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##                           ##
## Phoenix Valley Wrestling  ##
##       Burning Effect      ##
##           10.22.09        ##
##                           ##
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Presenting....

-> Livestock and The Gutch
-> Perry Fontana
-> Ohno & Livestock and The Gutch
-> Max Weinrib and Salih Mubarak
-> Rob Cole
-> Sinister
-> Tom Landis #1
-> Scott Nielsen
-> Danny Daniels
-> Chase Williams
-> Will Geddings
-> Caleb Foley
-> Marcus Manson
-> Adrian Tanner
-> Herscher von Donkerhardt
-> Masked Maniac
-> Tommy Ryder
-> William Craven
-> Alex Martinez
-> Chris Werner
-> Ronan Benedict
-> Prophets of Rage
-> Johnny Detson
-> The Mercenary
-> Gibson Hayes
-> Larry Gionet
-> Wildcards
-> Livestock, The Gutch, and Bubba Hayes
-> Tom Landis #2
-> Sinister #2
-> The Spectre
-> Dr. Mal Practice & Jack Baldwin
-> Mike Cox
-> Tracy Hudson


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

[Fade in.  It's the locker room immediately following Shattered
Dreams.  Livestock and the Gutch, NEW PVW Tag Team champions are
preparing to depart.  Livestock wears a tracksuit and wool cap.  Gutch
is just in his ring gear, not needing any insulation other than his
own fat to keep him warm when he heads outside.]

Livestock: Holy crap.  Just holy crap, man.  We did it.  We finally
*BLEEPING* did it.

[Shoving a pair of flat-soled wrestling boots made to look like dress
shoes into his briefcase, Livestock seems stunned at what he's just
said.]

Gutch: Yeah.  Yeah, I know.  We finally got the damned belts, and this
one doesn't fit me.  Who the hell can wear a 44-inch belt?  It ain't
heard of!

Livestock: Gutch, I have a 36-inch waist.

Gutch: Don't blame me.  I'm the one that keeps telling you to eat a
sandwich instead of that Myoplex crap.

[Shaking his head, Livestock smiles, seemingly unable to be put off by
Gutch's stupidity.]

Livestock: It's okay man, I planned ahead.  Let me see your strap.

Gutch: Hell no, we each get one!

Livestock: Just ... let me see it for a minute.  Trust me for the love
of Pete.

Gutch: Okay, I guess.  Don't go getting any funny ideas about wearing
two just 'cause I can't get it on me.

[Taking the belt, Livestock sets it down flat, withdraws something
from his briefcase, and, hiding it from both Gutch's and the camera's
view, sets about doing something to it.]

Gutch: What you doin'?  You ain't takin' a piss on it or somethin',
are ya'!?

Livestock: NO!  Just trust me for two seconds, will you?

Gutch: One.  Two.

Livestock: I got it.  Just turn around.

Gutch: Why?

Livestock: It's a surprise.  Just do it!

Gutch: Okay, okay fine!  Geesh.

[Facing away from Livestock, towards the camera, Gutch looks
irritable, grimacing, and rubs his unibrow with one oversized hand.
Livestock creeps up behind him, reaching around Gutch's ample gut.]

Gutch: Eh!  I'm a married man, 'Stock!  What you think Rosa would say
she saw you doin' that!?

Livestock: Just shut up, man.  Look what I'm doing.

[Gutch looks down just in time to see Livestock's hands pulling the
championship belt across his fatty overhanging stomach, pulling it
tight and seeming to slim the big man.  One click later, and he backs
away.  Gutch is wearing the belt!]

Gutch: Holy crap!  How'd you add 18 inches to that belt, man!?

Livestock: A pair of short bungee cords.

Gutch: What cords?  The things you use to hold your car trunk shut
when it's full of too much crap?

[Turning around, Gutch shows the world that the belt is held in place
by two elastic straps, plastic hooks on either end going through the
grommets of the belt.]

Gutch: Sweet.  I'm wearin' this baby out!  Just like a pair of good-
fittin' shoes!

Livestock: When have you been able to wear a pair of shoes out of the
store?

Gutch: It's happened.

Livestock: You wear size 22 shoes...

Gutch: Hey, don't start ridin' me about that.  God made me with big
hands, big feet and a big head.  I got a lady that loves me and two
hellion kids that want new cars. It's all good.

Livestock: Heh, you're like the Beast from the X-Men, only fat like
the Blob.

[Abruptly, both men droop slightly, losing most of their good cheer.]

Gutch: Aw, man, why you gotta bring that up now?

Livestock: I forgot about it until just now.

Gutch: Stupid casting director.  I would've been the perfect Blob.

Livestock: Don't tell me about it.  I swear, I had that Sabertooth
role wrapped up. I mean, that Liev guy or whatever his name was isn't
even blond!

Gutch: "Young Blob is skinny" he said.  Douchebag.  No wonder it
tanked in the theaters.

Livestock: Actually ... the studio more than doubled their money.

Gutch: Aw man, seriously?  You paid attention to that crap?

[Livestock nods, grabs up his title belt, and puts it on easily,
having 8 extra inches to work with.]

Livestock: But who cares about that?  We're not actors, we're
wrestlers!

Gutch: I thought we were lawyers!

Livestock: That too, at least until we get disbarred.

Gutch: Why would that happen?

Livestock: No idea.  The point is ... we need to wear these straps
out.  Celebrate! Rent out a club or something and invite all the “in”
people to hang out with us!

Gutch: Now we're talking!  Hey, there gonna be a buffet at this
shindig?

Livestock: Gutch, I...  Heh, what the hell?  Why not!?  Your diet can
wait for one week.  It's not every day we finally climb that mountain
and claim what should've been ours since day one!

Gutch: Whoo!  You're the man, 'Stock!

Livestock: And you know how I'm gonna celebrate?  I'm gonna grow me
some muttonchops.  Tell me I'm not Sabertooth.  Sabertooth has blond
muttonchops!  Liev Schrieber can kiss my beautiful Aryan ass!

Gutch: Nordic?  I thought your family was Italian like mine.

Livestock: Grandpa on dad's side was Italian, hence the name.  The
rest is straight Germanic.  Hence the blond hair and blue eyes.

Gutch: Heh, German and Italian, eh?  Eh, your parents wouldn't happen
to be named Hitler and Mussolini would they?

Livestock: You're all Italian!

Gutch: Hey, I'm just sayin'.

Livestock: Well it's not funny, captain cave ... man?

*clapitty* *clapitty* *clapitty*

[Pan over slightly to show that Broderick Ezekiel Craven is standing
in the doorway to the locker room.  He applauds Livestock and Gutch, a
bemused expression on his face as he shakes his head.]

Livestock: Zeke, hey, didn't see you there.  Some night, huh?

Gutch: Couldn't have done it without ya, Zeke!  Whoo!  We are the
champ-yuns, my friends!

Zeke: No.  No you couldn't.  You guys always got in your own way, with
your infighting, lack of conditioning [points at Gutch], lack of
confidence [points at Livestock].  Now look at you.

Gutch is a mountain, as always, but now he's got big arms like a bear,
(hairy too), and some muscle tone.  Still got a spare-tractor-tire,
but still.  The difference is amazing.  Livestock, in the last few
months you've consistently out-performed, athletically, everyone
you've been put in the ring with.  Even Alex Martinez who, I think,
now has a grudging respect for you.

Livestock: We'll find out if he ever speaks to us again.

Zeke: The point is ... you're ready to fly.

Livestock: Well, yeah, I've been working on my high-flying.  Nothing
like a near-300-pounder coming off the top to put the fear of God in
someone!

Gutch: Don't look at me!  Last time I got on the top rope I fell and
had this full-body welt on the front of me.  Ain't a tube of topical
cream that big, man!

Zeke: NO!  No ... I mean, well, you can do it without me now.

[Two jaws, a fat one and a toned one, drop.  Zeke looks out into the
hall, uncomfortably.]

Zeke: Yeah, I know.  It's been a long run.  You guys were my goons, I
trained you, got some other guys to round you out, set you loose on
PVW, and then two years. Two years of scraping and clawing to get
here.

Gutch: You're not gonna manage us anymore?

Livestock: What the hell, Zeke!?

Zeke: Now now, look, I've been stretched thin for a year now, buried
in paperwork and etcetera.  I've hit the ceiling as far as what I can
do here, but an offer came up.  One I can't say no to.  There's an
opening on the booking committee.  That'll be me representing PVW in
all legal matters and helping to run the league in general.  It's not
much power, but I'll take it.  Unfortunately, that just doesn't leave
me with enough time to be your rudder.

Gutch: Zeke!  No, Zeke!

Livestock: You're the mastermind, man.  The king of the shadow play.
You can't cut out on the party when it's just getting started.

Zeke: I thought this might be the reaction I'd get, so I've hired
someone to ... shall we say "wean" you off of the direction I've given
you?  Yes, that sounds good.

Livestock: But, but ... you're the mastermind!

Zeke: No, Livestock, I was.  Now you are.  You have an IQ of what?
180?  Use it.

Gutch: Who's the new guy?

Zeke: Someone with whom I've had past business dealings.  He's not
here right now, but I've left instructions with him to meet you two at
your victory party.

Livestock: How did you do that?  We haven't even booked it yet.

Zeke: No, I did.  Here.

[Zeke hands Livestock a greeting card.  Both members of the team stare
at the card as it's opened.]

Livestock: V.I.P.N.Y.C.?

Gutch: Aw man, Zeke!  It's a strip club!  Oh, Rosa ain't gonna like
this.  Or Grandmama Rosetta!

Livestock: Wait, it just hit me.  Your wife and your grandma are both
named Rose?

Gutch: No.  Rosa and Rosetta.  Totally different names.

Zeke: Boys, I'll see you at the party.  Right now, I have some
contracts to sign. You'd better get a move on.  The reservations are
in an hour, and this is New York. It takes awhile to get around.

Gutch: Looks like a pretty sweet joint, anyway.

[Without another word, Zeke departs, leaving Livestock and the Gutch
to ponder their future.]

Livestock: We're going to have to do something pretty nasty after this
emotional outpouring to get our asshole cred back again.

Gutch: We could stuff Dean Hayes in a locker.

Livestock: Next week, Gutch.  Right now, I'm going to go hopefully bed
a slutty stripper.

Gutch: And I'm gonna start comin' up with a cover story so I don't
have to tell my family I was lookin' at strippers.

[Grabbing up their briefcases and other baggage, Livestock and Gutch
depart, leaving the locker room empty.  Fade to black.]

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
        Perry Fontana
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

SDH: Dean Hayes here in...

VO: Aaahhh ouais...

[Looks like we find ourselves in a massage parlor. The pale, olive
walls are cleanish, just like the massage bed and the tables, over
stocked with various bottles of oils and lotions. A little board
advertises various services like soapy massages, hot tubs, and happy
endings. Uncomfortable, Dean Hayes re-starts his introduction.]

SDH: I'm here in world famous Mama San's Dungaree Dragon Massage
Parlor, recommended by such universally renowned stars as Lil' Wayne,
Hugh Grant, Ben Affleck and, well... "Fabulous" Fred Hoyle.

VO: Aaaaah... cousin!

[The camera pans to Perry Fontana, laid out on a massage bed, wearing
nothing but a towel and his enormous muttonchops. He is relaxing,
somewhere between Nirvana and Shangri-La, despite the conspicuous lack
of a masseuse.]

SDH: And now, among the parlor's renowned clientèle, new PVW Network
Champion, "The Everlasting" Perry Fontana.

Fontana: Aaah ouais! This is gonna be GOOD!!  SDH: Surprisingly, I can
talk to sweaty wrestlers squeezed in small trunks with great ease, but
this... This is awkward.

Fontana: THIS IS THE LIFE! Aaah wwaay, cousin, this is the _life_ of a
CHAMPION!!

[Clouds of spittle spray up from the massage table like tiny volcanic
eruptions.]

SDH: Speaking of which, Perry Fontana, I do not see the PVW Network
Championship anywhere.

Fontana: JE ne L'AI PAS!

SDH: Wh-

Fontana: I said I don't have it! I'm too _good_ for such a lowly
title, cousin! Besides, it had a _stench_ of OUTLAW.

SDH: So... Let me get this straight... you don't have the
championship?

Fontana: Do you see it anywhere?

[Indeed, the Network Title Belt is nowhere to be seen.]

Fontana: I'm not a man that sits back in lazy contentment once the
first goal has been achieved, little man! I'M BETTER THAN THAT,
cousin! I keep climbing until there is _nothing_. Left... To CLIMB!

SDH: But certainly becoming the third PVW Network Champion is an
important accomplishment.

Fontana: Meh. C'est correct. ... I said it's ALRIGHT! That's why I'm
here, cousin. Winning the PVW Network was so _easy_, I can reward
myself with this little treat before I resume making the inevitable
happen: proving that "Deathless" _Perry_ FONTANA is the GREATEST.  The
ONLY MAN to steal Death's scythe and sell it back to him at twice the
cost not once, Dean Hayes, not _twice_, but SIX!!! TIMES!!!!!!

SDH: Yes, you did mention that a few times... Hold on, hold on... did
you say winning Ladder Mania was _easy_?

Fontana: Like taking _candy_ from THREE BABIES, cousin! I knew my
victory was a sure thing, little man, but _never_ did I ever DREAM it
would be _that_ EASY! Ladder Mania was CHILD'S PLAY to me.

SDH: I don't know... with all the nasty tumbles enveryone in that ring
had to endure...

Fontana: But "il Eterno" is IMMORTAL, Dean!

SDH: Yeah. Sure.

Fontana: Now that I have it, the PVW Network Championship is WORTHLESS
TO ME!  I have a destiny to fulfill, and greater TASKS that still need
to be ACCOMPLISHED!

SDH: So... where _is_ the Network Title belt, then?

[As Dean asks his question, a slender asian girl dressed in white has
entered the room, rubbing scented oils on her hands.]

Masseuse: Meesta Fonutana!

Fontana: Ming Ling! You're LATE!

Masseuse: Ming Ling issa solly, Meesta Fonutana. Meesta "Fabooloosu"
Fuleddie Hoyulu issa pulobulemu witha hissa Ciyalissu. Hissa Viyagara.
SDH: What is she saying?

Fontana: You're with me, Ming Ling. You can drop the act.

ML: Sure thing. Sorry about that. I was with a client and... let's
just say he took a while.

SDH: But that accent you just had...

ML: Yeah. Most clients double the tip when they think I'm just a dumb
stereotype. Born and raised in Portland, though. Anyways, you ready,
Perry?

Fontana: You bet your – AAAHHHHA!! GHAAA! WHAT THE [BLEEP] MING LING!!
I didn't sign up for an ultimate submissions match, here!

ML: I didn't touch you yet.

SDH: It's true, she didn't.

Fontana: Oh. I was... I was just kidding, there.

ML: Do you want the massage or not?

Fontana: Oui, oui, vas-y. I was just punking you. I'm ready now, I'm
ready.

ML: So, do I avoid this big bruise here or not?

Fontana: What bruise.

ML: This one.

[She pokes the Italian-French-Canadian's back.]

Fontana: GHAAAAHH! [BLEEEEPPP!] STOP HITTING IT WITH A SLEDGEHAMMER
YOU DUMB [BLEEP!]!!! I mean... Yes, please take the time to avoid the
small bruising.

SDH: Immortal, huh?

Fontana: YES, IMMORTAL! Being _cursed_ with eternal life and being
insensitive to pain is _not_ the same THING!

SDH: Good point, tough guy.

Fontana: HEY! Did you see me tap? I didn't tap. Perry "Le Phénix"
Fontana DOES! ... NOT! ... TAP!

SDH: So much for Ladder Mania being easy, though.

Fontana: IT WAS! I am fully satisfied that whatever ails me, my
OPPONENTS HURT WORSE, aaaahhh waay! I made _sure_ of that! Wait-wait-
wait, not so hard Ming Ling...

ML: Sorry. How about like this?

Fontana: Yeah, better, yeah... Aaahh ouais... So Ladder Mania is like
getting put through a meat tenderizer. So what? So are a lot of other
matches, little man. All you do is win, then move on... keep...
climbing... the rungs...

SDH: But what about Sinister?

Fontana: He's in a worse shape than I'll ever be in, and now, he's
signing on for A WORLD OF HURT! He knows it, I know it.

SDH: But it's not his arm that's injured...

Fontana: Being the "ULTIMATE ARMBAR INNOVATOR" doesn't mean I do not
master all the leg locks I'll ever need to _permanently_ CRIPPLE that
man! There's only one thing Sinister needs to do before Heatwave,
cousin. He has to learn to _swallow his pride and TAP FAST if he wants
to preserve his wrestling career! The guy knows his submissions, now
doesn't he? He knows his wrestling holds. So if he has half a brain,
he knows what's in store for him, and he knows exactly what his wobbly
little leg is gonna go through.

SDH: You should not underestimate...

Fontana: ME! You should not UNDERESTIMATE "THE EVERLASTING" PERRY
FONTANA!!!

ML: Please relax, Perry. It makes things easier.

Fontana: Sure thing, Ming Ling. Sure thing. Mmm... yeah... that's
good...

SDH: But didn't Mask Maniac and yourself have some sort of backroom
deal concerning your eventual first title defense? Wasn't the first
challenger supposed to be Masked Maniac?

Fontana: It won't be the first time in just a few weeks that the
Championship Committee _completely_ DROPS _THE_BALL_!! First, they
fail to _suspend_ Outlaw, and now THIS?

ML: Please. Relax.

Fontana: I _AM_ RELAXED!!!

ML: Ok...

Fontana: Masked Maniac won't be a happy camper, but I can handle it. I
mean, it's Masked Maniac. He may know a thing or two he'd better keep
on the down low, but I just don't think he has les COUILLES to _rat_
me out. Whether the challenger's name is Sinister or Masked Maniac or
Bonhomme Carnaval, I'll knock out the lucky ones and _amputate_ the
RES----AAAAAAH! [BLEEP]! MING LING! Qu'est-ce que tu fais 'sti de
folle??

ML: Sorry.

[Suddenly, there's a knock on the door. A delivery man bedecked in
brown from head to toe enters the room, holding a large package.]

UPS Guy: Got a delivery here for... "Figlio favorito dell'Italia," "La
fierté du Québec," "The Everlasting," "Deathless" Perry "Le Phénix"
Fontana, also known as "il Eterno," "the Ultimate Armbar Innovator?"

[The delivery guy looks around inquisitively, looking for whoever that
might be. No one responds, until...]

Fontana: I think you didn't finish reading that tag.

UPS Guy: I'm pretty sure I did.

Fontana: Did you turn it over?

UPS Guy: Oh... uh... ... "The Immortal, and Phoenix Valley Wrestling's
Fastest Rising Star of All Time, Canada's Own, the Everlasting One."
... Yeah. Now that's it.

Fontana: Ah! That's me, then, cousin!

SDH: Oh, come on.

UPS Guy: Please sign here.

Fontana: Sure thing. What's your name?

UPS Guy: It's not an autograph I'm asking for.

Fontana: I KNEW that, jackass! Get outta here!

[His package delivers, and the papers signed, the delivery man doesn't
stick around needlessly, bolting away to his next destination.]

SDH: So, what's in the box?

Fontana: Nothing of great value, little man.

[Fontana rips the box open, and pulls out the PVW Network
Championship. It looks... different. It's much brighter and shinier
even than when it was introduced for the first time at End Game. And
the leather belt is different, in a new burnt orange color...]

SDH: What happened to the Network championship?

Fontana: I had to have it sterilized and re-polished.

SDH: What? Why?

Fontana: It was tainted by it's former owners. The leather strapping
part was ruined. Had to be ENTIRELY _replaced_ because the STINK just
wouldn't go away, cousin.

SDH: But... I thought you didn't care about this title... I thought it
was worthless to you...

Fontana: You don't _know_ what Outlaw did with this thing, cousin. You
_CAN'T_ know! And therefore, you can't take too many precautions.
SDH: And the name plate... is that real gold?

[The Everlasting One bolts up from the table.]

Fontana: DON'T TOUCH IT!!

SDH: What?

Fontana: I just had the whole thing restored, sphincter surfer! You
_think_ I'm about to let you TOUCH IT?

ML: Maybe put the belt on the table there? I can't massage with it in
the way. Here, let- Fontana: Step AWAY! From the _belt_, Ming Ling.
I'm warning you.

ML: But...

Fontana: Keep those filthy, _oily_ PAWS AWAY!

[Perry Fontana clutches his title, and grabs for his clothes.]

Fontana: This massage is over, alright... OVER! You people have to
stop _trying_ to TOUCH my belt, you'll CONTAMINATE IT! STAY AWAY!

