Burning Effect - September 19th 2009
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## Phoenix Valley Wrestling ##
## Burning Effect ##
## 09.19.09 ##
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Presenting....
-> Prophets of Rage
-> The Spectre
-> Rob Cole
-> Jokers Wild
-> Made Men
-> Rick Marley
-> Dr. X
-> Perry Fontana #1
-> Scott Nielsen
-> Hand of God
-> Wild Cards
-> Masked Maniac
-> Johnny Detson
-> Caleb Foley
-> Will Geddings
-> Larry Gionet
-> Herscher von Donkerhardt
-> William Craven
-> Perry Fontana #2
-> Tommy Ryder
-> Tom Landis
-> Justin Cruise & el Outlaw LOCO
-> Alex Martinez
-> Marcus Manson
-> Doc Holliday
-> The Mercenary
-> Justin Cruise
-> Dark Soul
-> Xavier Feyr
-> PAIN
-> Gibson Hayes
-> Livestock and The Gutch
-> Danny Daniels
-> Centurion Morgan
-> Sinister
-> Mike Cox
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Prophets of Rage
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[Fade in:
We open on the PVW backdrop. Swingin' Dean Hayes stands in front of
the camera, microphone ready. The radio/wrestling announcer looks
excited as he begins to speak.]
SDH: Ladies and gentlemen, we are days away from the biggest
extravaganza in the history of PVW. For two nights in two countries
PVW superstars will vie for the win on the biggest stage of them all.
Larry Gionet goes up against Marcus Manson in a battle to decide who
is the toughest man in the business. Chad Grimsson and Ronan Benedict
face off in a last man standing match. Xavier Feyr and Doc Holliday
meet to settle their differences in a grudge match. And in one of our
featured matches eight of our premier tag-teams meet in an Unholy War
to decide who will be the next PVW Tag Team champion of the World. My
guests at this time may be one of the favourites to take the titles.
They need no introductions.
[As proof, Hayes is already looking stage left.]
SDH: They are the Prophets of Rage!
[Normally it is Shadoe Rage who makes his entrance first. This time
Shadoe and Derek come in from stage left and stage right respectively.
They are dressed in their ring gear. Shadoe wears one of his
flamboyant capes. This one is crimson and gold with a heavy feathered
collar. Oddly, he is carrying an aluminum trash can. He stares Hayes
down and then flicks his tongue at the camera as he waits for Hayes'
inevitable question.]
SDH: May I ask what's in the trash can?
SR: May you ask what's in the trash can. May you ask what's in the
trash can? I'll tell you what's in the trash can. In here is every
idea the PVW braintrust has ever had!
[Rage slams the can with his fist. It clangs and dents beneath the
impact of his blow.]
SR: Let me show you the PVW booking committee's decision making
method.
[With a sudden pivot and heave, Rage throws the contents of the bin
against the PVW backdrop. Dirt, dust, some wrappers and pieces of
wood clatter against the backdrop before dropping to the ground.
Hayes coughs and chokes as he breathes in the detritus.]
SDH: What was that for?
SR: That's how the PVW books its matches. They throw garbage at the
wall and see what sticks.
[Rage admires his handiwork as he stares at the sullied PVW banner.]
SR: Zero Tolerance. Garbage. Signing Urban Legend. Garbage. Unholy
War. Garbage. The rest of the tag teams in Phoenix Valley Wrestling.
Hot stinkin' garbage!
[Derek Rage clamps his meaty hand down on Hayes' shoulder. As usual
the reporter winces under the strength of the young giant's grip.]
DR: What my brother is saying is there is only one thing that makes
sense. Put the Prophets of Rage against Urban Legend in a simple
match to see who's better. But they won't do that because they know
who the better team is already. Phoenix Valley Wrestling signed us
with the idea that we would be the bar in tag-team wrestling. Well,
we are. But what they didn't realise is that not only are we the bar,
but we're so high up ... [He raises his free hand high overhead,
forcing Hayes to crane his neck to look so high] ... that nobody can
get to our level. So what do they do? Instead of going out and
finding better teams or simply acknowledging that the Prophets of Rage
are the rightful champions they go and create a ridiculous law and
ridiculous stipulation matches that allow lesser teams to steal the
tag-team titles from us. They have accepted mediocrity. Comparatively
speaking the rest of PVW is nothing but garbage compared to us. They
do not have our continuity, our power, our agility and our warrior
spirit. So, this is a lopsided contest only made fair by sheer
numbers.
SR: Basically, PVW is doing whatever they can to mess with the natural
order of things. This is why it is an unholy war. They are trying to
block the Prophets of Rage's divine and natural right to be the
champion. Urban Legend cannot hold those belts with the Prophets of
Rage stepping through the ropes. They can't keep those titles from us
so the PVW is backing them one thousand percent and throwing everybody
in our path, Hayes. Because nobody, but nobody is hotter than the
Prophets of Rage right now.
SDH: Well Urban Legend are still the champions.
SR: (whistling) Wow, you really just don't get it, do you? They can't
hold those belts with the Prophets of Rage coming through the ropes.
No, we're too tough for them all. That's why the PVW keeps coming up
with garbage ideas to pervert the natural order of things. They don't
want the Kings of Rage Country to dominate the entire world. So
they're piling on the bodies and they don't even realise that in one
night the Kings of Rage Country will subjugate them all ... yeah.
It's going to be the definition of dominance because we can't be
compared to the garbage that is out there. Unholy War ... that's
right, they're trying to pervert the natural order of things.
DR: But in the end the natural order will be upheld. The time is
getting near for the tag-team match of the century. We, the Kings of
Rage Country, declare that we will be shattering the dreams of every
man, woman and child who believes that we will not be the World Tag
Team champions.
SR: (considering the garbage can in his hands) We are the number one
wrestlers in the sport today. Don't forget that. The rest of them
are just garbage.
[To emphasise his point he tips the aluminum trash can over the
startled Hayes' head and slaps it for good measure.]
SR: From the school of the truth, at Shattered Dreams, the dreams of
every tag-team in PVW will die in darkness!
DR: (smiling) Fade to black.
[The brothers exit stage left and stage right, leaving the trapped and
trash-lidded Swingin' Dean Hayes stuck like an idiot in the middle of
the shot.
Fade out]
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
The Spectre
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[The scene opens on a foggy London street. The distinctive London
cabs zip in and out of traffic while the large red double decker buses
move serenely through the river of automobiles like nobility wading
through the horde of commoners. A light rain drifts down from the
sky, the tiny droplets showing up only on a close inspection of the
halo of light surrounding each electric street light casting its glow
out into the thick atmosphere.
The pedestrian crowds on the sidewalk move with their heads down,
their hands shoved deep within the pockets of their fall-weight
raincoats, or clutching fruitlessly to the handle of an umbrella that
can't hope to keep them dry as they wade through the misty dusk,
seeking the shelter of their homes.
The camera pans left, peering down an alley as one large shadow
detaches from the surroundings. Stalking out of the deeper darkness
and into the dreamy twilight, The Spectre arrives like a creature out
of nightmares. His dreadlocked black hair falls in front of his pale
face, partially obscuring his pale blue eyes as they move smoothly
from one person to the next, like a predator seeking out its next
meal.]
"Look upon them...look upon them and weep, little Detson. These sheep
are those who you play to: the common working man...the silent
majority...the everyman of myth and legend. Gaze upon their herdlike
tendencies in wonder and awe, and glimpse, if for just a moment what
might have been for you."
[Spectre pauses and a mother drags her child past him, quickening her
pace as the goth madman smiles sadistically at the small boy, which
seems to encourage him to quicken his pace as well.]
"You claim to hate all things that Friend Johnstone stands for...you
espouse that these...people mean something to you, going so far as to
support this ludicrous claim with your actions.
And it is these actions, little Detson which will preclude your
ability to lead a full and normal life.
You see, we care not a whit for your past conflicts with Friend
Johnstone...it matters not at all to us that you had previous bad
blood with a man who shares the same surname as our erstwhile American
Champion.
You stepped between The Beast and its prey, Detson...you robbed us of
our feast, and left our rage unsated. Little Landis was to lie,
convalescing in a hospital bed...we were prepared to make it happen,
but you decided that you wearied of life...instead moving to end what
time you have on this earth in terror and agony...or maybe, just maybe
manage to perform a miracle...to recapture the magic that was Johnny
Detson once upon a time, and so many moons ago.
Is that how you envision things, Little Detson? That the fans will
cheer themselves hoarse as you make your way to the ring, here in the
land that spawned so many faerie tales? That you will step between
the ropes into that ring and do battle with a hobgoblin straight out
of a child's nightmare, driving back the dark in your shining white
armor and saving all the world from the depravity that is The Spectre?
How terribly noble of you.
But sadly, as you can see, this is no faerie tale world. There is no
magic sword that will stop the horrors that live in the darkness, and
the heroes rarely win...and they never prevail.
Little Detson, you have entered OUR world...and your screams will
haunt the dreams of children for years to come. You only THINK you've
encountered monsters before...they are as nothing to us. In the last
seven years, we have tasted defeat only once. We thrive on pain. We
feed upon suffering...your screams are like our meat, and your pain
our drink.
Little Detson, we promise you this: you will suffer like you have
never suffered before...and you will learn to Fear the Dark."
[The scene fades on Spectre turning and stalking away from the camera,
vanishing into the mist.]
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Rob Cole
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[Rob Cole sits in a chair in the center of an empty arena. Madison
Square Garden is nearly ready for Shattered Dreams, the banners all
put up and the folding chairs circling the empty space where the ring
is set to go up. He's dressed in jeans and a tee-shirt, his leather
jacket unzipped and his longish hair hanging in loose ringlets about
his features. The World Title is cradled in both hands, resting on
his knees.]
RC: The most pathetic thing in the world is to look into your own
eyes, to look into your own reflection, to see yourself without
compromise and be sickened. I feel my guts twist up and I feel myself
burn with shame and humiliation, I examine the scars and the memories
and I'm devastated by what I find. I tear myself apart, into a
thousand little pieces and jagged shards. My head isn't in the game
and I get distracted, start jumping at shadows, start looking beneath
rocks and under blankets. I don't even know what I'm looking for or
what I'm expecting to find. I want to hide the ugliness. I try to
confuse myself, to keep myself from seeing what I've become, and I
become a pathetic joke in a business that shows no pity. I'm
the punch line. Why did the chicken cross the road? He does it to
face his guilt and his better wishes, better hopes, better dreams.
Two men walk into a bar, but there's really only one bartender and
he's laughing at the whole pathetic mess. laughing because if he
doesn't smile, doesn't smile and bear it, he won't be able to bear it
and he'll crumble down into nothing. NOTHING!!!
I don't know who I am anymore. so I don't know what I'm supposed to do
when I step in the ring with Justin Cruise, whether I'm supposed to
stab him, hug him, beat him, or let him drag me from pillar to post in
some sort of penance for all the wrong that I've done. I'm supposed
to be the World Champion, but I don't feel so great at this point. and
I don't feel like much of a monster anymore, either. I want to be
something better, but I'm not. The truth is that I don't know how to
be, and I think there's way too much water under the bridge for me to
change at this point. so I'm stuck with who I am and I hate it. Just
like Brian said, but only so much worse and so much more pathetic. But
there's something worse than that, Justin. there's something worse
than just hating yourself, there's also being stuck with yourself,
there's hearing nothing but your own screams and you own pain and
your own recriminations. You hear it before you go to sleep, wake
up to the same accusing eyes in the mirror, and you force yourself to
wash away the tears and wash the taste out of your mouth with
Listerine and just hope. hope. hope.
[Cole sneers in disgust, staring down at his reflection in the title
for a moment. Shaking his head, the Champion continues.]
RC: Now I know the truth. you didn't take advantage of me, you didn't
steal my thunder, and you sure as hell haven't been running around in
a mask. You haven't been playing mind games with me, kiddo. I've been
playing them with myself, humiliating myself, prostrating myself in
shame and in horror for who I am and what I have done. It isn't you,
Justin. you're innocent, you're the better man, and you have taken the
high road in this whole title business. So while I've been clawing my
eyes out, you've been watching from a distance. while I've been
spilling my guts on the floor, you've been waiting for your chance.
And that maybe seems like a good thing to you. maybe it is, maybe it
isn't. Because there's a problem with stepping back, Justin. there's
a problem with letting the monster see himself in the mirror, letting
him rip himself apart, letting him drive himself mad with hunger and
fury. there's a risk that maybe you didn't take into account when
you saw me rip the mask off my face!
[Cole turns his gaze to the camera. bloodshot eyes stare with hunger
and with hatred. He licks his lips as he rises to his feet, the title
hanging loose in one hand as both arms fall to his sides. He breathes
in deep through the nose, lips peeling back from his teeth with a sick
smile as he turns his head a little.]
RC: The only thing you want is a title. None of this is personal,
none of this is meaningful, and what's going to make you stand up when
I keep hitting you? WHAT?!?!!! I can't just let you walk away with
my belt. I've sacrificed too much, I've bled too much, and I've given
too much for this business. I've spent way too many nights on the
phone with my son, listening to him tell me how much he loves and
misses me. I've spent way too many nights alone, listening to my wife
from half a country away. They've been forced to step aside while I've
dealt with Phoenix Valley. and they shouldn't ever have to step aside
for anything. I've been spit on, I've been dismissed, and I've
spilled blood and guzzled tears for this sport and for this belt..
WHAT WILL KEEP YOU STANDING?!?!!! I have been a hero and a villain
but I have never fallen down. I have never lain down. I get up time
and time and time again! No matter how badly I've been beaten by
Wallace, by Retro, by Shakur, by Takada, or Spectre. no matter how
many times I go down, I get up again! Maybe I hate a little more than
you do. maybe I want it more, maybe I need it more, but the truth is I
have never seen you want it enough.
You're good enough. You're strong enough. You're talented enough.
You can say and do all the right things, but I've never felt that
strong desire from you. never actually felt like you wanted to be at
the top of the mountain, that you were always satisfied being a
runner-up, and in the past few months I thought maybe something
changed. I thought you were ready to take this belt from me, to take
my pride, to overcome the obstacles and stand up DESPITE the pain,
DESPITE the horror, DESPITE the anguish! And then I found out that it
wasn't you. it was me. Like all those years ago, it was still me
who was standing up to fight the big bad monster. even when the big
bad monster was me. All along, all those weeks, all those beatings
and all those comments about "who is Rob Cole" and it was me. It was
/my/ hate, MY fear, MY pain, MY hunger. and the deeper it cut, the
deeper I felt those wounds start to burn, the more credit I gave you
and the more I started to actually be afraid that you were a brand new
Justin Cruise. I thought you were bringing a new desire for this
belt. I thought you were ready to be the hero you billed yourself as.
I thought you were finally going to stand on your own two feet, that
someone else wasn't going to have to fight your battle, that you were
going to stick it out and be a freaking MAN! But I was wrong and
it's sick. SICK!!!! It was me, and now I'm wrestling myself in that
match and you? What are you . WHO are you? Week after week I've been
asking the question of myself, wrapped in a stupid little mask and
lying to my own eyes. but I should've been asking you.
[Cole steps forward, looking deep into the camera.]
RC: Who is Justin Cruise? Are you the future World champion or a
statistical road bump in my reign as Phoenix Valley Champion? You
can't just ignore the question, kiddo. and you can't really answer it
until Shattered Dreams is over and done with. From Detroit to this
moment, you have been a semi-hero. the guy everyone cheers for, the
guy who did the right thing, the guy who took a stand against monsters
and giants and villains and you have failed. Over and over again,
kiddo. you failed and you stepped aside for someone stronger.
[Cole points at himself.]
RC: You stepped aside for someone hungrier.
[Points at himself again.]
RC: You stopped fighting and you let other people win the battle.
[Points to himself a last time.]
RC: I'm sick of fighting your battles, I'm sick of being your hunger,
and I'm sick of standing when you simply can't. You want to get out
from under my shadow, Cruise? Don't act like you haven't been there
for ten years, don't pretend like you've been happy with my scraps,
because I have feasted on Glory that could have been yours, dined on
blood you were unwilling to spill, and I have sipped from a gold
chalice you've only ever dreamed of holding. You want it? Come and
get it. This is the Phoenix Valley Championship. we are a long way
from Detroit, we are a long story past the Underground, past the
Yakuza, and this is about you and me. There are way too many
unanswered questions to just leave this as a random moment, a
random match, or a quick little statistic that scratches another notch
in my belt! The past few months. what have you done? Earned a few
bruises, said a few quick catch phrases, and what else? WHAT
ELSE?!?!!!
[Cole lifts the title, draping it over one shoulder. He continues to
stare into the camera.]
RC: Everybody wants to be the Champion. They dream about it from the
moment they lace their boots to the moment they step aside for the
next generation. They wrestle in wars, battle friends and enemies, and
they walk down that aisle and they hope they're good enough, strong
enough, tough enough, and brutal enough to wear the gold around their
waist. This is our dream, Justin. it's a dream we share, even though
we're nothing alike. One of us will have to live with the shattered
reality. one of us will be the World Champion. The other will not.
And that's the end of our little drama.
[Fade to black.]
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Jokers Wild
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
[Fade in on both members of Jokers Wild. They are both wearing black
T-shirts, jeans and leather jackets. Harley Quinn O'Connor is also
wearing a pair of sunglasses and does not have any face paint on. He
is leaning against the cab of a black pick-up truck, while "El Savaje"
Joseph Rizal Estrada is perched on the side of the bed of the truck.
Judging by what we can see in the background, they seem to be in
open-air parking lot with very few cars around. Estrada stares quietly
into the camera. His partner, on the other hand, is not directly
facing the camera and with the sunglasses on, we cannot tell where he
is looking as he begins to speak . . .]
HQ: Shattered Dreams . . . Unholy War . . . Eight of Phoenix Valley
Wrestling's finest tag teams . . . Where do I even begin? We have been
in the ring with many of these men in various circumstances. Some
teams we've never had a straight-up match against; PVW has not seen
Jokers Wild versus the Wild Cards, for example, or Jokers Wild versus
PAIN.
ES: And, then, there's a team like the Made Men, whom we've gone
two-on-two against . . . Brought the fight to them so hard, they had
to have members of the University of Denver Pioneers ice hockey team
jump us, and it took the help of Rick Marley and a baseball bat for
them to beat us . . .
HQ: [Turning to face the camera as if he were addressing the Made Men
themselves.] That's right. Don't think we've forgotten.
ES: Last week on Damage Control, we saw the Made Men defeat Canadian
Legacy in a warm-up match, but, come on, WE'VE beaten Canadian Legacy.
I made Marc Denis tap out to the Savaje Stretch. And it wasn't just
that ONE TIME. But where does that get us? In the same [BLEEP] match
as Canadian Legacy. [Addressing his partner.] Why does a team we have
proven ourselves superior to get the same opportunity at the title as
we do?
[Both men look at each other for a moment and shrug. O'Connor turns
his attention back to the camera, removing his sunglasses as he
speaks.]
HQ: Which brings me to the champions . . . The first team we faced in
PVW was Urban Legend. Going into Shattered Dreams, they have the gold
and we . . . Just one of seven teams hoping to rip those belts right
out of their hands. That night at Tradition II, you hit Estrada with
MY move.
ES: At Tradition III, we had a one-in-four chance of taking the titles
away, but, I admit, we weren't at our best. Sure, Livestock ate a Last
Laugh, but I fell to Derek Rage's Hand of God. In July, in the six-man
tag match on Damage Control, I took a Reflex Check, courtesy of Dr.
Mal Practice. I'm sure some of you out there don't like our chances
against either of those teams.
[He gets up and clambers down the other side of the truck as Harley
Quinn continues.]
HQ: But on Heatwave [Breaks into a slight smile.] . . . On Heatwave,
Semi FELT the Last Laugh AND the Harlequin Cutter, and I would have
put him away had it not been for Shadoe Rage. That's fine by us,
because at Madison Square Gardens, we won't have to break up a pinfall
should, say, Marc Denis find himself on the receiving end of the
Dirge, or Nick Wright gets hung out by a Hangman's Gambit.
ES: [Coming round the back of the truck and joining his partner's
side.] See, whatever fancy name you want to call it, you can break it
down simply to an eight-team elimination tag match. You don't even
have to pin the champions to win the match . . . Hell, you don't even
have to win a single fall but one . . . The last one against whichever
team is left after everyone else has been eliminated.
HQ: So, what we have to do is be one of the last two teams remaining
in the match . . . Easier said than done. Naturally, the later we
enter Unholy War, the better our chances . . .
