Hot Flash - June 24 2008
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[Fade in quick to show Jack Britain, gray beard bristling and flowing
hair shaking out wild, his face flushed with
frustration storming down the hall. The camera work is shaky as the
cameraman dances backwards, keeping him in view as a
blond man follows, trying to keep with Jack's brisk pace.]
MW: Jack. Jack! Calm down, we have to get you cleaned up for the
show, man!
JB: The show? Well, maybe, if you're lucky, there'll be a show, Milt!
Yeah!
[Continuing his roughshod pace, Jack first slams a shoulder into a
door, then roughly twists the knob, ramming his way
inside the sound stage for Burning Effect.]
MW: Don't look at this in such a negative light! Where are you
going!?
[Stepping behind Burning Effect's hardwood counter, Jack opens up a
mini-fridge, pulling out a bottle of whiskey and a
chilled shot glass.]
JB: What's it look like? I'm gonna get drunk. I'm a professional,
twenty-four seven, spend 35 hours in an office for this
company per week, another thirty on the mat PERSONALLY ironing out
some of the rougher competitors' kinks and making them
presentable, I do promotional work off the clock, and now that some
rich punk has a bug up his ass, I'm getting *BLEEPED*
on! It's B*BLEEPBLEE*T!
MW: Okay, I can tell you're upset...
[Jack slams down a double, then pours another, coughing, then slapping
the counter with his free hand.]
JB: Yeah, Milt, "upset".
[Looking at the camera, Jack seems to notice it for the first time.]
JB: Oh, but where are my manners! Hello, hello. It seems that the
man who does the play-by-play is now the main
attraction, right? *BLEEP*.
MW: Jack.
JB: Hold on, Milt. Everyone, this is Milton Woolard! He's the
producer-slash-director of the show, and apparently, he's a
jerk!
[Turning towards the camera, Milton gives a terrified wave and pushes
up his rapidly down-sliding glasses. He's sweating
from both the chase down the hall and the tense situation.]
MW: Don't kill the messenger, Jack.
JB: Kill the messenger? Feh, kid, let me tell you, we're in the same
boat now. Matter of fact, here.
[Reaching down, Jack grabs another shot glass and fills it before
sliding it over to Milton. Milt lifts it gingerly like a
new father does his first dirty diaper.]
JB: Here's to your health, because apparently when primadonna talent
gets its panties in a wad over nothing, your career is
as dead as disco.
[Jack throws back his shot.]
MW: It's not dead, Jack. this is just a write-up.
JB: Thirty years. Doing this thirty years, relegated to an upstart
company's announcing B-team, and now it just takes a
complaint from Paul Styles to flush me.
MW: You're not flushed!
JB: Drink your damned drink Milt or I'm not saying another damned word
to you.
MW: Mfff ... dammit Jack.
[Throwing back his shot, Milt doesn't even seem to taste it.]
MW: You're not -- ACK!
[Having a sudden coughing fit, Milton is bent over the counter,
sucking wind.]
JB: Okay, okay now, you're not a drinker, are you?
[Walking around the counter, calm now, Jack pats Milton on the back.]
JB: You're fine kid. Good whiskey burns like bad jalapeño peppers.
It'll thin your blood though, and you'll be better for
it.
MW: You're not flushed. *Cough!* I got the same write-up, and so'd
Fred.
JB: Fred? He loves those guys. Loves anybody that everybody else
hates.
FH: Somebody say my name?
[Walking in from the opposite door on the set, Fred Hoyle, wearing a
black polo shirt and green slacks enters the scene,
seeming serene and happy.]
MW: Uh, yeah, Fred ... just read this?
[Pulling a folded sheet of paper from a hip pocket, Milton hands it
over to Fred, who lazily opens it and begins to read.]
FH: Okay, here we go. Blah, blah, "failure to respect", blah, blah.
Says here that further infractions can lead to ...
disciplinary action up to and including termination. Heh, wait, what?
JB: It means we're being punished for "disrespecting" the talent.
FH: Ha! Oh, that's rich. Yeah, I talk trash, and what of it. Who
complained? Grissom? Andrews? Wait, was it about the
pie jokes? I was on a roll last week.
JB: No ... it's Paul Styles...
FH: Hanh?
[Fred goes back to the paper, rereading it.]
FH: I don't remember dissing the Royal Family. I love the Royal
Family! I mean, they're dominant champions! They get the
job done.
JB: Yeah, and you all but bend over and wait for Styles, so it's
bull*BLEEP*! Doesn't matter though, they're the talent,
we just call the action. Have a damned drink...
[Fred watches, alarmed, as Jack pulls out another shot glass and
pours. He grabs Milton's glass as well and fills it
before filling his own.]
MW: I dunno, Jack.
JB: Shut it. Thins the blood. Good for ya.
FH: The man does have a point.
MW: Why are you drinking? You aren't even upset.
FH: Don't need a reason. Jack though, you're hitting it awful hard.
What happened to being "professional"?
[Jack downs his shot, then slams the glass hard on the counter.]
JB: I AM PROFESSIONAL!
FH: Hey, you sure are.
JB: What's that supposed to mean? You know he called you a "douche
bag", right?
FH: Hey, I don't mind going where other men have gone before.
JB: That's not what's meant, Fred.
FH: I know that, c'mon, it's no big deal. Just a rib, I'm sure.
You're impartial almost all the time, and hey, I'm on
their side, so no sweat.
JB: He tried to get out of being on the show.
FH: He's going to be on the show? Never has been before.
JB: I mean his promos, man. God, this is pointless.