[Menacingly, Fontana backs out of the massage room, leaving Dean Hayes
alone with Ming Ling, both uneasily shifting from one foot to the
other, afraid to break the awkward silence.]

SDH: So...

ML: Yes?

SDH: UH... Looking at the massage types on that board over there...

ML: Yes?

SDH: What is the “Fred Hoyle Special?”

[Fade.]


<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Ohno, Livestock & The Gutch
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[The scene opens at the Kevorkian Institute Of Painless Medicine in
Auburn, New York.  An outside shot shows the two-story white
building... smallish yet modern-looking, with black tinted windows, in
a neighborhood that looks residential.  A nice green lawn, a small
parking lot in the rear, and a modest two-lane road going by... very
nice looking.

Then we go inside.

The cameraman walks through the front door, goes through a red-
carpeted waiting room where patients sit, reading year-old magazines
and listening to metallic-sounding Muzak, and opens a wood-paneled
door.  It's a sound-proof "airlock" of sorts... we then open the
second door...

...and a WAVE of screaming, crying, and machinery sounds hit the
listener all at once, like in a horror movie!  The camera goes down
the halls; the screaming, begging for mercy, and such continue off
camera.  We see a door at the end of the hall, with a star and a
nameplate on it...

                        OOOOOOHNOOOOOOOO

What!?  Ohno!?]

??: There it is!

[Two massive men, one the picture of muscle-bound health, the other a
terrifyingly (mostly fat) huge wad of a man, stand, looking at the
door.  The blond pretty boy in the equation wears a red polo shirt and
pressed charcoal-colored slacks.  The fatter, balder man (yet covered
in body hair) wears a Hawaiian shirt and blue jeans.]

Livestock: Finally another shot at being in a film.  I'm telling you
Gutch, this is a real opportunity to expand our horizons.

Gutch: Hope so.  Y'know, I hear he put his own partner through the
ringer. Wouldn't let him act in the film ... as himself!  Or, y'know,
at least made him audition. Who'd make a better Gutch than a Gutch?
Can you imagine someone else playing me?

Livestock: No, I can't imagine anyone ever wanting to play you.  I
guess they could shave a bear...

Gutch: Hey!

Livestock: You're right.  Only need to shave the top of the head.

[The door opens with a creak, and the lawyers enter a dimly lit room
filled with camera equipment, light fixtures (currently turned off)
and various other movie-making paraphernalia.  A red carpet runs from
the door across to a director's chair with a star on the back. Sitting
with his back to them is a man in a black silk shirt and pants,
sitting cross-legged in the directors chair.  The band of an
eye patch can be seen wrapped around his head, and a cup of steaming
hot coffee rests in his hand.  We can naturally assume that this is
Dr. Ohno O... sorry... OOOOOOHNOOOOOOO.]

Gutch (stage whisper): Dude.  It's Goldfinger!

Livestock (normal voice): If you're going to reference Bond villains,
at least reference the right one.

[Kneeling at his feet just right of the chair, with a borderline manic
smile on her face, is Meili.  The pretty, and curvacious young girl is
wearing what looks like UN peacekeepers uniform of all things, and
open fingered gloves with studded wristbands.  Her hair is a mass of
dreadlocks that has various baubles handing in it, including things
like various beads, rainbow colored threads, and hello kitties.]

Gutch: Which one's the right one?

Livestock (sighing): Dr. No...

Gutch: Why's that the right one?

Livestock: Let me think...  Dr. No was born in China, and “no” is in
this director's name?

Gutch: I don't get it.

[Not noticing the duo that has just entered, Ohno is currently yelling
into his cellphone at someone.]

Ohno: NO CARE if you pa-ra-lize waist DOWN, you SIGN re-lease form
WHEN become STUNTMAN... I offer PUT your spine back for rea-son-a-ble
CHARGE, but you SAY "Oooohnooooo, too ex-pen-sive!"  Mi-ra-cle NO come
CHEAP..! NO mat-ter I PULL out on SET, you KNOW risks when you SPILL
COFFEE!  You lucky I NO use pin-ky fin-ger, THEN you not be here com-
plain-ing.  You CONTRACT say you WORK to-mor-row, or CAN claim 3
in-ter-nal or-gans as com-pen-sa-tion, so you BETTER be HERE! *click*

Meili: [noticing the two] Ooooh!  Ooooohnoooo!  Kan-kan! [points] More
au-di-tion. Bu zhidao ni de dianying you "Backstreet Boy" gen houzi.
[I didn't know your movie had a "Backstreet Boy" and a monkey.]

Livestock: Uh, hey, look at you.  Nihao and all that stuff.  I am
single, uh, I mean ... actually, let's just stick with single.

[Livestock grins wide as Meili cocks her head to one side, confused at
his words. Ohno rises from his chair in a slow dramatic fashion,
clapping his hands twice which turns on a spotlight illuminating him
fully in the dark room, and triggering a steam effect for no readily
apparent reason.  Meili points at Livestock and the Gutch with
a stern look on her face.]

Meili: You BOW in pre-sents of Oooooohnoooooo!

Gutch: I ain't really that flexible.  How about I just nod?

[Livestock bows shallowly, then steps forward rapidly, clasping Ow in
a hearty handshake.]

Livestock: Sir, it's an honor to make your acquaintance.  I'm sure
that you'll find our acting talents to be extensive and untapped.
We're ready for virtually any role.

Ohno: Who YOU?

Livestock: Heh.  Uh, I'm Livestock Zappa, and this is my associate
Gutch Bartilucci. Y'know.  The ... tag team champions in PVW?  Y'know?
Our day jobs?  You included? Wrestling?

Ohno: [Looks at Meili] YOU seen be-fore?

Meili: [stares blankly and shakes her head]

Gutch: *snickers*

Livestock: We _just_ had a match.  Your team, our team.  You lost, we
won?

Ohno: [look of recognition] OH YEAH.  You an-ger ma-nage-ment team,
right?

Livestock: I'm not even sure what that means unless you're talking
about the Prophets of Rage, and frankly, I take exception to that.
We're the lawyers.  You're the doctors.  Why does this not register
with you?

[At this point Livestock is interrupted by a sudden outburst of giddy
laughter from Meili, who is pinching the Gutch's cheeks and rambling
on in Chinese.]

Meili: Ooooh!  Kan-kan!  Ta shi hen da keai de houzi! [Look at him!
He's just like a big cute monkey!]

Gutch: Heh.  Uh, this is pretty cool...  Uh, don't tell Rosa I was
letting some crazy Chinese girl molest my face, 'kay 'Stock?

Ohno: [glancing over at the Gutch] No, Meili, THAT NOT monkey.  THAT
Ne-an-der-thal...  [looks at the Gutch again and does a double take]
WAIT MINUTE!

Gutch: I ain't no cave man!  'Stock, you coachin' this guy in pissin'
me off?

[Livestock covers his mouth and restrains laughter.  Suddenly Ohno
bounds over to the Gutch and bumps aside Meili, who doesn't seem to
mind in the least.  He looks the rather confused Gutch up and down for
a moment before declaring...]

Ohno: YOU PERFECT!

Gutch: I'm what?

Livestock: He's what!?

Ohno: LOOK at BIG slo-pin brow, fat lips, BIG hairy knu-ckles... why
YOU almost stupid and ug-ly LOOKing enough play JACK Bald-win.

Gutch: Uh, I'm not sure how to take that.  I'd like to have the man's
hairline.

Livestock: Are you serious?  First of all, why would you have someone
playing Baldwin in your movie, and secondly, I'D MAKE A MUCH BETTER
BALDWIN!

Ohno: [ignoring Livestock] We JUST have MAKE few chan-ges.  Need,
bigger FORE-head...  MEILI! [Meilie stands straight and salutes Ohno]
Go GET mal-let!

Meili: Hao-a! [runs off]

Gutch: Uh, wait a minute.  What's that now?

Ohno: And NO ONE stupid e-nough PLAY Bald-win.  But, NO PROBLEM.  We
just GIVE you lo-bo-to-my.

Gutch: Say what now?

Ohno: But even AFTER re-move PART brain, you STILL not dumb e-nough,
so we HAVE make you WATCH "House WHERE EVIL Dwells".  Then you CLOSE
e-nough be con-vin-cing.  If real-ly MAKE as dumb AS Bald-win, then
CAN'T ACT.

Livestock: How?  How am I getting left behind Gutch.  I'm the strong
link in our chain.  Zeke says so.

Gutch: So, uh, 'Stock, you got anything to say about my potential
brain removal? Hard to be half a tag champ with half a brain.

Ohno: We START right AWAY.

[Ohno turns and walks over to a corner of the room with lots of
equipment piled up.]

Ohno: [talking to himself] Now, WHERE I put Mal's op-e-ra-ting e-quip-
ment.

Gutch: This is a joke, right?  I see the camera over there.  This'll
be an outtake, right?

Ohno: AH-HA!  FOUND IT! [reaches down for something]

*BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!*

[With the distinctive sound of a table saw starting up, we suddenly
see Livestock and the Gutch's eyes go wide with horror.]

Livestock: HOLY MOTHER OF *BLEEP*!!!

Gutch: I changed my mind, I don't wanna be an actor no more!

[As the lawyers slowly back towards the door, Ohno raises up Mal's old
table saw, currently not attached to the table.]

Ohno: No, wor-ry.  Not NEED an-a-ste-sia... SHOCK will numb PAIN.

[Suddenly Meili bursts into the room through the door, carrying a
heavy iron hammer.]

Meili: ZHAO LE! [FOUND IT!]

[At this point Livestock and the Gutch exchange a glance and then bolt
through the door, knocking Meili over in the process.  Livestock being
the quicker of the two exits first, but with The Gutch not far
behind.]

Livestock: Y'know what, I think I hear my mother calling.  From
Pennsylvania!  Bye!

Gutch: Time for my morning jog!

Meili: DENG!  Houzi, hui lai wanr! [WAIT!  Monkey, come back and
play!]

*BZZZZZZZzzzzzzzz....*

Ohno: DAMN... lose MORE ac-tors, THAT WAY.

Meili: [standing and dusting herself off] Xianzai, shenme?

Ohno: [shrugs] Coffee break?

[With that, Meili and Ohno return to the directors chair, with Meili
resuming her position at his feet, holding up Ohno's coffee mug to him
like an offering, which he takes and sips with a smile like he's
savoring every moment of drinking it.  And we fade to black.]

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
 Max Weinrib and Salih Mubarak
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[The camera fades in to see a living room, where two men are playing a
videogame.  Seated in a recliner is a tall, thin man of Arab descent,
wearing black-rimmed glasses and a soul patch.  The man on the couch
is larger, completely bald on his head, and also with a soul patch.
Text in the video helpfully supplies the names- Salih Mubarak and Max
Weinrib, respectfully.  The game ends- Max raises both hands in
victory, while Salih sighs and shakes his head.  As Salih shuts down
the video game system, Max grabs the mail from the coffee table and
says...]

Max:  We should go check out the Football Hall of Fame.

Sal:  We should get some money first.  You know, those green bills
that everyone wants and we never have enough of?

Max:  [Still flipping through the mail]  Yeah, yeah.  Ever since the
temp gig ended at the bakery, nothing's shown up.

Sal:  Same here- I still can't believe the restaurant closed.  Maybe
your aunt has a couple leads.  Or we could check out the online stuff
again.  Or we...

Max:  ... or we could go to Arizona.

Sal:  Arizona?

Max:  Yeah- see?  [He holds up a manila folder from PVW]  We've got
ourselves a tryout contract.  They must have liked our tag team.

Sal:  Yeah- but we haven't wrestled in three months- not since
Trenton.

Max:  [Making a face]  Ugh- the Trenton Debacle.  Did we ever get our
names cleared?

Sal:  My uncle's working on it.  In the meantime, he told us to stay
out of Jersey.

Max:  Shouldn't be too hard- what's there to do in Jersey anyways?

Sal:  Phoenix, huh?  [Thinks it over]  Warmer climate, shorter
skirts...
this could work.

Max:  And an actual steady paycheck.  I have bills, and you can
finally fix your car.

Sal:  It's been running on duct tape and prayer for six months.

Max:  That reminds me- you're running out of duct tape.

Sal:  And our dads would be glad to see that we're back into the
family business.  Though you might want to change your wrestling gear.

Max:  What?  That was classic.

Sal:  Look, Bruno "The Russian Bear" Weinrib was a frightening foe.
In the 80's.  But now, twenty years after the fall of the Berlin
Wall...

Max:  And I suppose "Sheik Mubarak, the Savage Sandstorm" is really
playing well in 2009.

Sal:  All right, all right!  We'll give our looks some updates.  Make
it more modern.  Less cliché.  More... us.  Besides, we don't want
another...

Sal and Max:  ... Trenton Debacle.

Max:  I still can't believe they blame us for that concession stand.

Sal:  We agreed not to talk about it.

Max:  Yeah, but there's no way you or I could have used that much
mustard...

Sal:  Not... talking... about... it.

Max:  And I told the promoter that his mustache will grow back...
eventually.

Sal:  What part of 'NOT TALKING ABOUT IT' did you miss?

Max:  Sorry- I didn't hear you over the applause after I kicked your
ass in Madden.

Sal:  That does it- rematch.  Right now.  And you can't be the
Patriots this time.

Max:  Fine- I'll still deliver a repeat performance.

[pause]

Max:  And if we get a contract, maybe we can finally update the system
and get something after Madden 2006!

[Fade out]

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

[Another bandage to cover another cut, another scar, another set of
stitches along the forehead that's long since become so much hamburger
meat.  Rob Cole stands in front of the PVW banner, the World Title
draped carelessly over one shoulder as he stares down at his left hand
and the wedding band encircling his finger. He takes a deep breath
before speaking, releasing it slowly as he finally turns his gaze to
the camera.]

RC: Justin... a lot has been said over the past few months.  Things
have been done, people have been hurt, and ... and I've lost track of
who I am, who I want to be, and what this belt means to me.  I've been
swallowed up whole by the monster I had to be in order to face some
pretty terrible people... and I became the kind of terrible person I
used to face.  I was just another Retro, just another Shakur, just
another Spectre, Williams, or name some other cartoonish fiend walking
down that aisle for a shot at glory.  I played the caricature and I
hate myself a little bit for it.  The truth is that I'm ashamed of
myself, ashamed of what I've done, and ashamed for some of the things
I've said. But... I'm not apologizing for any of it, kiddo. I'm rotted
and broken, a brawler with a couple of fancy moves and the will to
keep standing up when any sane person should just lie down.  And I
laid it on the line... face to face and man to man, I told you what I
thought of you and what you would have to do in order to face me.  And
you listened.  You trained, you fought, you came down to Madison
Square Garden and you put yourself on the line, you swallowed any fear
you might have had, and you stood toe to toe with the Monster.

[Cole glances down at the title over his shoulder before looking back
to the camera and shaking his head.  He sighs a bit, and then swallows
as he pulls the title off his shoulder.]

RC: No... you stood toe to toe with the World Champion.  And I'm
standing here with this belt... standing in front of this camera, in
front of this banner, and I am still the World Champion.  But I have
fresh scars... fresh bruises... brand new medical bills, an unfilled
prescription for Vicodin, and a set of twisted up guts and innards
after you made me swallow everything I ever said about you.  I am
here, tonight, with this title in my hand because I fought tooth and
nail for every inch I could gain... and you did the exact same thing,
every step of the way.  The only person choking is me... choking on
the taste of everything you fed me in Madison Square Garden and
choking on the very real fact that our match could have gone either
way at any moment.  But make no mistake... I am the World Champion.

[Cole winces as he pulls the title back over his shoulder.]

RC: I left my belt behind... I left it in the ring where some ring
crew flunky could retrieve it and I went to something that really
mattered to me.  I wrapped my arms around my wife, because she is real
and solid and she means something more than a momentary pop from an
audience. A couple of drunk ring crew flunkies took the belt out, took
a couple of photos, tarnished it up a bit, and then dragged it
backstage to slap it in my locker.  So Strickland is upset with me...
the Phoenix Valley championship committee is upset... and the leader
of the Widowmakers licks his chops, eager to cash in his shot because
maybe this belt doesn't mean all that much to me.  You see, up until
the moment where that bell rang and that referee raised my hand... I
forgot precisely what this belt was 'supposed' to mean to me and I
placed it on a different pedestal.  I gave it an ideal that simply
wasn't a reality simply wasn't a truth, simply wasn't the real story
behind why I wanted to wrap this hunk of gold around my waist.

[Cole reaches up to slap the metal plate, his eyes growing dark as he
stares into the camera.  His lips peal back from his teeth, a wolfish
smile from the face of a man who would be predator. He angles his head
a little... as though examining something beyond the camera.]

RC: Look at me, broken and tired and scarred... my head is twisted so
much that I'm hiding behind a mask, calling myself names, calling
myself out, calling and crying and I can't figure it out.  Am I a hero
or a villain or a monster or a father? I'm a husband and a fighter and
a bastard and a psycho... I'm hungry for blood and I'm starving for
horror but at least now I remember what this belt was supposed to be
for.  The World title is a line, a dare, and a lure... so they hate me
for dismissing the line, forgetting that I've already crossed that
line, that I'm the man on the other side and I'm begging for someone
else to cross it.  You don't like the way I treat the belt?  For the
past few months, I let the title define who I was... I let the gold
and the jewels flicker and blind me, and I let it lead my by the nose
and tell me what to do while my better half....

[Cole laughs a bit, shaking his head quickly... ]

RC: While part of me felt like it had to hide in a mask to point out
who I was, what I was, and where I was going.  Sometimes, you use the
sword... and sometimes, the sword uses you.  I let the title define my
actions, my words, and my principles... but no more!  I am the WORLD
CHAMPION!!!! I am NOT a decorative statue for a pretty little belt...
I am not some glorified Sherpa for the gold across my shoulder!  The
title is MY lure, it's MY dare to the rest of the locker room... take
it from me, beat me for it, break me for it, and prove that you're
better than me on one particular night.  It only takes three
seconds... and I simply do not care if you're a hero or a villain, if
you walk with angels or dine with devils, because none of it matters
one little bit!

[Cole pulls the title off his shoulder, lays it across the floor and
kneels behind it... ]

RC: This is the line, Rick.  We've already had a few words over this
piece of glory... you stated your intentions and now that your war
with the Beast is done with, you think you're ready to take on the
Monster. The thing is... William Craven isn't me.  You and him were
friends from a long time back, while you and I... ?  We don't mean a
thing to one another.  So if you want to take this belt off my
shoulder, if you want to cross this line, then all you have to do is
cross the line and take it.  I expect you'll have a lot to say in the
coming weeks... a few recorded comments, maybe even a fancy speech at
Heatwave, perhaps a little face to face talk about your guaranteed
shot?  I'm ready for whatever you have in mind, kiddo... because I've
seen it all before, and you're just another name I'm going to notch in
the belt.

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

[The scene fades in to an undisclosed medical office where we
immediately see a long desk with sliding glass sections that enable
personnel to allow or disallow patients from seeing the medical
assistants and a portion of the back office area.  There is a young,
attractive Latina speaking on the phone while typing information into
the desk computer quickly while a few other medical assistants are
seen moving about, some carrying files while others engage in
conversation while walking to a particular destination.  The camera
pans the office and sitting in a corner of the room is Sinister,
looking rather perturbed. He is wearing a black Nike jumpsuit that has
thin red stripes down both sides and a pair of black, red and gray
Nike Air Jordan's.  The bulge around his left knee suggests a thick
bandage adorns the damaged body part as he sits alone in the office.
The camera zooms in closer on Sinister and shows signs of the battle
between he and Danny Daniels recently at Shattered Dreams. Various
abrasions and swelling on his face indicate he absorbed his own bit of
punishment in the battle, his troubled left knee obviously worse for
wear.  With a deep sigh and a brief sideward glance towards the
camera, he speaks while staring straight ahead]

"I'm getting real sick and tired of being in places like this. [His
voice is quiet but very deep and focused as he gestures with his hands
to indicate the medical office] Countless times throughout my
wrestling career – hell, my life really – I've been in places like
this because of damage done to me...or to others. [He massages his
temples while closing his eyes and deeply inhales and exhales twice
before opening his eyes and halting the massaging] It's something
numerous athletes accept.  No matter what sport you pursue, if you
pursue it seriously, there will be injuries. We train our minds and
bodies to withstand pain and strengthen ourselves against it as well
as the inevitable wear and tear of being a human being on this planet.
While training, be it with weights, calisthenics, plyometrics, or what
have you, there will always be injuries. It's a part of life; so be
it."