ES: And the way everyone else seems to overlook us, I can see more
than a few surprised faces when they find Jokers Wild . . . Standing
tall, after the dust of war has settled . . . Because if there's one
thing either one of us are good at, it's staying alive and in the
chase. We'll see you in New York.
[Fade to black as O'Connor turns around and opens the driver-side
door, while "El Savaje" walks back to the passenger side.]
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Made Men
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
9/14/2009
The screen shows a picture of a telephone on a black background.
After a few moments, the sound of a phone ringing is heard. With a
*kathuk* the ringing stops, as someone answers on the other end.
The right side of the screen shows a photo of Nick "Always" Wright,
one half of the Widowmaker tag team force the Made Men. The photo is
of Nick looking goofy and giving a thumbs-up to the camera.
----------
Heyo, Nick here!
----------
The left half of the screen shows a photo of Nick's partner,
"Pokerface" Mark Masterson. The photo is of Masterson looking stern
at someone to the side of the photo's frame.
----------
Nick, Mark. We need to talk.
What about?
Well, for starters, where the hell are
you? We've got two weeks until the
Unholy War, where we've got to prepare
for SEVEN other teams, and you're
nowhere to be found!
Relax, relax... I had to go
home. There were some things I
needed to get out of my head
so I could focus. I
know how you dig focus.
I do, but you also know how I "dig"
being kept in the loop for **** like
this.
I'm only in New Jersey, Mark.
I think I can find my way to
New York from there inside of
two weeks.
Two weeks, hell. I don't know what
you're up to, Nick, but you need to be
back here sooner rather than later.
There's too much at stake.
I know, I know... and that's
why I'm back home.
What are you doing back there?
Frankly, Mark, I'm scared. I
know I shouldn't be, and I
know when the time comes, I'll
be well past it, but the last
PPV took so much out of me --
of us -- that before this one,
I felt the need to touch base
with my humanity a bit before
the big night. So I'm home,
visiting with Mom and Dad for
a night or two.
Great. You pick NOW to be normal. Do
you think that the Wild Cards are home
with Mom and Dad right now? Urban
Legend? Do you think any of them
are --
Look Mark, I don't care.
Well, I do, but I can't right
now. They may not be home
with their families; they
might be watching tapes and
saying prayers and eating
their vitamins, but I know
that *I* needed this time to
decompress. We live on the
edge, Mark, and sometimes you
need to recenter. Well, I do,
anyway.
----------
There is no speech for several moments. Only the faint distortion of
an empty phone line is audible. The photos on the screen remain as
still as they were at the outset. Finally, a sigh breaks the silence.
----------
(exhales)
OK. I get it. When are you coming up
to New York?
I was thinking three days.
Three... can you make it two? There's
too much at stake here, Nicky...
... OK. Two days.
OK.
Hey Mark?
Yeah, Nick?
Thanks.
Yeah, don't mention it.
----------
The sound of a phone hanging up is heard, and the serious photo of
Masterson disappears. A few moments afterward, the same sound happens
again, and the smiling face of Nick Wright vanishes as well. A few
beats later, the phone fades as well, and all we're left with is
black.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Rick Marley
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
[The scene opens on a long panning shot of a mostly empty arena.
No chairs.
No announcers' table.
No concession stands.
No production booth.
In the center of the bowl shaped concrete sits the one feature...a
wrestling ring, surrounded by a classic steel cage. The unyielding
metal coldly reflects the overhead lights, almost sparkling...in the
center of the structure "Showtime" Rick Marley stands, turning slowly
around and taking in the atmosphere. Marley is wearing
The camera comes to a halt outside of the cage, looking up at the
leader of Widowmakers Inc. as he reaches down into the black duffel
bag resting on the apron next to him and pulls out a head of cabbage.
Wordlessly he takes two steps towards the steel links and presses the
produce up against in, dragging it along the cage surface...and
shredding it in the process. All too soon, he's left with tattered
remnants where the cabbage had started.]
"Not quite what you wanted to see, was it?" he asks, looking silently
into the camera for a moment before leaning forward and griping the
cage with both hands and leaning forward as he looks into the camera.
"I know what it is that you people want to see...and it's not the
green stuff coming through the cage in tatters, it's me. Big mean
Rick Marley...all five foot eleven and two hundred and fifteen pounds
of him has been mercilessly picking on poor little William Craven and
his broken head for the past two years. How could a guy that only
stands six feet, five inches tall and weighs three hundred and twenty
pounds hope to defend himself against a monster like Marley? He's got
the Widomakers...they could use a home made mustard gas on him at any
minute...
...
Or wait...that was Bill that pulled that trick. Silly me.
Don't get me wrong, I've given up ever being loved by you
people...given up ever having even one of you understand what it's
like to walk in my shoes. Instead I've got a different idea in mind:
You will never love me, but you WILL respect me.
Each and ever person that watches PVW on television, along with
everyone that sits in attendance at one of our events will know, deep
down in their hearts that when it's all said and done, I'm the best
thing they've ever seen in that ring.
Me.
Too small, not strong enough, too generic, can't get over the hump...
Rick Marley.
For the past two years of my life I've been done one thing and one
thing only: I've made William Craven's life a living hell. I revealed
him as Major Damage, taking away his once chance at redemption and a
fresh start...I've beaten down and alienated anyone that could have
been a friend to him...hell, I put little Tucson Kid on the shelf for
good over it.
Why?
Because I can. Because Craven doesn't DESERVE a second chance...not
after what he's done....not after what he's done to me. *I* don't get
a second chance. I'll be damned if I sit back and let him have one.
That's the one thing that I learned early on about pro wrestling:
There can never be a happy ending."
[Marley glares for a moment, shaking his head and taking a deep
breath.]
"So it comes down to this...he finally gets his match with me...and in
a cage, without any of the Widowmakers in the same time zone as
me...and again, everyone starts telling me that I don't have a chance.
He's too big. He's too strong. He's everything you're not,
Rick...you're scared of him..."
[He pauses once again, looking away, quietly adding.]
"He nearly crippled you once already."
[Taking a deeper breath, Marley stands up straight.]
"Not one man currently in PVW has beaten me one on one...and the only
guy that managed the trick did it on a fluke, so what makes anyone
think that this match isn't gonna end the same way.
I haven't held one championship since this organization first
started...have never been given a title shot...hell, in most of the
rankings, I'm rarely in the top 3...
And none of it means a thing, and everyone here knows it.
I *am* PVW. End of story.
And come Shattered Dreams, William Craven will know it.
And you can take that to the bank."
[fade]
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Dr. X
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
[We see a solitary car pull into an all night gas station. A masked
man emerges from the driver's side
and starts to fill his tank]
Dr. X: Twenty-seven years in wrestling, and I've been to a lot of
places.Every state in the union, Japan,
New Zealand, Australia, all over Europe, hell I got scammed by
government promoters in South America
AND Africa.
[He stops the gas pump]
Dr. X: But in twenty-seven years there is one place....one
place....that I have yet to wrestle. Madison Square Garden. The Mecca.
The World's Most Famous Arena. Bruno, Backlund, Supersar, Rocca,
Pedro, all of them and more. But not me. In all honesty I didn't think
I'd ever be able to place a check mark by that one on the list I made
when I first started, and knowing that I might get the chance to
was one of the reasons I came to PVW to begin with. I was really,
really looking forward to that first time I could walk down the short
aisle at MSG and enter the ring like all the legends of the past have
done. And who will I be wrestling when I make my long-overdue debut at
MSG?
[The wrestling veterinarian slams his hand against the trunk of his
car]
Dr. X: Some Goddamn limp-wristed emo-wannabe punk little kid who
hasn't earned the right to even lace up my boots. Little Caleb Foley.
[He spits on the ground]
Dr. X: Little Caleb Foley who doesn't have as much ring time as I have
shower time! The little kid who took his ball and went home when his
dad died. Yeah someone may have slipped on a banana peel one time and
Little Caleb was able to go home with a title belt, but that doesn't
mean a damn thing to me. If he wants to compare championships, my list
will stretch around the block two or three times.
[Even though he's masked you can see the look of disgust on his face]
Dr. X: Little Caleb Foley. He's not a wrestler. A wrestler doesn't
need damn freakin pyro out the ass. A wrestler doesn't need some
outrageous exorbiant song or ring entrance to get the crowd on its
feet. When I came to this company the production people came up to me
and asked what music I used for my entrance, what kind of lights did I
use and all that other kind of USELESS CRAP.
[He slowly places the gas cap back on his car]
Dr. X: You know what I told them? I told them I didn't need any of
that, and that I didn't want any of that. I told them that I had the
skill and ability to rile up a crowd just by walking to the ring
silently. But you Little Caleb?
[He chuckles]
Dr. X: You need all that, don't you boy? You need all the flash, all
the pomp, all the smoke and mirrors and laser light shows. You need it
to hide the fact that you don't have it. You're just a little wanna-
be. Someone who thinks that just because he has a pair of boots and a
pair of trunks that makes him a wrestler. You know where I was when I
learned my father died Little Caleb?
[Dr. X folds his arms over his chest]
Dr. X: I was in a run down arena in Alabama when Bullet Bob Armstrong
told me there was an emergency call for me and to go and see the
promoter. Five minutes later I heard the news and you know what that
promoter told me? He said "That's a shame kid, now your match with
Idol is up next so you better go get your boots on" I didn't go home
crying like you did, I wrestled that night. And the next night, and
the night after that before I could get home on an off day. Because I
knew that's what he wanted me to do. He would have wanted me to have
BEEN A MAN and put food on my the table for my kids and put clothes on
their backs.
[He smirks]
Dr. X: Little Caleb, I want you to listen very closely and to listen
well. If my 22 year old son started acting like you I'd take him out
back to the woodshed.
[He slowly removes his belt]
Dr. X: See I know your old man isn't around anymore son, but I'm there
for my children. And if he came up to me all whiney and pouty like
you've been known to be - well once we got out to my shed I'd simply
tell him that this was for the best son.
[He smacks his own thigh with the leather belt]
Dr. X: That you have to learn discipline.
[He smacks his thigh again]
Dr. X: You have to learn how to BE A MAN.
[He does so a third time]
Dr. X: And Little Caleb - you're not a man. You're a punk kid. You
have no business being in the ring with someone like me. None at all.
Come the Garden?
[Dr. X slowly folds the leather belt around his fist]
Dr. X: Come Madison Square Garden LIttle Caleb - that ring will be my
woodshed. And so help me, you'll start to learn what its like...to BE.
A. MAN.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Perry Fontana #1
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
[Fade in to a truly dark and dingy place. Making out anything beyond
some vague, dark shapes, looming shadows and the odd, eerie luster is
quite a challenge until the eyes get adjusted to the oppressing
darkness. Out of the shadows emerges a Virgin of Nuremberg, displayed
between a woman trapped in a Scavenger's Daughter, and an unfortunate
soul eternally frozen in agony on his Chair of Torture. The victims,
of course, are mannequins, but for a while, there, they certainly
looked
real.
This is when the camera pans to reveal the nervous shape of "Swinging"
Dean Hayes contemplatively looking at the large Pear of Anguish in his
hand, then looking towards another exhibit; a modern family of four
chained in front of their telly, forced to watch looped Joshua Curtis
promos. It seems Dean can't decide which torture is most inhumane. He
puts the Pear aside and abandons this internal debate to address the
PVW viewers.]
SDH: We're here in the London Dungeon, famed tourist attraction, who
is set unveil a new, temporary exhibit in honor of PVW's visit to the
United Kingdom.
[Hayes crossed a cage panel on which William Craven and Rick Marley
pictures hang, and walks beside a replica of the Masked Outlaw's mask,
surrounded by photos of the most recent Heatwave's closing moments.]
SDH: The exhibit features some past and present elements. Some are
shocking.
[He looks at a photo of Rob Cole's tormented face, having just been
unmasked.]
SDH: Some were best left forever forgotten.
[He gives a quick, frightened look towards the Curtis life-sized
diorama and shudders.]
SDH: Others are... a little more puzzling.
[Hayes comes to a halt next to a lone ladder. Then, the gravelly voice
of Perry Fontana resounds, the hooded man himself appearing behind the
interviewer.]
Fontana: Puzzling? What, cousin, could possibly be so _puzzling_ about
a ladder?
SDH: What is is doing here?
Fontana: This ladder, cousin, is the CENTRAL PIECE OF THIS EXHIBIT!
[Even in this darkness, the glinting sparkles betray the presence of
Il Eterno's bountiful spittle.]
Fontana: This is a torture museum, isn't it?
SDH: As far as I know, it is.
Fontana: Therefore, a ladder MUST be _included!_ Aah ouais!
SDH: How so?
Fontana: If it's not clear to you yet, piccolo uomo, it _will_be_ once
you WITNESS LADDER MANIA!! Watch this, cousin.
[Fontana steps off-screen for a moment to retrieve one of the museum's
mannequins. It has been dressed to vaguely look like "The Phenom"
Tommy Ryder. The Everlasting One manipulates both the dummy and the
ladder so the figure's arm is entwined in the rungs.]
Fontana: You see, with the arm in this position, you can apply a
standard arm bar like this, see?
[Hayes nods as Fontana mimes his words.]
Fontana: Then, you can dislocate the shoulder here, or, if you angle
in this direction and change the pressure point, dislocate the elbow
here.
SDH: Right.
Fontana: OR... for a very special asino patetico, you can angle this
way, see, and BREAK THE BASTARDO'S ARM!
[As Fontana snaps off the mannequin's arm, Hayes flinches, never able
to get used to the Italian French-Canadian's sudden bursts. Meanwhile,
Perry gets up and gets a new]mannequin, this time one fitted with el
Outlaw LOCO's mask.]
Fontana: Or, if you put some asino patetico's leg through these rungs
here, you can...
SDH: I think we get the picture.
Fontana: You can apply nearly any type of knee lock or leg lock, see,
and...
SDH: No, thank you, we get it, we get it. But that mask, is it the one
you were wearing in Philadelphia?
Fontana: Nice try, cousin. I have an IRONCLAD ALIBI, little man. Just
ask Masked Maniac, he'll tell you the same. We were playing cards THE
WHOLE TIME!
SDH: Because Masked Maniac constitutes a reliable witness, now? You
actually believe he'll be a reliable ally?
Fontana: The worst thing you can do is underestimate the man, Dean
Hayes. Take enough LUMPS in your career, and you end up learning a few
things you can use _yourself!_ Besides, I know the MAN _under_ the
MASK! Aaah way. When you know a secret about your partner that should
_remain_ a secret, cousin, and he's got something on you too. That...
_that_ keeps a bond STRONG!
SDH: Wait... you know Masked Maniac's real identity?
Fontana: Never mind that, little man. You asked about Philadelphia?
Well, I for one am glad that Outlaw finally showed a little bit of
_backbone_ on Heatwave, cousin. It's too bad he'll probably get
suspended for what he did, isn't it?
SDH: Give me a break!
Fontana: It's that MORONIC ZERO TOLERANCE POLICY, cousin! We'll all be
better off without it. Wouldn't you be _sad_ if the Championship
committee decided to SUSPEND OUTLAW and render him _unable to DEFEND
his title?_
SDH: In addition to that injury? That's a frightening thought. The
committee has been known to be biased before...
Fontana: And just as the bastardo was showing some kind of character.
Gives me the impression we could have been in for a FIGHT at Shattered
Dreams. THE FEISTY ONES ARE A LOT MORE FUN TO AMPUTATE!!! Aaaah WAY!
SDH: Need I point out that you can't win a ladder match with
submissions?
[A humorless grin framed by over-sized muttonchops appears on
Fontana's dimly lit face before he answers in a raspy whisper.]
Fontana: Listen here, cousin. Sometimes, it's not _just_ about
victory. You give me the opportunity to _legally_ use a ladder ANY WAY
I WANT TO, and you think I'm somehow not going to take full advantage
of that?
SDH: Fair enough.
Fontana: No one's gonna let you climb a ladder to retrieve the PVW
NETWORK CHAMPIONSHIP if they're able bodied enough to STOP you,
piccolo uomo. That's where a ladder's other uses factor in, cousin.
Aaah ouais.
SDH: I can see your point.
Fontana: You see, Ladder Mania's a sort of chutes and ladders game for
the participants' careers. And I can tell you this; Ryder and Outlaw
will be STEPPING ON SNAKES and sliding down to oblivion, aaah weee!
And I, _Perry_ "le Phenix" _FONTANA_, will be steadily climbing rung
after _rung_ after RUNG – ALL THE WAY TO THE VERY TOP! Aaaah way! I'll
grab the PVW NETWORK TITLE, cousin, and then what will I do next,
"Swinging" Dean Hayes?
SDH: Celebrate?
Fontana: I'm gonna keep _climbing_, rung after _rung_ after RUNG!
[With the back of his sleeve, Fontana wipes some of the spittle that
has accumulated on the stubble of his cleft chin.]
Fontana: Fact is, cousin, only ONE MAN deserves his spot at Ladder
Mania, and that's me, "Deathless" _Perry_ FONTANA! I am the sole
qualifier to this match, cousin, the SOLE QUALIFIER! And el Outlaw
LOCO? Well. Unfortunately, if the Championship Committee hopes to
retain any shred of credibility, well, sadly, they _will_ have to
suspend that asino patetico.
SDH: Jeez, I hope not!
Fontana: And that all means that ONLY ONE MAN is _worthy_ of walking
out of LONDON with the PVW Network Championship on his shoulder. And
you're looking at him.
SDH: ...
Fontana: Because that man is me, cousin.
SDH: ...
Fontana: "The Everlasting" Perry Fontana.
SDH: ...
Fontana: ...
SDH: [politely coughs.]
Fontana: So. Have you decided? Which one would you chose?
SDH: Oh, yeah. It's a coin toss, really. Truly a tough choice. But if
forced to chose, I'd probably go with the Curtis promos, as it causes
less physical damage.
Fontana: And so you have chosen, cousin!
SDH: What?
[Fontana picks up Hayes like a sack of potatoes, and straps him into
the lazy-boy in front of the looping Joshua Curtis promos.]
SDH: Hey, wait! You can't do this! What if I had chosen the Pear of
Anguish, huh?
[Silently, Fontana simply leaves.]
SDH: HEY! Don't leave me here! Oh no... oh no I've seen this one
before, no...
[Slowly, the cameraman backs away.]
SDH: WAIT, not you too! Come back! I've seen this before! He's about
to beat up some thugs and save some woman! No, no...
[The cameraman turns a corner, and we fade to black.]
SDH: HELP! HE'S BEATING UP SOME THUGS! NOOOO! GOOD GAWD NOOOOO!!! I
CHOSE THE PEAR! I CHOOSE THE PEAR!!
[Fade from black to blacker.]
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Scott Nielsen
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
[We fade from black to find the newest member of PVW roster, Scott
Nielsen, sat in the plastic seating of an empty, cavernous O2 in Arena
in Greenwich, London.
Dressed simply in a pair of grey jeans and a black PVW t-shirt, the
dark haired 23 year old surveys the empty arena, wondering what
carnage will unfold here later in the week.]
SN: Welcome to PVW.
[Nielsen brings his faraway gaze onto the camera, bringing his
intense, determined eyes to bear on the lens.]
SN: With those words it looks I've set in motion my formal
professional wrestling education... Everything else has just been
preparation... This is the real deal.
This is pay-per-view.
[Pause.]
SN: Mike Cox... You've been through the wringer these past weeks and
you know what? It shows. You're lashing out, man. You're looking for
someone to make a mockery of... Someone you can beat down, knock out
and hold up to the fans and say "Hey, look, this guy's worse off than
me. I made this guy look like a fool out here--
[Nielsen nods out to the floor of the arena.]
--so I can't be that bad, can I?"
[Nielsen sets his gaze.]
SN: I'm telling you now, Mike, I'm not going to be that guy. I'm here
with my own thing going on and I intend to see it through... To the
end.
[Pause.]
SN: I'm here this week to show people live on pay-per-view that I am
here in PVW to stay. That I really and truly am a contender for all
that the best wrestling company in the world has to offer.
And, you know what, Mike?
[That trademark wry smile.]
SN: To do that I'm going to show the fans... and the world... that
you, my friend, underestimated me... because that's what you've gone
and done.
Yeah, you gave it your best shot against Spectre and, I gotta say, I
was impressed... You did good. But don't let it get to your head.
Don't go thinking that just because you went and gave the big bad guy
a pretty good run for his money that you can put me, the new guy, out
for the count before the bell has even finished ringing.