FH: Hey, if he's going to be on the show, let's roll out the red
carpet! C'mon, a real live superstar on the set! Not
like the suckers that have darkened our doorstep before.
JB: Okay, that's it, you're done. *BLEEP* you, *BLEEP* PVW brass, and
*BLEEP* Paul Styles, okay!?
FH: What? Jack, I was kidding! C'mon, he didn't mean anything, and
neither did I! Let's have a few more shots, and it'll
be okay. You don't have to quit.
JB: Quit? Hell no, my contract's with Strickland Sports. PVW can't
fire my ass, but that doesn't mean I have to take this
lying down. Now get out.
[His eyes going wide, Fred goes slack-jawed.]
FH: Excuse me?
JB: Get out. I'm not going to have you here defending that jackass.
I need a break from all this. You come in here for an
hour a week while I work so damned much my wife's giving me hell at
home the odd days she actually sees me. Now beat it,
I'll host the show solo.
FH: Now listen up, mister man!
[Putting a hand on Jack's shoulder, Fred goes to shove him, but winds
up in a hammerlock instead.]
FH: Agh! Jack, don't do this!
JB: I said you're done, and I mean it!
[Shoving him, Jack puts his shoulder into Fred and pushes him right
out the door he came in, twisting a heavy lock that
bolts into the floor and the top of the door frame.]
MW: Jack...
JB: No. I don't want to hear it. Let's just tape this thing. We're
opening with this too. PVW can deal with five
minutes of Jack Britain being honest, and the world can hear about how
the home office sides with in-ring talent over the
guys who do the real work around here.
[Jack plops down in his tall stool on the left side of the counter and
waits, looking off to the right, where the big HD
cameras for recording the show sit.]
JB: It's about damned time...
[Cut. Instrumentals start up.]
#Survivor!#
[Finally, the voice of David Draiman, lead singer of Disturbed, and
their song "10,000 Fists" is heard.]
#Survivor!#
[Rob Cole, still bleeding from a hard match, points at the viewer.
Outlaw with the championship belt before there was ever
even a champion. The Made Men looming over Laurel Levinger. Jack
Baldwin talking to a thoughtful looking Judd Marley.]
#One more god-damn day when I know what I want,#
#and my want will be considered tonight,#
[The massive Jonathan Monarch stands behind an attitudinal-looking
Paul Styles. A panicked Rick Marley, holding a gas mask
before a bug-eyed William Craven. Livestock and the Gutch have each
other in headlocks while Zeke Craven rubs his temples.]
#HWA-HWA!#
#considered tonight!#
[Johnny Oakes with his ribs taped up. The Spectre looking menacing.]
#Just another day when all that I want,#
#will mark me as a sinner tonight,#
[The Rage brothers, Derek and Shadoe with cigars and bottles of
liquor. RJ Souza has himself a bat, and it looks like he's
been using it. Christopher Michaelson looking cocky. Shawn Covell
and Gideon Frost with Darius Walker, Walker addressing
them in what looks like a pep talk.]
#HWA-HWA!#
#I'm a sinner tonight, yeah!#
[Brian Young with a microphone.]
#People can no longer cover their eyes#
#If this disturbs you then walk away#
[Apollo Jones and Bones Ellis dance.]
#You will remember the night you were struck by the sight of#
#Ten Thousand fists in the aaaaaaaaaair!#
[Chris Hartt holds high the Rising Phoenix Heritage title. An image
similar to the previous; Chase Williams raising up the
PVW Heavyweight title. The music goes instrumental again as we cut to
the PVW "Burning Effect" logo.]
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||______________________HOT FLASH______________________||
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[Fade to black, then in on a second, unfamiliar logo.]
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Brought to you by the Strickland Sports network.
[Then fade in on the PVW studio. It's the same old set but with only
one man. The slightly less annoyed than before Jack
Britain sits before the bar, doing his best to remain composed, but is
unable to hide his contempt.]
JB: Hello. Welcome to Burning Effect "Hot Flash". I'm your _host_
Jack Britain. Hot Flash is the same Burning Effect
you're used to, but shorter, with no matches, and you'll see it before
PVW supercards or Pay Per Views.
[Jack glances back at his shot glass, full again of a brown liquid,
but thinks better of continuing to get liquored up.
Looking hard at the camera, he speaks in a voice more harsh than
normal.]
JB: Here we are on the eve of End Game. A real milestone for the PVW,
yes, a high point, but where is the company really
going?
[Pausing momentarily, Jack looks to the left of the camera, and nods
slightly. His next words carry less venom. One can
only assume that the producer is trying to rein in his emotions.]
Will the new breed dominate the old guard? Will the veterans continue
to dominate the scene? The opening match for the End Game supercard,
in spite of the fact that it showcases two talents new to the PVW,
illustrates this very well. The veteran Quesada versus the relative
rookie Castillo. Now, let's hear from those men.
[Cut.]
------------------------------------
Singles action,
"The Natural" Mike Castillo
-vs-
Miguel Quesada
------------------------------------
[Rapid cuts show Castillo beating on the Masked Maniac and Miguel
Quesada taking it to "Hippo" Higgans. Then cut to the
first segment.]
------------------------------------
Production video,
"The Natural" Mike Castillo.
------------------------------------
[...The shot opens to complete darkness -- all you hear is a voice...]
VO - Be not afraid of greatness: some are born great, some achieve
greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them.
[...The screen begins to reverberate and the black slowly fades and
melts away. The screen comes to life after a few moments
of blurriness, like a child opening its eyes for the first time. You
start to see through the fog, it's the interior of the
Anaheim Convention. From off-screen, you hear the voice of "The
Natural" Mike Castillo...]