[He stares intently at his left knee, taking a few moments to
contemplate while his expression flashes signs of fatigue, anger, and
aggravation.  He rubs the top of his head a few times then continues]

"Then, of course, there are those in the world that deem themselves
worthy of trying to take someone out of the picture, so to speak, for
various reasons. Daniels, before I get into the crap you pulled in our
battle, I'll begin with the kudos you deserve. I honestly didn't think
you had it in you to take that much damage, pain, and agony and not
give in.  Even though you cried like a little bitch to the referee
with basically everything I did, you fought one hell of a match and I
honestly think you caught a lot of people off guard, particularly me.
The entire time I've seen you in this league, you've been ranting and
raving about this or that and having 'battles' against opponents that
only your warped mind sees.  However, somewhere in all of that muck
and matter of a brain is the will to fight and I can respect that.
[He extends his left index finger]  However, there is much I simply
can not respect."

[Lowering his left index finger, Sinister grumbles under his breath
and a look of pure anger briefly crosses his features before he takes
another deep breath and calms himself...mostly]

"For you to AGAIN...[a momentary rise in his volume of
speech]...strike me more than once in my lower extremities is
something that causes me to question if you have a certain type of
envy?  You continually poke me in the eyes, yet you have a problem
with me using a clenched fist?  You say I pulled your tights when I
suplexed your carcass all over the ring, yet it is okay for you to do
the same to me? Perhaps if you spent less time worrying about the
referee and more on the match, perhaps you would be in better shape.
Then to top it off, you use a steel chair on my left knee and my skull
in hopes of doing...what, exactly?  Yes, it hurt my knee like hell.  I
am human, but I can take a lot more than the average human and I know
that for damn sure. Hitting me in the head with that chair is a waste
of time to be honest. [Sinister uses his right index finger to trace
the linear scar on the left side of his face that runs vertically-
centered from an inch above his eyebrow down to his lower cheek.  He
quickly lowers his right hand] As you can see, my noggin has been
punished severely in the past, so a steel chair is like a mosquito
bite to me Daniels."

[He crosses his right foot onto his left thigh and rests his chin in
his right hand]

"So for now Daniels, you can spout off conjecture that the referee
allowed me to bend the Zero Tolerance rules multiple times; you can
claim that 'Sinestro' is evil and needs to be shown the right path,
etc.  The bottom line is this Daniels.  You messed up by not breaking
my kneecap in half and taking me out of the picture for good.  Mr.
Perry Fontana, congratulations on your victory and your title. Right
now is an excellent time for you to face me because the extent of
damage to my knee is unknown to me, but that will change in about ten
minutes.  In the meanwhile, whatever damage there is, I know that I
must be as close to one-hundred percent that I can be by October
twenty-first; no easy task."

[He cracks his knuckles loudly and rolls his neck slowly. He then
unexpectedly grins, lowers his right foot and leans towards the
camera]

"You and I both know that you favor many submission maneuvers and that
suits me just fine. While you have a distinct advantage, obviously, I
implore you to underestimate my ability to function with a damaged
body.  Do you not think that all these years of wrestling, martial
arts, basketball, and football have been experienced without pain or
damaged limbs? A part of this game is mental Fontana, and you will
soon find out just how thoroughly I can outthink an opponent who
believes me to be incapable of doing any harm."

[The scene fades as a young, intelligent doctor approaches Sinister.
The young man wears a white doctor's coat, a stethoscope hangs around
his neck and he reviews his notes intently]

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
       Tom Landis #1
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[Backstage at Shattered Dreams, Night One.

The locker room of one Tom Landis, although he is not who we see in
the shot.  No, it's his blonde beauty of a wife, known in the world of
professional wrestling as Tara "Sunburst" Marshall.  Tara ignores the
camera as she rounds up errant pieces of clothing, stuffing them into
a black duffel bag on a nearby chair. A few seconds later, a shrill
ring pierces the quiet of the locker room, and Tara produces a cell
phone from her pocket.]

TM: Hello?  Oh, hey Em.  You saw the show?  He's gone to the
hospital as a precaution, but the EMTs said they were minor
thankfully. Hayes really stepped out of line...

...no, your mother went with your brother to the hospital, I'm just
grabbing the rest of his stuff before I head over there myself.  This
isn't the first time we've had to deal with these kind of situations,
it's pretty much a given to whoever goes to the hospital, the other
stays back to clean up first.  It's the life you choose when you marry
a wrestler.

[Pause.]

Wait, what?

[Tara's eyes go wide.]

YOU WHAT?  EMILY ROSE LANDIS... How could you go and get married
without telling the rest of the family?

[Pause, as Tara listens and again her eyes go wide.]

You married someone in the business?  Oh Em... you know Tom is
really going to hit the ceiling on this one.  He's tried to shield you
from wrestling for years now, for obvious reasons... Yes, Brianna.

[Pause.]

Of course I'm happy for you, my dear.  And thank you for calling
and telling me before Tom, although I'm definitely not looking forward
to breaking the news to your brother.  So... who's the lucky man?
[laughing]

I guess as long as it's not Gibson Hayes Tom can look on the bright
side...

[Tara's voice trails off as she gets her answer over the phone line.
A gasp soon follows...]

HIM?

[Phone trembling in her hand and still taking the news in, Tara slowly
sits on the locker room bench as the image fades to black.]

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
       Scott Nielsen
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[We open with a bartender's view of a weary Scott Nielsen. The
Portland native, dressed in a casual black shirt with the sleeves
rolled up, is idly picking at a bowl of peanuts while a bottle of beer
sits on the wooden-top bar. Behind him, the bar is draped in shadow
but an old-style jukebox can be seen casting its glow over a couple of
empty tables while some twelve bar blues drift over the scene.

Nielsen tosses a peanut into his mouth and then looks up, as if
noticing the PVW camera for the first time.]

SN: Well, that showed me.

[Nielsen looks down and rubs a palm across his stubble-clad jaw before
taking a swig of beer.]

SN: I went out there in London thinking I had it... that I had what it
took to score a PVW pay-per-view win and Cox showed me that I wasn't
gonna have it all my own way.

Mike Cox showed me that I wasn't good enough.

[Pause.]

SN: He had my number out there... To say my back got worked over would
be an understatement. I haven't been comfortable for a week. My bed
feels like a slab of concrete and the first class seats on the flight
home could have been made out of plate steel and cast iron as far as I
was concerned.

[Sigh.]

SN: And have I slept? No way. And it's not just the aches and pains,
either. I keep replaying that moment when I nailed the Tornado DDT and
I heard it.

One.

[One finger up.]

Two.

[Two fingers.]

Three.

[And three.]

SN: I thought that was it; I thought I'd done it. But I was wrong.
That was just the sound of me – the rookie – getting schooled... being
shown that I have got a hell of a lot to learn before I'm ready to
take it all of Phoenix Valley Wrestling.

[Nielsen looks up, straight into the camera and it's as if someone's
flicked a light on behind those dark eyes.]

SN: But, hey, if you think gonna sit here, drink my fill and lick my
wounds, tuck my tail and go back to Mom in Portland, you'd be wrong.

I didn't sleep in cars, wrestle in dives and take my sorry ass all the
way over to Japan for countless beatings just to give up at the first
hurdle. I'm in this for the long haul... and it's only just begun as
far as I'm concerned.

[Pause.]

SN: This week on Damage Control I'm back in the ring with Mike Cox
but, this time, we're working together against PAIN... and, you know
what? I'm happy with that.

[That wry smile.]

SN: Yeah, you heard right, people. I'm happy with that. I've seen and
felt first hand what Cox can do and he's good. He's very good. And
it's not just him, either. I'm a little sore from Shattered Dreams but
I gave almost as good as I got and I'll be ready for Mal Practice and
Ohno Ow and all the dirty tricks they've got tucked away in their
medical bags.

[Nielsen takes a pull from his beer.]

SN: I didn't win at Shattered Dreams but I learned a lot... a hell of
a lot. I learned not underestimate the standing opposite me, I learned
to keep your eyes and ears open all the time and I learned that no
matter what the other guy throws at me, I've got something deep down
that wont let me lie down easy.

[Pause.]

SN: This week I'm ready to show PAIN what I've learned.

[Nielsen drains his beer and stands up to leave as we fade.]

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

[The camera fades in to see "Your Hero" Danny Daniels, reading a
letter with an official PVW letterhead at the top of the page.]

D"YH"D:  "... and, due to your flagrant actions in violation of Zero
Tolerance Policy, we hereby fine you and will suspend you if another
incident..."

[Danny folds the paper back into the envelope and has a stern look on
his face.  He looks up at the camera and removes his wraparound
sunglasses.]

D"YH"D:  As the SUPREME Wrestling Champion- and as "Your Hero"- I,
Danny Daniels- a man so nice they named me twice- have certain
obligations.  And I admit that I failed to live up to those
obligations.

[Danny nods]

D"YH"D:  You see, I expected to face Sinestro and defeat him with my
superior skills and physical abilities.  And I knew that he constantly
broke 'Zero Tolerance'.  But what I failed to realize- what I failed
to anticipate- was that Sinestro had an aura about him- an "aura of
evil"- that not only allowed him to break Zero Tolerance Policy, but
would also corrupt those around him.  And during our bout, I saw him
flagrantly break rule after rule after rule... and his aura was strong
that... yes, it's true- it even corrupted ME.

[Danny pauses, wipes away a tear, and holds up the envelope.]

D"YH"D:  I will, of course, fully accept the punishment that WVP has
given me- though, due to Sinestro's "aura of evil", they somehow
missed the 78 rule infractions that Sinestro violated.  I accept this-
because that's what "Your Hero" does.

[Danny thinks]

D"YH"D:  Now, normally I would fight Sinestro and drive him from the
league. BUT... but, I realize that, when that happened, Sinestro would
merely pack up his bags and move his "aura of evil" to another league.
And I can't allow that on my conscience.

[Danny nods]

D"YH"D:  No... no... I am Danny Daniels.  I am the SUPREME Champion.
And I am "Your Hero".  I shall... nay, I MUST... cure Sinestro of his
"aura of evil". For the good of Sinestro... for the good of VPV... and
for the good of... ME!

[Danny sighs]

D"YH"D:  So Sinestro... I offer you a rematch.  To ensure that you'll
accept this rematch, I offer you the chance of a lifetime.  Even
though you aren't in the top 823 contenders, I will move you to the
head of the line and offer you...

[Danny unstraps the belt around his waist and holds it up to the
camera]

D"YH"D: ... a shot at the SUPREME World Title!  Even you  cannot
refuse a chance at this title, evil Sinestro.

[Danny hoists the belt over his shoulder]

D"YH"D:  But when I win... and I WILL win... then YOU, Sinestro, must
be my protégé, must work under me, must learn under my feet... and I
will teach you, mold you, CURE you of your evilness.  In thirty days,
Sinestro, I will show you the way and the light.  And you're welcome.

[Danny taps the envelope]

D"YH"D:  Now, this week I take on Justin Case, a young up and comer.
I apologize for not speaking much about him, but once again Sinestro's
"aura of evil" has corrupted another facet of PVP.    I'm certain
Justin has a bright future in a few years.  He may, someday, be in
line for a title shot or two.  But that's in the future.  For now,
Young Justin, I suggest you use this match as a learning experience.
A chance to say that you were in the ring with the SUPREME Champion,
and a lesson to broaden your knowledge. Justin Case...  facing me is a
chance for you to hone your skill into a fine Blade.

[Danny pauses, then gives the camera a finger waves.]

D"YH"D:  TOODLES~!

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

"That poor child never had a chance"

[The once and future king is seated in a steel chair, gaze low.]

"If I had any conscience at all I might feel a shred of pity for
Centurion Morgan."

[The pompous prick known as Chase Williams rubs his chin thoughtfully,
but does not raise his head.]

"Another time, another place, another federation... He could've been a
star"

[A pause. The head is raised.]

"As it is the Powers that be made sure he will serve as nothing more
than a footnote. A line in the sand. Centurion Morgan will serve as
nothing more than the starting point of the real massacre. _All_ will
answer to the Hand of God."

[pushing the hair from his face reveals an abject coldness in his
gaze.]

"Time and again I've said that no one is beyond my reach. Yet I find
the powers that be still feel the need to toy with me... To test my
resolve. You may be asking yourself how they are doing this. I'm more
after the why."

[He shakes his head]

"After seeing what I did to that poor child, they put me in a
meaningless tag match, against a squad of curtain-jerkers. I can
appreciate Gionet. He's almost worthy enough to lace my boots.. But
who in the blue hell are Scott Werner and Tommy Ryder?"

[Again he shakes his head, disbust evident.]

"This is what the man that main evented three straight pay per views
is worth to you PVW? A six man tag that wll end up as nothing more
than another massacre. Yet another testament to the violence I am
bringing down on the head of Phoenix Valley"

[A smirk]

"You saw what I did to Morgan, yet you still feel the need to "test my
resolve" if you will indulge me. You people thinks its funny to serve
up such prmoising young talent to me on a platter of silver... I hope
those kids paid their premiums."

[A glare at the camera.]

"I suggest you warn those kids Larry. You know what I am capable of
against a guy like you, imagine what I will do to those two
unsuspecting little puppets."

[Beat.]

"Get ready mother[beepers]. I said I wasn't playing, and I meant it.
You wanna put your biggest assett on the B show? It's gonna cost you
three wrestlers. Then _maybe_ you'll start to take me seriously. Tommy
Nicky, Larry..."

[He spits.]

"Sorry..."

[Chuckle and fade]

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

[The scene opens to the inside of a hospital room. Will Geddings is
seen laying in a hospital bed, an IV sticking out of his arm, an
unused ventilator sitting beside his bed. Geddings looks to be hazy,
potentially drugged, and doesn't seem to be too concerned or aware
that the camera crew has even entered the room. Geddings' estranged
wife, Jamie, is sitting beside the bed. She notices the approaching
crew and moves her finger to her mouth, signifying silence.]

[Jamie quickly stands and moves outside the room, closing the door
behind her. The camera crew stands in the hall, only her in the
picture. A variety of healthcare professionals seem to be perturbed by
the intrustion.]

Jamie: He's in no state to shoot a promo right now. It's bad enough
that your fraud of an organization would have the gumption...the
gall...to book him a mere card after Alex Martinez blatantly attempted
to kill him.

Jamie: This federation is an absolute and complete joke. A joke. What
sort of legitimate place of business would allow or require a man who
is sitting in this very room with all sorts of tubes and bags
connected to him to enter a wrestling ring and fight?

[Jamie appears to be fighting back tears]

Jamie: Will lives wrestling. He has since I've known him. It's always
been his number one love - before our marriage...and after it. He is
consumed by it. You know what the first thing he asked when he came to
was?

Jamie: He wanted to know whether he had beaten Martinez. I don't know
what was more devestating to me: watching his joy as I lied to him or
his despair when he was made aware of the truth from friends and
family concerned about his well-being.

Jamie: The father of my child will be at Heatwave. He will face
Donkerhardt. If history is any indication, there's a good chance he'll
beat Donkerhardt. Will's going to walk down to that ring as best he
can, even if it involves him wheeling down an IV stand with him.
That's the sort of man he is. The sort of competitor he is. And it's
obvious that this federation is determined to kill a man who has given
everything to a place that has not provided him with the slightest
care. A man who has bled PVW since he drug that stupid piano into the
rafters.

[Jamie shakes her head, this time wiping at her eye, getting rid of an
apparent tear. A low buzzing can be heard coming from her purse.]

Jamie: (sighing heavily, apparently overcome with emotion) Excuse
me...

[Jamie pulls out a cell phone and checks the name. Another deep
breath. Jamie turns back to the camera.]

Jamie: I'm sorry...I must take this. I'm sorry...

[Jamie gives a weak smile and backs back into Geddings' room. She
begins to shut the door, but does not notice that it gets caught on a
piece of tape covering a power cord running into the room. The camera
attempts to zoom in on Jamie through the crack in the door.]

Jamie: (barely audible) Yes? Yes, it's me. I saw the card, yea. You
couldn't do better than Herscher von Donkerhardt? Really? Well, thanks
anyway. And keep it up.

[Jamie clicks the phone shut and stands looking over the hazy Will
Geddings. The scene fades out.]

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

[The camera opens to the inside of an empty Madison Square Garden.
"Shattered Dreams" banners are still hanging from the rafters and by
the entrance ramp.  A large video-wall is still set up in between two
of the banners. A single light shines from the ceiling, into the
center of the empty ring, illuminating the "Shattered Dreams" logo.
It's strange just how silent an empty arena can be.  The camera pans
around showing thousands upon thousands of seats that just hours ago
were filled with screaming fans.  A familiar voice suddenly breaks the
silence...]

Caleb Foley: "So "Shattered Dreams" has come and gone just like
that..."

[Caleb snaps his fingers ...]

Caleb Foley: "Many questions were answered while new questions
remained unanswered ..."

[Foley pauses for a brief moment and takes a seat in the front row,
his mind flashing back to his hard fought victory he had just achieved
a few hours ago ...]

Caleb Foley: "So Doctor X you thought it was funny when you kicked me
in the family jewels ... You thought you had the last laugh ... The
good old doctor pulled one over on the Celtic Crippler right ... WRONG
..."

[The camera zooms in on a close up of Caleb Foley and it shows he has
an ice bag over his family jewels ...]

Caleb Foley: "Doctor X, this is far from over and when we meet again
... and trust me we will ... you will be the one left crying in the
ring ..."

"Some titles changed hands tonight while others retained their titles.
And then right after my match, I found out I would be squaring off
against a wrestling legend in this business, but I'll get back to
that! So I was in the back after my match and a small boy about the
age of 9 years old and came up to me and he started asking me
all these questions. He wanted to know why I came back to Phoenix
Valley Wrestling? He wanted to know what was the final straw that
broke the camels back, so to speak, and I'll tell you ..."

[Caleb pauses for a brief moment ...]

Caleb Foley: "When Phoenix Valley first opened it's doors there were
not too many superstars around except for the likes of Rob Cole,
"Showtime" Rick Marley and The Spectre. Not many people knew the other
guys like 'The Paladin' Chris Hartt, "The Conceited Bastard" Chase
Williams, Major Damage, Larry Gionet and Outlaw. Boy have times
changed! You go up and down the roster and now you see names like Doc
Holliday, The Mercenary, "The Last American Badass" Alex Martinez
,"The Misery Machine" Marcus Manson ... all very well known
superstars. It seems as if Phoenix Valley Wrestling has turned into a
league of legends and icons ... And while these legends and icons came
out of historic leagues like the EMWC, UEW and WWO ... Phoenix Valley
Wrestling is my one and only home. It is where Caleb Foley got his so
called shot. I sat at home and watched while corporations like
Strickland Sports Network(SSN) and false prophets like Reverend Julian
Caine, and let's not  forget about all the gang violence that Widow
Makers Incorporated did. Each and everyone of those bastards
threatened my home! I returned to protect it at all costs, even if it
ended my career, like it did to my mentor, "The One" Brian Young.
Some have called me the face of PVW and whether that is true or not, I
do bleed the fire of the Phoenix. Now let's talk about my opponent on
Heatwave..."

"He calls himself, "The Last American Badass" and is one of those
hypocritical pretty boys for SSN. He is a well traveled veteran and
has been in many of the major wrestling networks over the years. Many
people consider him a legend in this sport, while a select few say he
is an icon. Alex Martinez, a man who has crippled many and ended some
careers during his illustrious tenure. Some people might even consider
this a present day "David versus Goliath", but I for one see this as
an opportunity to fight for what I believe in and bleed the raging
fire of the Phoenix..."

"Alex, we all know your history. We know about you growing up in a
rough part of Los Angeles, and how you were picked at an early because
of your awkwardness, relative lack of coordination and athletic
skills. We also know that in high school and college, you began to
excel at sports. Unfortunately, you got thrown off your basketball and
football team because of your terrible temper and your inability to
interact with others. Your luck began to change when a local wrestling
promoter recognized your potential. You used your size and weight to
your advantage and enjoyed every minute of it. That same wrestling
promoter took advantage of all your raw talent and made a name for
himself by starting you off in your wrestling career."

[A small pause by Caleb ...]

Caleb Foley: "We know you had a rough childhood, but who hasn't. Not
many people are born with a silver spoon in their mouth. Each and
everyone of us has had our own battles to fight in order to survive in
this world ..."