[Nielsen's eyes smolder with determination.]
SN: I _will not_ let that happen. I'm a different proposition to
Spectre... Yeah, I'm green... but I'm safe in the knowledge that I
have what it takes to beat you.
I'm not worried about playing mind games with and I'm not here to try
and break your spirit or get into the darkest recesses of your soul.
I'm not bothered about any of that B.S.
I'm just here to get in that ring, go toe to toe with you and beat
you, Mike. Plain and simple. And I know, deep down, that I can do it.
[Nielsen pauses as he lets that settle in.]
SN: I'm here to put you down for a three count on the biggest stage of
them all... and, in the process, start the journey that I hope will
take me right to the very top of this company.
If I were you, Mike, I'd see Shattered Dreams as a statement of intent
from Scott Nielsen.
[Fade.]
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Hand of God
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
[The feature are obscured by the shadow that falls across the man's
face]
"Who is the Hand of God? Oh suffer the little children"
[A cold emotionless chuckle offers a break in the mans speech. The
voice has been modified somehow, so identification is moot at this
point.]
The hand of God is he who comes to exact revenge for the
transgressions of the shall we say "competition" for lack of a better
term? Phoenix Valley Wrestling has tried to enforce their invisible
little "Zero Tolerance" policy, and the results have been laughable,
and thats being very generous."
[pause.]
"Keening and his masters need a lesson in what Zero Tolerance _really_
means. Phoenix Valley Wrestling talks loud but in the end all the
pontificating amounts to little more than slapping a child on the hand
with a ruler. What is the old proverb? Spare the rod spoil the child?"
[Pause. Waiting for an answer perhaps?
"Phoenix Valley, the Hand of God will have no part in sparing the rod.
The spoiled brats running around backstage are about to have
everything they know and love burnt to cinders in front of their
pathetic faces. The Hand of God is no half-wit failure lacking the
fortitude to clean up this cesspool!"
"NAY! The hand of God will strike swiftly, _savagely_ with no remorse,
no quarter, and the children of PVW will learn the meaning of Zero
Tolerance. Only one man could accept such an undertaking with any hope
of success. Only one man is strong enough to wash the stink of
mediocrity that covers this once proud federation like a fetid
blanket."
[The man rises before the camera and is a hulking beast of a man,
still hidden in the shadows.]
"Only one man is strong enough to rid this federation of the disease
that is our champion, Robert Cole, of the plagues the likes of Richard
Marley and his band of sinners, of the false idols like Justin
Cruise..."
[He trails off momentarily.]
"I could go on for days. The list of transgressions that have been
committed by the PVW roster is long, and trust me, each and every one
of my children will feel the Hand of God, and they will heed my word
as _law_"
[Another soulless chuckle.]
"There simply is no alternative. Resistance will prove pointless. So I
said it, and so it shall be. Zero Tolerance is here kiddies."
"Say your prayers..."
[Fade]
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Wild Cards
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
[The scene opens on an external shot of the Keening School of the
Grappling Arts. The building stands, it's neon sign acting as a
beacon for those who would like to learn the business the 'right' way.
The camera moves into the main entrance, then back through the
hallways of the training facility, pausing at various points to come
to rest on various former students and instructors (Doc Holliday, Jack
Baldwin, Judd Marley, Gabriel Whitecross, Jason Keening and many
others).
Finally, the camera comes around a corner, revealing "The Gambler"
Judd Marley standing outside of an office...the office of none other
than PVW Director of Seucurity Jason Keening. Seeing the camera, Judd
steps in front of the office, trying to obstruct it's view.]
JM: Hey guys...what're YOU doing here?
[His face goes from nervous to suspicious in less than 2 seconds.]
JM: Youwerefollowingusweren'tyou? I mean...ahem...we were gonna do
our interview out in the...uhhh...training area...no need to come back
here to--
[At that moment, Judd's partner Black Jack Baldwin opens the door to
the office and steps out with a small piece of paper in his hand.]
JB: GOT IT!
[Marley whirls around, frantically trying to shush Baldwin as he
begins to speak directly to the check, ignoring Judd and never coming
close to noticing the camera crew...]
JB: Stop hopping around, Judd...yes my little blank check...you'll
take care of those crazy doctors and get them off of our backs before
Unholy War, won't you?
JM: Jack! You need to...
[Baldwin continues, still ignoring his increasingly frantic partner as
he proceeds to babytalk the check.]
JB: Who's a good widdle checky-wecky? You are...that's
right...peek-a-boo, Keening's check! Peek-a-boo!
JM: Jack! Ix-nay on the Eening-kay!
[Baldwin frowns, then looks over at Judd...who points angrily at the
camera behind him. Baldwin's eyes go wide as he looks down at the
check in his hand, then to the camera, then back to the check, which
he hurredly puts behind his back.
JB: Did I say Keening's check? I meant...uhhh...I'm finished checking
on Keening's office. All clear. No evil firewater being planted by
Apache Blood in there...you know how Jason would react to that sort of
cliche'd Native American...stuff...
[Baldwin trails off, clearing his throat and forcing a smile as Judd
steps in front of him.]
JM: Well...good thing...now we'll go to...someplace not here.
[He gestures for the camera to follow him, then leads the crew into
the regular training area, and makes a crisp gesture to someone behind
the camera (presumably Baldwin), although by the time the camera pans
over to him, he's simply standing up very straight, smiling and
waving...and then walks over to stand next to Judd.]
JB: Welcome to our interview...wherein we will regale PVW with stories
about either how awesome we are...
JM: Prophets of Rage will cover that ground just fine.
JB: ...or we could just run down all the other teams and say mean
stuff about them...
JM: That'll get covered by everybody except the doctors and lawyers.
JB: So what ground is left to cover? Oooh! We could do a movie
parody...
JM: 'Cause we've never done those before...
JB: Well...aside from paying off that bill that PAIN says we owe for
medical services thanks to an anonymous donation, what else do we have
to talk about?
JM: Unholy War. We've been in two, and the only other person that was
even in the building for one in this match with us is Mal, and he was
an announcer...not quite the same thing. This match is pure chaos,
you need luck, experience and determination to win it.
JB: Which we've got in spades.
JM: Every other team on this match is in for a shock...and we'll be
happy to help them get over it by sending them to the back all nice
and neat. We're leaving Shattered Dreams with our titles. Period.
JB: And we're gonna go Wild doing it.
[fade]
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Masked Maniac
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
[Black screen. Words set in white fade in slowly, then dissipate back
to black.]
Text: Warning; the video you are about to watch is extremely
inappropriate and should not be viewed by anyone who hasn't done time
in the state pen. Actually, it's okay, but if you're a sensitive type
you should probably hit the "mute" button. Seriously. This stuff
just barely made it past the censors.
[Black again. Fade in. It's a simple scene. On a side table, the
kind that typically sits against a couch, is an answering machine. A
red light blinking indicates that there is exactly one message on it,
waiting to be heard. Walking in, his soft-soled shoes making no sound
whatsoever, is the Masked Maniac. For the uninitiated, Maniac looks
like your typical masked man in a sleeveless bodysuit with V-neck.
His mask is dark gray with a white-outlined "SSN" logo set in blue
dominating the face of it. Carrying a steel folding chair (those
things commonly used to hit people), Maniac sets it in place next
to the side table and faces the viewers at home.]
MM: Hi. It's me, the Masked Maniac, your bestest friend in the whole
wide world. It sure has been great to actually get to talk to you
lately. For the longest time I was a mostly silent punching bag.
It's a lonely existence, you know, but now my career is taking off! I
beat El Outlaw LOCO, y'know. It's not that big an accomplishment,
seeing as he's mentally retarded/developmentally disabled (let's
just call him Mr. DeeDee for short), but, y'know, it's a start. So
just recently I was getting kinda bored. I mean, yeah, we all train
and stuff between matches, but these Pay-per-views throw the schedule
a little and there's no Damage Control, so, y'know, there was an extra
day or so in there of nothing... I see this ad on TV (I think it was
this station!) at about 1am, and there's this curvaceous lady of the
chocolate persuasion on my screen. She's practically demanding that I
call her! So I make a call, and I discover something ... she really
doesn't want me to hang up (since I'm paying her to listen), but I can
tell by the sound of her voice that she doesn't like what I'm saying.
Which led me to hang up and read my answering machine manual--
[Maniac holds up a small book and grins.]
MM: --Aaand I learned a trick with it! Heh, that was a long
exposition wasn't it? Well, anyway, here's what that led to...
[Pressing the silver "play" button, Maniac leans back in his chair,
and grins, fairly shaking with anticipation.]
Machine: *BEEP* you have one. Saved message. Message one.
[The ringing of an outgoing call is heard, followed by a click.]
Machine: Hello, you've reached the mocha latte love line. How may I
make your chocolate dreams come true?
MMM: Uh, hey... How's it goin'?
[What's the extra "M" you might ask? That indicates that the Maniac's
voice, in this case, is playing from the machine. Masked. Maniac.
Machine. Got it? Good!]
Machine: Oh, I'm fine baby. My name's Mistress Diana. What's your
handle, stud?
MMM: Oh, me? I'm ... I'm Perry. Yeah, Perry.
Machine: Perry? Oh, that's a sexy name. Perry, baby, I'm hot. You
hot, baby?
MMM: Oh yeah, I'm hot. Been eating tacos with that lava sauce. Woof!
Machine: Uh, okay. Well, tell me, sweetie, what are your fantasies?
I can make 'em come true.
MMM: Oh, I dunno. You'll probably think they're weird.
Machine: Oh no, no no baby. I'm a nasty girl. I'm up for any thing
you got. Ain't nothin' you can do that I ain't seen.
MMM: Well, if you're sure. It's pretty bad.
Machine: Lay it on me, tiger.
[Ending the word "tiger" with a purring sound, the phone sex lady
falls silent.]
MMM: Okay. Well, I guess the first thing I'd do is tie you up...
Machine: Oh, that's hot. How'd you know I'm into bondage?
MMM: Oh, just a guess. Then, when you're all good and hog-tied, I'd
lay you down on the ironing board in my basement.
Machine: Uh, okay, that's pretty kinky. Basement, huh? Basements are
pretty dirty. You like it dirty, you dirty boy?
MMM: Yeah, you could say that. Anyway, you know how it's been all in
the news, this "waterboarding" stuff? They're saying it's torture,
it's not torture ... me, I looked it up, and it was banned by George
Washington back in the 18th century! I mean, that's pretty *BLEEPED*
up if you ask me.
Machine: ...
[The real-life Maniac covers his mouth, restraining his laughter,
points at the machine, and softly applauds his own recorded
performance.]
MMM: So yeah, my ironing board's kinda messed up. It tilts one end
down if you put _any_ weight on it, which is weird, 'cause it doesn't
actually collapse. Just ... down at about, I'd say, 15 degrees.
[Pause. Silence.]
MMM: Still there?
Machine: Yeah. Yeah baby. Uh, so you wanna ... waterboard me? I'm
the nasty terrorist and you're the CIA guy or somethin'?
MMM: In a manner of speaking. See, I never said I'd use water. You'd
be naked, of course, because that makes me feel powerful. Then I'd,
well, dump feces on your face.
[Pause. A panicky breathing sound is heard, but only briefly, over
the phone. Sounds like the mistress is trying to regain her
composure.]
Machine: You wanna take a dump on me? Uh, well, hey, that's not bad.
In Germany, well, that's not even considered kinky. What you gonna do
then?
MMM: Oh, no, no you misunderstand. I won't take the dump on you. I
take the dump in a bucket. Then I mix in some water and let it sit in
the sun in front of a window for a few days.
Machine: ...
MMM: That's what gets poured on your face. Up your nose. In your
mouth. Then a rag to keep you from expelling it easily. It'll be
really runny, moldy diarrhea by then...
Machine: That, that's sick! That's not funny, man!
MMM: You'd probably get diphtheria. Now that's a sexy disease!
Machine: What's wrong with you!
MMM: And hey, since you're down there and nobody can hear you, I'd
just leave you there. My "cycle" is about every 8 hours (lots of
booze and fiber will do that to you) so you'll get a fresh coat three
times a day! Isn't that great!?
Machine: What're you trying to pull?
MMM: Hey, I know, give me your home address and we can do all that at
your place. Where you live?
Machine: YOU'RE A MONSTER!
MMM: Oh, and for this, do you think "poop-boarding" sounds better, or
maybe "crap boarding"?
*click*
[Maniac assumes a mocking tone.]
MMM: "Baby?" Where you go?
[That's right, she hung up. Maniac hits a button on the answering
machine, grinning like the Cheshire cat.]
MM: Yup, I found the line where they'll hang up, crossed it, danced on
it some, and then, well, made a mess of it, if you take my meaning.
Let's face it, I'm an evil genius, I'm always thinking, and if LOCO
and Ryder aren't afraid of that ... well, we already know LOCO's Mr.
DeeDee. Guess Ryder could be Mrs. DeeDee, on account of the long
hair. Anyway, they're gay married in Massachusetts.
[Standing, Maniac grabs his chair, folds it, and turns to leave.]
MM: So ... what'd you do with your weekend?
[Aaand he exits, stage right. Now that was messed up, huh? Fade to
black.]
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Johnny Detson
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
V: And so finally it has come down to this...
(The scene opens with our hero dressed in his wrestling attire
standing in front of a plain, ordinary back drop. He smirks at the
camera and continues.)
Detson: And now friend Spectre we do the little dance that the puppet
master wants us to. The one that ends my pathetic little existence.
(Detson laughs.)
Detson: The puppet master? Who knows, it changes so many times.
This time it appears to be Todd Johnstone, the rotund round of flesh
that seems to be attached to your backside now-a-days. And really
Friend Spectre isn't it just sad when two people such as us, one
devastatingly handsome and one obviously psychotic do battle for that?
(Detson holds up a finger to stop himself.)
Detson: I know, I know, you just want to battle. Point you in the
direction of something to destroy and your panties just get all
bunched up. You love blood, destruction, carnage, puppies, and
rainbows. Add that to long walks on the beach and you my Friend
Spectre have one have of a dating profile.
(Detson gives a sarcastic thumbs up before continuing.)
Detson: And what do you have to say about all of this? Something
dark and ominous probably; striking fear in my very soul, while
Johnstone sucks down three chili dogs in the background and washes it
down with five gallons of Jolt. Then the true torture and soul
sucking begins as Johnstone's phlegm induced accent goes over one of
the five tirades he has in his arsenal and has had since 1988. It's a
very tiring routine.
(Detson rolls his eyes.)
Detson: Yes, yes Spectre is very scary. Yes, yes Johnstone is very
fat, insulting and annoying I get it. I'm scared, I'm insulted, I'm
disgusted. You can say the things you want Spectre but nothing will
change, Shattered Dreams will come and it will still be you versus me.
That line of people that you've scared or beaten...
(Detson glares at the camera.)
Detson: ...I'm not in it. I will never be in it. I came to the PVW
for very specific reasons, and you weren't in those reasons before but
you've managed to cram your way in there now. But before you think
your display last week is going to intimidate me or scare me or give
you some sort of advantage, just remember this small little detail. I
challenged you. I challenged you to fight. I challenged you under
your stupid little rules. And I challenged you knowing full well your
history in these matches. I challenged you.
(Detson laughs but the glare towards the camera remains.)
Detson: I wasn't forced into this match, I declared it. There's
nothing you have that I fear. I've bled before, and the wounds closed
up. I've been injured before, and guess what, I've healed. I've
even, on the rare occasion, lost, and you know what? I've managed to
get over myself and win the next time around. So the addition of no
rules in a fascist wrestling town and your general intimidating nature
is suppose to make this match different then the thousands I've had
before?
(Detson shakes his head back and forth.)
Detson: I'm not the newbes you usually feast on, I'm not the jack-o's
trying to be scarier and more hardcore than you. I don't have to make
you bloody or destroy your soul to pin you down. My nature talent can
take care of that on its own.
(Detson again flashes a cocky smirk.)
Detson: And in the end, this one and only will be staring at a
victory, while you Friend Spectre and your fat tub of a jack-o manager
will be staring at the lights. And instead of wondering what went
wrong, just deal with it, and stick to scaring the new kids fresh off
the bus for their first day of school.
(Detson laughs.)
Detson: You know, the stuff you're actually good at.)
(With that the screen fades to black.)
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Caleb Foley
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
[The camera fades into a shot of Madison Square Garden. Thousands of
people on the street walking past this great venue. A slew of taxi
cabs are parked outside of The Garden as suddenly a familiar voice is
heard. The camera does a complete 180 degree turn and you see a man
medium built with reddish hair standing in front of a cab. As the man
turns around you realize it is no one than "The Celtic Crippler" Caleb
Foley. Caleb is dressed in blue denim jeans with a Phoenix Valley
Wrestling Shattered Dreams t-shirt as he begins to speak ...]
Caleb Foley: "So this is the famous Madison Square Garden. You know
how many greats have walked through the hallways of this building. How
many upsets have happened here. Where the impossible is very possible.
Anything and everything can happen here this is afterall The City So
Nice, They Named It Twice. This is the legendary mecca of sporting
venues. But everyone knows the history of Madison Square Garden and
New York City. People from all over the world dream to live in a place
like this and every sports figure would love to headline an event
here. And while I might not be headlining Night Two of Shattered
Dreams here I am making my return to the wrestling ring to face
everyone's favorite Doctor ..."
[Caleb pasues for a brief moment before continuing ...]
Caleb Foley: "So Doctor X you wanna come out here and bring up my past
with Chase Williams. You wanna come out here and tell the entire world
what happened to my father. You think you have all the answer don't
you. Doctor X go ahead and think that you can beat me from pillar to
post. By you just bringing up the past all your doing is adding fuel
to the fire. But Doctor X go ahead and keep thinking I am not tough
enough in the head to survive in this business. Go ahead and make the
same mistake I made. That's right Doctor X your gonna make the same
mistake as me. You think just because your a Doctor your PERFECT and
don't make MISTAKE. By the way what are you a Doctor of? I think your
nothing but a fake and that's the reason that you hide behind your
mask ..."
"Most people think you hide behind the mask because your one of the
wrestling greats. I have heard name like Extreme ... Epstein ...
Kinsey ... Case ... Truthfully I don't care who is hiding underneath
that mask because it just shows the type of person you are. It shows
you are afraid of wrestling without the mask ... It shows your are not
mentally tough enough for the fans to know your true identity ..."
[Caleb begins to walk toward Madison Square Garden and suddenly stops
and looks up and sees the banner for Shattered Dreams going across the
front of Madison Square Garden. It has a big picture of Robert Cole
and Justin Cruise with the PVW Heavyweight Title across the shoulder
of the Monster Underneath Your Bed ...]
Caleb Foley: "Doctor X you have come out here week in and week out to
remind everyone that it's nothing personal - it's just business. Well
I wish I could say the same for you. This has become all business and
extremely personal. You see you crossed that line when you blamed me
for my old man kicking the bucket as you put it. I hope you realize
Doctor X you made this personal with that comment ..."
"The man I am today is because of my father. Everything my father had
said was true. He told me if I worked hard and believed in myself all
my dreams would come true. Anything is possible it might take a little
hard work but in the end it will be worth it. Every bone you have
broken ... Every drip of blood and sweat that hit the mat ... Every
stitch you have gotten ... It will all be worth it ... Doctor X when
that bells rings on September 29th and twenty thousand fans are
cheering my name you just like everyone in attendance and the millions
watching at home just how easily your dreams can be shattered ... "
[The camera feed cuts out as "The Celtic Crippler" Caleb Foley is
standing on the steps to Madison Square Garden and pointing up to the
banner for Shattered Dreams ... ]
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Will Geddings
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
[The scene opens to Will Geddings taping his right knee. He's sitting
across a trainer's table, a noticeable grimace across his mouth, the
one part of his face visible through his checkered flag mask.]
[Geds]: It's close now, I guess. The match that will probably be what
I'm most remembered by. Years and years of fighting what I perceived
as the good fight...maybe not in the best ways...but the good fight
nonetheless. Now, at 31, I'll be remembered based on how I perform
against a man that no one believes that I can harm, much less beat.
[Geddings shakes his head]
[Geds]: What was it all for? So that someday I could face a man who no
longer can think for himself in a match that will somehow validate my
career? This match is my career? That's what SSN would have you
believe.
[Geds]: Here's the thing, though...what SSN perceives as true may not
necessarily be Gospel. Every night when I walk out there, I see the
fans. People that I used to not give two *censored* about...and I see
them cheering. I see them happy when I do good things, sad when I
fail. Then I see my opposition, I see how they get up when they're
facing Will Geddings. I see how they respect me now. I see that they
line up to congratulate me when I return to the backstage area.
