket over black "War Hounds:
Blood-Splayed Extermination Tour" t-shirt, forest green camouflage
patterned pants, and black hiking boots on his feet.  As he parts ways
from the crowd, a very scantily dressed prostitute approaches him.]

Whore: Hey, baby.  Do you wanna' party?  It'll only cost ya'--

[Ronan doesn't even afford her a clance, as he cuts her off.]

RB: F[BLEEP]k off.

[The whore is shocked by his reaction, but sneers back at him.]

W: Assh[BLEEP]e!

[Ronan doesn't respond though, as he continues on his way.]

RB: Ain't it funny how the lines between good and bad have a tendency
to blend and blur when we grow up?  If you stole from the candy store
as a kid, all you got was a slap on the hand and a lecture.  But now,
stealing from the liquor store would get you a cell with Bruno the
Lumbarjack.  Innocence is a wonderful thing.

[As he walks, Ronan casually glances down gangways.  Either he's
looking for something, or it's just curiosity.]

RB: Parents teach us as kids about fairytales, about heros and
villains.  They train us to be like the good knight fighting the evil
dragon...

"Don't hit girls."...

"Share your toys."...

"Don't start fights."...

[A smile spreads across Ronan's bearded face.]

RB: "Finish them."  At least, that's what my old man told me when I
was and strong enough to throw a good punch.  But that's when the
lines began to blur, at least for the boys in the family.  Bad wasn't
so bad anymore.  To a degree, it was even necessary.  Like showing
certain people you won't let them walk all over you.

"Do what you feel in your heart is right, even if it's wrong by most
people's standards."...

[He has a good chuckle after quoting that line from his childhood.]

RB: Let's face it, society f[BLEEP]ks with our heads, and then expects
us to pass on its white flag of conformity and moral restraint to the
next generation.  First it tells us to idolize Rambo and Sergeant
Slaughter, but then just ten years later, decides that the new kids
should idolize Barney and Pokemon.

[He shakes his head, shaking the thought away.]

RB: I don't claim to be one of the unblemished good knights we were
raised to emulate.  Far from it.  I've seen and done too many things
the wrong way, for the right reasons.

[Ronan passes by a garage where cockfights are being held.  He sighs,
knowing that even if he did anything about it, they'd be back here
again tomorrow night.]

RB: At the same time, I know that Larry Gionet isn't the true
definition of evil.  A poser, maybe, but not the real deal.  And he
sure as f[BLEEP]k ain't no evil dragon, either.  How do I know?
[Another smile spreads across his face.]

RB: Well, 'cause I kicked his teeth in once already.

[He simply nods his head.]

RB: And I'm going to make it a twofer up in Corvallis.  Don't you
worry though, Larry.  This ain't personal.  I don't go lookin' to kill
somebody 'cause some jackass tried throwing his weight around.  Truth
is, Larry...

[He turns to face the camera, a quiet intensity smouldering in his
blue eyes as always.]

RB: I've been through a whole Hell of a lot worse than what you threw
at me.  If that's all you've got, or if you think that's enough to
piss me off, then you're sorely mistaken.

This ain't business for me, either.  I don't fight for the money.  I
fight because I like to, and it's what I'm good at.  If stepping into
that ring ever ceases to be fun, or starts being just about stuffing
some rich prick's pockets, then I'm on the first train back to Grand
Rapids.  Getting paid to split people's skulls open is just a real
nice bonus.  But Hell...

[He chuckles.]

RB: It ain't even about you being in my way in this tournament.
Granted, you are in my way, but that ain't the point.  I got no
problem with kickin' your teeth in a second time around.  But this is
only a qualifying match, Larry.  And we're a long way off from
figuring out who's the next Champion.  So when we step foot in that
ring, you can rest assured... or not... that my focus is aimed
squarely at you, Larry.  Nobody else.  Why?

'Cause you're a piece of sh[BLEEP]t scumbag who needs to get put in
his place.  You ain't good, and you ain't evil.  You're stuck
somewhere in the middle with me.  And Larry...

That ain't a very good place to be.

[He shakes his head no one more time.]

RB: PVW has its rules, and that's fine.  But when that bell rings, the
only thing that'll save your ass from chokin' on your own teeth is if
you call it quits.  'Cause believe me when I say this, Larry...