"Alex, I also know that your breakout year in wrestling was the year
of 2000. I remember it like it was yesterday. Your epic feuds in EWMC
against Mark Langseth and Caleb Temple solidified your rise to
stardom. Many to this day would say that at that time you were the man
to beat in EWMC. You were voted as the number one wrestler of the year
in 2000, as you brawled your way to the top. Your signature move "The
Firebomb Chokeslam" a devestating finisher, is something that most
wrestlers simple just can not endure. The highlight of that year was
you winning WrestleBowl II. That WrestleBowl II final match between
you and Andrew "Flash" Tucker was a classic one and many fans still
marvel at it till this day! I have done my homework Mr. Martinez, and
while your resume is extremely impressive, it is history. So Alex,
here is something for you to ponder for a moment..."

"Yesterday is history."

"Tomorrow is a mystery."

"And today?"

"Today is a gift."

"That's why we call it the present."

[A pause from "The Celtic Crippler" as he stands up and jumps over the
guard rail. Caleb is walking a little gingerly as he is showing
residual signs of injuries he suffered during his match with Doctor X
just a couple of hours ago. He has now reached the ring steps and
begins to walk up them as he continues to speak ...]

Caleb Foley: "Alex, while I might be a little sore right now and I did
show a little ring rust in my re-debut ... I can guarantee you I will
be ready for the night we meet in Boston. You better be ready for a
battle Alex? I will hold nothing back once that bell rings. While you
might have come back to the Phoenix Valley Wrestling for more glory
and titles, I came back to stand up for the intergrity of this great
wrestling federation. Phoenix Valley Wrestling might not be anything
like UEW, the IWF/WOW or EMWC, but I don't want it to be. Phoenix
Valley Wrestling  was once a fed that gave mid-carders a chance to
become main-eventers ... it gave rookies their golden opportunity ...
now it seems as tho it has turned into a league of legends and icons.
THAT IS NOT WHY I SIGNED MY NAME ON A PVW CONTRACT..."

"Alex, you have had your time to shine ... You had your time to hold
championship belts ... You had your glory when participating in main
event Pay Per Views for numerous federations..."

"Why can't you just fade into the sunset like "Wildcat" Jim Lewis Jr.
or "Top Dog" Rick Styles? I'll tell you why ... It is because you feel
empty and while you might have won all those awards and championships
you still feel that emptiness in the bottom of your gut. I guess just
fame and fortune can't bring someone happiness in life, can it?"

[A slight smirk comes across Caleb before he continues...]

Caleb Foley: "So Mister Alex Martinez, you can come out here spouting
all the rhetoric of how I don't belong in the same ring as you. You
have held numerous titles and won numerous tournament, but that
doesn't make you a legend in this sport. You may think I am nothing
more than a nobody looking for a my golden opportunity but I have news
for you. I have come to realize something in my short wrestling
career..."

"SOMETIMES YOU HAVE TO STAND WHEN STANDING IS NOT EASY ..."

[The camera fades to black as Foley is just standing inside the ring
and gazing off into the distance. Can Caleb Foley overcome all the
odds and defeat the legendary "The Last American Badass" Alex Martinez
or will A-Mart defeat the man once known as The Fighting Irishman? Was
The Celtic Crippler win at Shattered Dreams just a fluke? All the
answers to these questions and so much more, we will sonn find out. So
wrestling fans tune into the very first "Heatwave" after the two night
Pay Per View "Shattered Dreams" to find out just which one of these
two men will walk out victorious ...]

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

[Fade up. You've seen it before, undoubtedly. Garbage piled
everywhere. Mountains of trash litter the horizon, and standing just
before the camera, in a black trench coat and sunglasses is Marcus
Manson. After a moment, he turns to the camera, and sweeps his arm out
over the horizon.]

Garbage. As far as the eye can see, just garbage. Much like Phoenix
Valley Wrestling these days.

[Manson spreads his arms out wide.]

Don't believe me? You should. Just look at it. Every day more and more
garbage walks into PVW, and I have to be the one who takes out the
trash.

[He ticks off the names on his fingers as he goes.]

Larry Gionet... Chris Hopper... William Craven... Rob Cole... The
Mercenary. What is it about losers that just keeps them coming back
for more? You see, this week at Heatwave I step into the ring with
what some would consider the toughest man in this sport -- despite the
fact that I've already beat the tar out of him more than once, most
recently in War Games. I'm talking, of course, about The Mercenary.

[Manson shakes his head.]

In any event, they're wrong. I am the toughest man in this sport, and
I proved it _again_ at Shattered Dreams by annihilating Larry Gionet.
And at Heatwave, I will do the same damned thing to The Mercenary. I
will do the same thing that I have done to every single person who has
stepped in my way since I entered Phoenix Valley Wrestling. I will do
what no one else has be able to. I will break The Mercenary. And I'll
do it with a Heart Punch.

[Manson takes off his sunglasses as the camera zooms in on his face.]

Still upset about me taking your spot in WMI, Merc? You shouldn't be..
what you should be upset about is that the PVW brass have seen fit to
put you in that ring with me, all by yourself.  A lot has changed
since we ran with Colby, Merc. It doesn't matter who we were back
then.  I'm not the green kid who hung on your every word, whether you
knew it or not. I'm not the rookie who looked up to you and everything
you had accomplished.

[Manson cracks an evil smile.]

These days I am a ruthless, cold, calculating bastard. And I will be
the end of you. You aren't the man you once were, either. You're still
tough, but I'm tougher. I am the toughest son of a bitch in this
sport, and I've proven it. And not just by beating Gionet at Shattered
Dreams, I've proven it ever since the very first time I stepped into a
PVW ring. I've proven it at War Games. And I've proven it with my
win/loss record. For 11 months now I have steamrolled over everyone
PVW has thrown my way, and despite the respect I may or may not have
for you, you will be no different.

[Manson puts his sunglasses back on, and grins that wicked grin.]

They haven't thrown you to the lions, Merc. They've thrown you to a
damned T-Rex... and Chris Hopper, I haven't forgotten about you. Your
time is coming. Just you wait and see.

[Manson turns back to look at the piles of trash, before turning back
to the camera once more, chuckling.]

As far as I'm concerned, Shattered Dreams was a very appropriate name,
and for the rest of PVW, it's only just begun.

[Fade.]

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
       Adrain Tanner
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[The scene opens up to a classroom setting. 30 little kids write notes
diligently while listening to their teacher. At the current moment
their teacher is a middle-height young Hispanic man wearing a
comically over-sized white lab coat, a monocle over his left eye and a
fake twirly mustache over his mouth. Some might recognize him as
NOTORIOUS WRESTLING'S (Cheeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaap Plug) own color
commentator and "Professor of the extraordinary intricacies of
Professional Wrestling Psychology," Brandon Young.]

"Professor" Brandon Young: Okay kids, that was basic wrestling
psychology 101. Now, let's all put our text books aside for the moment
and get out a fresh piece of paper, because now we're gonna do some
vocabulary!

[Brandon picks up a piece of bright yellow chalk and turns to start
writing on the chalk-board behind him. A young girl with bright blue
eyes sitting in the front row raises her hand.]

Girl: Um... Mister You-

Brandon: The NAME is PROFESSOR YOUNG, you little fu-

[Brandon catches himself and stops, staring at all the stunned student
and their very angry real teacher in the back.]

Brandon: Er... I uh.. I mean, yes Madeline?

Little girl: ...What does this uh... wrestling stuff have to do with
our math class?

Brandon: Math class? What the fu- I mean... Well uh, nothing I
guess... But I promise it WILL help you later in life. Yeah, that's
the ticket...

[Brandon turns to the chalkboard and starts writing before any more
questions can be raised.]

Brandon: Okay class, our first word is AR-IZ-ON-A. Can we all say AR-
IZ-ON-A?

Class: AR-IZ-ON-A!

Brandon: Very good. Now, Dictionary.com states that Arizona is a state
in the south-western United States.

[Brandon turns with a sharp glare to make sure everyone is writing
down what he says. They do once he looks at them. Though most of them
are really thinking in their heads "Make the bad Mexican guy go away,
mommy." And what's that about anyways? Why do they have to make it
"the bad MEXICAN guy?" I mean come on!]

Brandon: Will you shut up already?!

[Sorry. My bad.]

Little boy: Who are you-

Brandon: (under his breath) god dammit (normal voice) Oh, nobody
Timmy. Next word!

[Brandon writes another word on the board.]

Brandon: Okay, the next word is ASS-ASS-IN. Can we all say that word?

Class: ASSASSIN!

Brandon: Excellent. Now, Dictionary.com says here that an Assassin is
n.

One who murders by surprise attack, especially one who carries out a
plot to kill a prominent person. Brandon: Now, let's try putting those
words together, eh? AR-IZ-ON-A and ASS-ASS-IN. What does that make,
class?

Class: Arizona... Assassin...?

Brandon: Exactly!

[Brandon turns back to write something on the chalk board as another
hand shoots into the air. An overly-exaggerated child-like voice
begins speaking.]

Voice: Oh Mistewr Youuuwng! I have a qwestion too!

Brandon: Oh for the love of Raptor Jesus, WHA-

[Brandon stops mid-sentence as he sees the figure raising their hand.
He is standing at the door of the classroom in the back of the room.]

[Adrian Tanner Jr. He is wearing black pants and a red t-shirt with a
gold Phoenix covering most of the shirt, the ‘flames' of the firebird
extending to the sleeves of the shirt, making a unique design, the
only way Adrian rolls; Unique is his middle name. Actually, Matthew is
his middle name, but still. In the middle of the Phoenix is a red and
gold alternating outlined Superman "S" Shield with "AT" in-between the
Shield.]

Adrian Tanner Jr: What the fu-

[The teacher next to him glares evilly at him]

Adrian: -uuudge, does this all have to do with these kids Math Class?!

Brandon: I hate you.

Adrian: Now now, "professor," hate is a bad word to be teaching these
fine little youngsters, don't you think?

[Adrian walks up to the front of the class, grinning. He stands next
to Brandon and turns towards the class.]

Adrian: Hey kids! I'm wrestling mega-star Adrian Tanner Jr! And I'm
just going to uh.. Borrow th "Professor" for a moment, okay? Your real
teacher, Misses uh, whatsername. Yeah, the old lady in the back.
She'll take over for us. Catch ya later! Say bye to the kids, Brandon!

Brandon: ...Bye to the kids, Brandon.

[A young kid with brown hair in the back right yells out "Bye uncle
Brandon! Bye uncle Adrian!" as Adrian rushes Brandon out of the room.]

Adrian: The hell are you doing?

Brandon: What am I doin? What're YOU doin?!

Adrian: Dude, we're in an ELEMENTARY SCHOOL,  don't answer a question
with a question.

Brandon: Well, Mr. Wizard, before you showed up I was ATTEMPTING to
help you on a promo for your PVW debut, you jerk!

Adrian: I'm the jerk?! You waltzed into my nephew's 2nd grade
classroom and demanded to be able to do a "guest-lecture" in the
middle of freaking school!

Brandon: First off, you're a jerk! Secondly, you JERK, he's my nephew
too! And thirdly, he ASKED me to come for show and friggin tell!

Adrian: And "show and tell" relegated you to be able to take over the
classroom and shoot a promo I never asked for your help with?

Brandon: Well, no, but I mean-

[Brandon motions behind them, Adrian finally noticing the camera
filming the whole thing.]

Brandon: -What else were ya gonna do?

[Brandon grins. Adrian glares at the camera, contemplating whether to
set it on fire or not. Then he shakes his head.]

Adrian: Eh, guess you got me there. Still, you're a jerk.

Brandon: You're the JERK, jerk!

Adrian: You're the je- Okay, I'm not getting wrapped up in this again.
Still, you do have a point. So, camera guy. You filming this for PVW?

[The camera shakes up and down, as if signifying a "yes."]

Adrian: Hrm, alright then. Let's take a walk.

[Cut to black.]

"Alright, this should be good."

[Fade in. We're atop the school rooftop now, Adrian and Brandon
standing in front of the camera while a group of school-children watch
from do-]

Brandon: Look out, we got a JUMPER!

[.....While a group of small school-children FLEE IN TERROR at the
thought of someone jumping off the roof to their death. Adrian turns,
in shock and glares at Brandon.]

Adrian: ...WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT?!

Brandon: I dunno. Seemed funny at the time.

[Adrian contemplates throwing Brandon off the roof. Then he hears the
police sirens and thinks better of it. He turns back towards the
camera.]

Adrian: Hey there, PVDUB. Adrian Tanner Jr here. Y'know, I joined up
with this place because I wanted to face the BEST, and BOY HOWDY you
sure delivered, didn't ya? "Mean" Ed Greene!

[Adrian smiles sarcastically.]

Adrian: I mean, I gotta tell ya PVDub, my first impression of this
place was a LOT better than my current impression. Mean Ed Greene!
Friggen Chris Hopper walks in with his 80 HOUR ENTRANCE and gets the
star treatment... Yet I get sent to the friggen "easy win debut match"
route.

Adrian: Okay PVDub, I'll walk that route. I knew when I came here I
was gonna have to work my way up, and I'm okay with that, really I am.
But let's get something straight here, PVDub. And by PVDub, this time
I mean FRED HOYLE.

[The sirens get louder as they get closer. Adrian winces, then the
door to the roof flies open and a group of teachers and security
guards start to rush out. Adrian rolls his eyes and motions to
Brandon, who promptly runs over and slams the door shut. Right on some
old lady's head. A ‘thud-thud-thud' sound, presumably the sound
of the old lady being knocked unconscious and bouncing backwards down
the steps leading to the roof, is heard as Adrian throws his hands
up.]

Adrian: ...WHYYYY?!

Brandon: You wanted ‘em, gone! They're gone!

[Brandon pushes against the door, keeping everyone back. Adrian sighs
and shakes his head.]

Adrian: Heh, it's funny. I heard what this Fred Hoyle guy said about
me. I'll admit, I said I came here to be something more than just
"SOME GUY," and I knew I'd be called out over that eventually, but I
didn't really think I'd be questioned on my merits by... "SOME GUY!"

So, "Some Guy" Fred Hoyle, you know, I said I wasn't gonna do the
cliched "I know you are but what am I" route that every wrestler ever
goes, but... eh. I mean, who IS this guy?

Adrian: I've had WARS with three #1 Wrestlers of the Year. I've BEEN
the #1 wrestler of the year. I've won Championships on three different
continents. I carried an entire company on MY BACK.

And that? All that? That was in ONE YEAR. I've done more in five years
wrestling than most of the people on the PVW roster have done in their
85-year old LIVES.

Oh yeah, I went there. Some Guy Fred Hoyle claims I'm some unknown new
guy. Y'know, pretty much what I said in my introduction people LIKE
him would say?

Except, I'm not. I've held two Championships whose history equals up
to 40 years combined. Titles that have existed since NINETEEN EIGHTY
SEVEN. Can Some Guy Fred Hoyle claim that?

Adrian: I didn't think so. I'm Adrian FUCKING Tanner. The Arizona
Assassin. The BEST fucking Light Heavyweight Wrestler in the WORLD.

And when Adrian FUCKING Tanner shows up in a new fed, the fans there
don't go "Hey who's this new guy with the super flashy awesome moves
and oh my god he just kicked the SHIT outta that idiot announcer I've
been wanting to do that for YEARS." No, the FANS, they go "OH MY
FUCKING GOD IT'S ADRIAN FUCKING TANNER IN PVW~!!!!"

Adrian: I'll destroy your nobodies for you, PVDub. I'll do it because
I'm a man of integrity. Of honor. Of Respect. And I know I have to
start somewhere.

[A squad of police officers comes running up the football field
towards our heroes.]

Adrian: But I won't sit back and wait forever, PVDub. My time to shine
WILL happen. And when it does, you, "Mean" Ed Greene, Some Guy Fred
Hoyle and all the fans everywhere who DON'T already know the truth
(which is a smaaaaaaall number to be honest) will be shown the light.
You WILL understand that I am...

Adrian: Simply fucking Phenomenal.

Camera Guy: Bravo.

Adrian: Gracias.

[Adrian and the camera guy turn towards Brandon, who's barely keeping
the crazy people who want to arrest our heroes at bay.]

Brandon: I can't hold ‘em!

Camera guy: Quick, over there, the fire escape!

Adrian: Good thinking. Brandon, run!

[Adrian, Brandon, and the Camera-guy haul ass to the fire escape and
disappear down it as the security guards barge through the door. The
camera shows us a view of three people fleeing for their lives down a
fire escape as quickly as possible before it cuts to static.]

[FADE to your mother.]

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

(Scene: Somewhere just outside the greater Boston area. The day is
cold but its sunny, save for a few clouds . The camera is focused  on
a  hotel belonging to a generic low budget franchise, specifically a
door with the number 115 on it.  Outside the door is a  car, a gray
2002 Pontiac Sunfire. The door opens and out comes Herscher von
Donkerhardt. Herscher is wearing a a light grey trench coat, black
Armani suit with black shoes, black tie and trademark red dress shirt,
with a travel bag in his left hand. Herscher's outfit is completed
with a stylish pair of sunglasses, a bandage on his forehead, and
several purple bruises on his face. Despite the frugal circumstances
and the battle scars he wears, Herscher is still the picture of
"class".  Herscher pops the trunk by hitting a button on his keys and
proceeds to place his travel gear in the trunk, when he notices the
camera crew filming his every move.)

HvD: I was expecting you to show up, but I was expecting you MUCH
EARLIER! If you can't show up at the agreed time, then tell the
company to dispatch a crew that knows the meaning of the word
punctual! I have many things to do today and you are making me late
for all of them!

(a voice from off camera says sorry)

HvD: Men like me make apologies to no one and  accept no apologies
from, the likes of you! Luckily for you I'm in a good mood. I have
much to say about what happened in London, and what will be happening
in Boston.

(Herscher closes the trunk after placing his travel bag within it, and
motions himself directly in front of the camera.)

HvD: In my match against Mercenary, i said i would pay any price,
suffer any beating and exact any toll upon my opponent in the cause of
victory. The Mercenary for his part, took me at my word and insured
the price i paid was a very steep one.

(Herscher takes off his shades to reveal his left eye has been
blackened.)

HvD: I will say at least this, about The Mercenary. He has a
reputation for violence and brutality in the ring, and in London he
lived up to it.  I can safely say that was the second most brutal
experience i have had, within the confines of a wrestling ring anyway.
(Herscher laughs to himself as he puts his sunglasses in the front
pocket of his trenchcoat)

HvD: Yes i took quite a beating in the ring and  yes Mercenary nearly
won the match, nearly. The Mercenary can lay claim to being among the
toughest in  PVW, a favorite among the fans and to being wrestlings
"hired gun". What he can't lay claim to however is being the winner of
our match! No matter what slant he puts on the match, no matter how
much he tries to tell himself that he was the dominant wrestler, that
he SHOULD have won, but he didn't!

(Herscher adjusts his collar, as he looks to becoming a little
agitated)

HvD: Our match was about getting the victory, and how the victory  was
achieved was  of little consequence! Men of power are concern less
with the nature or their actions or their ensuing consequences and
more with the desired result! When the time came, it was up to the
both of us to do everything in our respective powers to win. You gave
it all you had, as did i, but my all was just a bit more than your
all. Despite all your toughness and aggressive offense, it just wasn't
enough. In the end your knee gave out and  your physical limits were
exceeded as well as your mental limits as you were obviously not up to
the challenge of blocking out the pain of your injuries like i could!

(Herscher's purple and bruised face now takes on a red hue, as his
breathing becomes heavier.)

HvD: Go tell yourself whatever you have to get on with what's left of
your career Mercenary!  But just remember this as you lick you
wounds.  You faced a man you absolutely had to beat and you didn't!
 From now until the end of time, you can despise me, insult me, and
make light of me,  find fault with any success i have in the ring.
What you can't do is ever lay claim that you could ever defeat me!  Go
ahead, find fault with me, call me "Euro Trash", compare me to a
donkey and any other insult you can conjure up. In the end no matter
what slurs you level upon me, there will always be something  held in
even in a lower regard than you have for me, and that is...The
Mercenary!!!

(Herscher takes a big big breath and exhales deeply, trying to
recompose himself)

HvD: But the Mercenary is in my past, amounting to a bag of  garbage
that i have taken to the curb. Now i move on, to deal with ..someone
else's garbage!  Now i am to face what is left of Will Geddings, a man
whose time has come and gone in this business. Time and injuries have
caught up with this, individual. He lives not for the pursuit of
future victories or the glory of championships, but for the chance to
keep alive the glory of his past.  Will Geddings is in this business
only to fan to dying flame of what now passes for his competitive
spirit, in the hopes this flame will at least keep warm the burnt out
embers of what was once a glorious career.