[Geds]: I can barely walk anymore. That's a fact. And maybe I am at
the end of my road. Maybe this is my final go round in wrestling. But
here's what I can guarantee...Alex Martinez will not retire Will
Geddings.
[Geddings shakes his head]
[Geds]: Alex Martinez will not cripple Will Geddings. Alex Martinez
will not tarnish the career of Will Geddings. He doesn't have the
ability. The American Bad Ass is not capable of breaking the spirit of
the FlyKing.
[Geds]: He may break bone after bone. He may tear the muscles and jack
up the joints...but he will not break my spirit. And if I have to
crawl on my hands and knees through my own blood, Alex Martinez will
not leave that ring smiling at Shattered Dreams.
[Geds]: I don't know what the future holds for me or PVW. I don't know
if I'll ever get a shot at a title or if I'll ever be the top dog
again. But what I do know is that Alex Martinez cannot win. SSN cannot
win. And if it takes every ounce of my being to stop him, I will.
That's a promise.
[Geds]: Long Live the King.
[Scene fades]
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Larry Gionet
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
[We fade into a bright sunny day. It is a lively environment at
Central Park in New York City. People are going about their business.
Some off in business suits and pants rushing to their next board
meeting with a Starbucks in their hand. Others teenage girls gossiping
about the boys in their class. While we see children playing catch.
Sitting on a bench is PVW's warrior Larry Gionet. He wears a white PVW
shirt with blue jeans.]
Larry Gionet: I spent my life of being one of the toughest men in this
sport today. I spent hours in the gym whether doing cardio, lifting
weights, wrestling, boxing. Anything to keep that edge over the
competition. I spent months and months away from the family that cared
for me. In the states, in England, in Mexico in Japan. My ambition and
tenacity paid off in championships, in honor and most importantly
respect. Anybody who dared tried to test me on the street, in the bar
learned real fast that I am not a man to be taken lightly. Being
called PVW's warrior isn't a catch-phrase or some hype to sell
merchandise, it's my way of life this is reality. Now Manson when I
was down with a shoulder injury, you anted to take everything I
worked for away huh? You thought that in one full sweep you could
erase everything I've done in life away by calling yourself the
toughest man in PVW?
[Gionet veers off into the distance as he sees the group of kids
playing catch until a bigger kid about 3 years their senior catch
their ball. The inconsiderate teenager begins running away with the
softball as the younger children try to chase after him. His legs are
lengthier and leave them in the dust as the kids kick the grass in
utter frustration. Gionet shakes his head in disgust as he stares a
hole into the camera's lens.]
LG: You see Marcus Manson, you are nothing more than a man with an
immature teenager mindset. Someone that never took that bold step into
adulthood and truly became a man. I don't go around telling this story
to many but now is a good time as any.
[Larry looks up to the blue horizon without a cloud in the sky. The
sun rests peacefully above him beating its rays along the grass,
plants and the people. Gionet looks down as he makes a fist with his
left hand, gently covering it with his right hand. He exhales loudly
as perfect harmony with the breeze making its way by. It feels as if a
weight is going to be lifted off the 235 pounders shoulders but at the
same time is a hard thing to let go.]
LG: You remind me of a guy I knew back in junior high Mark Bergstrum.
I was a quiet kid who kept to himself. I didn't have a lot of friends
growing up. He knew this. He tried to pick a fight with me one day and
I refused to fight him. Maybe it was lack of confidence or maybe it
was turning the other cheek. He shoved me to the ground and pounded me
in the parking lot. I got home with a black eye. Out of fear I never
fought back as the weeks waged on coming home with a busted lip here,
a swollen nose there.
[Larry stops to feel his lip and brushes his hand against his nose as
if reliving the very moments in the back of his mind. While it may
have happened nearly twenty years ago, it is a moment in time mthat is
never truly washed away in the oceans of the sub consciousness. Gionet
continues to look down as his feet are securely planted on a patch of
soil that has yet to grow any slices of green grass.]
LG: It got to the point where my father took me in my garage and told
me that if I don't fight for myself then the world will walk all over
me in this life. That I had to be a man and handle myself as such. So
i learned how to box from my dad who was a navy seal. I got stronger
mentally and physically. Then one day mark Bergstrum cornered me one
day after school and I gave him a left jab to the cheek followed by
a right hook to the jaw knocking him down cold. I was 15 years old and
for the first time I felt good about myself. I stood up for what I
believed in for the first time in my life. I choose to no longer be a
victim.
[Larry Gionet's golden locks fly up exposing his icy blue eyes. His
face is as still as a statue. The rocky surface of Larry's forehead
tells a tale of frustration and redemption. The frown etched on his
face turns upside down showing a sense of pride and fulfillment
burning bright.]
LG: I vowed never to put someone through that Mark put me through. I
took you out those many weeks ago for what you did to me. Did I get
suspended for it? Sure but that was my stand in the company. I felt
like that fifteen year old kid again fighting for his reputation. Sure
you got the suspension lifted but I would have gotten to you sooner or
later. Unfortunately for you, at Shattered Dreams, you are about to
learn a harsh life lesson. That the people who truly make it in this
world write their own stories not at somebody else's expense. Where a
victim no longer chooses to be a victim, but be a fighter. When that
fighter goes up against the bullies of the world, those bullies no
longer control their fate you do. When it is on equal footing their
very foundation crumbles.
[Larry kneels down as he grabs a fist full of earth in his strong left
hand. He balls it into a fist watching the pieces of soil fall through
the cracks of his hand. He smirks as he looks beck into the camera as
the sun shines on his dirty blonde hair.]
LG: And once their foundation crumbles, their whole world falls part.
The iron grip of fear they used to strangle everyone's resistance
rusts like it's been left out in the rain. Their bravado crashes to
the ground and shatters at their feet. Their mask of superiority
unravels into so many miles of dental floss. This is to be your fate,
Manson. Like the Mark Bergstrums of this world and so many other
bullies before you, you will fall before the man you sought to
victimize. And when that happens, Manson, don't come crying to me.
Don't come crying to the PVW brass. The only way you'll find a
shoulder once I put you in your place is if you like yours ice cold.
[Larry Gionet stands up as he brushes the dirt from his left knee. The
soil slowly trickles down like a snowball ready to turn into an
avalanche. He walks to the right of the camera as he gets lost amidst
the chaos of the world around him. We then fade to black.]
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Herscher von Donkerhardt
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
(Scene: Gettysburg National Military Park, Gettysburg PA. The camera
pans across the field that hosted the pivotal battle of what was
perhaps the bloodiest war in american history. The camera turns from
the structures preserved from the conflict to a tourist area out of
the way. We see a man in a black trench coat and grey Armani suit,
reading an inscription on a plaque erected at the scene. This man is
Herscher von Donkerhardt. Herscher hearing footsteps behind him turns
to face the camera.)
HvD: The Battle of Gettysburg, the place where the course of the
American Civil War was determined. Two mighty forces met, at stake was
the future of not one but two nations. One, formed in the breakup of
the other over the right to own slaves. The other, seeking to preserve
its union and bring freedom to all its citizens regardless of race.
Freedom for all versus the traditional way of life for some was on the
line. In the end the Union soldiers won and the country was reunited.
Was it divine providence or justice ultimately winning out?
(Herscher scowls at the camera and spits on the hallowed ground)
HvD: It doesn't matter who won or what they were fighting for! Freedom
for all be damned, what really matters was one side took something
from the other, and didn't have the power to hold on to it, or the
stomach for the ensuing violence! Power not freedom is what really
counts. Power is what has counted in every conflict since the
beginning of time!
(Herscher angrily adjusts his collar and tie while scuffing the dirt
around with his black dress shoes.)
HvD: Some need place markers or something to symbolize their hardest
contests and their greatest triumphs, the Americans have this place. I
have a similar contest facing me, it won't be war in the conventional
sense, but it will the closest thing to it. A monument won't be
erected to it, the place wont be memorialized but it will forever
embed itself into the memories of all those unlucky enough to witness
this encounter.
(Herscher lets out a small laugh)
HvD: It is here, the occasion has arrived, the venue has been chosen
and the match is set. The time has come, our time has finally come,
Mercenary. From this point on, there will be no distractions or
delaying what must happen. No tag matches, no battle royals, no four
may matches, just you and me. The time for angry words from me and
juvenile actions from you has past. Nothing more shall impede what has
clearly been inevitable . Most importantly there will be no excuses
for what either of us fail to do. I finally get my opportunity with
you one on one, and I will seize upon this opportunity with everything
I have!
(Herscher glares at the camera with his piercing blue eyes)
HvD:When we meet in the ring Mercenary, it shall be like two armies
assembling on a field of battle. Such as this one. Words will be
exchanged, actions carried out, battery and bloodshed upon our bodies
will result. Those in attendance will witness physicality, cruelty and
ever increasingly atrocious acts committed by one against the other.
Those in attendance may avert their eyes in disgust and question what
goal is worth the human cost currently being paid. Nobody will know
the cost more intimately than you or I, Mercenary. Nobody will realize
the goal far outweighs the cost we are willing to exact. The goal is
quite simple, victory of one over the other through the exercise of
power and control over an opponent before it can be exercised against
you. For that goal, I am willing to pay any price for that victory. I
will do whatever it takes to demonstrate the superiority of my skills
over yours.
(Herscher is getting a little red in the face as all of the whites of
his eyes are now visible)
HvD:Men of power have laid waste to entire armies, stained the ground
red and overflowed rivers with the blood of enemies, ransacked town
and villages, razed cities and eradicated entire peoples and cultures
from the face of the earth, all in the name of victory! To some these
are unforgivable crimes, but to men of power who know victory and seek
in in their hearts this is what if required of them. Men of power are
what they are because they know there is no price too high to pay to
demonstrate the superiority of their strength, and the ultimate
rightness of their cause . There is no toll and to show all that
oppose them they are entitled to their actions by...the power in their
very blood!
(Herscher is almost screaming, his face is blood red and is breathing
heavily now)
HvD: I am such a man of power, Mercenary, and I vow before God himself
to exercise all of my power in the cause of victory. These ends are
the justification to any and all means at my disposal. Be assured I
will indeed use any and all means available to me in our contest. In
turn I am not afraid to enduer any price that you will exact and I
WILL endure any means that you have at your disposal, and I do mean
ANY! Why? Because the match will end, the bruises will fade, the scars
will heal, the favor and hostility of the fickle crowd will cease. In
the end for one of us the pain will go on knowing that they were
defeated and they were made an example of. The fact they could not
stave off defeat, that they were bested by one will stay with them
forever, throughout the rest of their anguish ridden and tormented
lives. As for the winner, they get the pure satisfaction that were
able to inflict this upon the loser! Do your best Mercenary! Remember
as we break each others bones, stretch each other joints and spill
each other's blood that one of us will inflict upon the other the
scars that can never truly heal. Remember this and prepare for this
fact as that you shall be the one to bear these scars, I command it to
be so! Ik ben Herscher von Donkerhardt! Eer aan de krachtig! Vernietig
de zwakke!
(Herscher takes a deep breath and tries to compose himself. After
finally settling down, Herscher turns around and walks in the opposite
direction of the battlefield. The camera fades to black)
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
William Craven
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
[Fade in slow on a dark, dank corridor down one of the many blind
alleys in the worst part of London. The video is rife with digital
noise, and is thus grainy and its details difficult to discern.
Sitting against the wall is what appears to be a large homeless
person. Dressed in an old overcoat and a broad-brimmed hat, he hides
his face.]
WC: And how did we get here? London. It's always London, you know.
You come to the United Kingdom, and you don't visit Oxford, or
Derbyshire, or any of the many little towns or even other big cities
this nation has to offer. For all the world of wrestling knows ...
there is only one city in Britain: the capital, London.
[Although he still conceals his features for no conceivable reason
that grinding wet gravel voice is a dead giveaway. The homeless man
in the alley is actually William Craven.]
WC: I've worked in this country before. Not for the money, not
really. Not for fame, certainly. You know, if you want to be really
famous in a country for wrestling, the first place to go is probably
Mexico. Then Japan. Then the United States. I'm not sure where
western Europe ranks in there, to be honest. No ... I worked here for
the violence. It's ... it's like an addiction. When I couldn't get
work in the States because of "bad behavior", Old Foggy welcomed
me with open arms. It didn't matter that I was a little ...
eccentric. They didn't mind when I wore a knight's suit of plate mail
to the ring, or beat a man with a giant crucifix while dressed as a
bloody Jesus, NO!
They saw me for what I was ... and appreciated ... the violence...
[Grunting, Bill struggles to his feet, strangely unsteady for the
powerhouse athlete he's well known as being.]
WC: The chaos of the battle royal just fought was nice. More like the
old days. The bad days. When I'd ply my trade and the people would
marvel at the wonders I'd wrought. Nobody was waiting in _the_ wings
to clip mine. Now ... heaven forfend that things might get a little
out of hand.
Never mind the fact that I won it never quite understanding its
nature. I understand now. I do wish, however, that we had made
better contact, Richard. It's been ... so long.
And that's the real root of this, Richard. That's why this went from
a simple disagreement between yourself and Major Damage to a
confrontation to a war to ... whatever you and I now find ourselves
embroiled in. You avoided me.
[Turning full to face the camera, Bill unbuttons one sleeve of his
overcoat. Now in better lighting, he can be seen as wearing white
gloves and a silver wig of long hair.]
WC: You avoided, and you backpedaled, and you threw man after man in
my path like chairs before an angry dog. You sought to distract,
deflect and escape me when all you had to do was face me. Face me and
be done with it.
Now, two years later, and my withdrawal symptoms have come to a head.
Why am I here, Richard? Why do I hide in shadow once more, in a dirty
alley, wearing all this clothing when the weather calls for shorts?
It could be symbolic. Then again, perhaps I simply don't want to be
seen. Or ... maybe it's a throwback. Do you remember what they
called me when you and I were allied? "The Devil's Hand"? I would
wear this wig. I would wear wingsvof ebon black. I would leave
behind all inhibitions.
[Breathing deep, Craven removes his hat, then his wig. In so doing,
he allows the sunlight from above to glance across his scalp and
chest, revealing it to be bare. He also wears no shoes.]
WC: The Devil's Hand would not be bound. At Shattered Dreams, in the
cage, the door will clash shut. You will look across the ring at me,
and no Widow Maker will stand alongside you. You will think it a poor
bargain, but it is a blessing. It is an opportunity. An opportunity
to finally put a head on this tale, this EPIC that we began two years
ago. No, not two. Eight. This epic we began _eight_ years ago...
With "Showtime" and "The Devil's Hand"...
[First the right glove is removed, then Bill flings the left one
aside.]
WC: This is the end. I ... I am the end, Richard. A crucible in
which your legend is to be forged ... or broken. I am not your enemy,
'though you've convinced yourself that I am. I am the violence that
you should embrace, must embrace, to move on with this drug that you
now merely call your career.
Bring the violence, Richard. Admit what you are. See what you could
be. At your age I was much like you. Heh. Perhaps a few more scars,
but more inhibited, and less willing than I am now to see wrestling
for what it is. Shed your cocoon, admit what you are, and step into
the cage ready to do what must be done.
[Shrugging, Bill sends his long coat tumbling to the ground. It looks
almost like he's disrobing for a wrestling match.]
WC: The wrestling "business" isn't a business at all. It's a place
where crazy people do crazy things, and not for the money. Oh, we
could play a game, earn millions, and go on some ridiculous reality
show demonstrating how well we live, but we don't. We go into the
ring and try to kill each other. But why?
For some ... it's the crowd. The gladiator instinct that makes us
want to prove dominance before spectators. But for most ... it's
merely the violence. The freedom to work your ways upon another, to
hold power over them, to BREAK them and hear them beg for mercy!
Knowing that when you grant it, for that moment, even if they hated
you before you began, as you free them from their torment, at that
moment ... you are loved ... by the one called your "enemy"...
This is what you must learn, Richard. This is what you must bring.
Come to the ring full force, for there is no other option. We must
finish it now for there will not be another opportunity. Do not flee,
do not fly and do not tempt the fates.
Even now, you entertain thoughts of simply leaving the business
entirely. I see it in your eyes each time you show your face on the
screen. A cage match deems escape a valid way to be victorious... I
do not. And you, with your clever mind, have no doubt imagined
indefinite options for how to avoid harm. Perhaps the Widow Makers
will make appearances after all. Perhaps ... something else.
[Rubbing his hands together, Bill licks his sharpened, half-there
teeth with his surgically split twin tongues. Bits of green fade into
and out of view as the slanted, harsh sunlight finds Bill shifting
from side to side.]
WC: But these tactics are suicide, Richard. If you use them, then
this will not end. If you find some silly loophole to ensure your
victory, you can be sure to find my teeth at your throat again at the
earliest opportunity. The same if you simply leave the cage.
Quitting though, you'd think that would be a sure-fire method of
preserving your skin, but Richard... At this point, to deprive me of
what I crave would be your undoing. I will hunt you, Richard. If I
have to leave the PVW, the wrestling business itself, and end us both
some darkened night when no one can see and no one can hear us...
That is what I will do...
Bring the violence, Richard. Bring it ... or else ... it gets
worse...
[Bill sneers and rubs the top of his bald head. Fade. End.]
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Perry Fontana #2
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
[Cut to a spacious, yet stark office space. Window panes and mahogany
are everywhere in sight. There are two sleek, comfortable modern
chairs before a avant-garde maple desk, over which stands a PC with
flat screen TV. There's a large SSN logo on the wall, carved and
painted out of wood.
Seated on the other side of the desk, caparisoned in a high quality
suit, is Christopher Michaelson.]
CM: Alright. I hope you can appreciate the privilege you have been
bestowed here today. A man in my important position cannot normally
consort with wrestlers. However, since you did say you have new
evidence to add to the case being built against el Outlaw LOCO, I
believe an exception can be made for the cause.
[The man seated on the opposite side of the desk is mostly concealed
by the hood of a silky, red, orange and gold boxer's robe. And if that
accoutrement isn't unanimously familiar to everyone quite yet, the "Le
Phénix" embroidered across the robe's shoulder should clue the rest as
to the man's identity. He is "The Everlasting" Perry Fontana, and the
Italian French-Canadian grappler answers in a raspy whisper.]
Fontana: When I heard there were some issues with the case, cousin, I
knew I had to the right thing, and add my valuable testimony. However,
I am forced to admit that I'm still stunned that el Outlaw LOCO has
not been suspended for his actions, yet.
CM: There are... obstacles. Mathew Willingham is a known el Outlaw
LOCO apologist, and he's been lobbying in his favor. A notable snag in
the case is his evidence that el Outlaw LOCO has remained hospitalized
ever since el Roberto COLE's attack. Willingham can't prove LOCO did
not leave his hospital bed, though. The best he can do is invoke
incomplete testimonials, from nurses to visitors, like Justin Cruise.
The alibi can be discredited.
Fontana: CRUISE? Why is that busted down traitor meddling into this?
CM: Friendship, or so I hear.
Fontana: HA! Don't worry, whatever Cruise may say ain't worth NOTHING!
Do you know _why_ they call him "The Blade," Mr. Michaelson?
CM: I did not take the time to inquire any further on that particular
matter, no.
Fontana: It all has to do with how "Blade" is translated into French.
PVW's precious Cruise may _peddle_ a lot of T-Shirts and posters, but
most aren't sold in QUÉBEC, I'll guarantee you _that_! They can fawn
all over the guy in New York City, but the good people of La Belle
Province know where he comes from, and what he used to be. Which is
why they gave him the double edged moniker of "The Blade."
CM: Double edged?
Fontana: You see, in French, "Blade" becomes "Lame." L, a, m, e...
LAME!
CM: You're kidding.
Fontana: Not at all. And let me assure you, cousin... IT WAS A VERY
DELIBERATE CHOICE OF WORDS!
CM: That can't possibly be right.
Fontana: Oh, it is, it is. Go ahead. Google it. Mosey on down to
babelfish translation and BE AMAZED!
[There's a moment of silence while Michaelson quickly surfs the net on
the desk's PC.]
CM: Well look at that. Who knew? Still. The main problem in convincing
the rest of the Championship Committee of el Outlaw LOCO's guilt,
well... Willingham's camp are accusing you of impersonating el Outlaw
LOCO in an attempt to frame him. Mathew is quite convinced that it's
what truly happened.
Fontana: Then, cousin, you'll be happy to learn that I can DISPROVE
THAT CLAIM ENTIRELY!