MC - Here it is, my next battlefield. This is where I will make my
first stand among the rubble that is PVW. Here -- is
where it'll all begin.
[...Castillo enters the frame. The side shot of the empty ring among
the cavernous arena is somewhat awe-inspiring. The
sight, likens what a spectator might have seen many years back sitting
in the empty Roman Coliseum. Castillo strides up the
ringsteps as the PVW ring shines under the house lights. Castillo
stops atop the ringsteps and peers into the squared-circle...]
MC - It seems so simple and comfortable, don't it Miguel? It's just a
20 foot by 20 foot ring with ropes and turnbuckles in
each corner. Nothing that we haven't performed in at least a couple
hundred times.
So tell me Miguel; how can it be that something so natural, so second-
nature to you can become the place of your un-doing?
You have garnered the admiration of many critics in this business,
that's true. But, do you have their respect?
Listen to me Miguel -- do you have MY respect?
For weeks now all I've heard from pundits and critics is that Miguel
Quesada is a man who can tear down the house on any
given night! They say, Quesada might be inconsistent, but he has
flashes of brilliance and can give any competitor a run for
his money. Well, Miguel -- maybe I missed that memo.
[...Castillo adjusts his mirror tint shades and steps through the
ropes. He takes a moment and spins with his arms
out-stretched. He looks for corner to corner then points to the
rafters; to a PVW banner...]
MC - That's what it's all about Miguel, right there. It's about PVW,
it's about their fans, and it's about the show.
[...Castillo removes his crimson red sports coat and tosses it, and it
drapes over the ring ropes...]
MC - We're performers, you and I. I have taken my show across this
nation, trekked back and forth; from coast to coast. In
that time I've sold out arenas, gyms, and convention centers -- you
name it! I have flown under the radar, busting my ass
in front of crowd of 100 and 10,000! I have taken the bumps and
bruises necessary to make it in this business! I AM
GREATNESS PERSONIFIED!
You, Miguel -- you are my obstacle.
I am not searching for ways to go over, under or around you. No, no,
no. I am going to go RIGHT [BLEEP]ING THROUGH YOU! The
PVW fans will cheer on as you put on a decent fight. But, in the end
they all will admit that I am the superior fighter. I
have planned, pined and plotted this moment for weeks now, and it's
nearly at hand. You will be a footnote in this story
Quesada, MY STORY -- PVW HISTORY!
[...Castillo swipes off his shades and tosses them into the mezzanine
section as he tries to calm himself...]
MC - Marks, casual fans, moms and pops, kids, grannies and geeks! They
all will look at their ticket stubs framed on their
walls and remember the night they witnessed history. Never before have
two new signings been pitted against one another with
such a gap between them in skill.
Critics can go on and count me out and root for me to fail. But, come
End Game -- I will be the man with his hand raised.
You, my friend, will be carted away; out of the arena; out of the lot;
and into the hospital. This will not be an
exhibition, but an EXAMPLE!
[...Castillo leans over the ropes and peers directly into the lens,
through the camera and into your eyes...]
MC - Miguel, at End Game for you it'll -- GAME OVER! Why? Because I'm
better than you -- TRUST ME!
[...The shot focuses on the intensity in his eyes for a moment, then
slowly but surely -- fades to black. Good night PVW,
good bye Miguel Quesada... Cut back to the studio.]
------------------------------------
JB: No Quesada segment? Really? Was he too busy drinking martinis
and eating lobster to put a little something together?
Honestly.
[Focusing on the producer behind the camera, Jack pauses, rubbing his
face.]
JB: My apologies, fans. Apparently there is a segment, just a
computer glitch that delayed it momentarily. I apologize to
Miguel Quesada as well. Let's hear from the veteran from Miami,
Miguel Quesada.
[Cut.]
------------------------------------
Backstage segment,
Miguel Quesada.
------------------------------------
[We fade into a backstage locker room. In typical fashion, the walls
are basically empty and there's not much going on in
general. Well, except for a man pacing back and forth rubbing his
hands together. His black hair is done up in a faux-hawk.
He's wearing a plain black t-shirt and his orange tights with a black
palm tree down the left leg and the numbers "305"
written in black down the right. Naturally, this man is a man of quite
a few nicknames, Miguel Quesada. As mentioned earlier,
Miguel is pacing back and forth across the locker room.. occasionally
stopping just to hop up and down a few times. He
stops for a second and spots the camera.]
MQ: Do you have any idea how long it's been since I've been in that
ring? God, I couldn't even tell you an exact length. I
keep thinking I'm done with it, but then I just get the urge again. I
know, you're probably thinking how can a 28 year old
man think about retiring from this business? What would possess me to
consider the idea? But I'll tell you this.. none of
that is important. None of that matters. What reasons I had for
walking away from all of this... doesn't matter at all.
Because I'm back.. and this time, I'm not going anywhere. I came all
the way to Arizona from Miami.. just for the
competition. Just for the thrill of getting back into that ring
against the best out there. Familar faces, including a man
that damn near killed me on numerous occasions years ago, Craven. But,
he's not the important one right now, now is he?
[Miguel starts hopping up and down again looking up and getting more
focused. He stops and turns back to the camera.]