(Herscher, the redness having faded from his face, smirks into the
camera)

HvD: But there is no more glory for you in the ring Mr. Geddings.  You
are like the ruins of a once mighty empire, eroded by the sands over
time. You are wrestling's Ozymandias. You are a faded monument to what
was once both feared and respected, now forced to look on as all your
achievements fade away and are forgotten, and other empires encroach
and claim for their own what you had once fought so hard for.

(Herscher spits on the ground, to further communicate a sense of
revulsion for his this man)

HvD:  I witnessed your last match, Geddings. Your great vow was not to
win the match, but to avoid being retired by your opponent. What a sad
state when a wrestlers goal is not to achieve victory but avoid an
embarrassing defeat. From the looks of things you failed in that as
well. Your opponent didn't retire you but he should have, for your
sake.  Your were left in that ring, a shell of a man gasping for air,
coughing up blood and having to be led out of the ring by the medical
personnel.  You didn't look like a "Fly King", but rather a splattered
fly, guts and blood smeared from impact with whatever body parts still
intact twitching and flailing about, not knowing they're dead yet.

(Herscher lets out a little chuckle)

HvD: And when you came through the curtains this time? What of the
same men who clamored for a handshake to show your their respect, what
did they have for you this time? Pity, pity over the remnants of what
was once a man. Pity for a bruised and mangled piece of meat, who
doesn't know when its time to quit!

(Herscher's grin turns back into a scowl)

HvD: But don't worry Geddings, I know you don't want pity and you can
rest assured I will give you none. I will show you no pity, no mercy
and no remorse for what i will do to you. My goal is not to retire you
or anyone else but rather to destroy any and all that get in the way
of my chance at victory, and the future spoils that will result. I'm
sure you will go on, refusing to hang it up, trying to prove to
yourself you still have one good run left in you.  What you won't do
is extend your career and relive your hey day at my expense. Stronger
men in this company have tried and failed, and a broken relic like you
will not fare any better. Like i said before I'm not in this match to
retire you, simply defeat you. However in the process i guarantee you
will receive treatment, so brutal, so aggressive, and so
humiliating .  I might not retire you Geddings, but i guarantee you
will give the thought serious consideration afterwords. Ik ben
Herscher von Donkerhardt! Eer aan de krachtig! Vernietig de zwakke!

(Herscher puts his sunglasses back on and turns away from the camera.
Herscher gets into his car and drives off. The camera stays on him
till he pulls out of the parking lot and goes down the street. Fade to
Black)

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

[Cut.  Scene: interior, white-painted cinderblock dominates the
screen, a masked head pressed against it.  The letter “N” featured
prominently on its side, this is clearly the head of the Masked
Maniac, zoomed in, up-close and personal.]

MM: Can'tbelievethisistotal*BLEEP*...

[Aaand he's running all his words together, muttering in a low tone
that nevertheless reverberates off the walls and ceiling in this room.
Zoom out a little, and it's clear that Maniac's in a bathroom.]

MM: IalreadyBEATLoco.
IbeathimanditwasmyplanthattookhistitleandIdon'tgetashot~!?

*Thudd*

[And he whacks his head against the wall one good time.]

GG: Dude, seriously, just let it go.

MM: Wh-whattayouknow?

GG: For one thing, I know I'm on a toilet, and your jabbering's making
it damned hard to let loose with the Lincoln logs!

[Zoom out more, and we see a pair of large feet peeking out from under
a stall door, faded jeans bundled about them.]

GG: Just calm the *BLEEP* down, man.  Breathe.  For like, I dunno, two
minutes at least.  Christ, I'm cramping up.

[Maniac does so.  Count down from 5, and he's done.  He puts his back
to the concrete wall now.]

MM: They gave my shot to Sinister, Gene.

GG: I know.

MM: Who's he beaten lately?  Think about it.  His greatest claim to
fame is getting whacked with a chair on a pay-per-view.  I heard he
went and trained to work MMA.  Isn't that just wrestling with no ropes
and less talking?

GG: No, you're describing a _bathroom_...

[Beat.  Maniac isn't taking the hint.]

MM: And I guess he couldn't cut it in MMA (assuming he ever even had a
single match) 'cause here he is again!  For a guy who's so urban and
rough-acting you'd think he'd actually win a match every now and then.
I mean, he's just tall and slow.  Kinda like you, Gene.

GG: ...

MM: I gotta get with Perry.  I just know he'll set this all straight.
My master plan gave him that belt, and, y'know, all the guys.

GG: Maniac, I swear to God.

MM: Did you know that Ed broke his pinky toe?  I blame that Tommy
Ryder.  He's a bad influence, I say.

GG: Maniac, if you don't get the HELL out of this room right now, I'm
coming out of this stall, and you're getting the biggest, nastiest
swirlee of your or anyone else's lifetime!

[Maniac pauses, thinks, then, in spite of his forethought, speaks.]

MM: Is the water blue?

[A mad thrashing sound is heard from the stall as Gene Gaines leaps up
from the toilet, pulling his pants up and jerks the stall door open.
Maniac breaks for the door, slamming it open in his haste to escape.
Gene is in hot pursuit as we fade to black.]

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

["The Phenom" Tommy Ryder and "Lady" Laurel Levinger are sitting at a
table in a sports memorabilia shop signing autographs for the local
fans.  As the session comes to a close a pair of boys can be overheard
as they walk by.]

First Boy: Man, why couldn't they get somebody good to come out for
this signing.

Second Boy: I know.  You think they could have gotten at least one of
the Widowmakers.

[Tommy pauses before going to talk to the boys.]

FB: Great he heard us, let's get out of here.

TR: Hey guys, wait a sec.  I'm ticked or anything.

SB: Yeah, sure that's what everyone says.

TR: Look, I just like to talk to the fans.  So why don't you want our
autographs?

FB: Well to be honest, because you don't win.

TR: What?

FB: Don't get me wrong.  You're a great wrestler and all.

SB: And you do win your share of matches...

FB: But you don't win the big ones.  It's not like you choke or
anything.  The bad guys just cheat better than you wrestle.

[Tommy is stunned for a moment.]

TR: Do you guys really believe that?

SB: We wouldn't say it if we didn't believe it.

FB: And we do like your matches.  I mean Laurel is really hot.

[At this, Laurel cuts the boys a look that says your too young to even
think that.]

FB: And your moves are pretty cool.

TR: Hang on a second.  You really don't think I can win the big
matches
playing fair?

Both boys: Nope.

[Tommy has a look of concern come over his face.]

TR: Look guys, one of my things is to show you that you can do
anything you put your mind to if you do it the right way.  That's why
I'm out there standing up for other wrestlers when they get in trouble
and taking on guys way bigger than me.  I want fans like you to see
that it can be done.

SB: Well then you need to win the big matches.

FB: It's like you think that they are going to play fair too.  You
knew that your opponents were going to cheat in your bigger matches,
but you still acted like it was just going to be a wrestling match.

LL: Out of the mouths of babes.

Both boys: Um, we're not girls lady!

TR: That's not what she meant guys.  Look, if you don't think I can
win against the guys that cheat then I need to change what I'm doing.
Let's make a deal.  If I start winning those matches then I want to
see you guys cheering me next time I'm in town.

Both boys: Deal, but you have to win those matches first.

[One day later Tommy and Laurel are in the back stage area getting
ready to cut a promo.]

TR: It's time for "The Phenom" to get refocused.  After talking to
some fans, It finally hit me.  Zero Tolerance means crap.  Those rule
breakers in PVW still get away with whatever they want whenever they
want.

And now, we have this reverend Caine saying that he is going to
enforce his own brand of zero tolerance.

ENOUGH!  I'm done with this.  Some of the wrestlers on this roster
wouldn't know how to wrestle with honor and respect if their lives
depended on it.

Perry, you're the Network Champion now.  And how did you win it?  Did
you beat the rest of us?  No.  It was more games.

I am tired of all of these guys taking about how bad they are and they
can't win the big match without cheating in some way or form.

I refuse to play that game.  When I came to PVW, I wanted to prove to
the fans that you don't have to be a giant or a rulebreaker to win and
now it's time for me to step up and prove it.

On Damage Control, I'm in a tag match against some of the guys that
like to take short cuts.  They want to prove that they are on a
mission from god.  Well I'm going to prove that doing things the right
way is the only mission that God would send someone on.  Oh and Chase
Williams, Prophets of Rage... I'm not going to put anything past you
and you won't get past me or my team.

[Tommy tosses the mic to the sound man as he and Laurel leave.]

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

[Cut in quick, without poetry or pretense.  Little is visible, save
the outlines of objects, mere highlights created by bright sunlight
leaking into the room around a large curtain.  Within the room can be
seen a bed and a mass of machinery including a heartrate monitor.  It
is a hospital room. At first, the limited visibility suggests that the
room might be empty, but then the mass of the bed tenses, shakes and
thrashes.  There's someone in it, and that person appears to be
restrained. After a moment, when it becomes clear that his bindings
aren't about to give way, the man in the bed gives up.  Ragged
breathing is all that is heard for a moment, drowning out the beeping
sound of the heartrate monitor.]

WC: Trapped.  Heh.  Hehe.

[A few more seconds of rasping and he experiences a coughing spasm;
laughter interspersed between each cough.  When able to speak again,
William Craven lays back in a seeming attempt to relax.]

WC: They say I have to lay here.  Still.  Strapped.  A bedpan beneath
me.  The sickeningly sterile smells all around me.  'A danger to
myself', they say.  'Only concerned for my well being”, they say.  A
joke.  It's all a joke...

[Save the incessant beeping, and only for a moment, all falls
unnaturally silent in the room.  When Bill speaks again his voice is
more even.]

WC: Glory was had; the war to end all wars.  We danced upon the world
stage and laid all others low by comparison.  Having lost, to make
excuses, it would lessen our glory.  The glory we shared... Now, in
retrospect, I realize what was my death knell.  I should never have
allowed Marley to usurp my role.  I am not the fuel.  I am the flame.
I am not the victim.  I am the villain!

[His excitement triggering another coughing spasm, Bill seems, at
first, unable to stop, and his heartrate raises alarmingly.  The
beeping of the heartrate monitor both increases in rate and becomes
more shrill.  By the time Bill is able to stop, the door has opened
and the light turned on.  In walks a thin, balding man in a white
coat.]

DH: Ah, hello William, Doctor Higginbotham here.  Having some trouble,
are we?

[Squinting against the onslaught of bright light, the mostly green but
partially blackened (presumably from bruising) Craven again tenses
against his restraints.]

DH: Now now, none of that.  Scared away all of Saint Bartholomew's
nuns away, you have.  That's why it's you and I here and now.

[Bill stops struggling and glowers over at the newly arrived doctor.
One of his eyes is swollen almost completely shut.]

DH: Heh.  That's a joke.  We only have nurses here, not nuns.  Being a
hospital and all that.

WC: I understood.

DH: Ah.  Shall I add “lost sense of humor” to your chart then?

WC: ...

DH: Right.  Brilliant that.  Speaking of the unholy bit of parchment.
Yoink!

[Snatching up a clipboard the doctor reads.]

DH: Well then.  Cracked ribs, broken fingers, internal bleeding,
concussion, perforated lung...  Says here you're an athlete.  Am I
correct to assume that your sport is the cause of your malady?

WC: I fell...

DH: Of course you did.  Sprained knee, bone bruising, SEVERE bone
bruising, in the right shoulder.  Ah, convenient, it's also your right
hand that's hurt.  I do hope you're a lefty.

WC: I need to go.

DH: Yes yes, back to the colonies.  Won't be long now.  A knee brace,
a sling, a cast and of course 48 hours of close observation and you'll
be as right as rain.

WC: I don't need to be observed.  I need to go.

DH: Please, understand, medical treatment here in the United Kingdom
won't cost you one copper coin.  There's honestly no need to hurry.

WC: Heh.  Fine.  Fine then, just untie me and I'll behave.

[Shaking his head, the doctor sits in a chair next to Bill.]

DH: Impossible, I'm afraid.  You've already proven that you can't be
trusted to remain in bed and I would be derelict in my duty, violating
the Hippocratic oath were I to allow you that freedom.  It is for the
best.  Moreover, you must stop struggling against your bindings lest
you exacerbate your injuries.  Or must I finish reading the list?

WC: ...

DH: Silent again.  Unfortunate.  Mister Craven, you are not a 20-year-
old, and your heart monitor just gave a red flag that you were
approaching a heart attack.

WC: It's not money.

DH: Pardon?

WC: I have money.  I just don't need to be here.

DH: I beg to differ.

WC: WHAT MAKES YOU THINK YOU KNOW!?

[Struggling anew against his bindings, Bill focuses his full attention
on the doctor, baring sharpened teeth in a concerted attempt to
intimidate the medical professional.  Higginbotham leaps to his feat
and backs away, strongly alarmed.]

DH: Mister Craven, cease and desist!

WC: You think you're better than me?  You think you get a degree and
you can look down on people?  I WENT TO COLLEGE!  I could teach ...
English, or physical education, but I decided to be an athlete.  I'm
telling you this now, I know my body better than you do, and if you
don't release me now I'll shuffle you off from your mortal coil before
this day is done...

[Trailing off, Bill continues to strain his bindings as the heartrate
monitor gives a different tone, one more suited for use as an alarm.]

DH: I understand.  The pain must be making you mad.  Luckily, I have
the gift of foresight.

WC: What?

[At this the doctor pulls a syringe out from his jacket and Bill,
seeing the needle, redoubles his efforts.]

WC: I'm not in pain!  I need none of your damnable chemicals!

[Remaining safely out of range, Higginbotham injects the contents of
the syringe into an IV bag above Bill.  Bill, predictably, panics.]

DH: There, that should help you sleep.

WC: What have you done!?  No!

DH: So sorry, Mister Craven, but it had to be done.  I trust we won't
see each other again.

[Shaking his head sadly, Higginbotham turns to leave.]

WC: No fear?  Hah!  No pain!  Not die ... never die...

[The room darkens as the door clicks shut.  Bill continues to ramble,
his voice lowering as he seems to be succumbing to fatigue.]

WC: Not fair.  Not right.  This ... indignity ... must be avenged.
All must suffer. All ... must suffer...

[Finally falling limp, Bill ceases his struggles.]

WC: The innocent ... will not be spared...

[Black.  End.]

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
       Alex Martinez
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[Even more than usual, the Last American Badass seems angry. He's
seated on an otherwise empty bench, leaning forward, hands clasped in
his lap, eyes narrowed as he looks into the camera. And it seems like
at any moment, Alex Martinez is going to come off the bench and leap
right through the camera. Something has really gotten under his skin,
and obviously, someone is going to have to pay the price of his wrath.
And pay it in blood.]

AM: I oughta be happy. I oughta be celebratin'. I beat Will Geddings.
I showed everyone that everythin' I said was true. I made a lotta
money for myself, and for SSN. So this oughta be my victory
celebration. But clearly, it ain't. And that's all down to one man.

Jason Keenin'.

Drillbit, ya did the one thing I warned ya not to do. Ya went and ya
got yourself involved in my business. And when its my business, you
can be damn sure it ain't yours. Sure, ya got waffled for it, and
lemme just say, it felt damn good to hit ya.

But still, knowin' ya stuck your nose in my business, it just don't
sit right with me. In fact, it makes me wanna puke. The thought that
some... nobody like you could come down and get in my face like ya
belong there? Sickening.

Ya tainted my night Keenin'. And that ain't gonna be allowed to stand.
You'll get more than what I've already given ya. Your time'll come.
But that time ain't no. Because, right here and now, I'm facin' Caleb
Foley. And Caleb Foley and Jason Keenin' ain't the same person.

Not that it'll make any difference to the final outcome.

[As Martinez runs his hand through his dark hair, he smirks evilly.]

AM: Foley, I gather that you mean a lot to PVW. I gather that your
name carries some weight, and that ya are someone. You're someone
important. Ya might even say, you're a legend.

Big deal.

To me, ya ain't nothin' but yet another object lesson. Just another
jackass whose ass kickin' serves to prove a larger point. When I did
what I did to Geddings, it was to prove that I am the one, true legend
in this sport, and that SSN did the right thing by bringin' me in.

You're another lesson. Another thing that you, and everyone else in
PVW, needs to learn immediately. What's that lesson, ya might ask?
Well, its real damn simple, but it very important.

Ain't no one ever made a rule that applies to Alex Martinez.

I ain't just above the law Foley, I'm beyond it. See, everyone is
talkin' 'bout Zero Tolerance, and talkin' 'bout how I violated Zero
Tolerance. Hell, that's why Keenin' is around, ain't it? To enforce
that rule.

But I didn't break no rules. I transcended them.

Zero Tolerance, and all the other rules, they're for other people, not
for me. Those rules are in place to keep the jackasses in line. They
ain't for Alex Martinez.

Fines? I got more money than I can ever spend, and a carload of people
at SSN that are happy to cover my expenses. Suspension? Well hell,
I'll just go elsewhere.

I don't care 'bout no rules, and I ain't here to start followin' 'em.
I'm here to hurt people and make money. And so far, I've been doin'
both.

So when it comes down to you and me Foley, I'm gonna prove to you that
there ain't rule been made that'll spare ya a beatin'. There ain't no
law where Alex Martinez is concerned 'cept the laws he makes for
himself. No man tells me what to do. Not today, not tomorrow, not in
LA, and not in PVW.

I do what I want, to who I want, when I want.

Keenin' tried to get me to follow the rules. Now he's on a grand
mission to collect his teeth. Geddings thought the rules would help
him, now everyone is tellin' him to retire for his own good.

And when I face you? It'll be the same story. Only rule is this. I
have to hurt ya in the process of beatin' ya.

Nothin' will save ya Foley, not your legend, not Zero Tolerance, and
definitely not Jason Keenin'. I'm comin' for ya. And you'll learn,
just like everyone else, that when it comes to Alex Martinez, there
just ain't no such thing as "can't."

So get yourself ready, because the pain is on its way.

[After a smirk from Martinez, the camera fades to black.]

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
       Chris Werner
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

(The sound of a low drum beat is heard as PVW changes to its next
promo.  Slowly, a still shot is shown.  Oh, yay, an old style "This is
Your Life!"

Not so much...the shot is from Shattered Dreams.  Over the low drum
beat, Miss Malone's words are heard, garbled slightly as if the sound
has been washed through a couple of filters.  Mixed in with her words
from the huge two-night pay-per-view is a few old call backs provided
by the WWO's Mickey Ralph to a career that was retired in Madison
Square Garden to start a new one.  And as the audio plays, shots from
Shattered Dreams are shown.]

Weighing in at 255 pounds...The young man from Virginia, persevered to
take down the monster Craven, but not before Craven just about took
him apart!...and hailing from Amherst, Virginia...I don't believe it!
Dark Soul overcame well...just about everything to get the win against
a WWO Legend!...he is the former WWO World Heavyweight Champion...He
beat Tyrone Hayes and the crowd is on their feet and going crazy!...he
is the master of the Werner Contraption...ladies and gentlemen...

...is Dark Soul done?...

CHRIS WERNER!!!!

(The last audio insert was from the same person doing the
introduction...Candy Malone...but before Shattered Dreams.  Meanwhile,
the last picture was of Rob Magnum in unspeakable pain, suffering from
the arm trap cross-legged STF, or as it has been labeled, the Werner
Contraption.  The bell rings from that night as the drumming that led
us into this promo ceases along with the still shots.

Slowly, the scene fades into an office.  Nothing really sets this
office apart from others you may have seen, including in The Office.
It's not messy, but it's not all that straight either.  The person who
works from this office almost certainly is working rather hard at
their job.  In the right handed corner of the screen, the
words "PVW Headquarters" comes up.

Oh, and there is two people seated.  Chris Werner sits on the right
and Miss Malone on the left.  Both look less than thrilled to be at
the office, but they are troopers.  Werner shows some bruises and one
ugly ass cut above his right eye. Wearing a simple white shirt and
blue jeans, Werner tries to entertain himself by making faces and
random noises, seemingly to no success.  Seated next to him is Miss
Malone, who seems rather focused on texting.  She sports a black top
with a generous neck line and white pants as the former blonde, now
brown-haired beaut looks to be a texting master with speed and
precision.]

Werner:  "My leg hurts.  Just thought I would throw that out there."

Miss Malone:  "You're the idiot who wanted to go toe-to-toe with
someone much taller.  You forgot, babe.  Dark Soul is dead.  You may
want to try this whole wrestling thing.  It might keep you a tad bit
healthier."

Werner:  "Hey, it was the first non-Darky match.  I'm still
transitioning; I'm going to be an awesome wrestler.  I'll be like that
dude who people say, 'wow, he knows forty-eight armbars.'  Cause...I'm
like cool and stuff."

Miss Malone:  "Did that match make you stupider or did my hair change
make me smarter?"