I don't quit.

_Ever_.

and I won't stop fightin' 'til the fight's over.  But be warned,
Larry...I'm going to do something very bad.  Neither of us will walk
out of there under our own power...

[...]

RB: They'll be dragging me out in a pair of handcuffs.  And inside
that ring?

Will be a _crime_ _scene_.

[Ronan falls silent as he continues walking.  But then, something
catches his eye down in an adjoining alley.  Two thugs beating up on a
young woman.]

RB: HEY!

[Ronan breaks into a sprint in their direction.  Fade.]



<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
	Overkill
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>


(Scene opens to the newly returned Killing Machines, Overkill and
Demolisher, and their long time manager "Midnight" Jawaad Mahmood,
standing outside the arena before Heatwave. The KMs are dressed in the
brand new official Killing Machines t-shirts, which say their tag team
name in big silver block lettering, and features caricatures of the
faces of the two men on the front. Jawaad is dressed in his usual
trench coat style black leather jacket.)

Mahmood: Well, boys...it's promo time, here before Heatwave. What a
great time to be alive, eh?

Overkill: Yeah, you said it, Jawaad. Who ever thought the Killing
Machines would be back after all these years, kicking ass, and taking
names, once again?

Mahmood: Well, you guys came to Tradition II, and you proved the
doubters wrong. You went into that six man tag team match, and proved
that you still have it. Livestock and Gutch surely were surprised to
see both of you there.

Demolisher: Damn straight. The two lawyers apparently didn't have the
legal knowledge to forsee the ass kicking that was headed their way.
And even though we didn't end up on the winning team...well, that was
really secondary to our reappearance that night. We were there to send
a message, and the message was received loud and clear.

Overkill (nodding enthusiastically): The message was "Get out of our
way, or we'll run you over." That's just what I'm going to be doing
more of tonight! Only this time you'll be watching from the sidelines,
Big D!

Demolisher: Yeah...not by choice, 'Kill...but I'll have your back,
don't worry. Jawaad will be out there with you.

Overkill: You've got my back? Since when do I need to worry about
that...I can handle myself in that ring! You know that by now.

Demolisher: Calm down man...

Overkill: Calm down? No way! I'm pumped up! I'm ready for this thing?

Mahmood: Ah...if you're so ready, who are your tag team partners?

Overkill: Uh...well...there's the one guy...and the other guy with the
hair...look, it doesn't matter who my partners are! I'm going to go in
there and show everyone that Tradition II wasn't some fluke one off
appearance! Even though I'm not going to have my usual partner with
me, I'm going to end up on the winning side of this thing! It really
doesn't matter who I'm teaming with, or even who I'm facing...we're
veterans, dammit!

Demolisher: Well, that's true, man. Shouldn't you at least be watching
some video tape or something to see who you're fighting against?

Overkill: Forget the video tapes! Forget all the hype and hoopla!
We're the Killing Machines! You know...the twin engines of
destruction, and all that! We were in the freaking Inner Circle back
in the day! Who do we have to be afraid of?

Mahmood (turning to look directly at the camera): That's
right...listen to me, PVW. The Killing Machines are back, and they're
for real. That wasn't just a one shot appearance at Tradition II.
These two big scary men you're looking at...Overkill and
Demolisher...they're now under contract with Phoenix Valley Wrestling,
and that means they're coming for the PVW World Tag Team Championship.
It doesn't matter if we're facing the Prophets, the Made Men,
Livestock and Gutch...the Killing Machines are going to do what it
takes to get back to the top of the pro-wrestling world!

Demolisher: And if that means fighting in tag team matches, single
matches, six man
tag matches...

Overkill: Fifty man tag matches! We don't care! Just like I'm going to
show all the people watching tonight, we may be getting older, but
we're not dead yet! The Killing Machines are going to run through this
promotion, and get some gold back around our waists!

Demolisher: We're coming for ya, PVW! Notify your next of kin!

(With that, the Killing Machines and Jawaad turn to enter the arena.
Fade out.)