MQ: So, here I am, right out in sunny California, against a hometown
boy here. Mike Castillo, is it? "The Natural" if I'm
not mistaken. Well, unfortunately, it's not going to be a nice
homecoming for you, Mikey. Ya see, I've been preparing for
this for awhile now. Once I got the urge to get back in the ring, I've
been getting ready. Training. Focusing. Making sure
I did everything possible so that when I did finally step back into
that ring, I gave all those people exactly what they
expect from me. Exactly what they're used to seeing out of me. The
absolute BEST that they'll see. When, I'm on my game,
Mikey boy, there is NO beating me! Tonight, you get to learn that
first hand. It may be a "Newcomers" match tonight, but
trust me when I say I'm no newbie. Tonight... Miguel Quesada once
again becomes a household name. Tonight.. well... let's
just say you're in for some excitement.
[Fade out. Cut back to the studio.]
------------------------------------
JB: Oh, Quesada's worked with Craven. I actually didn't--
[The camera, formerly focused on Jack Britain, widens its angle,
taking in the whole set, and showing that he's not alone.]
Zeke: Hell-oh Jack Britain.
JB: WHAT THE *BLEEP*!?
[Spinning, almost falling out of his chair, Jack sees Zeke for the
first time. Sitting in Hoyle's chair, the bearded,
red-headed lawyer gives a sinister grin while toying with his neck
brace.]
Zeke: Ha-ha! Zap! Now that was a hell of a good wild take.
Honestly, you should do comedy.
JB: What are you doing here? If you want to do a live segment, we're
going to be highlighting the Called Shot match in
about ten minutes.
Zeke: Oh-ho, no, you've got me all wrong. I heard you were down one
"color commentator", and so I thought I'd lend my
services.
JB: Really? Front office sent you?
Zeke: No ... I just came.
JB: How ... did you know?
Zeke: I was in the building, doing some paperwork.
JB: Well then, fine, I suppose. Would you like to introduce the next
segment?
Zeke: Oh, twist my arm.
[Zeke stares a hole in the camera lens, grinning like a leprosy
victim, and speaks with a voice too sweet for this world.]
Zeke: Oh, those Widow Makers are ever so very nasty, aren't they?
Tucson Kid and Tommy Ryder certainly seem to think so.
Kid and kidder, as I like to call them, are kid-ding themselves if
they think for one second that they can take out the Made
Men. Good luck to 'em, though. I can tell you right now that they're
pretty well screwed if they want to try and press
charges against WMI after getting wiped out. They had to sign a waver
just to get a contract. Ha-ha! Zing!
[Cut.]
------------------------------------
[Quick clips show the Made Men in action, beating down a hapless
victim along with the rest of WMI. Tommy Ryder tries to
interfere, and is taken down, then his manager, "Lady" Laurel Levinger
is on the bottom of the pile as Nick Wright leaps
down from the top rope. Finally, a beat down on Ryder is interrupted
by the Tucson Kid. Cut.]
------------------------------------
Backstage segment,
"The Phenom" Tommy Ryder and the Tucson Kid.
------------------------------------
[We cut backstage to a young man with a dark-brown mullet, thin-
trimmed goatee, and wild brown eyes. The Tucson Kid is
looking for someone, and we're following him down the hall. He's
wearing his to-ring attire of a black bandana, tan leather
poncho encircled by frayed edges with an Arizona Sun stamped into it,
sky-blue trunks with a light-beige trim that bears a
Southwestern pattern in red, and blue-and-white 'eagle'-motif boots.
He's wrapping his wrists in electrical tape as he passes an open door.
The Kid makes a quick turn, to a bench where Tommy
Ryder is lacing up his boots, snatching at the laces to pull them
tight. It's obvious that he's looking for payback tonight.]
[Tucson heads in, waving.]
TK: Tommy! Damn, sorry I didn't get here sooner, traffic is brutal.
They're gonna pack this place tonight. How do you feel,
man?
TR: How do I feel? I feel like I'm finally gonna get some payback on
Nick Wright. He went too far when he attacked Laurel.
What would make a man decide to hit a woman? Laurel didn't do anything
besides try and stop me! They should have cheered her
on, but Nick Wright decided to attack her. All I can think about is
how I let it happen and that I need to make it right. I
haven’t really done that so far.
TK: Anybody that would do what they did... it's not gonna be hard to
find a reason to kick their teeth in. Look, I know
about these Widowmakers, Tommy. The guy that trained me used to run
this same group years ago, an' he told me how they
operate. Right before he warned me not to get mixed up with them. But
hell with that! If you don't stand up to the bullies,
the bullies just keep on takin' your money.
And you know what? I think I'd like an extra sammich with my lunch
tomorrow. I wanna see what the bullies do when they're
the ones gettin' knocked around.
TR: I like your style Tucson. You're right. Wright and Masterson are
nothin but bullies and we're gonna show'em that they
can't just walk in here and push people around. They’ve had the
numbers on their side so far and now things are evened up!
I will make Nick Wright pay for what he did and Masterson gonna have
to take a share of lumps with his partner.
[As Tommy speaks, the camera zooms in close. This draws Tucson's
attention. After Ryder finishes, Tucson turns to the
camera, as if seeing it for the first time. He glares with a startling
intensity from a man of so slight a build.]
TK: Cameraman, get in here, because I have something to say directly
to a couple of useless pricks that call themselves Men.
Any man that would hit a woman? Doesn't have a clue what it even MEANS
to be a man.
You want to make like you're Made Men? You want to talk like you're
hard? The only thing you done that anyobody talks about
is jump on a woman! Why don't you try and jump on us before you call
yourselves Men? We heard the things you said, we saw
the way you like to pick on lesser talent to try and make yourselves
out to be something, and we know all about what you
people think of us. This man...
[Tucson slaps Ryder's shoulder.]
...and myself could wipe our collective hindquarters with your
personal opinions. Before, during, and after we wipe the ring
with you. Tell them about it, Tommy.