Werner:  "It really is a mystery."

[The door behind them opens and a slightly overweight man slips into
the room. Wearing a simple blue suit with an equally blue tie, the man
looks very much like the man behind the scenes that no one wants to
see.  His hair is showing signs of old age, both in its thinning and
its transition to grey.  He carries a black binder and heads around
the desk.  Putting the binder down, he holds out his hand.]

Man:  "Sorry to keep you two waiting.  I'm James Youngs, a talent
coordinator here at PVW."

[His outreached hand receives no takers as Miss Malone has yet to even
look up and Werner regards the attempt to shake hands with a curious
glance.]

Youngs:  "You guys don't want to beat around the bush, I can respect
that.  Let's get to the reasons I called you to PVW HQ as we like to
call it."

[He takes a seat and begins to pilfer through the binder.  Werner
cracks his knuckles.  Miss Malone texts.]

Youngs:  "So, you dropped the moniker of Dark Soul at Shattered
Dreams.  We support furthering your character, but you really should
have told us.  We are out there marketing WWO vs. UEW with you and
Magnum after all."

Werner:  "Wait, I have character?"

Miss Malone:  "News to me, too."

Youngs:  "Ha ha, I just think you should have told us.  We could have
been more prepared.  You know how much Dark Soul stuff we had to put
on clearance on ShopPVW.com?"

Werner:  "So, you are saying there was a lot?"

[Youngs nods before going back to his binder.]

Werner:  "Listen, I'm not really going to apologize.  This was
something I needed to do.  For whatever reason, the Dark Soul mantel
was strangling me because I'm not really that guy anymore.  I never
asked to represent WWO or anything like that.  All I'm trying to do is
find solace...find who I am...and move forward.  And Shattered Dreams
was the first step.  Damage Control will be the second one.  And after
that...maybe I'll write a great American novel."

[Youngs doesn't look up, but keeps nodding.  Werner sighs and looks
over as Miss Malone, who has yet to finish her texting.  Finally,
Youngs looks back up.]

Youngs:  "And Candy, it really would have helped had you talked to us
first before butchering your hair and coloring it brown."

[For the first time, Miss Malone looks up and its not a particularly
pleased face.]

Miss Malone:  "Okay, first off, Jimmy boy, we are not on a first name
basis so if you call me Candy again, prepare to lose whatever sad
excuse for testicles you have left under that beer gut.  And second, I
don't answer to you when it comes to my hair or anything like that.
And dammit, you made me lose my train of thought and I totally forgot
what this text was going to be about."

Werner:  "Who are you texting anyway?"

Miss Malone:  "My mom is worried because Hudson's back and, well, she
would rather I avoided temporary paralysis and a three day coma-nap
again."

Werner:  "Oh, yeah, whose brilliant idea was it to bring back Tracy?
I mean, really, do you have to give fatass Johnstone a new toy?"

Youngs:  "Listen, I don't have much to do with that.  What I want to
get at is what this name change, look change, song change, etc. means
for you?  Does Chris Werner have a brighter future than Dark Soul did?
And really, is the man and the moniker even different at all or is
this an attempt at getting some buzz, which is fine by me."

[Werner takes a second to find the words while looking at Youngs
curiously.]

Werner:  "This change was not just a spur-of-the-moment thing.  I
wasn't looking for attention.  I wasn't trying to throw Magnum off his
game.  And yes, it meant something big to me.  Dark Soul had an
accomplished career.  He did some really good things.  But he hasn't
been too successful here in PVW and the weight of that failure was
suffocating.  Long ago, my personality changed to make the Dark Soul
name a major misnomer.  It represents a never-say-die attitude I hope
to emulate, but it's time to be me.  Christopher Mathias Werner."

Miss Malone:  "Not your middle name."

Werner:  "Magnum was just the start of my rise up the ladder.  I team
with a pair of world-class athletes at Damage Control against three
former champs.  I'm all about forward mobility now.  I want to
challenge the big boys and I know I am ready.  I want to see them cry
out in agony while trying in vain to escape the Werner Contraption.  I
need it.  So...no...this name change wasn't for the hell of it.
It's my fresh start.  My clean slate.  It's time for Chris Phillip
Werner to be at the top of the PVW."

Miss Malone:  "Also not your middle name."

[The scene fades from there.]

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

"I thought I had men figured out.  Thought there were only so many
kinds..."

[The sounds of rain on a window greet us.]

"Between the addicts, the perverts, the womanizers, the misogymists,
the violent types, the psychos... my luck always seemed to go from bad
to worse when it came to men."

[The flash of lightning lights up the room for just a moment.  A
young, not-so-drop-dead-gorgeous blonde woman sits by the window,
gazing out at the rain.]

W: I thought my luck would never change, or that I was just a
sh[BLEEP]ty judge of character.  Part of me thought there couldn't
possibly be any good men left in the world...

[Another flash of lightning.  The woman sighs, turning her head ever
so slightly towards the lens.]

W: But then he came along.  And I couldn't trust him at first.  How
can you trust a man walking down one of the worst alleys in town after
dark?  I was sure he had some angle.  They all do... or so I thought.

[A series of lightning flashes illuminate the room for a couple
seconds, revealing her identity.  Besides the warn and weary look we
have come to expect from Michelle Ruger, there's something else.
Something new.]

MR: But there was no need for concern with him.  Time after time, he's
shown me a kind of man I never thought existed.  A kind that you would
only read about in books, or see in movies.  A fairy tale.  A fantasy.

[Her head turns toward something out of view for a moment, before
returning her attention to the lens.]

MR: His heart is pure, his intentions noble.  He fights for what he
believes in, even in the face of unbelievable adversity.  There is no
quit in him, nor a single ounce of doubt.  He cares genuinely and
thoroughly for me, for my safety.

[Pulling a glass to her lips, Michelle takes a drink of ice water.]

MR: He is thoughtful, compassionate, and kind.  Pure and true in his
motives, but willing to cross lines to achieve them.  There is no one
else in this world I'd trust with my life.  No one else I would count
on to hold me up when things get bad.

[Michelle pauses for a moment.  Her words carry great weight, but also
great sincerity.]

MR: No one else could care as deeply as he does, despite my many
flaws.  He deserves more... deserves _better_... but had his mind made
up the instant he carried me out of that alley.

[Michelle rises to her feet as the lightning flashes again.  She
flicks on a small lamp before stepping towards a hospital bed.  There
lies Ronan Benedict.  His head is bandaged up, as are an assortment of
other wounds from his brutal fight with Chad Grimsson.  And he's sound
asleep.]

MR: He's my guardian angel...

My champion...

My love.

[Leaning over the bed, Michelle gently kisses him.  Fade.]

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

[Fade in:

Swingin' Dean Hayes looks nervous.  He is fiddling with his collar as
he glances to the left and to the right.  He lifts the microphone to
his lips.]

SDH: My guests at this time are coming fresh from Unholy Wars where
their bid to become the first two-time World Tag-Team champions was
foiled.  They are Derek and Shadoe Rage, the Prophets of Rage.

[He immediately looks stage left, expecting Shadoe Rage's entrance.
He is looking the wrong way.  Shadoe Rage enters stage right, standing
behind him.  The smaller Prophet's face is twisted in disgust as he
taps Hayes on the shoulder.  The beleaguered PVW host jumps.]

SR: Exactly, you have every right to be scared because I am sending
you a message to take to your masters.

[He jabs Hayes in the chest, making the man wince.]

SR: Tell your masters that we are sick and tired of being cheated.  We
know what's going on here.  PVW is the home of comedians, obviously.
They don't care about actual talent.  No, they just want people to
tell sophomoric jokes and act like idiots.  They don't enforce their
own rules.  They just do whatever they feel like to make sure the
Prophets of Rage do not become tag-team champions again.  They do not
want us to outclass their worthless jokers in the ring so we are the
only team required to follow the rules.  Handcuffs?  What happened to
Zero Tolerance?  What happened to competing?

SDH: Well, I guess your dreams were shattered so to speak.

[Shadoe's head rocks back on his shoulders as he sneers at the attempt
at levity.  He puts his hand on Dean's shoulder to let him feel the
strength.]

SR: Do you really want to get brave right now?  Do you really want to
get that brave?  Think about the consequences, please.  Think about
them because I'm not playing games today.

SDH: Sorry.

SR: Right there in Madison Square Gardens we were proving that we were
the best tag-team in the world.  No cheating.  No interference.  No
nothing.  Just our superior ability and athleticism.  And then what
happens?  The powers that be allow Derek to be handcuffed to the ring.
And that was okay because it got the PVW what they wanted.  Another
embarrassing comedy act as their World champions.  We are the only PVW
tag-team that is serious about our craft.  Urban Legend?  Wildcards?
Livestock and the Gutch?  Do you see what I'm talking about?  The PVW
Tag Team belts should be treated with honour and dignity and respect?
Not like they are now.  And now we are on a mission.  A mission that
we will not come back from.  A mission to seek and destroy everybody
in our way until we get back to the top of the mountain and order is
restored in Rage Country.  Trust me when I say this to you.

SDH: (nodding gravely) Say, where is Derek in all this?  I want to get
his views on the subject.

[On cue Derek Rage's presence blacks out the camera as he comes to
stand beside his brother.]

DR: You want to know how I feel?  Where there is no consistency there
is bias.  Where there is bias there is injustice.  Where there is
injustice there is unrest.  Put simply ... no justice ... no peace.
And that lesson will be taught to everybody on Damage Control.  Yeah,
we'll be teaming up to spread a little ministry.  Because we have
shown tolerance to the injustices set against us by the Powers that Be
in the PVW. Well, now we are not only going to show our own Zero
Tolerance, but we're going to set an example out of Larry Gionet,
Tommy Ryder and Chris Werner.  We're going to show the world that when
there is no Justice for the Prophets there shall be no peace for the
PVW.  Zero Tolerance. Understand something, you've all sealed your
fate because we are taking on the best you have to offer.  And we will
leave them lying.

[With that the two brothers walk off.]

SDH: Wait, I have a question!

OC: No more questions!

SDH: Well, I'm sorry about that.  The Prophets of Rage, ladies and
gentlemen, I'm not sure if they can keep their word.  Gionet, Ryder
and Werner are three of the best men we have in PVW.  Will the
Prophets be true to their word or will they be put down once again?  I
don't know. Tune in to Damage Control and find out.  I'm Swingin' Dean
Hayes for PVW signing off.

[Fade out]

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
       Johnny Detson
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

"So I did what I said I was going to do, and that was putting that
jack-o's shoulders down and getting the three count."

(Cue our hero, Johnny Detson, not walking triumphantly in scene but
rather gingerly with a noticeable limp.  He is wearing black track
pants and a blue PVW tee shirt with a Dodgers cap and shades covering
his face.  A large bandage covers his left arm and what appears to be
another large bandage over his forehead, trying to be concealed with
the cap.)

Detson:  Do I feel a sense of triumph for being prophetic once again
people?

(Detson laughs.)

Detson:  Do I look triumphant?

(Again Detson laughs looking down at his appearance.)

Detson:  Was the loss of blood, sweat, and tiny little pieces of my
face worth it?  Well it's nothing some stitches and doctor visits
can't cure but we all know this isn't my cup of tea.  I'm not some
muscle bound pea brain that gets great thrill out of seeing blood, my
true sense of accomplishment doesn't come from how badly beaten and
broken you are, it comes from the simple fact of me walking away the
winner.

(Detson runs his hand down the back of his neck clearly in pain.)

Detson:  And walk away is a good term because I barely did that.  This
wasn't something I didn't want to do but had to do nonetheless.
Unfortunately you could say it was inevitable.

(Detson stops for a minute.)

Detson:  Well not inevitable.  You see I could have just called
Johnstone and lined up right behind the chosen one Hayes and been the
lackey that so many from my past have seemingly chosen to do.  But
that's not really my thing, never has been.  I'm not the follow
protocol type.  So I came here after weeks, months, hell possibly even
years to put a stop to the growing problem known as Gibson Hayes.  And
no not for the greater good and because I'm a nice guy.  If you people
have been listening and watching you know that to not even be close to
the truth.  I've done and continue to do, some pretty horrible things
in my wrestling career which Gibson Hayes has seemingly saw and
emulated at every possible turn.

(Detson smirks but it's quickly followed by a grimace.)

Detson:  No, I came here to prove that I can.  I could have sat on the
sidelines and scream that Gibson is a cheap carbon copy of the real
thing but would anyone believed me?  Or just made the obvious claim
that I'm a jealous lunatic.  Who knows, who cares?  But that goes to
the easy question of why Spectre.  Well simply it had to be done.

Detson:  You see Johnstone is a lot of thing:  fat, bloated, in debt,
addicted to porn, a bad dresser, sheep joke loving; but he's not an
idiot.  He surrounds this Gibson Hayes with eight thousand pieces and
by the time you just through enough hoops you die from exhaustion at
Gibson Hayes' feet.  But I'm not telling you anything you don't know.
But look Doc Holliday and Tom Landis all went through the same thing
and whatever and whatever name you gave it at the time that thing was
the Spectre.

(Detson, uncomfortable, moves his neck around gingerly and uneasy.)

Detson:  So you get the first step out of the way before they send the
first step towards you at their terms.  I made the Spectre match, I
gave him his match, not because I dreamed of carnage and destruction
and the simple delight of the Rebirth Rules match, its because those
things were going to happen anyway, whether I wanted them to or not.

(Detson laughs)

Detson:  And for the record I didn't want any of that to happen.

(Detson sighs with great difficulty.)

Detson:  But after Shattered Dreams I had some time to think.  I had
EMTs surrounding me, a hospital stay, and time at my house and I
really sat there and thought.  I proclaim to be one who never follows
the rules and here I am playing by the rules Gibson Hayes wants the
entire PVW to follow.  Well no more.

(Detson now glares at the camera.)

Detson:  To use a horrible cliché, if you want to defeat a monster you
go after its head or you get an even bigger monster, but we'll stick
with the first one for now.  Now I am going after the monster's head.
This isn't some bitter feud against Johnstone with some reason being
some slight in the past.  That's what its been made out to be by this
one, that one and their mother.  Its just not that.  I don't hate
Johnstone, Latex Lex, Tracy Hudson or any variation of Hayes you can
find.

(Detson stops and looks down at the floor.  He slowly brings his head
up showing his smirk.)

Detson:  I just love the look on people's faces when they're pissed
off.

(Detson laughs uncomfortably.)

Detson:  And Todd the look on yours at Tradition was priceless; and
Gibson the look on yours when I take you down will be even better.
And Tracy...

(Detson looks down to the floor again before letting out a defeated
sigh.  Looking back up, Detson continues.)

Detson:  ...Tracy, who knows why you do what you do when you do it.
Look at me, I'm in no shape to wrestle, but I will.  And I got
something for you, you can bet on that.  This whole Johnstone
Enterprises is going to fall faster than Rock Solid did for no other
reason other than because I can.

(With that the scene fades to black.)

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

(Scene opens. The Mercenary is seated on a bench outside the TD Center
in Boston. He seems to be in a rather pensive and/or completive mood,
as his head is down, hands set on his knees. The shadow of the
cameraman crosses over the hitman, which Merc does notice, but doesn't
acknowledge... at least not until he starts to speak.)

Merc: You know, there's been a lot of stuff going in my life the last
little while, most of it having to do with the past. After being dead
for the last 7, 10 or however many years its been, the UEW was
resurrected. Or at least, there was an attempt to resurrect it. There
was some big talk, but that's all it turned out to be. All talk, no
action. Unless you call drinking away the money that was poured
into the venture, action.

(now lifting his head, and talking directly to the camera)

Merc: Though nothing did come out of the attempt, it was enough to get
people talking and bringing back old memories. And some in particular
have a bearing on my upcoming match. And that's because my opponent
happens to be an old UEW'er like myself, and was part of the glory
days. Marcus Manson, not to sound like an old codger, but I remember
way back when you broke into the business. You were a raw, green
rookie, part of a raw, green tag team with you life partner Jonathon
Renigh. Together, the two of you made up the Circle of Death. And it
didn't take long for you two to climb the ranks. You won tag titles.
And held them for extended periods of time. And people took notice,
including one Magnus Colby, founder and originator of the Widowmakers
Inc. Yes, the real WMI, not this pale imitation that Rick Marley
is covering his scrawny little ass.

WMI took you and your partner to new levels as a tag team, but it soon
became noticeable that you were carrying the team. You were the
breakout star, and you proved it when you finally went solo. More
titles followed in many different federations and leagues. You were
making a real name for yourself. Could have been THE man.

But what do you do? You throw it all away to become just another
lackey, flunky, or whatever title Marley has given you in his little
army. Yeah, you can go ahead and call me a hypocrite because I
basically did the same thing. The big difference is I did it for the
money. Which is what is expected of me. But you, I'm still can't
figure out why you did it. Why go from being one of the biggest sharks
in the entire business to being a guppy in the shallow pool that is
the new WMI? I guess only you can answer that question. And really,
I'm not all that interested in what it might be anyways.

What I am interested in, is getting back to what I do best. And I can
thank the old UEW memories for that. Thinking back about the good old
days reminded me of what it was the made me so successful. Something
that I got away from the last few months. But starting here in Boston,
I'll be getting back to what brought me to the dance. And sorry to say
Marcus, that also starts with me tearing you apart. That's just the
way it has to be. For me, this is the beginning of yet another era.
And hopefully for you, I'll knock some sense into you, and you'll see
that Marley and company are just holding you back. So, maybe it won't
be all bad for you. Then again, maybe that's all it'll be.

(with that, Merc gets up from the bench and walks towards the arena
doors. Fade to snow)

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

[Spotlight, chair, Gibson in a blue suit. Yeah, it's like that.]

Gibson Hayes: Yeah, I won at Shattered Dreams. Who didn't think I was
going to win? I'm on top; have been for almost two years.

[Hayes just doesn't move, sitting rigid in his folding chair.]

Gibson Hayes: You'd think the brass would have me headline. You'd
think they'd give America what she wants. You'd think that there would
be respect for me, the longest running champion of any sort in PVW
history. You'd think that there would be Gibson Hayes headlining
Heatwave. You'd think that but you'd be wrong.

Gibson Hayes: Instead you have some oversized boarder jumper who
claims to be the "Last American Fatass" taking my spot, taking my time
in the sun and why? It isn't just because he's famous to some upper
management turds. It isn't just because SSN wants America's shining
example to the world, me, Gibson Hayes, buried. It's because I'm too
good for my own good.

[Hayes is still sitting straight.]

Gibson Hayes: Whatever. PVW, America's golden boy isn't taking this
lying down any more. I've tried to shame you but you have no shame.
I've tried beating your minions but you seem content to let them be
sacrificed. I've tried to out you but you don't care. Gibson Hayes is
about to let loose and may America have mercy on you for I have none
left.

[Le Fade Out.]

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

[It is 2:30 in the afternoon amidst a breezy autumn day in Boston
Massachusetts. We enter a room in a house covered with navy blue
wallpaper mirroring the color of the Atlantic Ocean. A pine wood
finish covers the floor of the room filled with old family photos.]

[To the very back one can see a window open just a little bit as
leaves cover the array of colors as red, orange, yellow and green
whirl across the horizon signalizing the change of seasons from summer
to fall. In the center of such majesty sits Larry Gionet in a workout
bench, quietly contemplating his thoughts.]

Larry Gionet: I have had a lot of time to just sit and reflect after
my match with Marcus Manson at Shattered Dreams. What I did wrong,
what I could have done different. I bear no bones; I have no excuses.
You beat me Manson right in the middle of the ring. I didn't get
screwed, you didn't cheat. It was a long way back to my hotel room.
When i took a hard look into myself in the mirror I figured out
then where I went wrong.

[Larry takes a long sigh inhaling slowly taking in the moment as he
powerfully exhales. He turns to his left as the camera know sees him
staring himself in the mirror. A look of disappointment paints his
usually intensified serious expression.]

I simply believed the hype. From announcers and fans alike calling me
PVW's warrior. Just like a lie if you hear something enough times, one
can start to believe it. I bought into the hype and left me complacent
mentally even if I went out there physically at MSG. I wasn't as
mentally sharp. With the solitary time I had to think I realized who I
was and whom I have forever been.

[Larry looks down as he clenches his hand into a fist before covering
it with his right hand. Little tangled dirty blond hairs hang off the
stern chin of Gionet. His eyebrows raise as the piercing blue eyes
return from their hiding place behind his hands.]