CM: Can you? If you can, I can get Vito Scapelli's vote, and suspend
LOCO...
Fontana: Proof comes in the form of this DVD. It's security footage
from Philadelphia's Wachovia Center. Play it, and take notice of the
time stamp.
[Michaelson grabs the DVD, and slips it into the PC. Moments later,
the black and white image appears on screen. What it shows is one of
the Arena's backstage areas. A table has been set near the zamboni,
and the tape clearly shows Fontana playing cards against Masked
Maniac, who is simultaneously guzzling down some unidentified booze.
Probably absynthe.]
CM: Time stamp places this at the very beginning of Heatwave.
Fontana: Correct, cousin. You can fast forward, we'll be playing cards
for three hours.
CM: Non-stop?
Fontana: Non-stop. Aaaah ouais!
[A few clicks of the mouse later, and the black and white image jumps
to what is likely a later point. The only discernible difference is
that there are now two empty bottles placed on the floor next to
Masked Maniac.]
CM: Hmm. It appears you're right.
Fontana: OF COURSE I'M RIGHT!
CM: Wait! Wait... Masked Maniac's getting up!
[Indeed, on the computer screen, the masked wrestler has left his
seat. He walks up to the zamboni and... ]
CM: Is he urinating?
Fontana: Sì. When you _drink_... you know how it is. And when you
drink as much as he does...
CM: Were the washrooms too far away?
Fontana: They were on the other side of the zamboni.
[A few more mouse clicks, and the black and white image jumps yet
again. Now, there are five bottles next to Masked Maniac's seat, and
the puddle beneath the zamboni has doubled in size.]
Fontana: Ah, you SEE? If you look at the time code... ROB COLE, as
Masked Outlaw, was getting _ASSAULTED_ by EL OUTLAW LOCO! Yet where is
the Everlasting One? RIGHT THERE! "Deathless" Perry _Fontana_ is STILL
playing cards with his amico.
CM: Excellent! This footage nicely counters Willingham's argument.
[Suddenly, on the black and white screen, el Outlaw LOCO purposefully
walks in with a steel chair. The 6'10" 340lbs Mexican luchador swings
at the still seated Fontana and viciously misses by about two feet,
sending the Canadian sprawling on the floor, unconscious. Woozily,
Masked Maniac gets up and grabs a nearby hockey stick, which
he swings at the enormous LOCO, lopping off his masked head. The
beheaded luchador crumples to the floor as his noggin harmlessly rolls
into the urine puddle.
Michaelson pauses the DVD, and silently stares at Perry Fontana.]
CM: ...
Fontana: ...
[Christopher deeply inhales, then taps a finger on the desk.]
CM: I just saw Masked Maniac behead el Outlaw LOCO.
Fontana: Oui. But it was self-defense.
CM: First... why would we ever need to suspend someone who is now
beheaded?
Fontana: Oh, that? It looks worse than it is. Turns out that he's
fine.
CM: Second... Gene Gaines will never, _ever_ make a convincing el
Outlaw LOCO.
Fontana: Gaines is NOT in the tape, cousin!
CM: ... Right. [Michaelson rubs his forehead in thought, then
continues.] I... I don't know how you guys made this footage, but is
there any way you can remove this last fight scene entirely?
Fontana: Yes.
CM: Excellent. Then if you can bring me a second version of this DVD,
without the beheading, I believe we have enough to get Vito's vote,
suspend el Outlaw LOCO, and possibly strip him of the PVW Network
Title. By the looks of it, I doubt he'd be fit to compete anyways...
but better to be safe than sorry.
Fontana: I agree.
CM: Mr. Fontana, in the Championship Committee's name, I thank you for
your valuable assistance.
[Zoom out... and fade.]
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Tommy Ryder
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
[Tommy Ryder is bouncing from foot to foot warming up. Laurel
Levinger is sitting in a chair quitely watching his warm up ritual.]
LL: So are we focused?
TR: Like I haven't been in months.
LL: So what's the plan?
TR: Knock the taste out of Fontana's mouth and take my belt from Loco.
[Laurel just stares at Tommy with a look that says "You've got to be
kidding me."]
TR: Fontana is an up and comer. It's really time that I let him know
that I'm not going to laydown and let him breeze right past me. It's
been a long road getting to this point and I'll be damned if I'm going
to let my first title shot slip through my fingers to a guy that if he
had to fight his own ego would get crushed.
[That remark earns him a quirky smile.]
TR: I know that the match is more than me and Fontana, but well this
an ego thing. The Everlasting One is going to have to prove he's
better than a Phenom if he wants that title and to tell you the
truth... I don't think he wants it as bad as I do. His ego is telling
him to win that title.
LL: And your's isn't?
TR: Of course mine is...
[Tommy laughs out loud.]
TR: But, I'm doing it for more than that. Laurel it's the same thing
that has always pushed me. I want to prove that I can do it. Not
just to my opponents, not just to me and not just to the fans, but for
the fans to have something to believe in.
LL: You aren't the only two in this match.
TR: El Outlaw has had a good run. He's been a great Network Champion,
but it's my turn. I'm bringing my A game. I know that he'll bring
his even with his injuries. Winning the title from him mean
something. Keeping the title from Fontana will mean more.
LL: You still have another opponent.
TR: Really? They added someone?
LL: You know it's a four way. It's always been a four way.
TR: Are you sure? Who's the other guy?
[Laurel's sigh is half tired of the game, half wondering if he's
serious.]
LL: The Masked Maniac.
TR: Oh him. He doesn't count.
LL: What?
TR: Well in our tag match he just did what Fontana wanted him to do,
so at some point Fontana will tell him to back off and he'll go eat
popcorn or something.
[Laurel just hangs her head and starts to hold her forehead with her
hands.]
TR: Don't worry, I have a plan for him.
LL: One more thing, what was that with Rob Cole?
TR: You know me. Just doing what I need to do. Besides, I almost
beat him once.
[Tommy starts to focus on his workout and doesn't hear Laurel's last
comment.]
LL: Almost isn't a win.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Tom Landis
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
[Cut to the backstage area, amidst a swirling vortex of action as PVW
employees and workers mill around. In the middle of this chaos is
Dean Hayes, running to catch up with a group of three people who's
backs are to the camera, two females and a male.]
DH: Tom! TOM! Hold on a minute!
[The man turns around, revealing himself to be the one and only
"Hellraiser" Tom Landis. Tom smirks, and calls back to the women.
One of the women, clearly a blonde, nods her head and then walks off
with the second woman.]
TL: You two go on ahead, I'll catch up. What's swingin', Deano?
DH: Well, tonight you've got maybe the biggest match of your PVW
career against Gibson Hayes and yet you seem strangely calm. I would
have expected you to be a bundle of nerves today, almost
unapproachable.
TL: Then why in the hell would you have called out to me like that,
Dean?
DH: It's my job.
TL: Well lucky for you, preparing for the big matches just happens to
be my job. And you're absolutely correct, tonight _IS_ the biggest
match I've ever had in PVW. Gibson Hayes and I have been on this
collision course from the very beginning, ever since he shot his mouth
off about my wife.
DH: And ever since, he's used every dirty trick in the book to keep
his grip on the American Championship and keep you away from it.
TL: Exactly. As fervently as he talks about patriotism and being the
big American hero, it's that title belt he really treasures. And the
best way to stick it to Gibson Hayes is to knock him out and take away
his golden trophy. Afterall, what sort of American hero will Gibson
Hayes be without that American title?
DH: Are you concerned about the entourage Gibson has put together to
surround himself at all times?
TL: I'm aware of it, Dean, but the Zero Tolerance Policy is supposed
to take care of things like that. I have to believe Jason Keening is
sincere in his enforcement of it, but even if somehow that fat lug
Bubba or that fatter lug Johnstone try to stick their noses into the
match I'll just have to rise above it and overcome.
Tonight's the proverbial line drawn in the sand. I'm either going to
shut Gibson up once and for all, or he's going to slip through my
grasp one more time and I guess prove there's no justice in PVW. But
I promise you Dean, you will see everything I have in me out there.
Nothing held back, nothing left.
DH: One last question?
TL: Shoot.
DH: Who were the lovely ladies with you a few moments ago?
TL: [smirks] I wondered if it'd come around to this. That happens to
be my family, Dean. I invited my wife and my mother to come along for
the trip, seeing as how we're here in London, England. It's not every
day you get a free trip overseas.
DH: Thanks Tom, and best of luck tonight.
TL: Thanks Dean.
[Fade.]
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Justin Cruise & el Outlaw LOCO
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
[Cut to a hospital waiting room. A tall blonde stands at the
reception counter filling out paperwork. Justin Cruise walks into the
camera shot, slipping an arm around her. Some new stitches have been
taped up over his right eye, and he moved with a slight limp.]
Michelle: You know you can't keep going like this.
Cruise: Won't need to.
Michelle: Is all of this really worth it?
[Cruise pauses to think.]
Cruise: I think so. It'll all be over soon enough. Just a few more
days..
Michelle: I'm looking forward to that. I won't lie, you're going to a
dark place, and it worries me.
Cruise: I'm stronger than that. I can handle this.
Michelle: I hope so.
[She puts the pen down, and wraps her arm around his.]
Michelle: Lets go home.
Cruise: Best idea of the day.
[As the two head towards the door, they cross a familiar face.]
Michelle: Amy?
[Nightfire turns towards the couple.]
Nightfire: Oh, hey.
Cruise: What are you doing here?
Nightfire: Visiting.
Cruise: What? He's still here?
Nightfire: You know how he is.
[Cruise shakes his head.]
Cruise: What room? I'm gonna go talk to him.
Nightfire: 201. just down the hall.
[Cruise gives Michelle a quick kiss on the cheek, and walks away from
the two women with the camera in tow.]
Cruise: I don't know why any of us put up with this guy.
[Cruise stops in front of the door labelled 201, opens it, and walks
in.]
Cruise: What the heck are you still doing here?
[The camera pans over towards the towards the bed. El Outlaw LOCO is
laying on it, in a hospital gown with his black Luchadore mask with a
pink pig on it, his right arm is in a sling.]
LOCO: Ah, Justin, mi [senal] amigo. So nice of you to [senal] visit
me.
Cruise: I was here last week.
LOCO: Really? Ah senor, mi [senal] memory-o is not the same anymore
since that [senal] cabrone Rob Cole attacked me.
Cruise: Really?
LOCO: Si.
Cruise: REALLY?
LOCO: Si.
[Cruise shakes his head.]
Cruise: So you've stayed in bed since?
LOCO: Of course not. I went to [senal] Heatwave.
Cruise: What? When? I didn't see you there.
LOCO: I was all over [senal] tv all [senal] night? I even attacked
that [senal] pindaho The Maskedo Outlaw.
Cruise: That wasn't you.
LOCO: Si, I was even speaking french.
Cruise: That wasn't you.
LOCO: But --
Cruise: -- It wasn't you..
LOCO: But the attack on the [senal] Masked Outlaw --
Cruise: -- Not you.
LOCO: But then, who the [senal] was it?
Cruise: Really? The french wasn't a clue for you?
LOCO: You speak french.
Cruise: Yes, but not on TV.
LOCO: Hmm..
Cruise: It was Perry Fontana.
LOCO: He's french?
Cruise: I.. wait.. what? Ok, I know you're oblivious to a lot of
things, but you didn't notice Perry Fontana was french?
LOCO: Ah, Justin, you know that I only know my [senal] opponents.
Cruise: You're facing him at the PPV.
LOCO: Oh. Right.
Cruise: You forgot didn't you.
LOCO: Of course not. It's El Outlaw LOCO vs. the [senal] Perry
Fontana in an Ironman --
Cruise: -- ladder --
LOCO: -- ladder match. He and I will [senal] go mano-a-mano --
Cruise: -- four way --
LOCO: -- with two other [senal] manos at Cruise Control --
Cruise: -- Shattered Dreams --
LOCO: -- Shattered Dreams!
Cruise: You're hopeless you know that right?
LOCO: Si senor. But at least I'm a [senal] champion. And my [senal]
opponents Rick Marley --
Cruise [sighing] : -- Masked Maniac --
LOCO: -- and Will Geddings --
Cruise: -- Tommy Ryder --
LOCO: [pause] Uno momento. Wasn't Tommy [senal] Ryder my partner in
the luchadore match?
Cruise: Think so.
LOCO: Ah, excellente. He's a [senal] jobber. As is Maniaco Mask. So
I can only [senal] assume that Fontana is one as well.
Cruise: If that helps you sleep at night. Why not.
LOCO: Si, it does.
[Cruise just shakes his head.]
Cruise: Amy's here to see you. Quit acting like a dumbass, and check
yourself out of here.
LOCO: As soon as I am [senal] healthy senor.
[The camera fades to black as Cruise leaves the room.]
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Alex Martinez
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
[He wraps the white tape around his fists slowly. There's something
almost religious about this ritual, about the way he prepares to go
into battle. As the Last American Badass lifts his face, echoes of
that preparation are in his brown eyes. Alex Martinez looks ready and
determined.
And that is never good news.]
AM: There's a bounty on your head Geddings... but that ain't why I'm
gonna kick your ass. Ya turned down SSN.. but that ain't why I'm gonna
kick your ass.
Ya came out and told me I got no place here in PVW, that this is your
house... but that ain't why I'm gonna kick your ass.
SSN chose me, the one, true legend in this sport, and they sent me
after ya... but that ain't why I'm gonna kick your ass.
Ya stood by Geddings, and watched your best little buddy get his ass
kicked. Ya ran, and lived to get another check for facin' me... and
that ain't why I'm gonna kick your ass.
No, so far as I see it Geddings, there's one reason and one reason
only to go to Shattered Dreams and beat ya until your own mother
wouldn't recognize ya.
And that's this.
[A smirk crawls across the face of the Last American Badass.]
AM: You make me made, Will Geddings.
No... that ain't it. Ya piss me off, big time.
Don't get me wrong, there is a bounty, and you can be damn sure I plan
on collectin' it. But it ain't 'bout the money Geddings. I got more
money that I'll ever be able to spend, 'cuz frankly, beer and
strippers ain't all that expensive.
Ya might fool yourself and think I'm fightin' ya for a reputation,
either my own or SSN's. But my rep ain't somethin' a jackass like you
can touch. I've proven myself, over and over again. In L.A., in Japan,
in Canada. And every other part of the world. I've been to places you
can only dream of, and I've done stuff that ya had to be there to
understand.
But see, Geddings, you ain't learned your lesson yet. You've made the
same mistake a hundred other guys have made.
Ya think you're the one.
Ya think that you're the one who can beat me. Ya think you're the one
that's gonna stop Alex Martinez. Ya think ya can do the things ain't
no one else has ever been able to do. Ya think that you got what it
takes to make a name off Alex Martinez.
And that pisses me off.
Ya don't take me seriously. Ya come out and ya talk a whole lotta
crap. And then, when ya get your chance to do somethin' 'bout it, ya
let your friend take the fall. Now, don't get me wrong, havin' someone
around to take an ass kickin' that's rightfully yours is 'bout the
only reason I can come up with for havin' a friend, but still, that
was a bitch move Geddings.
And bitches get their asses handed to 'em.
There's pain you're owed. Not over a bounty, and not ‘cuz ya turned
down the offer that brought me here to PVW. This is ‘bout you, and
what you've earned.
You're due to be hurt Geddings. And when it comes to handin' out an
ass kickin', well, ain't no better than the Last American Badass.
Shattered Dreams is the right name. Because I am about to shatter
every dream ya ever had.
Your dream that you're a star.
Your dream that you got a hope in hell of beatin' me.
Your dream of bein' a legend.
Its all gonna be shattered. Because, Will Geddings. You are about to
end up bein' what every other jackass who ever got in my face wound up
bein'. You're about to be...
BURNED!!!
[Fade to Black.]
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Marcus Manson
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
[Marcus Manson straddled a steel chair in front of the PVW backdrop]
Nothing fancy this week, Larry... just me, the camera, and you.
[Manson smirked.]
Your time is quickly running out, Gionet. Soon, you will have to face
me in the PVW ring. You will have to prove that you deserve the title
of toughest man in PVW. You've barely said a peep these last few
weeks, so I know you're scared Gionet, and you should be.
You're smart to fear me Gionet. At Shattered Dreams, I will expose
you. I'll bring to light all of your lies, all the falsehoods you've
told to your fans. The claims that you're the best, the strongest, the
"toughest man in PVW."
[Manson shook his head, a waved a hand dismissively.]
What a crock.
At Shattered Dreams, all of your lies will be erased, everyone will
finally see what a farce you are. They will all come to know the
truth. Everyone will come to know that the "PVW Warrior" is a fraud.
I've been undefeated in Phoenix Valley Wrestling for nine months. NINE
MONTHS. Not a single person in Phoenix Valley Wrestling has pinned me
or made me submit. Sure, you and Benedict may have won the match on
Heatwave, Larry, but you didn't... beat... ME.
And at Shattered Dreams, that's not going to change. You know it, the
fans know it, all of PVW knows it.
I don't care who this special referee may be. It makes no difference.
I will take rightful claim of the title of toughest man in PVW, and
you will be just another victim. Another stepping stone on the path to
_MY TITLE_. Another man put down by the Heart Punch, the deadliest
move in Phoenix Valley Wrestling.
[Manson split a wicked grin.]
Enjoy what time you have left, Larry, and as we head into Shattered
Dreams, consider this...
Can YOU hanlde the Misery?
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Doc Holliday
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
[SCENE: A barren, rocky landscape on an overcast day.
It's really hard to tell exactly where this is. The land is grey and
rocky, with puddles of water here and there. This is near a coast, as
a body of water can be seen in the distance, uninvitingly grey and
dismal-looking. Near the edge of the camera's view walks a lean man
we have all seen before... Doc Holliday is out for a stroll, clad in
his 1880's era attire which looks even MORE out of place in a locale
like this. The clean-shaven, light-brown-wavy-haired veteran's black
frock coat and pants, white ruffled silk undershirt, topaz gold vest,
and black hat contrast heavily with the ragged terrain.]
DH: Les' talk fer a moment about whar this all begun.
[Doc crouches down alongside one of the pools of water.]
DH: Bioly-gists say thet a billion years ago, some dang fool chemical
reack-shin happened in a body o' water an' made life outta nothin'...
ah did say whar this ALL begun... an' since then some evy-lution has
brought it up ta humankin'. Nice story, about as much proof behin' it
as any religion's take, but these people act lak it's a known fact.
Th' fossil record direck-ly contry-dicts th' theory o'macroevy-lution,
mathematics shows it's impossible, but they believe it. On account
of they WANT ta believe it. They's so desperate to rule out th' fact
thar might be a higher power, they blind themselves ta th' rules they
made fer themselves. Th'scientific method.
Ah guess Xavier Feyr ain't so different than th' sane scientists aftah
all.
[Doc meanders on down the coast.]
DH: Ya talked yerself inta believin' somethin' whut jus' ain't so,
Xavier. Th'evidence o' many a year shows thet Doc Holliday is th'
fittest. Meanest? Nah. Strongest? Not even close. Toughest?
Debatable. But if it is as ya say, survival of th' fittest, then know
that Doc Holliday is th' fittest man in wrasslin' taday. Ah have th'
track record, Xavier. EVIDENCE. Thet's whut y'all science types
predy-cate ever'thang on, ain't it? Evidence! An' evidence says thet
Doc Holliday is many times a champeen, many times a winner of
accolades, tournaments, an' buyrates. They keep comin' ta put me out,
an' ah don' miss a beat.
You? Xavier, ah remembah one time ya beat Alex Extreme in an ice rink
with a Zamboni involved. Impressive, awright, but ya ain't got no
Zamboni at Shattered Dreams. Ah ain't likely ta slip on a canvas mat.
So ah ask, who've ya beaten in a wrasslin' ring? Ah hear ya say how
ah gone soft, how ah done got washed up, but whut yer hypothesis needs
is evidence. You've proved yer a bad, bad man. You've proved yer
tough, dangerous, an' mean. But Doc Holliday has no concern fer bad,
bad, tough, dangerous, mean men on account of ah've beat every bad,
bad, dangerous, mean man they evah put in mah path. Ya proved ya
could git one on me outside a match, but ya ain't proved thet yer a
threat ta Doc Holliday in mah element.
So yer talkin' is as nothin' ta me. Yer puttin' out theory as fact.
Shattered Dreams is yer experimental group, an' ya only git one shot
ta prove yer point. We're both beat up, th' field is even, ain't none
of us got no excuses. Ya wanna declare Doc Holliday washed up?