TR: Made Men, do you realize what is about to happen to you? You are
about to get in the ring with The Tucson Kid and The
Phenom! Nick Wright, you think you can hang with me? Do you think you
can hang with The Tucson Kid? You stepped over a line
when you attacked Laurel and then you tried to do it again. Now we get
to find out what happens when you fight a man. Do you
have what it takes? I don't think so. When I got my hands on you it
was your partner that pulled me off of you. And now I
have a partner too! What do you think it will be like wrestling The
Phenom of PVW when I have two people that I don't want
to let down!
And Masterson, don't think that you're getting off easy. I’m holding
you just as responsible as your partner. You're
suppose to be the brains of the team. Well I have some questions for
you. How can you plan for what you can't predict? You
don't know what we plan to hit you with or how we plan to hit you with
it.
TK: You want to know what it means to be a Made Man? It means you're
one wrong step from "sleeping with the fishes."
Get your nightcap and your scuba gear... boys.
[Laurel steps from a corner of the room where she's been sitting.]
LL: Made Men? Don't make me laugh. Did it make you men to attack
someone in a four on one? Did it make you men to attack
someone in a two on one? Did it make you men when you attacked me? A
woman, from behind? Tommy and Tucson are coming for
you. I can assure you that these two are REAL men and I think that
makes them more than you can handle.
[Tucson, Ryder and Laurel head off-screen, as we cut away.]
------------------------------------
JB: Sounds like there's still a bit of anger in those three. The Made
Men have shown what they can do with an advantage,
but when you put that kind of intensity on the other side of the ring,
they might be in over their heads with Tucson and
Ryder.
Zeke: Are you just saying that to be contrary?
JB: What? No.
Zeke: So you believe it?
JB: ...Yes?
Zeke: Oh, more power to you.
JB: Let's ... hear from the Made Men.
[Pause. Zeke looks at Jack, questioningly. Jack presses an earpiece
in on his ear, looking frustrated.]
JB: Okay, apparently there is actually nothing from the Made Men.
They've been out of the country, but I'm told that they will be, for
certain, at End Game.
Zeke: Do try to keep up, Jack.
JB: I think I'm doing just fine. Fans, the Called Shot is a huge,
chaotic match where virtually everything is legal, props are
everywhere--
Zeke: Props?
JB: Tables, ladders, chairs, miscellaneous weapons, I think there's a
few fire extinguishers stashed under the ring...
Zeke: So ... it's a TLC match?
JB: No, that's trademarked by another company.
Zeke: Ah.
JB: The participants will have to ascend a ladder, and gain possession
of a clipboard on which is an open contract to challenge for any title
in PVW.
Zeke: So, can the title shot be snatched at any time? At the drop of
a hat?
JB: I'm not sure, why? Oh, that's right ... you've got a man in that
match.
Zeke: That's right, "The Panther" Livestock Zappa. Agile, like a cat,
fast, like a cat, strong--
JB: Like a cat?
Zeke: No, like a bull. Who's strong like a cat. They're little
things.
JB: I thought you said he's going by Panther now.
Zeke: Who said that? That's libelous talk there, friend. Defamation!
JB: Let's just run the clip.
[Cut.]
------------------------------------
[Rapid, chaotic bits show each man in the Called Shot, ("Wherewithal"
Eric Williams, The Dragon Kid, Jaiden Andrews,
OmniFly, Gibson 'Red' Hayes, Larry Gionet, Shayne Grissom, Outlaw,
Rick Marley, and Livestock Zappa) in action.]
------------------------------------
Backstage segment,
Livestock Zappa.
------------------------------------
[Cut to show an odd scene. A large area rug covering the concrete
floor in a brick-walled room. The place is furnished
with numerous bookshelves, and a rack in one corner holds a number of
folding tables neatly. Against the wall, on one of
the shelves, is a large globe, identifying this as the room used in
the last Livestock and the Gutch skit. Sitting, dead
center of the room, are Broderick Ezekiel Craven and Gutch Bartilucci,
having set up dual folding lawn recliners and a
cooler full of alcohol between them.]
Gutch: Wow, this is sweet, Zeke. How big's this screen?
[Pan over to show a truly massive flat panel set into and dominating
the wall before the pair.]
Zeke: Oh, about 150 inches. It's an L.E.D. screen, usually reserved
for roadsigns and whatnot, but this bastard right here
was bought to show presentations to investors for PVW. It's not even
really a TV ... but the cable guy was able to hook a
box up to it, so what the hell?
Gutch: What it cost?
Zeke: For me? Nothing. Ha-ha! ZING!
Gutch: What you mean?
Zeke: Gutch, it's a meeting room in the back of the armory. I talked
SSN into paying for it. The boob-tube cost the
company over twenty grand, and now we're going to watch a football
game on the DVR.
Gutch: Heh, sweet. Hook me up with some suds.
Zeke: No. You can get into the cooler yourself ... fat, lazy bastard.
Gutch: Hey!
Zeke: Sorry, selective Tourette's Syndrome.
Gutch: Selective?
Zeke: Yes. It only happens when I want it to.
Gutch: Oh, okay then.
[Gutch reaches out, stretching to reach the cooler without getting up
as Zeke rolls his eyes. He's twisting the top off a
40 ounce bottle when the door suddenly opens, swinging slowly, with a
squeak.]
Livestock: Guys ... where ... where were you?
[That's right, it's Livestock. Staggering, with a hurt look on his
face, he stares at his partner and his manager,
reaching out with one hand for them. Also ... he's bleeding profusely
from his head, which looks ever so great on his white
dress shirt.]
Zeke: Hey, Livestock, buddy. Pull up a chair.