A down in the dirt, wipe the blood from your nose with a balled fist
fighter. I didn't need hype then and I shouldn't have needed it now.
But when it's saying you are what always you've built yourself to
become, even the strongest soul can succumb. The reinforcement, the
affirmation of all the blood, sweat and tears can be addictive. I may
be a wrestler, friend, son champion and so forth and so on. But
there's one other thing I am. I'm human. We all want that
reinforcement and affirmation of our efforts. I'm no different in that
regard.

[Larry Gionet bangs his fist against the bench creating a thunderous
echo throughout the room. He connects his fingers like a chain linked
fence as he brushes through his hair that he has let grown out a
little. Pushing some of the hair out one can see remains from his
brutal match from Shattered Dreams in a cut here and a bruise
there. He shakes his head in frustration.]

But as good as it felt, I let it get in the way of my focus. I let
that praise separate me from what made me all the things they were
saying. That's over. Now the time has come to refocus, to lock back
into that drive, and God help the poor man who crosses my path.

[Gionet closes his eyes as his chest gently rises and falls. One can
see Larry Gionet is centered. He opens up his eyes once again to look
at himself in the mirror. Reflecting on what has brought him this far
and what awaits him in Phoenix Valley Wrestling.]

Now at Damage Control I come home. Home to where my life started where
my career began. Tommy Ryder one of the best young talents we have
here in PVW and Chris Werner who is starting anew as well. Be thankful
you are beside me and not across that ring from me. Because Prophets
of Rage and Chase I have a lot to show to myself. That the shoulder
injury I bounced back from hasn't derailed me. That the hype from the
locker room and the fans hasn't consumed my thoughts. That I will do
anything possible to survive. Like I used to say, it isn't about how
or why, it's all about do or die!

[A small smirk stitches across the face of Larry Gionet. With his feet
firmly planted on the wooden floor he leans back with his hands behind
his head. Some leaves of red and yellow descend from a tree outside
the window as we then fade to black.]

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
       Wildcards
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[The camera opens on a external shot of the Wild Cards' locker room.
The sounds of crashing comes from within for several seconds before
the door flings open and Black Jack Baldwin rapidly exits, holding his
hands up in front of him.]

JB: Judd...dude...calm down...you're over reacting.

[Jack continues to back down the hallway as his tag team partner "The
Gambler" Judd Marley emerged, holding the PVW schedule in one
white-knuckled fist.]

JM: Outlaw!?!?!?  OUTLAW?!?!?!?

[Marley reaches behind him and flings a folded chair towards his
partner, who rapidly ducks and backpedals a bit faster.

JB: He's not a bad guy...he's like us!  Likes to have a good
time...jokes around a lot...

[Judd's face turns red as he stammers in rage.]

JM: NOT BAD?  HE BROKE A VIDEO GAME CONTROLLER OVER MY HEAD!

JB: Yeah, but it's not like that's not something we wouldn't do...

JM: MY HEAD!

JB: I stand by my statement.

[Judd stops, his nostrils flaring as he continued to glare at Jack.]

JM: I know you're responsible for this, Jack.  And you're gonna fix
it.

JB: How am I supposed to fix it?

JM: ...

JB: No, seriously!  *I* didn't book the match for us.  How the hell am
I supposed to come up with a way to fix Outlaw?

JM: I don't give a damn if you take him to the vet to get him fixed.
How the hell do you expect us to win with that lunatic on the team
with us?

 [Baldwin stops, looking perplexed at the smaller man.]

JB: Seriously...he's got more issues than I do.

JM: As my head can remind me whenever I see that replay.

JB: But he fits, man!  He's a total wild card...just like we
are...except...

JM: Except he hears 'the voices'?

JB: A bit, yeah.

JM: And has highly questionable personal hygiene?

JB: Well, that goes without saying.

JM: And...

[Four hours later, the camera fades back in]

JM: ...who I strongly suspect exposes himself to elementary school
children.

[Baldwin seems to have nodded off and is leaning against the wall, but
at Judd's voice finally stopping, he jerks awake once again.]

JB: But yeah...what if he's on OUR side...he can piss off the other
team.

[Judd opens his mouth to respond, then closes it and ponders for a
moment.]

JM: He'd better.

JB: He will.

JM: If not...

JB: I know, I know...he goes Wild on me...

[fade out]

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Livestock, The Gutch, and Bubba
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[It's late at night in the V.I.P. in N.Y.C., a "high-class piece of
ass" is the motto of the night as the ladies strut back and forth on
the stages that stretch all around the room, connected by thin
bridges.  Each lady is either partially clad in evening wear
(including some in suits) or blurred so as to avoid fines from the
FCC. In the middle of all this hubbub are Livestock and the Gutch.
The new Tag Team Champions of Phoenix Valley Wrestling are living it
up.  Livestock has a lovely young lady in his lap and Gutch is in the
middle of what looks to be plate 5 or 6 at the club's all-you-can-eat
buffet.  Similarly equipped are a pair of similarly oversized men, one
asian, one black.  The black one is Warren "Big Bubba" Hayes but the
asian guy is less familiar (it's Fat Chinese Roundhouse, if you're
wondering).]

FCR: OY! Where are all the lovely mutton chops in this here septic
buffy table.

Bubba: Shut yo mouth! I toll you we's gonna get our grub on and we's
here, ain't we? Now I know you the new guy 'round these parts so why
dont you shut yo damn trap and just stuff yo fat head into that there
scrimp basket.

[The Chinese guy, dressed in a very tiny black cowboy hat, a baby
sized t-shirt that looks more like a bib that says: Lamby-poo, black
chaps and a lime green Speedo swimsuit, shoves a half rack of ribs
into his mouth... and begins to choke.]

FCR: *cough* O...y *gasp*

Bubba: I done said ta shut yo mouf!

[Bubba ignores his "friend"'s motions that he is choking and proceeds
to heap more food on his buffet plate, moving down the rows. At the
same time a large Italian man who you may know as The Gutch, is piling
on food from the other direction. The two just happen to reach for the
same warming tray of fried chicken.]

Bubba: HEY! Outta da way!

[Ludicrously, the Gutch has a pair of chocolate-covered ice cream bars
sticking out of his mouth.]

Gutch: *ji;s pm o, wsrn sm uxvwen nst*

Bubba: Aw man, where are the extra crispy chicken bits? An' the peanut
butter and chitlins? It's like the mo'fo who done did this shindig is
racist against food.

FCR: *choking noises*

Bubba: Shut yo mouf!

[Gutch finally manages to finish his ice cream bars, though much of
them is dripping from his mouth.  Looking down at his plate, Gutch
eyeballs the bits of chicken and other sundry disgusting eatables.  We
are to infer by this that Gutch has already stolen Bubba's favorite
foods.]

Gutch: Uh, heh, guess we like the same stuff, anh?

Bubba: Sure look that way to me... so that's where the pig feet gone!
Oh man, you got a gallon of hot sauce stuffed down yo' pants! What
sorta dumbass don't order more wings, chicken, and scrimps?

Gutch: I know!  Like, there's this vat over there, right, full of
melted butter.  Damned thing's almost empty.  I only had two lobsters!

Bubba: I thought that was lemonade; I was just sorta drinking it.

Gutch: Dude!  My lobsters weren't even submerged in the butter when I
was eating.  They were so DRY.  Like, it was all I could do to top off
my bowl with mayo.

Bubba: Man, you just gotta find some of that gravy and stick some beer
on'em...

[Enter Livestock wondering who the hell the almost dead chinese guy on
the floor and the giant fatass talking to Gutch are.]

Gutch: I done used all the brown gravy, and that  white crap ain't got
no meat in it.  Now beer ... I hadn't thought of that.  Ever tried
beer battered deep fried cheese?

Livestock: Gutch, I know I said to cut loose, but ... don't kill
yourself tonight.  Hell, that weirdo on the floor might be dying.  You
figure out who our new "associate" is yet?

Bubba: Hey! Don't you have no manners? Me and this guy, we talking
about im'potend stuff, like frying cheese and wrapping it in bacon and
covering it in fat then stikin' it inside a pizza all roll up and
junk!

Livestock: Okay, who are you, and why are you spitting crumbs at me?
I appreciate that you and my partner here share body fat percentages,
but this is an A to B conversation.  I'm sure you know the rest.

[At this treatment Bubba moves up in Livestock's face.]

Bubba: I know yo' kind. You hate all us that ain't yo color! You
probably be thinking I'm some sorta criminal! Jus' like a whitey like
yo'self to be trying to keep me down. I bet you want to send me away
to one of yo' camps Adolph! I ain't going out like that, no way, no
how!  I got every right to be here Mr. Blond Haired Hate Other People!

[Livestock is visibly rattled.]

Livestock: What?  I, what're you talking about?  I could see you
getting pissed 'cause I called you fat...  Who invited you here
tonight, anyway?

Bubba: Oh I get it: jus' cuz I'm black it mean I ain't allowed at yo'
fancy party. Jus' cuz I'm black I can't eat yo' fancy foods and sit
next to you on no bus. I getta Massa, I gonna get along back to tha
fields an' do may work. Don't whip me no mo'...

[Gutch begins to shake his head.]

Gutch: 'Stock, man, what're you doing?  Always running down us people
of color.  Y'know I was joking about the Hitler thing earlier, but if
this guy's sayin' it too, maybe I'm on to something.

Livestock: WHAT!?  You too, Gutch!?  I, we've known each other for 15
years!  You know I'm not racist!

Gutch: I thought I did, but it all makes sense.  You've been trying to
beat the color out of me all this time.

Livestock: You're no more colored than I am!

Bubba: Jus' like a racist to deny a brother his color. I bet you treat
this proud, dark skinned man like he got a problem. I bet you call him
fat because you know you can't call him darky. I see that in yo' eyes.
You got a problem man, a serious problem.

Livestock: No, uh, he's not _black_, he's Italian.  His bodyfat
percentage is over 40, and dammit, I'm fine with black people, I vote
Democrat for God's sake!  God dammit, who the hell are you, anyway!?

Bubba: Deny, deny, deny. Yo' old manager, that one guy, the one who
sold me them robes? He said you got a problem Cowman. I got me this
contract (holds up Livestock and Gutch's contract) and I'm here ta fix
yo racism and help get Gutch in game shape!

Livestock: Uh, I, what?  How?  YOU'RE OUR NEW MANAGER!  *BLEEP!!!*

[Livestock runs off but can be heard yelling--]

Livestock: I need a stripper, STAT!

[Meanwhile Bubba turns to his new friend Gutch...]

Bubba: Cowguy gots problems with our people Gutch. I'm Bubba, by the
way.

Gutch: I've always suspected, Bubba.  I've always suspected.
[Slow fade to black as Bubba passes a cup of melted butter to Gutch
for drinking.]

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
       Tom Landis #2
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>


[Cut to a hospital ER waiting room.  Under the dim lighting sits Tara
Marshall and her mother-in-law, watching as doctors and nurses move
about doing their jobs.]

Mrs. Landis: I knew if I went to enough of these shows, something like
this would happen and we'd wind up here at a hospital.  How the two of
you can stand to be in a business this violent is something I'll never
understand.

Tara Marshall: Look on the bright side mom, at least you got a trip to
London out of it.

Mrs. Landis: That's not funny.

[Tara pats her on the shoulder to comfort her.]

TM: I know, but Tom and I have a rule.  Unless it's something serious
enough to keep you in overnight or longer, it's okay to joke about
things. And remember, the EMTs at the O2 said Tom was lucky, the burns
are only going to be minor.

Mrs. Landis: Maybe, but I don't see how you can just let that man get
away with what he did.

TM: I'm sure Tom sees it the same way, but the way I figure it he's
already wasted too much time on Gibson Hayes.  This whole thing
started because he made a dumb joke about Tom's patriotism and then
about me. Hayes is an idiot, everyone knows that.  And personally, I
think Tom's destined for greater things anyways.  But I might be
biased.

Mrs. Landis: I said the same things all through school... and then he
quit and became a wrestler.

TM: [grinning again] I'll try not to hold that against him.  By the
way, I heard from Emily.

Mrs. Landis: Oh?  And how is my baby girl?  Nose still stuck in a
textbook?

TM: Well... not exactly.

Mrs. Landis: She knows she was welcome to come on the trip, right?
Although how things turned out, maybe it's a good thing she didn't get
the time off from the university.

[Tara hesitates again, and the look on her face tells Mrs. Landis
something is definitely up.]

Spill it, my dear.

TM: [sighing] You may not like hearing this, Liz, but your daughter
has some news.  News Tom definitely isn't going to like.

Mrs. Landis: Oh no... she's becoming a wrestler, isn't she?  I knew
this day would happen, first Brianna and now Emily-

TM: No, no it's not that! [pats her on the shoulder again] Emily isn't
dropping out to become a wrestler.  She's...

[A long pause this time.]

She's married, Liz.

[And the color drains out of the elder woman's face, as the shock
overtakes her.]

Mrs. Landis: Wha... She's married?  But she didn't tell any of us!
How could she do this all by herself?  That's not like Emily.
TM: I don't have all the details, I only spoke to her for a minute,
but apparently it was a whirlwind romance and they just got lost in
the moment.

Mrs. Landis: But that's not like Emily at all, to run off and get
married while her family is on the other side of the world.  I can see
why you wouldn't want to tell Tom right away, he's always tried to be
the protector of the family.  I need to call Emily and talk to her,
give her my congratulations.

TM: Well, it's worse, at least where your son comes in.

Mrs. Landis: Worse?  How?

TM: The only other thing she said on the phone was... that she married
a wrestler.

Mrs. Landis: Oh... no...

TM: And you know how he's tried to shield Emily from everything to do
with the business after what happened with Brianna.  This is going to
gut him.

[As the two Mrs. Landi fall into a deeper silence as they contemplate
the reaction, Tom walks out.  Wearing gauze and bandages across his
forehead and on the left side of his face, he immediately tries to
break the obvious tension.]

TL: So what have you two been talking about while I was away getting
my face reattached?

[A look of unease between the ladies, as we fade to black.]

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
       Sinister #2
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[The scene fades in to the same medical office where we last saw
Sinister being approached by a young, intelligent-looking doctor who
was intently reviewing his notes. Sinister stands and the young doctor
slows his approach despite knowing, on paper at least, how large
Sinister is.  The doctor is short by no means, approximately 6'2", but
Sinister's 6'11" frame causes the doctor to appear rather short.
Sinister and the doctor shake hands and the camera picks up the
conversation]

Sin: "Good afternoon doctor Ayanni, how are you today?"

Dr. Ayanni: "Pleasure to meet you Sinister. I'm a fan of your work,
well, aside from the damaging your body aspect of it."

[Both men chuckle slightly and Sinister nods his head slowly with a
sly grin]

Sin: "Yes doctor, I hear you, believe me.  It seems I was destined to
do this work though.  Many people wondered why I didn't play
basketball or football when I was growing up.  The best answer I can
give is I was too intrigued with martial arts practice, tournaments
plus getting into fights as a kid before all of that.  It's just one
of those things."

Dr. Ayanni: "I could see why that would be the case. That's a rather
interesting scar you have on your face."

[Sinister chuckles again and glides his right index finger along the
scar]

Sin: "This is a sort of...welcome...to the wrestling industry I
acquired some time ago when I first began in this business.  Friends
of mine, who were enemies then, decided to 'test' me, if you will, by
seeing how much damage and punishment I could take. This scar was
given to me by a couple of gentlemen I teamed up with later on to form
a group known as the 'Reign of Terror', or R.O.T. for short. They were
impressed that, only a week after putting me in a hospital and
permanently scarring my face, I came back, wrapped in enough bandages
to be a mummy, to express my feelings about what they had done. [He
takes a moment to reflect on past events as they obviously replay in
his mind as he stares off to the left briefly.  He blinks a couple of
times then continues] It's amazing how time passes by so quickly
doctor. That doesn't seem all that long ago, but I suppose it has been
some years."

Dr. Ayanni: "Well, here we are Sinister."

[He gestures with the clipboard towards an office door that reads:
"Dr. Ayanni, M.D. Sports Medicine and Physical Rehabilitation". He
opens the door for Sinister who nods his head slightly, respectfully,
then ducks his head to enter the office. Dr. Ayanni follows, shuts the
door and gestures for Sinister to sit on a large chair that sits in
front of a large desk.  Sinister sits, with a little difficulty with
his left knee wrapped, and eases into the chair.  Dr. Ayanni sits in a
chair behind the desk, places the clipboard on the desk and tilts his
chair]

Dr. Ayanni: "Well Sinister, I know you are an honest man and do not
like to waste time so here is my prognosis.  It's obvious to me that
the range of motion in your knee is limited, as the thick wrapping on
your left knee indicates. The x-rays and MRI's we took show slight
structural damage, as I'm sure you expected to hear, and you do have a
slight MCL tear. Also, in general, you have a knee sprain. Your ACL
and PCL appear to be in very good shape, which quite honestly is
miraculous, but the stretching you do and maintenance of your fitness
has undoubtedly aided you with this. [Sinister nods a few times and
inhales deeply as he rubs his chin in thought.  Dr. Ayanni continues
since Sinister has not spoken or asked questions as of yet] To state
the obvious, rest, heat and ice are important. You've done a very good
job of maintaining that regiment on your own but due to your
obligations, I don't think you're getting enough time to rest your
knee."

[Sinister steeples his fingers]

Sin: "That's for certain doctor. Not only do I have contractual
obligations to the PVW, but I also literally hate not competing. I
know I have to take it easy but right now, that's basically impossible
doctor. In fact, I have a match coming up against Mr. Perry Fontana in
just a few days."

[The doctor nods his head quickly while looking Sinister directly in
his eyes]

Dr. Ayanni: "Yes, I heard the announcement after your PPV battle
against Mr. Daniels. [Sinister looks slightly surprised, although
pleasantly] As I said, I'm a fan of your work. The damage inflicted by
Mr. Daniels using that chair certainly did not help matters.
Reluctantly, I might add, I can offer you this as a very temporary
aid.  I can administer a cortisone shot into your knee to assist with
the discomfort, but as soon as you have a week to rest, I would like
to schedule you for an arthroscopic procedure to ensure there are no
bone spurs or any unseen damage to the knee or its ligaments or
surrounding tendons."

[Sinister looks down at his hands as he rubs them together slowly in
thought. He inhales deeply, exhales loudly and looks Dr. Ayanni in the
eyes]

Sin: "All right doctor, I trust you and I know you're a man of your
word. As far as the week off, that's going to be more difficult to
pull off but I'll keep you apprised of my schedule. I have no doubt
Mr. Fontana will be looking to add more pain and discomfort to my knee
[he smiles widely] but that's fine because it's what's expected."

Dr. Ayanni: "Yes it is expected but please do your best to keep the
damage to a minimum."

Sin: "Yes sir, I shall do exactly that."

Dr. Ayanni: [spreading his hands slightly] "Well Sinister, that's
about it for now. I'll make arrangements for the cortisone injection
and you, my friend, just make sure you keep that knee in one piece
until I can examine it further."

Sin: "I'll do my best doctor.  [They shake hands and Sinister stands
slowly. He begins to turn then turns back to the doctor] Oh, before I
forget. Here." [He reaches into his right pants pocket and withdraws
two PVW tickets] For you and your son. I know the Mrs. doesn't like
wrestling."

Dr. Ayanni: [Pleasantly surprised and smiling] "That's very kind of
you Sinister, thank you. My son will definitely be thrilled to attend
the event. He loves wrestling and you're definitely one of his
favorite wrestlers."

Sin: "That's cool doctor, thanks."

Dr. Ayanni: "Please call me Elliott."

[Sinister nods his head once respectfully and shakes the doctor's hand
again]

Sin: "And please, call me DeShaun.  Take care doc...Elliott, and I'll
see you at the event."

Dr. Ayanni: "I look forward to it and hopefully my son will be able to
meet you there?"

Sin: "Most definitely. See you Elliott."

[The scene fades as Sinister turns, ducks through the office door and
closes it behind him]

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


"Animalistic fury?"

[The camera fades up on a closeup of The Spectre.  The ghoulish madman
sits on a metal folding chair, garbage strewn about the plain cement
floor of the bare, stark cinderblock room.  The madman's pale blue
eyes shine out from behind the curtain of dreadlocks as he smiles
mirthlessly and shakes his head.]

"Don't make us laugh.

We witnessed Benedict's war with Grimsson.  We saw each of the matches
where both fighters gave vent to their spleens, raging against one
another and setting out to prove that each of them was a true
monster...that their opponent couldn't hope to weather the storm that
they found themselves in."

[Spectre leans closer, his sadistic grin widening.]

"Do we look frightened, little Benedict?

Does your series of battles with the Pit Monster cause us to respect
you...does it cause us to look upon you as worthy prey...

...

...

Or do you look upon us and see the truth?