Prove it.
[Doc reaches into his coat, and pulls out a yellowed scroll of some
kind. He unrolls it, and reads from it.]
DH: Code Of Th' Old West says thet no man alive is a washed-up
gunslinger. On account of a gunslinger only fin's out he's washed up
in th' last moments of his life, when he's got thet bright artery
blood on his han' an' he knows it came from his own gut. He learns
thet he ain't got it no more when he's laid out in a heap an' th'
whole worl' is gone dark around 'im. You know as well as ah do thet
this happens ta wrasslers too. Ya kin feel it in 'em, when they spend
up thet last drop o' reserve, an' they know it weren't enough. When
ya git hold of 'em aftah thet, an' break 'em physically... a young man
comes back from thet. So does a man in his prime, an' even a veteran
who still got somethin' inna tank. But a man on his last legs, a man
washed up, he breaks in body, min', an' spirit. Ah ain't undefeated,
Xavier, an' neither is anyone else of any merit. Ah lost a match ta
Gibson Hayes an' his four bodyguards, an' ah was injured in so doin'.
An if ya think thet broke me, you got no goddamn idea who ah am.
No, if ya wanna put me ta pasture, Xavier, waitin' fer Father Time
ain't a-gonna git it done. Rick Marley kin only hide from me fer so
long, an' aftah Craven gits hold of 'im at Shattered Dreams ah might
not hafta bother. If ya wanna play Taps on me, say ah ain't got a
killer's soul no more, yer gonna hafta prove it by doin' ta me
whut nobody evah done. Yer gonna hafta break me yerself. Body, min',
an spirit. Pinnin' me ain't gonna do th' job, Xavier. Thet ain't
sufficient evidence. Gangin' up Widowmakers style ain't yer cup o'
tea, but in case Marley was thinkin' about it, thet ain't gonna cut it
neither. No, ya got jus' whut ya asked fer... a chance ta
test me.
An' if ya really, really think ah'm washed up? Whut're ya gonna do
with yerself when ya fail?
[Doc crouches down and points at the distance, where a buzzard is
working on the carcass of some dead animal.]
DH: Ah wonder if ya really thought this Survival Of Th' Fittest thang
through. Inna end, really, we all're gonna git eat up by buzzards an'
worms. Th' greatest men whut evah walked th' Earth? Worm food. Then
birds eat up th' worms, we eat th' birds, an inna end? Nobody really
survives. Which leads me ta one more thang inna Code.
[Doc brandishes the scroll, the Code Of The Old West, in front of
him.]
DH: Thar weren't no atheists inna Old West. A man could look aroun',
see thet all thangs suffered a common fate, an' surmise thet thar
ain't much point ta nothin' if thar wasn't anythang more. Survival Of
Th' Fittest? Who cares?! We all gonna be dead real soon anyhow! Ah
heard tell an ol' feeble woman in India turned a hunnered an' ten
years ol' las' week, an' she must be one hell of a lot fitter'n you,
Xavier, cuz yer gonna be real lucky ta see sixty th' way ya treat yer
body. As fer Doc Holliday, ah ain't plannin' ta see sixty. Ah
suspect ah ain't got no halo or wings comin' mah way... ah did whut ah
did an' ah am who ah am, no apologies. But if all ya look at is
survival? Evolution? Natch'ral selection? Theories?
We're all worm food, Xavier. You, me, an' th' sick kids at th'
childern's hospital born with problems thet'll kill 'em before
puberty. In th' end, yer th' same as they is. Worm food. We jus'
ain't stopped movin' long enough fer 'em ta eat us yet.
So whut exactly was you tryin' ta prove ag'in?
[Doc shakes his head slowly.]
DH: This is why Doc Holliday ain't fittin' ta prove nothin'. Ah don'
concern mahself with whether or not ya think ah'm washed up. Yer th'
only one who keers. Ah keer about doin' mah duty an' avengin' mah
legacy. Ah keer about gittin' hold o' you fer whut ya done at
Tradition. Ah ain't interested in yer useless concepts o' genetic
superiority, biolog-cal determinism, natch'ral selection, an' whatevah
else fool thangs ya talk about. Ah don' need ta analyze life with
theory; ah'm busy LIVIN' it, thet's a fact, an' ah ain't got time fer
none of thet bull. Our days are short, Xavier. Yours, mine, an'
every man, woman, an' child who ya seem ta think ya kin out-survive.
Our days are short an' noone keers how fit ya were once yer dead.
So at Shattered Dreams, Xavier, lemme tell ya whut goes down. Ah whup
on you, ah shatter yer dreams o' thinkin' thet ya somehow surpassed me
in whutevah metric ya keer ta use, an' ah get shed o' yer
in'nerference in mah business. Ah came ta PVW fer Marley. Ah'm
honorin' yer wish ta fight me on account of ya was a friend to me.
But yer only gittin' one shot. One chance. Ah ain't got time in mah
life ta waste with fool notions thet don' hold no meanin' ta me. Yer
gonna have a fair chance ta perform yer experiment. When it blows up
in yer face, an' yer own words convict ya... when Doc Holliday proves
out ta be th' Fittest by yer own definition... it's ovah. Do whut ya
gotta do fer Widowmakers, but ya git no second chance with me. Mah
days is numbered too, an' ah got plans fer them days. Plans ta make
Rick Marley pay fer whut he done, if Craven don' do it first. Plans
ta rebuild mah legacy ta enjoy until mah last day comes an' ah move on
ta whutevah hole ah dug fer mahself. All thet's fer sure is thet last
day is gonna be jus' lak today, on account of...
...EVERY DAY is a HOLLIDAY!
[And we fade out, the camera panning in on that buzzard as we do so.]
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
The Mercenary
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
[Scene opens. We are somewhere in the bowels of the Wachovia Centre
...or maybe it's just a hallway leading to the parking lot... Kinda of
hard to tell, as the lighting is pretty poor. Anyways, we can hear
that there is still some action happening inside the arena, but that
isn't our focus right now. What is our focus is the man coming towards
the camera. He carries a gym bag in one hand, and a Haliburton
suitcase in the other. And that means it can only be one man, the
Mercenary. He continues on his way towards the camera, going right
past it towards the exit. But before he can make his escape, Dean
Hayes, the intrepid PVW interviewer, cuts him off]
DH: Merc...Hey Merc... Where are you off to in such a big rush?
Shouldn't you be out in the ring in the Battle Royal?
Merc: (stopping suddenly to address his questioner). I should be in
the ring? And who are you to say where I should or should not be?
DH: Well, you did sign a contract to be in that match, did you not?
Merc: Yeah, I did. And I fulfilled that contract. I signed to enter
the Battle Royal and that's what I did. I didn't sign anything stating
how long I had to stay in it.
DH: But still...
Merc: But still nothing. You know that Battle Royals are very
unpredictable. You can't know what's going to happen. And with my big
PPV match coming up, I didn't want to take the chance of getting
injured before then.
DH: But your oppenent went through with his match. And what a
gruelling encounter it was. In fact...
Merc: In fact Dean, they don't grow Mensa candidates in the
Netherlands. Its not my concern that Hershey isn't that bright. He's
proved that time and time again by continuing to come after me.
DH: But do you think its going to make for a fair match? I mean, after
that beating he took from Sinister... He can't be anywheres close to
100% for your match.
Merc: Again, not my concern. But I would like to take this time to
extend my thanks to Sinister for his softening up of Hershey. Now if
you'll excuse me...
[Merc starts to leave, but is once more stopped, as Hayes poses a
question that Merc cannot help but answer]
DH: What about your fellow UEW alumni? How could you leave them
hanging like that? After all, you are the oldest remaining member of
that organization, and some say the heart and soul of it. You were
there since the beginning and to just walk out on a match against the
rival WWO, to finally show which organization was the best...
Merc: The key word in there is 'was'. The WWO is dead... has been for
years. And as much as I hate to say it, so is the UEW. People have
been trying to bring the UEW back many times, and each time, I've
jumped on the bandwagon in full support. But its finally time that I,
along with the rest of the world realizes that that dream is dead and
shattered. Its time to move on and help make my new home, the PVW, the
best wrestling organization on the planet. And I'm going to start by
taking out the Euro-trash at the PPV.
DH: Well...
Merc: Well, nothing Dean. I've given you more than enough time right
now. Got places to go, people to see. And you and Philidelphia are
neither. So, until the PPV...
[This time Merc does make his way to the exit, leaving Hayes and his
next question unanswered. With a final shot of Dean and his mike, we
fade to snow]
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Justin Cruise
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
[A close up of Justin Cruise's face, blood drips from a cut over his
eye.]
Cruise: This is it Cole. There's nowhere left for either of us to go
except in the middle of the PVW ring. You and me, one and one, for
the PVW World Championship. But that's not what's important. No, the
title is only part of it. This is about taking back control from the
likes of you.
[Suddenly from off camera, a fist comes flying in, and smashes Cruise
on the side of the face. He staggers backwards, and shakes shakes his
head, trying to get rid of the cobwebs.]
Cruise: I thought I'd seen it all Rob, until last week, when your
insanity reached a whole new level. You've been chasing after
yourself while wearing a mask. I've been known to keep the company of
some rathe ridiculous people, but I think you take the cake. But I'm
ready for it now.
[Off camera, a leg appears kicking Cruise in the ribs. The number one
contender drops to his knees, hugging himself, trying to block out the
pain.]
Cruise [gasping] : I've been prepraring myself for you. Preparing
myself for the hell the two of us are about to embark upon at
Shattered Dreams. I'd like to think I'm not the person I was before.
That I've managed to bring out a part of me that's been laying dormant
for too long. The part of me that I knew I would someday need to find
to deal with someone like you.
[Another kick, this time to the kidney area. Cruise lets out a yell
of agony, arching his back in pain.]
Cruise [panting] : Every -- everyone has a... a...
[The words have a hard time coming out. He bends forward, laying his
forehead on the floor.]
Cruise: Everyone has a dark side. I'm just getting to .. to .. to
know mine. It's cold, it's dark, it's.. it's ugly.. And it's almost
ready to be unleashed on the "Monster". I've pushing it as far as I
can, trying to let it loose --
[He raises back up and looks at the camera, a cold stare.]
Cruise: -- on you.
[A singapore cane cracks him on the chest, instantly a dark red welt
is visible, bleeding..]
Cruise: I just need to finish what I've started here. What I've been
working on since I've known that it would be you and me in the ring.
I'll be there soon Rob. Soon the whole world will see that you're not
the only monster. If only.. If only I can make it through this.
This.. [panting] This is the hard part. The making it through the
pain, the agony.. I just need to push through.
[Another kick, this time to the face, sends Cruise sprawling to the
floor. He slowly pushes himself up with his arms, and spits out
blood.]
Cruise: Once I push through, I'll be ready for you Rob. Because I've
realised that I wasn't. I was ready for the Masked Outlaw, but I
wasn't ready for the Outcast. I wasn't ready for the Monster under
the bed. [takes a deep breath.] I was kidding myself thinking I
could do this my way. After everything I've seen you do -- [spits out
more blood] -- from beating on Young when he was in a wheel chair, to
assaulting Chase Williams with a railroad spike.. [shakes head] to
the attack on Outlaw.
[pauses.]
Cruise: My brother didn't deserve that.. And no sane person would've
attacked like that because of a few jokes, some impersonations.. A
sane person would've let that slide.. But then again you're not sane..
[Cruise wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.]
Cruise: Week after week you showed me that it had to be your way. And
I've been working on it. I've been pushing myself. Seeing how far I
could bring myself. How close I get to being you, without losing the
humanity in myself.
[A series of cane shots to the back. Cruise crumbles forward once
more.]
Cruise: The pain Rob. Why does this feel so good to you? It's
killing me. I .. I don't know how much further I can push myself..
If I keep going on, what will I turn into? Will it just be the dark
side of Justin Cruise, or will it be more, will it be something
scarier? I don't know...
[He lifts up his head, and looks into the camera.]
Cruise [whispering] : I'm scared Rob. I'm scared of what I'm doing to
myself. I'm scared that if I go too far, I'll never come back. Is
this how you feel Rob? Is this how you feel everyday day of your
miserable existance? Is this what you go through everytime you wake
up in the morning? I'ts unberable Rob. I can't go on. I can't do
it.
[A foot comes into view, and kicks Cruise square in the face, knocking
him backwards.]
Cruise: Someone make it stop. Please. Make the pain stop. make it
go away.
Voice: Do you think Rob Cole will stop?
Cruise: He'll never stop. Pain is all he knows. Pain is what he is.
Voice: Do you want us to stop.
[Cruise closes his eyes, forcing back tears. He opens them suddenly.]
Cruise: NO!
[He slowly rises, and gets back to his feet.]
Cruise: NO!
[He is attacked by cane shots, kicks and punches. He drops to his
knee, and just as quickly finds the strength to rise back up.]
Cruise: NO!
[Again and again he is attacked. ]
Cruise: NO! NO! NO! NO!
[But he can only take so much, and falls over.]
Cruise: [whisper] no....
[The camera moves in towards his face. His eyes are closed, blood
trickles from the open wound. His left eye opens, he sees the
camera.. and smiles.]
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Dark Soul
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
[Fade.
Well, not so much. The camera apparently has yet to be activated, but
suddenly, the sounds of crashing furniture are heard. Bleeps follow
so PVW doesn't have to have a F/X style disclaimer at the beginning of
their shows.
We finally open to a shot, thankfully in focus, of Candy Malone. A
look of complete boredom is not just told on her face, but in her
slump demeanor as she sits on a stool that has been backed up to the
wall of what looks like a locker room. Though her legs are crossed
and the dream of high school perverts everywhere isn't realized, her
skirt still shows off her tan legs that are a long way removed from
the Canadian winters she was used to growing up. The black skirt
matches the black jacket that looks to have no shirt under it from the
generous v-cut. Ms. Malone's right arm is stretched across her chest
while her left arm is bridged up, palm against the side of her face.
As we pull back, a chair flies by the camera. Another obscenity is
censored so that children won't use such vile language. Some heavy
breathing joins the bleeps as, what looks like a mirror, also flies
by. The crashing is loud.]
Ms. Malone: "Um, this damage bill will really suck."
[The camera finally slowly moves away from the Canadian bombshell and
heads left. There we find Dark Soul, who for the moment, has given up
destroying anything he can get his hands on, which are somewhat
bloody. He looks off-camera, probably toward Ms. Malone. His shirt
that he wore during his brief appearance on Damage Control as
been ripped to pieces, some of which remain over his chest.]
Dark Soul: "Thanks for your concern about my paycheck."
Ms. Malone: "Please, babe. What paycheck? For the five seconds you
were in the ring?"
[Dark Soul smirks before grabbing a stool, already missing a leg, and
throws it across the room. Off camera, his valet continues.]
Ms. Malone: "But, that's not what concerns me."
Dark Soul [looking toward her as the camera moves to the side and back
of Dark Soul so that we can see her]: "And please tell me what it is
that you so very concerned?"
Ms. Malone: "Well, global warming. The lack of good network
television. Redneck humor remaining popular so that some how, Larry
the Cable Guy hasn't had his vocal chords ripped out. But beyond
that, what has me concerned is the fact that you did it again. You
went away, without a care in the world, and then showed up and got
embarrassed."
Dark Soul: "You really know how to pick me up."
Ms. Malone: "Oh, you want more? Here's an idea."
[She practically jumps off the stool, quickly moves five steps, and
slaps Dark Soul hard on the face. He recoils before setting his
sights on her once more.]
Dark Soul: "What the hell?"
Ms. Malone: "Oh, I'm sorry. I figured everyone else was kicking your
ass, why not me?" [With that, another slap is delivered.] "Ya know,
we have been at this for almost a year. ALMOST A FRIGGIN' YEAR! You
came to me, telling me you couldn't come back to this sport without
me. I dropped every damn little thing in my life because I believed I
was going to war with you, Dark. But he's not here. You're not even
half the man I knew. PVW keeps harping up WWO vs. UEW and all that,
but I think it's a fraud. Because that Dark Soul is hidden, hardly in
view, and its replacement is getting his ass handed to him every damn
time he steps through the ropes."
Dark Soul: "You think I like this? That it's what I had in mind when
I signed with that short-lived fed before joining up with PVW?"
Ms. Malone: "You tell me, Chris. Tell me why you have gone from the
returning star to the joke. Some nights, I catch myself and say "he's
back." But most nights, it's like the PVW magazine recently said...is
Dark Soul done? Shattered Dreams is coming up. That's your last
chance to show me something, Dark. I'm walking otherwise. I'm not
wasting my time with the guy who doesn't even know why he's doing
this. The PVW wants this to be the WWO Dark Soul. The guy who
won a World Title. The guy who main-evented a pay-per-view. The guy
who beat William Craven...who took down Tracy Hudson...who dethroned
the king, Tyrone Hayes. Where's that guy, Dark?"
[Dark Soul sighs quietly, a face of complete acceptance flashing over
his features. His body slumps.]
Dark Soul: "I had a weird dream where I was married."
Ms. Malone: "Okay, I'm done."
[She starts toward the door, but Dark Soul grabs her arm and swings
her around. Not too forcefully, but with enough strength to show her
that she needs to stay.]
Dark Soul: "Run with this, alright? She was beautiful and seemed
like a perfect girl for me. A sort of collage of my best ex's. And
the thing was...I wasn't happy. I'm not meant to live that perfect
little life, Candy. I'm meant to do this. I'm meant to have history
repeat itself. I'm meant...to be more than I was before. You're
right, Candy. That guy has been hiding, wondering if he could cut
the mustard anymore. In its place, a manic depressive who sometimes
comes to war with the idea to win and other times, seems surprised as
hell to come to war. Trust me, I know. I've watched the videos.
I've compared them to my time with WWO. Thing is...I don't think I can
be that guy anymore."
[This time, Ms. Malone's shoulders slump, followed by her entire
body.]
Dark Soul: "But...I can be something new. A new wrestler. See,
Spectre and Detson have this rebirth match set up, which sounds cool.
Maybe Shattered Dreams will be my rebirth. Maybe the Dark Soul you
wanted me to be again is dead...but that doesn't mean I can't better
than I ever was. I haven't had the motivation just yet. Maybe the
name and expectations were too much. What I need a new start and at
Shattered Dreams, I can have that. I'm not going home, Candy. Maybe
the next article in the PVW magazine about me will be titled "Back in
the Main Event."
[He turns toward the camera.]
Dark Soul: "And it all starts with the worriless one. Rob Magnum,
our time in the battle royal may have been brief, but one important
thing happened. I was better than you. Get used to that equation
because at Shattered Dreams, it will repeat itself. I see a lot of
myself in you, Magnum. The guy who came back and now, wonders why
things aren't perfect. Maybe you will get a little Canadian girl to
whack you upside the head and tell you what you need to know like I
have. But you better bring your best, Robby...cause truth is...I have
everything to lose now. I'm not here to waste anymore time. Maybe
the Dark Soul from the WWO that the PVW kept hyping is dead, gone, a
distant memory. But the guy you see right now and the guy who will be
in that ring with you...he might be just a bit better. I'm ready to
find out."
[With that, the scene fades to dark.]
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Xavier Feyr
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
[The scene opens, on the ruines of the Roman Colosseum. The arches
and great pillars still supporting this massive structure after
centuries, though parts of it have long since crumbled away, and the
occasional site of ladders and tools tells us that more than few
attempts are being made to restore, or at least mantain this structure
for generations to come. Slowly panning around the great colosseum,
where gladiators once fought and died for the entertainment of the
Roman populace, we come to the figure of many who could be called a
modern gladiator of sorts, the man known as "Bloodlust" Xavier Feyr.]
[Xavier's black trenchcoat billows slightly in the wind the howls
through this ancient arena, his wild mane of crimson hair looking all
the more wild as it writhes in the wind. He sits in a courched
position, almost like the statue "The Thinker" stroaking his
Luciferan-style goatee as he gazes out over the ruins, taking in the
seen with a quiet contemplation. For several moments he says nothing,
not even acknowledging the camera. But then, finally, he speeks, in a
clear, theatrical voice.]
Xavier Feyr: Once there was a dream that was Rome...
[Xavier extends a hand out over the empty ruines, currently devoid of
tourists as the sun can be seen setting in the distance, it's reddish
orange glowing peaking through the walls of the colosseum.]
XF: ...but like all dreams, eventually, it had to an end.
[Xavier smiles faintly as he speaks, his words carrying a hint of
regret as though some part of him wishes he did not believe his own
words.]