Livestock: Why? Why'd you leave?
*Thudd.*
[Yes, that was Livestock's poor injured head hitting the pavement. No
worries though, the rough synthetic carpeting offers
a little padding for our tall, muscular, pretty boy lawyer.]
Zeke: See Gutch? That's why I chose to carpet this room in a deep
red.
Livestock: Widow Makers ... beat me down! You left me!
Zeke: For the love of Pete man, you needed a tune-up match.
Livestock: Left me...
Zeke: You clearly have a concussion, so I'll forgive you for being a
broken record.
Gutch: Uh, sorry, 'Stock. Hold up.
[Finally, reluctantly, standing from his seat, Gutch grabs a bean bag
chair, trots over, and lifts his partner by the head
just enough to shove it under his face.]
Livestock: Gff.
Zeke: Look, you took one for the team, and your "beatdown" lasted all
of five seconds. There was no sense in all three of
us getting smacked around. That besides, it's technically a win.
Disqualifications are great like that. All the glory of
a win, none of the effort.
Livestock: One for the team? But ... there are only four of them, and
Gutch is as big as two of 'em together. We might
have won!
Zeke: Oh, pshaw. Don't be silly.
Livestock: And we had Cindy! And your brother wants to kill all those
guys! For the love of God, we could've beat 'em all
down!
[Struggling up, crawling, and settling into a reclining position on
the bean bag, Livestock looks up at the giant screen.]
Livestock: Holy crap, is that an L.E.D.?
Zeke: Yeah! Hey, you caught it.
Livestock: That wasn't there last week.
Zeke: True. Very true.
Livestock: It's huge.
Zeke: Yup.
Livestock: Why'd you leave me out there?
Zeke: Yu--ugh.
[Putting down the cable box remote, Zeke turns his attention fully to
Livestock.]
Zeke: Livestock, the last thing we want is a war with WMI. True, Bill
can knock 'em all over like bowling pins, but they're a stable. They
come back time and again. Stables can be a nasty piece of work. That
besides, I'm retired, which puts us back down to three wrestlers to
their four.
Livestock: But you still train.
Zeke: I tweaked my knee just doing a dance step a few weeks back. I'm
retired. Drop it.
Livestock: I just don't get it. Why am I in a singles match at the
supercard? Zeke, you write the contracts, couldn't you
have stopped this?
Zeke: Short answer's no. Top brass ignored our win over the Wild
Cards and played a trump card. True, I found the loophole
to get you boys a rematch, but when the front office wants a match
made, it's made. You, however, will be going after a
Heritage title shot.
Livestock: What? That "Called Shot" thing?
[A pretty, pale, and somewhat bug-eyed face pops into the room. It's
Cindy "Bar Bitch" Hewitt, looking down at Livestock with concern.]
BBH: Holy crap, sweetie, there you are!
[Hopping into the room, Hewitt kneels by her man's head, and starts
stroking his hair.]
BBH: You doin' okay? Oh geez, yer bleedin'! Glad I'm wearin' red.
Livestock: You. You left too.
BBH: Left? I went and got the *BLEEPING* Incredible Hulk to
*BLEEPING* save you, you dumb bastard!
[Suddenly angry, Hewitt gives Livestock a pie-face slap, causing him
to thrash on the floor, holding his briefcase-abused
face in pain and muffling his screams with his palms.]
BBH: The nerve! Holy crap that's a big TV.
Gutch: Yeah, we was just about to watch some football.
Zeke: Except that the damned DVR didn't record it. Oh well, may as
well watch some of that Music Television I keep hearing
about. Plenty of T&A there. Who needs cheerleaders?
[Clicking a button, Zeke sighs happily as wiggling, half-dressed
ladies appear on the gigantic screen.]
Zeke: And to think we just got this for presentations.
Livestock: What did I do to deserve this?
Zeke: Oh, will you be quiet already. Gutch, give the man a beer.
[Gutch does so. Livestock nods, still holding his head and wincing.]
Zeke: Look, I had to do a lot of work to get you in that match. Had
to bump a new guy out of there to make room. If he finds out, well,
he'll be plenty pissed.
[Rather than drink it, Livestock holds the cold beer to his wounded
head.]
Livestock: Y'know, I think I might need medical attention. Yeah.
Definitely. Can I please have some medical attention?
Gutch: Really? Damn. Need to get that briefcase recipe off that
Mercenary guy.
Zeke: Livestock, I can't believe I'm going to tell you this, but since
you seem to be having a crisis of confidence, I'll just put it out
there. You're the strong link in your team.
[Looking over at Zeke in surprise, Livestock is stopped from speaking
with a gesture.]
Zeke: Let me finish. You're athletic, you're big, you're very strong,
you can fly, and you're tough. I've noticed that you're sensitive
about your face getting marked up ... a little quirky, and useful
'cause you get meaner when your face hurts.
Gutch: Except when you get knocked stupid, obviously.
Zeke: Can't argue with that. Fact is, kid, you've got a hell of a
future. Taking a beating from a stable, that's just something to make
you tougher. You don't need medical attention, you need a good
night's sleep, and then another beatdown to keep you getting tougher!
[Nodding, Livestock's eyes flutter, then close. He goes limp and
slides halfway off the bean bag.]
Zeke: But then, I've been wrong before. Gutch, get that fancy cell
phone of yours out and call nine-one-one.
Gutch: Ehhh ... I kinda left that in my car.
Zeke: Oh. Uhm... Crap. Cindy?
[Looking down at her skin-tight, red, sequined minidress, Hewitt looks
incredulous.]
BBH: Where I'm gonna keep it, anh?