<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
	Sininster
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>


* The scene fades in to a well decorated, cozy restaurant bustling
with business despite the obvious cold temperatures.  Various passers
by shown on camera have small puffs of steam emanating from their
mouths as the PVW camera displays the ebb and flow of the environment.
The camera pans to the right and we see "Swingin'" Dean Hayes dressed
warmly in a black leather jacket that is zipped up to his neck. He is
wearing a pair of black gloves and blue jeans with black dress shoes.
He raises the microphone to his mouth *

Hayes: What's up wrestling fans of Phoenix Valley Wrestling! [There
are some cheers from various patrons within the restaurant]. I bet all
of you are wondering where I am that it's not only cold but a
restaurant who we didn't show the name of.  Well folks, we're keeping
the name of the restaurant a secret but I can tell you that we're in
Chicago right now [more patrons cheer louder] and I'm here to conduct
an interview of someone who is not a stranger to the wrestling
business."

[From off camera, there is a voice heard that is deep enough to rival
Herk Douglas', the Ring Announcer for PVW.  The camera pans to the
left and we see the midsection of a man who is obviously very large.
The camera pans up to reveal the scarred face of a dark-skinned
African-American man who is bald with piercing light-brown eyes and a
big smile upon his face.  Even now there are some PVW wrestlers who
are either shaking their heads or cursing their displeasure at seeing
this man.  Others in the league who do not know this man will know
soon enough.  The very large man stands by a table and gestures with
his left hand for Hayes and the cameraman to make themselves
comfortable.  Once they do, the man has a seat and a waitress comes
over to the table.  The large man asks for a cranberry juice then asks
Hayes and the cameraman if they would like a drink.  Hayes orders
Alize and the cameraman orders a Grey Goose.  The waitress departs and
Hayes continues]

Hayes: "Hey brotha', how are you doing?"

Man: "Just fine sir, and yourself?"

Hayes: "Chillin', literally man.  It's pretty cold around these parts
though this place is nice and cozy.  First off, will you please tell
the fans of Phoenix Valley Wrestling what your name is?"

Man: "Absolutely.  PVW, my name is Sinister and I know a few of you
are just thrilled to see my mug again, aren't you? [He chuckles deeply
a few times]  I guarantee you that ‘Flyking' Will Geddings,
‘Pokerface' Mark Masterson, ‘Outcast' Rob Cole, and William Craven are
all wondering just what the hell is going on.  Hell, the last time I
saw any of the aforementioned men, I was either trying to pummel one
of them into unconsciousness or was working with them to try and do
the same damn thing to whatever punk ass fool stood across the ring
from me.  That was some time ago and as is true in life, some aspects
have changed."

[The waitress returns with the drinks and places them neatly onto the
table.  Sinister smiles and bows his head respectfully to her. She
asks if the men are ready to order food and Sinister asks her to
return in five minutes.  She agrees and departs to assist other
patrons]

Hayes: "Sinister, where have you been these past couple of years? You
were a champion in various federations because I remember seeing some
of those matches on wrestling history programs and other special
showings. You had developed a very good reputation for yourself and
everyone knew that you'd never back down from a fight."

Sin: "I decided to spend some time in China to study Ba Gua Zhang, or
Pa Kua Chang, depending upon whom you speak with.  I studied an
internal martial arts form because I felt I needed to improve my
footwork, my balance and also be able to adapt quickly to various
types of attacks.  I admit I was frustrated at the beginning because I
have only studied Muay Thai kickboxing and that is obviously a
strictly external, hard-striking martial art. Having to teach myself
to switch to circular movements, flowing from one angle to another,
was very difficult and it is still something I must work diligently to
improve upon.  However, I will say that learning Ba Gua has helped me
tremendously, especially with flexibility and the recovery from
various injuries."

Hayes: "I'm sure we'll all see what learning Ba Gua Zhang has done for
you Sinister.  When you come back to PVW, what is your goal?"

Sin: "I will not unfurl a boring, loquacious diatribe about wanting to
win the title, be the king of the mountain, etc. My goal is different
but if I happen to win a championship or two, then so be it.  I am
coming to PVW to right the many wrongs that I have seen and ironically
enough, the wrongdoing that I see being done is being done to a man
whom I have had numerous brutal battles against.  This may cause him,
as well as those associated with him, to crap themselves, but what I
see being done to William Craven does not sit well with me whatsoever.
Though Craven and I did not, and possibly still do not, see eye to eye
on various topics, he has proven himself to be a worthy adversary.
Seeing pathetic ‘men', and I use that term loosely, gang up on Craven
and attack him displays tremendous weakness and insecurities about
those men."