XF: In the years since, men have tried, grasping at fragmented
memories of that fleeting dream, trying to restore some sense of the
glory that was Rome, a time they were sure was one of the greatest in
human history, though none of them ever lived in a time when they
could see it with their own eyes. Perhaps, in chasing this dream,
they thought somehow they could make it again reality, and experience
that which had already been lost.
[Xavier chuckles slightly... a hollow one, not showing any sign of
amusment at his words.]
XF: But in this they miss the harsh reality of this world. That the
only thing eternal, is that in the end, no matter how great, or
seemingly enduring, will one day crumble and fall, becoming little
more than memories in time... then stories... fairy tales... myths...
and eventually forgotten.
[Xavier shakes his head sadly, and slowly rises to his feet, still
gazing out over the ruins of the colosseum.]
XF: Yet it is in that destruction, that the clock of ages turns, and
that new and greater things rise and come to the forefront of
civilization.
[As he continues to speak, his tone changes from that of one of
melancholy to one with a growing firery passion.]
XF: It is through the destruction of those things that we most prize,
and that we THINK hold the greatest value that we become stronger.
With the fall of Rome, and the coming the Dark Age, men were forced to
again find their strength and resolve, and through it all rise to
creat in the world greater powers than what Rome could have ever hoped
to be.
[Xavier chukles in that coldly ironic laugh that we find all too
familiar.]
XF: Yet these too fell... for as Rome was whithered by it's own
corruption, and destroeyd by the very barbarians it had once tried to
civilize, so too will this world fall to ashes. And one day, perhaps
one you and I will never see, out of it all, something else, something
greater shall rise.
[Xavier's tone rises, now to one of seeming triumph.]
XF: And as the day approaches when that world crumbles and falls, and
all other cry in morning, or shout screams of panick as their world is
consumed by the fires of that which cannot be denied, all that will be
left for me to do, is to stand as Nero,...
[A grin of madness streches across Xavier's face]
XF: ...and fiddle while Rome BURNS!
[Xavier laughs to himself for a moment, the inner madness having come
completely to the surface as he looks back out over the ruins...]
XF: Once, there was a man named Doc Holliday, who dreamed of a
legacy... but like all dreams... eventually, it had to end.
[Slowly we fade to black as Xavier looks out over the ruins, laughing
madly.]
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Ronan Benedict
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
*KNOCK!* *KNOCK!* *KNOCK!*
[A woman's voice, slightly muffled behind a closed door, is the next
thing that greets our ears.]
V: Ronan?
[...]
*KNOCK!* *KNOCK!* *KNOCK!*
V: Ronan, are you in there?
[Nothing. We finally fade in on a doornob being wiggled, and then
clicked open. The door opens with it, blinding the eyes with bright
light. It takes a moment to adjust to the sudden change, but we are
aided by a silhouette stepping through the door. But the momentary
blindness returns once again, as a light is flicked on. It's pretty
dim, but does its job well enough. The room is relatively empty. A
simple locker room style bench, barred window to the night sky,
concrete walls and floor. Much like a prison cell, except without the
bed and toilet. And Ronan Benedict.]
V: I've been looking everywhere for you.
[Standing in the doorway is the woman he has become close to -
Michelle Ruger.]
MR: What's the matter with you?
[Ronan doesn't reply. He doesn't even look at her. Head bowed, it
appears he's deep in thought. Michelle steps over to him and kneels
down in front of him. Gently she raises his bearded chin to look at
her.]
MR: Ronan, talk to me. _Please_. You're really starting to scare me.
[But Ronan still doesn't answer her. His eyes gaze blankly straight
ahead, not even recognizing the woman in front of him. Michelle sighs
audibly, a look of frustration entering her face. She almost whispers
her next words.]
MR: Goddamnit, Ronan...
[Rising to her feet, Michelle turns to leave the room. Having no
further support, Ronan's chin lowers to his chest again.]
RB: They're right, you know. All of 'em.
[Surprise and relief enter Michelle's face as she turns toward her
friend.]
MR: Who's right? What about?
[Ronan still doesn't look at her. Still deep in thought.]
RB: All of 'em. Every last fan, critic, dude in the back... all of
'em...
[Michelle now steps back toward Ronan, and sits down on the bench
beside him.]
MR: Why is this bothering you?
[Ronan shakes his head. His eyes are aimed at the floor still, but he
doesn't actually look at anything in particular.]
RB: Doesn't matter what I think when they're tellin' the truth.
MR: Ronan, what "truth"?
[There's a sternness in Michelle's voice. But it's mixed into a
calming, comforting tone. Ronan doesn't quite raise his head, but
simply turns a bit to look at Michelle.]
RB: That I'm no match for Chad Grimsson. He's bigger, stronger,
faster, far more experienced, and oh yeah... he's built like a
f[BLEEP]kin' ox. Yeah I beat him once before. But the chance of
lightning striking twice are... well, practically zero. And I just
beat him. I just _barely_ pulled out that victory. Just a lucky
break, and no more. And no man has ever dished out the kinda'
punishment Chad has given me. More importantly, he's done it on a
consistent basis. Going into a fight at a hundred percent is just a
big pipe dream these days.
[His head turns back toward the ground.]
RB: Every time we throw down, I come out the worse for wear. Even
after that lucky win, he's the one that kicked _my_ teeth in. What's
more, Chad's got a head that's hard as a rock. There ain't much that
can hurt him. I've tried everything I know; and the son of a bitch
just keeps comin'. He won't stop. He never stops. Just a big
f[BLEEP]kin' wrecking ball looking to take my head off. Lookin' to
_kill_ me. and you know what?
[Again he turns his head towards Michelle.]
RB: He just might succeed.
[Michelle tries to let all of that sink in. But it's somewhat of a
shock to her system. Ronan's always been so determined, regardless of
the odds.]
MR: Don't say that. You're the strongest man I know. If there's
anyone that can stop that wrecking ball, it's you.
[Ronan's mood seems to lighten just a bit.]
RB: I've always liked you, Michelle. Your opinion means more for me
than most people's. These are the facts, though, and I'm facing 'em.
Not looking for a shoulder to cry on, and I don't want anybody's pity.
It's just the truth. There's one thing I got that he can't touch.
One... very big advantage over him. The one thing that drives me
forward despite the injuries, the blood loss. That keeps me from
tapping or saying "I quit".
[He thumps his chest twice for emphasis.]
RB: It's heart.
[Michelle nods, a small smile forming on her lips. A glimmer of hope
in her eyes.]
RB: There was a time when Chad had one too. That man would never turn
on a friend, no matter what. But he's dead and gone now. He traded
in his heart for an ego. That's his loss. And it just might cost him
in the end. Yeah he's gonna' throw everything he's got against me.
I'll probably spend the next year in a hospital bed, but that don't
matter. 'Cause while my heart's still beating, I'll keep fighting.
He can take out my legs, but I won't stop. Survival isn't an option
anymore. Victory is the only acceptable course left to me.
Victory or death.
Sure he might kill me. There's a good chance of it, in fact. But I
promise, it won't be easy by any stretch of the imagination. I'll be
_damned_ if I'm gonna' go out without a fight. And hopefully, with a
little luck...
I'll be the last man standing.
[Fade.]
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
PAIN
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
[SCENE: Outside the Kevorkian Institute Of Painless Medicine, in
beautiful scenic upstate New York.
This white building was once a large house, and has been converted
into a doctor's office with some later additions. The front has a
steep set of steps as well as a long winding handicap access ramp, and
the Institute faces an arterial with quite a bit of noisy traffic.
Large willow trees separate the Institute from a neighbor to the
right, and to the left is the end of a dead end street. It is here
that the brave Dean Hayes has decided to step in and make sense of the
recent nonsense concerning the propeitors of the Kevorkian Institute,
the Physicians Advocating Innovative Neoprocedures.
Dr. Mal Practice MD is here, hands on hips, face registering infinite
frustration. The tall, bulky grappler with the unusual salt-and-
pepper flattop is wearing his white labcoat over a pale light green
button-up shirt and khaki pants. He's at the bottom of the steps, and
Dean catches up to him.]
Dean Hayes: Swingin' Dean Hayes here at the Kevorkian Institute Of
Painless Medicine, and alongside me is one-half of PAIN, Dr. Mal
Practice MD. Mal, there's a lot going on with PAIN these days. But
Unholy War is right around the corner! With this golden opportunity
to become the World Tag Team Champions at hand, have you and Dr. Ohno
Ow been able to get on the same page.
[No cheesy fake-smile commercial-speak from Mal today. He's glaring
at his own front door as if he'd like to smash it with a brick. He
does not even turn to look at Dean or the camera.]
Dr. Mal: Hard to say.
DH: Er... how so?
DMP: I can't get in to see him. He's holding auditions for his movie,
and I had to take a number.
DH: Uhm... don't YOU own this building?
DMP: I do. But he hired security with tasers and guard dogs, and
after the first two times I wiped out the other auditioners, I ended
up getting tased, bitten, and arrested. So I'm just taking a number
and waiting my turn.
DH: To audition.
DMP: Yes.
DH: ...as yourself.
DMP: Days like this make it possible for me to hear the word 'insane'
without killing anyone, because I KNOW I'm the sanest person in this
place.
DH: I notice Todd Johnstone isn't around. Should I read into that?
DMP: Yeah, it's called "he manages a bunch of guys and can't be in
three places at once". I'm not worried about Todd. This isn't his
first run, you know.
DH: So do you think Ohno is ready for Unholy War?
DMP: No, but let's face it. We're not dealing with seven elite
fighting forces here. The present tag team champions are two idiots
from a trailer park whose claim to fame is making Outlaw-slash-Loco
look intelligent in comparison. That requires a special brand of
stupidity normally reserved for blonde dilettante heiresses. On
top of that, the competition includes the most overrated tag team in
wrestling history, the Prophets of Rage; Generic Unimpressive Tag Team
Number Two-Hundred Fourteen, the Made Men; a team that hasn't beaten a
quality opponent in seven years, Canadian Legacy; the bastard children
of Tiny Tim and Twiggy, Joker's Wild; and the day I can't get excited
about taking a ripsaw to a couple of lawyers is a day that won't see a
sunrise.
DH: A ripsaw?
DMP: What're they gonna do, disqualify me?
DH: I notice that you left off a team.
DMP: Oh, the Wild Cards deserve special consideration. Of course,
Jack Baldwin has indeed been considered special ever since school,
where he took the special bus to go to special classes and enjoy
special education. Judd Marley mainly sat in a corner while his more
talented brother accomplished everything and made his family so proud
they forgot they HAD a son named Judd. But we haven't forgotten, oh
no. Baldwin conspired with Jason Keening to take our money two years
ago!
DH: The Partners In Crime tournament...
DMP: And they still owe us that cool million! Plus all the damages to
Ohno's limosuine! Plus all the damages to Meili!
DH: They attacked Meili?!
DMP: No, they didn't, and they'll pay for that too!
DH: I don't suppose I should ask what is going on with this whole
Ohno-Violet-Meili thing?
DMP: Ohno will forget what you asked, Meili won't understand what you
asked, and Violet will gouge out your eyes for mentioning it. So no,
that would be a bad idea.
[The door swings open, and Violet Yang emerges. She is a very good-
looking Asian-American woman dressed in neatly pressed navy blue
blouse and skirt, but she looks very, very tired.]
VY: Mal, your number is next. Please, for pity's sake, talk some
sense into Ohno.
DH: You can't get in to see him either? What about Meili?
DMP: Oh dear Kevorkian, I'm surrounded by idiots.
VY: Grrrrrr...
[Violet stomps down the steps, hands raised and extended in eye-
gouging position, but she's stopped inches from Dean's face by Mal,
who sort of palms her head and turns her around.]
DMP: No, no, if we break him we have to replace him. And I'm just too
busy to replace gouged-out eyeballs today... that and I used the last
of the caulk last week on that osteoporosis case. Come on, let's go.
[Dean follows Mal and Violet into the Institute, through the waiting
room which still has several Mal impersonators in it working on their
lines, and up to the door leading to his office. The guards check his
number as the guard dogs growl and snarl... apparently remembering his
scent. Mal pulls a small hatchet(!) out of his labcoat.]
DMP: Here doggie doggie, let Dr. Mal show you some theraputic
veteranary techniques he learned from Michael Vick...
Guard: Do it and I'll show you some theraputic ventilation techniques
I learned from Ray Lewis. Go on inside. Leave the axe at the door.
DMP: Eh, I have five more in the office.
[Mal drops the hatchet, blunt end first on the head of one of the
guard dogs, inciting massive protests all over the world despite the
fact that this does nothing but piss the dog off. Had he buried the
hatchet in the man's face, though, that would be okay because it was
only a human and not a dog. But hey, I'm just an intercessory
description bracket and such complex moral issues are not for me to
contemplate.
Mal enters his office to find that his examination table is now home
to seven humongous coffee machines, his examination light is now a
makeshift spotlight, and it is shining on a gaudy director's chair
with a big shiny yellow star in it. Moving from a file cabinet over
to the chair is Ohno Ow, wearing some pretentiously trendy black
clothing, as well as a pair of sunglasses over his eyepatch. The
solidly-built Chinese man sits down, folding his hands in front of
him. Behind him, the perky figure (in more ways than one!) of Meili
gestures grandly... she is wearing a camo top and black pants.]
Meili: You bow in presence of Ooooooohhhhhno!
DMP: How about I cure your slurred speech with an injection of WD-40
straight into your tounge?
OO: That GOOD! Now... I need you, show ME you, can BE Mal!
DMP: I AM MAL!
OO: Nononono... that, not RIGHT. I need see, PASSION! ACT! Show me,
ALL you have!
DMP: Ohno, this has gone far enough! This is MY office, MY building,
you've locked yourself into a deranged fantasy world...
VY: And goodness knows Mal knows all about being locked in dera...
wait, did you just use a synonym of 'crazy'?
OO: AHA! Ob-voiusly you, NO good for PART! Real MAL would be,
STRANGLE camera-man with power, cord that he FIRST strip and ELEC-
trify if he, hear THAT word! NEXT!
VY: Ohno, that really IS Mal!
Meili: Big Sis, you no be in here! Ooooooohhno needs to focus!
OO: Yes, I need, CALM en-viro-MENT to, prop-erly an-alyze AUD-itions!
Too MANY peo-ple make, bad FENG Shui! It GIVING, me crink in NECK!
Please GO, in LOB...
[The downside to trying to kick Mal out of his own office is that he
knows where everything is. Such as the spare doctor's bag he keeps in
a cabinet behind a ream of paper and a box of paper clips. Said
doctor's bag is filled with heavy things that make loud crunching
noises upon contacting skulls, and this has been made quite evident as
Mal brains Ohno with the bag. Mal stands stright with a triumphant
gesture, holding his bag aloft.]
DMP: Curing disassociative psychopathy with blunt trauma... am I Mal
enough for you yet?
VY: She looks ill. [points at Meili]
Meili: AAAIIIIIIIII! WHAT YOU DO TO MY OOOOOOOOOHNO?!
OO (from floor): Crink, in neck, GONE!
[Ohno kips up to his feet, bleeding and dizzy. He stumbles into an
empty coffee machine and knocks it down, then turns and points at Mal.
Apparently, this is difficult as his image of Mal keeps moving and so
he is having to track it with his index finger.]
OO: Only REAL, Mal could do, THAT! Fix CRINK in, neck WITH bag, OF
bricks! I re-MEM-ber when you, first SHOW me, that!
DMP: At the restaurant down on Grant Ave... the waiter was rude and
late and kept complaining, so...
OO: WHAM! They, KICK us out but man, was CURED! Ha ha ha, those
GOOD, times. Now I, see why you, not ACT like Mal. You stretch-ing,
BEYOND normal ROLE ex-pec-TATION! VERY, good. You HIRED.
DMP: Oh, well, I'm glad I'm me enough for you. But we have an Unholy
War to get to, Ohno! And all our prep time is gone because of this
ridiculous movie sidetrack!
OO: I, ab-solute, AGREE.
[Mal pauses, surprised to hear that.]
DMP: ...oh, well, that was easy.
OO: Yes, STU-dio side-TRACK me, by assign such major PRO-ject to, UWE
BOLL! When I, saw SCREEN-play he wrote I spend TWO days in, COMA!
Then WHEN I wake, up I have to, TRACK down Uwe Boll and CURE him of,
brain DAMAGE. Then I, don-ATE his BRAIN to science so, they make,
sure noone ever END, up with brain that STUPID, again! Then I go DE-
mand studio producer ex-PLAIN why, they assign pro-JECT to, him and
they show, ME one of his, MOVIES. When I wake, up from THAT coma I
have to, CURE pro-ducer too. So I, have TO do things, my-self so they
DONE right.
DMP: Sadly, so far I can find no fault with anything you've said.
OO: I just, hope this JOEL, Schu-macher guy works, OUT.
DMP: You're gonna need more coffee. And edged weaponry.
VY: Okay, yay, this idiocy is over with. Now you have like two days
to prepare to fight seven teams. Good luck with that.
OO: I, not FIN-ish! AFTER, I cure pro-ducer I get, scenes FOR movie,
set UP. That WHY Un-HOLY War really being, fought! All great, MOVIES
need war, scene where HERO single-handed de-FEAT, all enemy! So Mal,
your role is, GET beat up and, cry and BEG for, me to HELP so, I make
hero RES-cue and save DAY. Also I BREAK, stupid Jack BALD-win face
for, wreck MY limo!
DMP: We... uh, can add the crying and begging in post production. For
now, get these guards out of here. I think the dogs ate Dean Hayes on
the way in here. Here, Meili, go rub this meat sauce on your windpipe
and go check on him. Meat sauce makes dogs friendly!
Meili: Yay! I love doggies!
[Meili takes the meat sauce (why does Mal keep meat sauce in his
medication cabinet?!) and rubs it on her neck as we fade out.]
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Gibson Hayes
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
We open up with a Gibson Hayes "BELIEVE" poster. This poster shows
Gibson standing with his fists on his hips, looking towards the upper
right hand corner while the statue of liberty stands over his left
shoulder and an outline of the lower 48 states rests behind the two on
a yellow background with the word: BELIEVE underneath the image in
simple white letters.
[A simple set up: Gibson Hayes leaning back in a folding chair in a
navy blue suit with red tie and white shirt. Gibson's right arm is
still encased in a cast, this week it is red, and the encased arm
rests on top of Gibson's lap, where the PVW American championship belt
also lay. Gibson is smoking and allows his stark white cancer stick
dangle from his mouth..]
My loyal Americans, we are entering a crucial period in this siege
that PVW and its foreign overlords perpetuate against America's
finest, the only hope for democracy, me, Gibson Hayes and the silky
smooth shores of the United States of America herself.
[How does that cigarette stay in his mouth while he is talking.]
A looming, menacing and shadowy hand dips its fingers into every facet
of PVW. This hand and its masters will not be content until PVW is
fully under the control of foreign devils. This hand and its masters
will not be content until America is fully under the spell of its
Godless mockery of leadership. This hand and its masters will not be
content until men like America's incorruptible defender of her stoic
chastity, me, Gibson Hayes, is out of the picture; unable to defend
America's maidenhead from tentacle-like protrusions.
[Gibby rubs his left temple with his left hand.]
My loyal Americans, we are at a cross roads. The devil and Gibson
Hayes are meeting at the center and there will be a reckoning. The
devil and Gibson Hayes are meeting at the center and there will be
blood shed, there will be bones broken and there will be a hand raised
high in victory; a victory that Gibson Hayes will claw, bite, and
gouge to gain because this fight... nay, this _WAR_ that has been
thrust upon America's last willing son, me, Gibson Hayes, will not end
until I wade into the belly of the beast and strike a blow for all
that is good and right with the world on their terms and on their
field of play.
[A puff of smoke escapes Gibby's mouth.]
America, your last, best hope for salvation is being sent to England
to face nigh impossible odds; to face a hand picked quisling and to
endure a deck so highly stacked against him it will take every fiber
of Gibson Hayes's near messianic countenance to break each and every
one of those barriers across the anointed knee of America's savior,
me, Gibson Hayes. America, your heart and soul, me, Gibson Hayes,
faces Tom Landis in England of all places. PVW and its heartless
puppeteers know that while I am on your quivering soil they cannot
entertain the idea of competing with my skill, grace, aplomb,
generosity, humility and unmatched natural talent that human language
has yet to create a word that encompasses just how incredible that I,
America's lifeline, me, Gibson Hayes, truly is that they devised this
insidious plot to place America's champion from that shining city on a
hill, me, Gibson Hayes in harms way because in their dark little souls
they hope being in a land of fog, ambiguously sexualized singers and
culinary crimes far greater in scope and deed than I could ever hope
to encapsulate will lead to my demise - to my defeat.