Zeke: Point taken. Well then. After this music video ... go out to
Gutch's car and get his phone.
[Hewitt glares at Zeke, then at Gutch, but both men are staring at
wiggling lady parts on the gigantic screen. She adjusts her top,
looking confused as the scene fades to black. Cut back to the
studio.]
------------------------------------
JB: What the ...? Zeke, did you really just let him lay there? He
could've gone into a coma!
Zeke: He's tough. For the love of Pete, man. Have you seen the boy
in action? He's got power to spare, does windsprints
with Gutch on his back, and is a true blue health nut!
JB: This ... this is just abominable!
Zeke: Ah, so he had a few stitches. The cut on his head was above the
hairline, so his pretty boy features are safe. No big deal.
[Suddenly, a masked head pops up above the counter behind Zeke and
Jack. Neither man sees much as the blue mask with red "M" on the
forehead raises up further and further, revealing a muscular torso
attached to a body that must be seven feet tall.]
JB: It's just ... what if he had died?
[Jack's disgust is obviously keeping him quite distracted. So much in
fact that, when Zeke locks eyes with the big freak, Jack doesn't even
notice.]
JB: You have to know tha--
Zeke: Wait, isn't that Mighty Man?
MM: BROOOOCOLLI!
JB: GAH!
[This time Jack does fall out of his chair.]
Zeke: That's correct, villain! I, Mighty Man have once again taken to
the airwaves to decry the vile, villainous verisimilitude being
perpetrated upon the fine citizens of Phoenix!
Zeke: Yyyeah, okay. I am the villain. That's the idea.
JB: Where the hell did you come from!?
MM: I COME FROM JUSTICE!
Zeke: Well, stop the presses.
MM: Yes! Invariably the sands of time press us ever forward, moving
us into the future with each passing moment! The future, Fred! Can't
you see the jetpacks comin'?
Zeke: Fred? Fred's not here, man. Really ... I'm Zeke.
JB: What is this? Bad guest-host day? Where are you people coming
from?
Zeke: Maybe he heard about the mini-fridge full of liqour.
[Laughing, Mighty Man lifts his hands, which hold a chilled beer mug
and a fresh bottle of whiskey.]
JB: Oh my ... can we please just roll the next clip?
------------------------------------
Remote feed,
Dragon Kid.
------------------------------------
[We open up to see the studios of KCAL TV in Los Angeles, CA. There's
a news desk set up and off to the side is a small coffee table with
three chairs. Sitting in one of them is The Dragon Kid wearing a his
mask along with a grey dress shirt, black dress pants and black dress
shoes. Next to him is a Japanese man wearing a dark grey suit. And
sitting across from them is KCAL veteran sportscaster, Gary Miller
wearing a black suit with a blue dress shirt.]
Off-Screen Voice: And in three...
two...
[pause]
Gary: Welcome back to Sports Central. I'm Gary Miller and with me
right now is my special guest -- he is part of the big
Phoenix Valley Wrestling event at the Anaheim Convention Center,
please welcome The Dragon Kid.
[Gary Miller extends a hand to The Dragon Kid who graciously accepts
it with a firm shake.]
Gary: And with him is his translator, Mr. Ryuji Wakiyama.
[Gary extends a hand to Mr. Wakiyama who shakes it back.]
Gary: Thank you both for joining us today. So tell us exactly what you
will be doing at the wrestling event tomorrow night?
RW: Shitagatte nani o deki goto de ashita shi te iru ka.
DK: Watashi ha hoshou sa re ta taitoru o nennai ha no ma ni itsu demo
uta re te e te iru shousha to ookii 10 nin no macchi de kisotte iru.
RW: He says he will be competing in a big ten man match where the
winner gets a guaranteed title shot anytime during the rest of the
year.
Gary: I see. And what does he think his chances are in this match?
RW: Anata no chansu ha de aru nani.
DK: Sorede, kyousou ha ooku no ataisuru koto oyobi kuufuku na kankei
sha to hijou ni tsuyoi.
RW: He says the competition is going to be very tough since there are
many deserving and hungry participants.
DK: Jaiden andoryuusu o, tatoeba tori nasai. kare ha kono supootsu de
I watashi tachi ga kesshite tatakawa nakatta ga, you ni rekishi o
yuusuru. shikashi kare ga " no riidaa ni naze nasa re ta ka riyuu ga
nakere ba nara nai ; atarashii breed.
RW: Take Jaiden Andrews, for example. He has a history in this sport
as do I but we have never fought. But there must be a reason why he
was made the leader of the "new breed".
DK: Watashi ha kare to no choudo kisoi, sore ga kare o kono pointo ka
ni e rare te koto de aru mono o miru koto o tanoshimi ni shi te iru.
RW: I look forward to competing against him and seeing exactly what it
is that got him to this point.
Gary: Interesting that he says that. Alot of people are saying that
Andrews or Larry Gionet are going to walk away the victor. What does
The Dragon Kid think about those predictions?
RW: Suru koto ga kanjiru hito rarii Gionet ka Jaiden andoryuusu ono
kangaeru tame ni kono macchi ni katsu.
DK: Watashi ha fan to rarii Gionet ni jibun jishin o suu shuukan mae
ni shoumei shi ta. Go sen doru shou ni katsu taitoru no dageki ga
rain ni aru toki, nani mo watashi o teishi deki nai. watashi ha kono
macchi no hoka no 8 nin no kankei sha ni kangaeru doragon no kodomo ha
PVW no hashigo ni nobotte junbi ga deki te i nai jibun jishin o
shoumei suru.