Do you look upon us and feel the surety that we look upon you as a
pretender...a fake...a sham.

Do you look into our eyes and feel our disdain for you, little
Benedict?

All of these things we mention are there...all those things and more.

We look upon you and the sport you represent as a joke.  A pretender
to the title of warrior.  A pale imitation of what fighting truly is.

We look upon you and we find you insignificant...a man of small
stature and see a heart that fits its shell.

[Spectre leans back in his folding chair and cross his arms across his
chest.]

"The sad fact is, little Benedict that you are insignificant to us.
You possess nothing we crave: you do not hold the love of the sheep
that call themselves fans.  You are not a man of high morals.  You are
not a young competitor, full of promise and beheld as a tragedy were
anything to happen to him.

Instead we are provided with a mixed martial artist, neither loved nor
hated and well established in the sport.  A man many consider
dangerous in the ring, but who holds no fascination for us or our
cause.

So instead of this being about you, little Benedict...this will be
about us.

This will be a testament to all...to show them that The Spectre always
wins...regardless of what the final tally in the record book

It will be a lesson in pain...one you won't soon forget.

Fear the dark, little Benedict."

[fade]


<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
  Mal Practice & Jack Baldwin
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[SCENE: A parking deck, somewhere at some unknown locale.

It is nighttime, and the parking deck lighting is our only source of
illumination as we are on a middle level.  So there isn't much
illumination at all.  Amidst the damp concrete of the deck and the
various parked cars lurks a shadowy mysterious figure. Well, that's
not entirely accurate, let me revise.  Amidst the damp concrete of the
deck and the various parked cars lurks a figure that might be shadowy
or mysterious were he not 6'9", 345 pounds, and wearing a bright white
lab coat.  It is Dr. Mal Practice MD, and he is presently hiding
behind a Volkswagen Beetle.  Not the old-school cool Beetle, either...
one of the new ones that look like roller skates with fenders.  His
head and shoulders can be seen over the roof of the Beetle briefly, as
he looks around cautiously... and then he slowly dips down behind the
car out of sight.  Then a few seconds later, he slowly pops back up
and looks around again.

The camera zooms in slowly as Mal is nervously scanning the area, and
then a slender hand reaches out and taps him on the shoulder.]

Violet Yang: Why are you...

[Violet Yang, one of Ohno Ow's valets, has snuck up behind Mal...
which was not the wisest course of action.  Mal spins around,
brandishing his black leather doctor's bag... the doctor's salt-and-
pepper flattopped head bears an expression that blends shock and rage
in equal measure as he swings blindly.]

Dr. Mal Practice MD: THOUGHT YOU COULD AMBUSH ME DID YOU...



[Violet's eyes bulge a bit as she darts backwards... Mal's doctor's
bag takes out the passenger-side sliding door window of a nearby
parked Toyota minivan.  Mal stops short, his jaw open as he is rather
embarrassed to have almost killed Violet.  On her part, Violet just
puts her head in her hand, bearing the expression of someone who is
just exasperated at the fact that this is the sort of thing she deals
with on a daily basis.  The Asian-American beauty, clad in a
businesslike dark blue blouse and slacks, peers over at the damage Mal
caused, and comments in her typical sardonic manner.]

VY: Ohno's not here, Mal.  You don't have to smash Japanese
automobiles to impress anyone.

DMP: Shhhh!  Get down!

[Mal grabs Violet by the collar and pulls her behind the car.  He then
sticks his head up over the hood again, and points out into the
darkness of the parking deck.]

DMP: Be very, very quiet.  This is obviously an ambush.  Only through
stealth and cunning can we...

VY: Mal.  I'm going to pretend that you're not cr... imagining things,
just for pity's sake.  You just smashed in a window while screaming a
blood-curdling scream in a fit of rage.  Stealth is pretty much gone
at this point.  Whatever possibly-not-imaginary thing is trying to get
you in a parking deck in Hartford at one AM?  It knows you're here.

DMP: It's Black Jack Baldwin, Violet.  He barely notices his own bowel
movements, let alone the movements of his enemies.

VY: So you called me out here becuase you think Jack Baldwin is hiding
in the parking deck to get you?  And I'm supposed to help how?

DMP: He's out here.  He called me and told me so.

VY: So you called me out here becuase you KNOW Jack Baldwin is hiding
in the parking deck to get you?  And I'm supposed to help how?

DMP: He's offered to pay his bill.  I need you to make sure he's not
giving me a phony check, or counterfiet money, and also because he'll
be leering at you the whole time and I can hit him in the face while
he's staring at your butt.

VY: ...

DMP: Also, I figured you probably didn't want to listen to Ohno and
Meili all ni...

VY: Okay, okay, I'm in.  Let's go.

[Mal starts military crawling across the lot to another set of cars.
Violet rolls her eyes and just walks out into the middle of the deck.]

VY: BALDWIN!  Let's get this over with!

DMP [hissed whisper]: What are you doing?!  You gave away our
position!  He could jump out of the shadows at any minute!

VY: He's standing right over there.  Under the light.  Near the PVW
camera.  He's been watching this whole time.

DMP: See?!  Obvious ambush, he even sent a camera!  We have to
retreat...

[Jack Baldwin's voice calls from off screen.]

JB: Hey Mal!  I got your million dollars!

DMP: ...

VY: With a line like that, I'm thinking you were actually right.  It
has to be a setup.  Noone would be dumb enough to pay you a million
dollars.

DMP: ...have to get the money.

[Mal gets up and starts walking towards Baldwin.  **DESCRIBE
BALDWIN**]

VY: I'm just going to stand back here and offer quiet emotional
support as he plays some cruel prank on you.  The quiet emotional
support will, for the record, be behind the laughter.

[Mal has arrived at Baldwin's location.  He's leaning on the tailgate
of a black Ford F-150 and smiling that devious smile.  Mal gets a two-
handed grip on his doctor's bag, as if he were wielding a samurai
sword.  Baldwin holds out his hands in a placating manner.]

JB: As much as I appreciate the respect, Doc, I really am here to put
an end to this.  You filed a claim, the collection agency called, so I
figured, why bother taking this to court and wasting some judge's
time?

DMP: You probably also figured the Fifth District judge in the state
of New York isn't thrilled with you as it is from that whole noodle
incident a few years ag...

JB: LOOK, THE KID TOLD ME IT WOULD WORK AND IT DID, WHY... uhm, right.
That too.  So, I decided that since my illustrious tag team partner
was the one who most wanted to go out there and cost you that match,
that he and I should collaborate on the payment.  Here you go.

[Jack reaches into his pocket, and pulls something out... Mal dives
behind a nearby car.  Shaking his head and grinning, Jack waves a
personal check in the air.  Mal scrambles to his feet, and slowly
edges towards Baldwin.  He reaches out cautiously, as if waiting to
see if it will explode or grow teeth and bite him or something.]

JB: No tricks!  Honest!

[Mal snatches the check, pulls out a magnifying glass, and inspects
it.]

DMP: ...this is one of Jason Keening's personal checks.

JB: Duh.  He makes a hell of a lot more than either one of us.  I
mean, it's not Vasquez money, but nobody in PVW makes Vasquez money.

DMP: Martinez does.  Holliday does.

JB: ...okay, the point being, he's an overpaid free agent acquisition.
And... wait, you know people's salaries?

DMP: It's amazing how much latitude that little form you have to sign
for medical clearance gives a staff physician to investigate your
records.  For example, do you know that you make half of what Tom
Landis makes?

JB: I... I... what happened to paying people what they're worth?

DMP: I wouldn't know what he's worth, but Perry Fontana advised me to
just skip watching any match he's in, so that can't be a good sign.
Did you forge this signature, or did you use the old check under the
doc...

JB: ...ument trick.  Classic.

[Mal's suspicious look flles, and he starts smiling.]

DMP: Violet, check this to make sure it's legit.

VY: I just need a minute to get my laptop running.

[Violet takes the check and heads offscreen.  Jack is suddenly rather
distracted by something about waist-level in that general direction.]

JB: ...ggg... are she and Ow still...

DMP: Yes.

JB: ...and that other happy chick with the nice rack...

DMP: Yes.

JB: That's just unfair.

DMP: Yes.

JB: By the way, you do realize you just gave a million-dollar check to
a woman, right?  And she went right to her car.

DMP: Not gonna get far without these.

[Mal holds up a set of keys, and we hear the muffled sound of cursing
in the distance.]

DMP: Just remember, Violet, you can outrun me, but you can't outrun
your car.

[More cursing.  Violet reenters, and grudgingly hands the check back
over to Mal.]

VY: This is a real check.  The signature matches Keening's signature.

[Mal turns and extends a hand towards Baldwin.]

DMP: Pleasure doing business with you.

JB: No problem.  Now you just gotta sign this paper, right here, to
get the collection agency off my tail.

DMP: Sure thing, I'll... wait a minute.  This is some kind of trick!

[Mal takes the paper, which Jack had set on the tailgate of the truck,
and inspects it for hidden carbon paper or invisible ink.  Jack just
seems amused by this.]

JB: Much as I'd love to get you to sign away your clinic to be a free
healthcare provider for local politicians... and as much as the
politicians probably deserve what they'd get... I really need that
signed.

DMP: Oh, you NEED it signed, do you?  Well, I'll sign it.  Just as
soon as you apologize for costing Ohno and myself the Unholy War and
the tag team titles!

JB: What?!  We beat you, and then you screwed us!

DMP: You cheated!

JB: HOW?  No, seriously, how?  I've been trying to figure out how to
cheat in a no-DQ match for years!

DMP: Uhh, well... watch the tape, you'll see it!  There was cheating,
chicanery, AND double-dealing involved all at once!

JB: Now that you put it that way, I feel even better about that match
than I did before.  Look, I'm here trying to clear up all the problems
between us.  This isn't easy for me.  I even asked nice.  Here's a
pen, would you just sign that thing?

DMP: All right, give me the pen.

[Jack hands Mal a wide-bodied metal pen, and slaps the paper down on
the truck bed.  Mal bends over and starts signing... but stops after a
short time.]

DMP: What the hell... the paper is falling apart where I'm signing.
Hey, this isn't a pen!  It's an intaglio tool... engravers use it to
etch metal with acid.

JB: Oh, gee, so it is.  Looks like you got as far as signing "Dr.
Mal"... man, right into the truck bed.

[Suddenly, Mal's eyes bulge wide in horror... as Jack begins to grin
like the Cheshire Cat.]

DMP: WHAT... THIS IS MARCUS MANSON'S TRUCK!

JB: Whoa!  What a horrible coincidence!  Mark loves his truck, man.
Good thing you're a doctor, you might be able to put your face back
together... hey, aren't you and Ohno working against him and Feyr at
tomorrow's house show?

DMP: ...

JB: Wow, look at the time, gotta get back inside the hotel to get some
sleep before tomorrow's show...

DMP: I'LL ETCH MY SIGNATURE INTO YOUR FACE YOU...

[Jack takes off laughing as Mal runs behind him, brandishing the
intaglio tool like a weapon.  Violet just sighs and slowly backs away
from the scene so as to not be implicated... and we fade to black.]


<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
        Mike Cox
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[The scene opens in the vacant halls of the arena. A figure sits on
the pavement, back against the wall, knees up with his forearms
resting on them as his hands hang freely. Mike Cox is decked out in a
simple black hoodie, black torn jean shorts, black knee pads and black
wrestling boots. The camera seems to sit opposite of him as we are now
at eye level. But Mike doesn't stare at the camera, with his hood up
concealing his face, all we see his stubble chin and the black, wet
strands of hair that have escaped the hoodie and hang in his face. He
clenches his taped fists as he looks at the floor.]

MC: Scotty... [short pause] We shared an epic battle only a few short
days ago. I told you I was going to save you from this business. I
told you this wasn't the life for you. I begged and pleaded for you to
just walk away [sighs] but you didn't listen to my cries. I came down
to that ring with the simple but painful plan of ending your career
that night. I was fixated on not only pinning your shoulders to the
mat Scotty, but breaking your back.

But as the match started Scotty, I started to realize something. As I
smashed you from turnbuckle to turnbuckle. As I felt your bones
weakening from the impact of my knees, fists and what have you...

You never gave up Scotty.

[Cox looks up. We still can't see his eyes due to the hoodie and
strands of hair. But we can 'feel' him looking at us.]

MC: I put you through hell Scotty, but you still came back and fought.
I questioned your heart before, but I realize now that if anybody can
make it in this business-it's you. The passion you displayed Scotty,
goes way beyond what I could have imagined. Your love for this
business, in my eyes- is now unquestioned.

So I asked to team with you Scotty... because if I cannot destroy your
love for this crude business... then I want to lead you on the right
path. I want to take you under my wing and steer you clear of the
leeches and bad decisions I have made in my short career. I want to
give to you what I have learned. Take pieces of me Scotty, the ones
you can use and blast off to the superstardom I no doubt know you are
going to achieve.

So it begins in just a few short hours Scotty. The team of Mike Cox
and Scotty Neilsen, the kid I have dubbed the 'Walking Legend', begins
their legacy. It is my honour to tag along to your greatness Scotty.
If you can carry me even to my own self satisfaction of where I think
I should be, I will always be in your debt. Sky is the limit for you
Scotty, I was wrong. Everything I said was wrong and now I want
to prove my loyalty to you.

[Mike Cox slowly rises. He pulls back his hoodie and brushes the wet
hair out of his face. He looks tired, face covered in stubble and a
new lip ring and eyebrow ring only make him look more... pitiful. He
stares off into the rafters, burying his hands in the pocket of his
sweater as he continues.]

MC: Tonight we have the chance to knock off one of the better teams in
PVW. A top notch team Scotty. A chance to prove we are the new team to
watch for. PAIN [smirks] I know all about that, so the chance to climb
into the ring with the likes of you... should be right up my alley. I
have new motivation now. I actually feel... happy. I haven't had a
pill in a week. I've cut off the booze... I feel alive and I have you
to thank Scotty. So I dedicate this upcoming win to you and your
future...

To our future Scotty...

As a tag team...

[looks down at the floor then at the camera..]

And as friends.


[FTB]



<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
  Tracy Hudson
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>


[The camera circles around Madison Square Garden, recently the home of
the second night of PVW's Shattered Dreams. The seats are all empty
now. The lighting has been shut off, save for a few dimmed fixtures.
In the aisles, we can see workers mucking about with brooms as they go
from aisle to aisle clearing off the detritus from the earlier
action.]

[The camera now zooms in on the ring, which has yet to be taken down
and moved to it's next venue. On the mat, we can see the remains of
what was an incredible night of combat. The viewer will note the
stains of blood, sweat, and other substances such as beverages thrown
from the stands. As the camera rotates around each corner of the ring,
we stop as the dim shadow of a man stands against one of the
turnbuckles. His arms are draped across the top ropes. He is leaning
back into the padded corner, his crossed legs maintaining a balance in
front of him. He is wearing a grey hoodie sweatshirt and with the hood
pulled up over his face, the viewer can only guess as to the identity
of the man.]

CHIP LESTER (Voice-over from the Spectre/Detson match): who the hell
is that!?!

MAN IN RING: *sighs* Part of me hears that over and over again in my
mind...

[We come in closer to the man as he slowly removes his hood. We can
now see the man's face. There is an inch-long scar running down from
his forehead to just below his right eyebrow. From the left side of
his nose running along to the corner of his mouth is another scar.
This particular gash gives an appearance of a perpetual smirk
on the subject's face. He brushes a stray lock of dark brown hair from
his forehead and we begin to take notice of a strange series of scars-
small circular ones spaced an inch or so apart from each other as they
circle his head.]

MAN IN RING: ...and part of me wants to say, "What? What the hell do
you mean, 'who the hell is that?' I've only been the greatest United
States Heavyweight Champion in the history of the WWO. I've only been
part of the greatest and most horrific invasion in UEW history. So how
in the FUCK DO YOU NOT KNOW WHO I AM!?"

[The man chuckles to himself and runs his hand through his shoulder-
length hair. His eyebrow is cocked as though in deep contemplation]

MAN IN RING: And then again, I remember. I remember who I was back
then. All the no-shows. The overdoses. The injuries...and I remember
that I haven't seen the inside of a ring in eight years. So of course,
nobody knows who I am, because nobody has seen hide nor hair of Tracy
Hudson since 2001.

[Well, we know who he is now. Mystery solved! Oh yeah, almost
forgot...Hudson now begins to walk a circle around the ring. The
camera follows his as he takes a methodical pace, as if he is trying
to recall the movements of a decade before.]

HUDSON: So anyway...yeah. I'm Tracy Hudson. People used to call me
"The Prodigy", but um...seriously?

I'm like...35 years old. Do 35 year old prodigies exist?

Well, now you know who I am. And I know who you are (the audince,
competition, et cetera). But now comes the big question which is...why
am I here?

[Hudson stops in his tracks and turns to face the camera. His green
eyes flash for a moment with a simmering frustrated rage.]

HUDSON: I'll tell you this- I am here for ONE reason. I joined PVW for
ONE goal. Once I get what I want out of Phoenix Valley, I'll hop back
on a plane and go home. And allow me to assure you all that from that
moment forth, you will never hear from me again. It'll be like was
never here. You can all just forget about me...

...you know. Again.

HUDSON: But, I shouldn't be angry, right? I mean, I get what I want,
yeah? I get to join PVW, I get what I want from PVW, and I get to go
back to my business and my family. So I got no right to be pissy, you
think?

[Hudson chortles out a mean spiteful laugh. Whether he is laughing at
the audience, his immediate bosses, his own situation, or his
competition...I don't know.]

HUDSON: Come on. Do you really think it's that easy? No...it isn't at
all. In the end, this is a business. This is an industry. You should
all know that wrestling is as much about the money as it is about the
blood, sweat, and tears.

And a guy like me; a guy with history and a somewhat solid resume and
skill comes in to do one thing and then go back home. Do you really
think a company like PVW is going to give me what I want straight
away?

[Hudson begins loking at an imaginary wristwatch, as though waiting
for somebody in the audience to give him an answer. He then looks back
to the camera and gives a knowing wink; a subtle, "Yeah...right" to
those paying attention.]

HUDSON: You got it- of course they're not. I'm a cash cow for them
now, just like every other WWO or UEW retread coming here to pretend
it's 2000 all over again. I'll make money in PPV video sales,
advertisers will buy into the television product more than before, t-
shirt sales will spike ahead just a touch higher. And in the
meantime, I'll be told by Johnstone, Keening, Willingham...

Hell, I take so many orders from so many folks here...I feel like I
became a waiter.

Anyway, point is: while PVW's profits climb higher by my being here,
the people I work for are going to need me out here, in rings like
this one. And they'll need me to fight anyone they want. And they'll
need me to fight anytime and any place they want.

So, Johnny Detson...I'm sorry. I apologize for getting involved in
your match. But there you have it: I had to do it.

Because if I don't do what they want, I'll never get what I want.

And I will do ANYTHING to get this thing I want.

Just this one thing...

[Screens fades to black as Hudson climbs between the ropes to leave
the ring.]

CL: Zero Tolerance is suppose to be in place for nearly everybody and
fans alike.

[The unknown man scrapes Detson off the floor and just for a flash
Detson catches a glimpse of the figure and the look across his face is
surprised yet he obviously knows the man, but is completely flattened
by him with a short-arm lariat before being swarmed by security.]

FH: I don't know who that is but security is getting him out of here.
I wonder if he was sent by Hayes or Johnstone??

CL: Whoever that was I think he bought Detson a stay of execution.
Spectre hit the ringpost hard!

FH: Head first!!

[The crowd is hot as both me struggle to their feet. Covered in blood,
the two men eye each other wearily.  The camera catches the man
looking back as Security haul him off.]

FH: Wait I know that man...  And no doubt Johnny Detson knows him.
That's The Prodigy ...  That's Tracy Hudson!  Is he here to work for
Todd Johnstone?

[The Spectre is the first to take a step but Detson surprises everyone
by catching the Spectre out of nowhere with the Johnny Kick!]


[HUGE POP!]


CL: DETSON JUST FLATTENED THE SPECTRE WITH THE JOHNNY KICK OUT OF
NOWHERE! WHERE IS HE FINDING THE ENERGY!

FH: But why did he attack Spectre too?   One last desperation move! He
rolls the Spectre into the ring, then tosses a chair in for good
measure. I have a feeling we may be close to the end!

CL: I am as confused as you are.  Thankfully Jason Keening had
security on stand by for this match and they were down here fast
enough to stop Tracy Hudson before any _serious_ damage could be done.
However it has opened up a series of questions as to why is he here?
What is the connection with him and Johnstone?  What is the connection
with him and Detson?  And finally is he even WITH PVW?