[Taking that lit smoke from his mouth with his non-injured arm, Gibson
flicks off the ashes.]
America, I say to you, that I, the only true American patriot to ever
draw breath, shall not fall, shall not fail, shall not falter. This
last gasp attempt to derail the new Hayes Express shan't work. This
last gasp attempt to secure a puncher's chance for Tom "My Wife's
Genitalia Resemble More an Enthusiastic Interpretation of a Tunnel
Than Human Reproductive Organs" Landis against America's irresistible
force.
You might ask yourself: why do you not discuss Landis. I say to you:
why should I? Landis is without merit, without cause and without a map
to get out of the twisting tunnels of his wife's nether regions.
Landis must find a way to overcome not only Gibson Hayes but also the
will and wishes of America and her glorious childer.
You cannot break the great stone of freedom that I carry on my
shoulders, Tom Landis. You cannot break the will of America, Tom
Landis. You cannot beat Gibson Hayes, Tom Landis.
[A flippant shrug of the shoulders from America's hero.]
To those who still doubt, I shall repeat myself: America did not
choose me as her champion just based on my mental acumen, forthright
attitude, honesty, good looks, or physical prowess. America choose me
because I can keep her interested and satisfied. No one else in PVW
can do this and the silly machinations and ambitions of reprehensible
corporate dogs trying to bite into the bones that hold up America's
beautiful and shapely form for the succulent marrow within cannot
prevent me from guarding my lady. None of the grasping hands trying to
steal lady liberty's maidenhood is up to the task and it is my duty to
make sure truth, justice and, above all else, America, prevails. PVW
wants to deliver the head of my beloved nation to its Roman masters
for 30 pieces of silver and one traitorous wretch settling in her
alabaster lap through nefarious scheming. That cannot and will not
happen under my watch. The sun shall not set on the American Empire,
mark my words. I will bury this conspiracy and these outsiders' hopes
at Shattered Dreams, once and for all.
[The screen fades to black with only the cherry of Gibson's lit
cigarette to comfort folks before we fade into a Gibson Hayes
"beLIEve" campaign poster.]
~The preceding message was paid for by the American Society for
Safety, Health, Obedience, Liberty and Education and generous
donations from viewers like you and was in no way paid for by Gibson
Hayes.~
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Livestock and The Gutch
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
[Oh, what a surprise, the lawyers are all in Zeke's office back in
Phoenix, Arizona. Zeke shuffles through papers, busily highlighting
this and that passage in a packet bound by a clear presentation cover.
Finally, he tosses it across his overly large oak desk to his two
charges, Livestock and the Gutch.]
Zeke: Here you are, gentlemen. I believe you'll find it all in order.
Livestock: Okay, let's ... see here. Hm. I'm not seeing too much
"good" stuff here, Zeke.
Zeke: Don't start kid, seriously. You know with this *BLEEPING* Zero
Tolerance Policy that the old shenanigans don't fly. You're pretty
much out there on your own come night two in New York.
Livestock: Are you serious?
Gutch: Yo, man, seriously? It's like, y'know, we're a family, right?
You ain't feedin' your kids, man. We're starving and, y'know, maybe
family services is gonna take us away.
Livestock: Starving?
Zeke: Gutch, it would take you about six months to starve to death,
and believe me when I say that Subway would be beating down your door
with an endorsement deal before you finally wasted away. Just need a
"before" picture...
Livestock: Yeah, right, as if I could ever get you into Subway.
Gutch: I love the meatball marinara!
Livestock: Three footlong meatball marinaras don't exactly count as
diet food. I told you, we go in there, you're getting the veggie sub.
Zeke: I believe what your partner is trying to tell you, Gutch, is
that you look like Grimace from the McDonald's ad.
[Looking down, Gutch grabs his ample gut, then runs his fingers
through his barely there hair.]
Gutch: Damn guys, what's next? Gonna start in with some Rogaine
jokes?
Zeke: No, the Hair Club for Men passed on the endorsement.
[Gutch takes the paper stack from Livestock, and flips through,
reading specifically the passages that are highlighted yellow (we know
this because his lips move and he traces the lines with his finger.]
Zeke: Regardless, you should be happy for what little there is in
there. I really did slip in all I possibly could. It's just like the
original gauntlet match last year. Unfortunately, after you get in
there, it's up to you. There's no way we can try to pull any tricks.
Not this time.
[Livestock grows a little more animated as Gutch can be seen to sign
the contract after reading the highlighted portions.]
Livestock: Seriously, Zeke, what's the deal? How about something in
the contract about how weapons are legal, but you don't tell anybody
else? Maybe ... the last four teams are just a battle royal! Who's
gonna get Gutch over that top rope?
[Red beard bristling, Zeke rubs his eyes.]
Zeke: Livestock, do you remember the last time we tried something?
The #1 contenders match? The other two teams jumped out of the ring
after our "gauntlet match" stipulation was announced, and the whole
match got counted.
Livestock: Hey, that was a stroke of genius.
Gutch: Yeah, you say that 'cause you made it up. Didn't work worth
*BLEEP* though, did it?
Zeke: Very true.
Livestock: It should've worked! That was a bull*BLEEP* call, and
everybody knew it!
Zeke: Those are the calls the referees make now. The ZTP is like some
sort of fascist dictatorship. There's no leeway to be had in the
rules. The worst part about it is that the shows are about ten times
more boring now. It got so boring that my borometer broke.
[Zeke holds up what looks like a large watch.]
Livestock: Isn't that a barometer? Like, for air pressure?
[Beat.]
Zeke: Hey, it's broken, and the shows are still boring. Just go with
it.
Gutch: This is kinda' boring. Like, right now...
Zeke: Yeah, well, blame the ZTP.
[Pause. Silence. Zeke finds another stack of papers to shuffle
through.
Livestock: *Nervous cough*
Gutch: Uh, they don't get paid unless we get paid?
Zeke: Shut up.
[Everyone falls silent again. Livestock and Gutch exchange
uncomfortable looks and shrug. Gutch hands the contract back to
Livestock along with a pen as we fade to black.]
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Danny Daniels
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
[The camera fades in to see the smiling visage of Danny Daniels.
Danny is wearing his wraparound shades, his "YOUR HERO" t-shirt, and
has the SUPREME World Title Belt (complete with his embossed face)
wrapped around his waist. He gives a 'thumbs up' to the camera before
speaking.]
D"YH"D: Greetings... and Salutations! Danny Daniels, "Your Hero"- a
man so nice they named me twice- here. I had an epic title defense
against Tom Landry last week. People will be talking about the
encounter forever.
[Danny pauses, and actually puts a foot up on the chair and goes into
the "Thinker" pose for a few seconds before continuing.]
D"YH"D: PVW has a "Zero Tolerance" Policy regarding cheating, a
movement I happily endorse. After all, when you remove cheating, the
best rise to the top. Like... ME! So of coruse I approve and PVW
being very strident.
BUT... I don't understand the double standard. When Tom Landry and I
were having our epic encounter, the referee was watching every move
like a hawk. But against an avowed breaker of the rules like
Sinestro- a man who ruined my title defense against Jack Griffin- the
referees turn a blind eye to his obvious infringement of the rules.
I don't understand why this is tolerated. Perhaps Sinestro has some
sort of blackmail on the PVW officials. Or bribery. Regardless, this
double standard is not to be tolerated.
At Shattered Dreams, I will overcome Sinestro's evil, EVIL ways. For
I am the embodiment of all that is good, as well as YOUR SUPREME World
Champion! And Good, as well all know, will overcome evil. Much like
I will overcome Sinestro.
[Danny pauses, the gives the camera a finger wave.]
D"YH"D: TOODLES~!
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Centurion Morgan
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
[We open to an overhead image of a lake. As the camera continues to
zoom around a young looking man yet to be seen by the PVW - Centurion
Morgan sits on a park bench as he watches the ducks across the lake.]
CM: I've had a wonderful 23 years in this city. My father was a well
respected children doctor. My mother the head of the PTA and taught
local piano lessons.
[A smile forms across his lips as he recollects.]
CM: I've grown up right here in London and everything I have in my
life is thanks to this great city and country. However I finally have
a big chance. A chance on the greatest stage of them all. Not UWF
... Not that second rate SPW ... P V F'N W! The greatest league in
this world and right here in my own back yard in front of thousands of
screaming fans.
[You can tell the excitement in his voice.]
CM: My opponent is unknown at this moment. All I know he is suppose
to be some sort of hand of god. Now I have went to church every
Sunday since I was a wee lad. And I've tried to live my life the best
god would have liked. Sure I have failed time after time, but I
consider myself a true Christian.
[Morgan nods proudly.]
CM: So I have a hard time believing that a hand of god would be
delivering a punishment in some sort of a wrestling ring, but I
digress. Whomever walks down that aisle ... Whomever the fake
Reverend has in his pocket book ... And whatever my fate shall be ...
At Shattered Dreams in front of my family ... In front of my people
... I have that one shot. That one shot to show what I am capable of.
That one shot to show _who_ I am.
[Morgan steps up slowly.]
CM: So PVW the London Kid is here and he is here to do one thing.
Show what he is made of! Hand of God ... Whoever you are I hope you
don't think this is some sort of push over match ... Some sort of push
over situation. I am here to succeed. I am here to prove the world
wrong. I am here to be somebody in the biggest stage and accomplish
what no other England superstar has done. Win a world title in a
league like PVW.
[And with that we fade.]
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Sinister
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
[The scene fades into a still shot of a non-descript Chinese
acupuncture office. We can hear traffic steadily passing by at a
steady pace and there are various people seen walking around the area,
Asian and non-Asians alike. As the hustle and bustle of life
continues, a very large dark-complexioned man strides into the front
door of the office. This large man is recognized as Sinister and he
is wearing a black short-sleeved shirt and a pair of blue jeans with
tan casual boots. He has a slight limp in his walk, the result of the
various degrees of damage he has suffered recently to his left knee by
various wrestlers. The camera follows Sinister into the office and
the office layout and furnishings are not very unique. Sinister nods
towards the receptionist, a very cute young lady who smiles widely.
Sinister smiles nearly as widely then turns to take a seat. He
quickly glances at the camera and winks then sits in the largest chair
in the office. Sinister relaxes in the chair and the cameraman sits
next to him. He then turns to the camera and speaks.
"Hey folks, how are all of you doing? As you can see I’m here for an
acupuncture appointment. Now you may be wondering why I’m having
needles stuck into my body and the answer is simple. In light of
recent events concerning my left knee, I’ve been having some
difficulty with obtaining full range of motion, no surprise after all
of the wars I’ve been through over the years. Typically I use a lot
of ice, heat, and stretching but lately not even those methods have
been helping like they used to. As all of you know my martial arts
studies as of late have helped me in altering my style of wrestling,
overall health and flexibility, plus a few other benefits. Part of the
Asian culture deals with herbal remedies and acupuncture and I did
some research about acupuncture for my knee. I’ve been told that Dr.
Chen is a very sharp lady, no pun intended [he chuckles briefly] so I
thought why the hell not? Besides, I’m sick and tired of my knee
keeping me from besting men like Donkerhardt. Now I don’t take
anything away from his skill set because that bastard was twisting me
in ways I didn’t know my body was capable of and I can’t say it was
pleasurable whatsoever."
[Sinister takes a moment to reflect on his most previous battle, a
controversial loss that obviously does not sit well with him. He
massages his left knee and takes a deep breath before continuing]
"Now Donkerhardt will say that he used his skills and wits to defeat
me, but the way I see it, he used cowardly tactics that only a
desperate man would use when he knows he can not achieve victory. Yes
Donkerhardt, you’re a very skilled wrestler and are able to dish out
tremendous amounts of pain. However, as you discovered, I’m able to
withstand tremendous amounts of pain because of physical and mental
training, plus my size doesn’t hurt either. You also felt first-hand
that I’m also versed in the art of pain distribution, though maybe not
as creative as you overall. The bottom line is this. You had to kick
me south of the border plus put your feet on the ropes to keep my
shoulders pinned after an extensive battle. In the record books you
have the win; congratulations. In my book, you used sneaky, illegal
tactics that demonstrated to everyone just how far you’ll go in a
well-wrestled match to achieve victory. That’s what you’ve chosen for
yourself and the consequences you endure will be brought on by said
actions. Believe me, when I’m involved in the situation, the
consequences can end up being rather…unpleasant."
[He smiles a wry smile, sending a signal that he is more than capable
of making someone’s experience in the ring just as unpleasant as he
alludes to. He then takes a deep breath and massages his temples
momentarily]
"And now I move on to Daniels. What kills me about both Daniels and
Donkerhardt is they both nailed me ‘south of the border’ to attain
victory. Seriously folks, am I going to have to invest in a titanium
cup or something of that nature to discourage these pathetic fools
from striking me in my manhood? I’m sure you’ve watched the battle
between Donkerhardt and I numerous times to try and figure out a solid
battle plan to take into our match. Well, I can tell you it’s not
going to help because he’s a FAR better wrestler than you are Daniels.
You’re a sniveling, sneaky, simple little man who is going to be put
into his place because honestly, I think you’re a little mental. How
many wrestlers actually call themselves a ‘hero’ then have a
match…against themselves!? If you need a therapist I’m sure the
league will be able to provide you with the name and number of an
excellent psychiatrist or something because at the rate you’re going,
not only are you going to end up in a hospital anyway, but you may
just be locked up in a padded room if you keep pestering me. I’m sick
and tired of you preaching to me that I’m ‘lost’ or ‘am in the
darkness’ or whatever the hell you’re spewing off at the mouth about
these days."
[It is very apparent that Sinister’s temper is beginning to rise,
stemming from his flaring nostrils to the gradual increase of volume
in his voice. He takes a deep breath, rolls his neck a couple of
times, then continues in a much more collected manner]
"You’re like that gnat at a picnic that just refuses to leave my food
alone no matter how many times I try to shoo it away. So, rather than
just shoo or swat at you Daniels…I’m going to make an example of you
and Donkerhardt, I want you to watch closely. You better believe I’ll
be keeping an eye on the battle against The Mercenary because I know
our paths are going to cross again, and the result of that next battle
will be FAR different than the previous. I don’t give a damn if I
battle you with one leg and one arm, believe me, I’ll utilize what I
have as best as anyone ever has. Remember Donkerhardt, I had you
writhing in pain and yelling intensely as you fought the urge to
submit. Daniels, I feel the sorriest for you, because you’re going to
be the message I send to the rest of the league."
[A lovely young Asian woman appears from behind a set of double-doors
and wears a doctor’s jacket. Dr. Chen is her name and she is nicely
built with long, black flowing hair and a very warm smile. Sinister’s
demeanor changes immediately as he stands and nods towards her
respectfully]
Dr. Chen: "I assume that you are Sinister, seeing that not only are
you the only one here at the moment but are also rather…[she inspects
Sinister slowly from head to toe]…large. Well, right this way
please."
[She gestures for Sinister to step through the double-doors. Being
ever the gentleman, he holds one of the doors and steps to the side so
Dr. Chen may step through and he will follow her]
Sin: "Please after you doctor."
Dr. Chen: "Well, well-mannered and a gentleman. A nice touch."
[The scene fades as Sinister follows Dr. Chen and gestures towards his
left knee as they walk down a corridor]
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Mike Cox
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
*Drip*
*Drip*
*Drip*
[We open to the dressing room area a few hours after the conclusion of
probably one of the most intense matches in PVW to date. A figure sits
on the bench, arms resting on knees, a black hoodie pulled up
concealing his face. The dripping sound is that of blood, as a small
puddle of blood slowly starts pooling between his feet as it drips
from his forehead.
Mike Cox looks worse for wear. How do we know it’s him? By the black
ripped jean shorts and calf high black boots of course. Most everyone
else has already packed up and left and those who haven’t, ignore the
youngster as they stroll by. Save for a quick glance at him bleeding
all over the floor. Does he care though? No, not really. Who in the
hell are they anyway? He doesn’t want their pity or smack on the
back. He doesn’t need their attention. He just wants to be alone- to
think. He squeezes his bloodied taped fists tightly. If he can save
one soul from making the same mistake he did getting into this cut
throat business- well then maybe he would feel a little better. Maybe
the rage would subside. Possibly the anger, resentment and pain would
disappear… Or maybe not. He suddenly speaks, breaking the dead
silence of the room.]
MC: Is this what you really want Scotty? You want to break into this
business and prove your worth? You want the rock star lifestyle, the
fans adoration, money, cars and fame?
[spits]
So did I Scotty. Hell a few short months ago I was just like you. A
young man looking for the big break,.. a chance to roll with the
ladies. Have money in my pocket and live that rock star lifestyle. I
dreamed of private jets and limousines Scotty. I dreamed of full
breasted women by my side as I wore the best suits that money could
buy.
*Drip*
*Drip*
[Mike wipes his hand across his forehead, smearing blood across his
forehead, before holding his blood covered hand out to the camera.]
MC: Instead I got this Scotty. Blood, bruises, lacerations and a
screwed up mind. Instead of a rock star lifestyle and beautiful women-
I have pain killers and booze to ease my pain. Instead of fame and
fortune [voice cracks] I have three dollars to my name and a non-
selling t-shirt.
Do you see where I’m going with this Scotty?
[Mike continues to look at the floor. Hoodie still covering his head.
His legs bouncing up and down in rhythm as his arms are wrapped around
the back of his neck, like he is trying to stop himself from freaking
out.]
MC: This business isn’t what it’s all cracked up to be rookie. It’s
smoke and mirrors my friend. Sure some around here are legends, some
are superstars and some even treated like Gods. But they too have gone
through trials and tribulations. Any man or women in this business who
says they haven’t had to fight their own personal demons is a liar.
Those who say they haven’t had to sacrifice this or that to be
somebody in this business- is blowing smoke up your ass.
I sit here Scotty, and I see a young man with all the potential in the
World to be whatever he wants to be in life. A kid, who went to
school, probably has a diploma in something or other…
[shakes head]
And wants to waste it for what? This Scotty? Go be a fireman or a
police officer Scotty. Be an engineer or a scientist. Help save the
World from War or build an empire. Don’t waste yourself on this
Scotty. The final results are not worth the sacrifice. Let guys like
me who have nothing to give to society, pop pills and wreck his body
for a few bucks a night. Let me wrestle in small high schools all week
long and every other month or so- wrestle in big, fancy hockey arenas.
[spits]
This isn’t for you Scotty.
And if I have to give you the lesson you need to learn to open those
eyes of yours Scotty... then I am ready to do that. I don’t want to do
this Scotty- I like you. I think you’re a good guy. Hell, I would
rather drink you under the table then have to destroy you to make a
point. So I’m begging you Scotty… please don’t show up. Take that win
you had in your debut and go. Brag to your co-workers at the fire
department or the lab that you once wrestled for the best federation
in the world and leave it at that.
[Mike wipes at the blood again and flicks his hand at the pooling
puddle. He stares at the dried lines of blood on his hand, then once
again relaxes his arm and stares at the floor.]
MC: I now feel I have a need in this business Scotty. A mission if you
will. That mission is to make you understand that you are too good to
be in this business. My goal is to show you that the squared circle
and bright lights isn’t what it’s all cracked up to be. That the fans
don’t care if you know one thousand holds... or three Scotty. I’m
begging you to re-consider your options rookie. I...
[Mike Cox suddenly stands then drops to his knees, hands in prayer,
his knee pads soaking up the puddle of crimson underneath them.]
MC: I’m begging you not to show up Scotty. Take my advice, pack up
your car and leave town. Watch Shattered Dreams on television with
your friends and joke about how you 'almost' made the mistake of being
on that pay per view. Joke about how you wanted to be a 'wrestler' and
how silly it was.
[arms drop as Mike once again stares at his lap.]
MC: Because if you show up Scotty [stares at the palms of his hands.]
Then I will have to hurt you rookie. The pain you will suffer at these
hands will hurt me inside even more Scotty because all you had to do
was walk away. I’ll make you a crimson mess Scotty. I will twist, pull
and break you in places you never thought possible. My match with The
Spectre will like a walk in the park compared to what I do to you.
So Scotty, one last time I beg you.
[voice quivering]
Don’t show up...
[covers his face with his hands]
Be a fireman...
[Mike starts to sob]
Or I’m going to have to really...
Really...
Hurt you.
[FTB]