Hayes: "Are you speaking about a particular group of men Sinister?"

Sin: "I am indeed.  The Widowmakers Incorporated are a bunch of loud-
mouthed, brash, disrespectful punk asses who NEED to travel in numbers
because individually, they are weak-minded, shortcut taking pathetic
bastards. Time after time they have attacked Craven all at the same
time then they fancy themselves as dominating men.  It seems to me
that the main prick of the group is ‘Showtime' Ricky Marley. Marley, I
saw what you had done to The Tuscon Kid and that was just shameful.
Tommy Ryder is a young man who stands for what he believes is right
and I concur with his stance.  Actually Marley, I remember when you
had Craven's back some time ago.  Obviously jealousy has overcome you
and you have allowed your emotions to overtake your skills and
reasoning. You are an absolute scrub Marley and you had better believe
that you better watch your ass when I make my way into PVW."

Hayes: "Well Sinister, you're certainly laying some strong words onto
The Widowmakers Incorporated. Do you think it's a good idea to do
that?"

Sin: "Hayes, I've been jumped by punk asses time and time again during
various points of time in my life and they're all the same.  A REAL
man stands against an opponent one on one, not five or more on one.  I
implore The Widowmakers Incorporated to attack me as a group because
believe me, if I catch ANY of them by themselves, they will be
DECIMATED!  SINISTER STYLE!"

[Various patrons in the restaurant stop speaking and stare in surprise
at Sinister.  Sinister clears his throat and bows his head slightly]

Sin: "Sorry folks, I got a little carried away."

Hayes: "Last question Sinister.  When are you going to enter PVW?"

Sin: "Time will tell my brotha'.  Believe me, you'll know when I do."

* The scene fades as the waitress returns and Sinister begins ordering
food *



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


[Hayden Island, Portland.  A hotel overlooks the Columbia River, and
past to the lights of Vancouver, a dark, glittering silhouette on the
water.   Staring off the balcony, Urban Legend's masked Stalker seems
almost lost in thought.  Inside, the big man Semi leans on the bed,
watching something on the TV.

[The camera pans for a better view, revealing Traditions match
between Williams, Geddings, Foley and "Outlaw."  Slackjawed, Semi
replies various spots, including "Outlaw's" antics in the ring, and
the subsequent unmasking of "the Blade" Justin Cruise.]

Semi : I still ain't over how I didn't catch this.  I hang around the
guy pretty much constantly -- for lack of tryin -- and I did not see
this coming.

Stalker : And who's been around him longer?

[Pause.]

Semi : Good point.  [He shrugs.]  Eh, good to see a familiar face
back, in any case.

Stalker : Familiar, yes.

[Semi looks up at him for a moment, then squints at the TV again.]

Semi : Huh.  Guess I should be done gawkin and start looking into
this six-man I got.  Why the heck am I in a tag match without my tag
partner again?

Stalker (smiling slightly) : It's a showcase.  Multiple teams.

Semi : They coulda made it a twelve-man.  [Pause.]  Nah, too much.

Stalker : You'll have the Jokers again.

Semi (smiling) : Yeah, it'll be good havin one of em runnin around on
our side this time.  Not sure about these Killin Machines,
though.  Heard of em at all?

[Stalker doesn't respond, staring out to the river.  Semi grunts as
the video skips along through the other tag match.]

Semi : That's a no.  Eh, they ain't fond of Gutchy, at least, so I'll
take em.  And -- [He lights up some.] -- we get a first crack at
Prophets.

[Finally, Stalker turns and walks in.  He looks at the monitor,
flexing his casted arm experimentally.]

Stalker : They're overdue for payment on these injuries.  I think,
though, this should be the first installment.

Semi (grinning) : Ohyeah, Shadoe's gettin a teaser all right... but I
guess I'll save some for ya.  [Pause.]  Maybe.

[He stands, tossing the remote on the bed.]

Semi : Aight, there's a gym downstairs.  I'm gettin crackin.

[Stalker nods as Semi makes his way out of the room.  Taking the
remote, Stalker watches the replay as it forwards back to Cruises
unmasking.  He frowns at the monitor as the camera fades out.]