RW: I proved myself to the fans and to Larry Gionet a few weeks back.
Gionet may have won the five thousand dollar prize but when a title
shot is on the line, nothing can stop me. I will prove myself to the
other 8 participants in this match who think The Dragon Kid is not
ready to climb the ladder in PVW.
Gary: Speaking of ladders, this match that The Dragon Kid is taking
part in involves not only ladders but chairs as well. Is he used to
this style of match?
RW: isu oyobi hashigo o fukumu macchi no junbi ga deki te iru ka
DK: kono macchi no hotondo no hitobito ha buki toshite hashigo oyobi
isu o miru. shikashi watashi ha kono macchi no watashi o tasukeru
yougu toshite sorera ni au -- nai watashi no hantai sha nitaishite
shikashi mushiro jibun jishin o ageru houhou toshite sorera no
chokusetsu shiyou niyotte ; watashi ga kono macchi de hitsuyou to suru
subete no tame ni betsu no person' nitaishite shoutotsu suru watashi
no bodi ha aru ; juubun na chikara ga tsui te iru s bodi.
RW: As we saw a few weeks ago, most people see the ladders and chairs
as weapons. But I see them as tools that will aid me in a match -- not
by using them directly against my opponents but rather as a way to
elevate myself; for all I ever need when I wrestle is my body crashing
against another person's body with enough force.
DK: soshite taan bakkuru o hanare te tanni tobe ba sorera ga hashigo
no ue o hanare te tobu ka, mataha isu no springboarding ga zutto ookii
yori to chikara 1 ha eru.
RW: And the force one gets when they are flying off the top of a
ladder or springboarding off of a chair is far greater than if you
simply jump off a turnbuckle.
Gary: Gotcha. Well, we need to go to commercial real quick but before
we do, is there any last comments The Dragon Kid would like to make
about this match?
RW: iu beki nani ka ta no mono aru
DK: mina ha ashita no yoru chousei suru ka, mataha tatemono ni koui no
P V W o miru koto o kitaru beki de aru. doragon ga joushou o seikou no
hashigo kara kai, taitoru no dageki no keiyaku o youkyuu suru no o mi
nasai.
RW: Everyone should tune in tomorrow night or come down to the
building to watch P V W in action. Watch The Dragon Kid climb the
ladder of success and claim the title shot contract.
Gary: Very good. Well then, good luck to The Dragon Kid and thank you
again for stopping by. We'll be right back after these words from our
sponsors.
[pause]
Off-Screen Voice: And we're out...
[ftb.]
------------------------------------
Zeke: His translator needs a translator.
JB: Well Zeke, you should have no trouble with this next one: Here is
the...opinionated Gibson Hayes.
------------------------------------
Production video,
Gibson "Red" Hayes.
------------------------------------
The following message was paid for by the American Society for
Safety,Health, Obdience, Liberty and Education and generous
donations from viewers like you and was in no way paid for by Gibson
Hayes.
[A rugged Arizona landscape is the setting with Gibson Hayes looking
up into a very clear blue sky is what we are greated with as the
television screen changes from words to pictures. Gibson is wearing
blue jeans, steeltoed boots, a button down shirt that is colored like
the United States' flag, a tri-corner hat and has one hand shielded
his eyes from the sun as he looks up while the other one holds a giant
US flag. His right foot is leaning on a large boulder while his left
foot is behind him.]
Voice Over: Gibson Hayes is a man with only two things on his mind:
America and how to get rid of those who want to hurt America.
[Gibson is still in that pose.]
V/O: Gibson Hayes has four favorite things: Mom, baseball, apple pie
and freedom. Why those four things? Because those four things are the
DNA of America.
[We see some movement from Gibson as he nods solemnly.]
V/O: In fact, Gibson actually has five favorite things: Money, mom,
baseball...
[Gibson shakes his head.]
V/O: Six favorite things: Money, mom, dad, apple pie and freedom.
[This correction gets a nod from Gibson.]
V/O: Gibson hates those people that would dispoil, disgrace, dirty and
destroy America. Thus far in PVW Gibson has fought the swelling Red
Menace. The "New Breed" that PVW wishes to promote are nothing more
than Communists in Gibson's eyes, promoting everything America hates.
So far Gibson has been fighting alone against this onslaught.
[Briefly closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, Gibson lets out a
sigh.]
V/O: Whether it be from corrupt officials, ignorant officials, inept
officials, mentally retarded officials, officials who only accept
payment in Rubles, or officials under the employ of foreign powers it
has become apparent that PVW will do nothing to even the odds for a
patriot like Gibson "Amber Waves of Grain" Hayes.
[Gibson's eyes move left and right for a bit, a tad confused by this
new nickname.]
V/O: However Gibson is undaunted and unwilling to be swayed from his
holy mission. Despite being cheated out of $5,000; Gibson fights on.
In spite of being robbed of money that would have been put to use for
this nation; Gibson fights on. Gibson fights for you. Gibson fights
for me. Gibson fights for pur...
[Gibson wags his finger in an ah-ah-ah manner.]
V/O: I was going to say purity that can only come from being as near
sainthood as Gibson is at this very moment. Indeed, at this next card
called End Game Gibson is going to be put into the ring with Godless
heathen atheist Communist intellectuals, the very thing America hates.
Despite near impossible odds and with the corrupt PVW organization
against the champion of America we know as Gibson Hayes, we all can
count on Gibson to come out swinging... but he cannot do it alone.
[Planting the flag down Gibson reaches into his pockets and turns them
inside out.]
V/O: An army cannot fight on an empty stomach and Gibson cannot
continue his good fight without numerous generous donations from you,
the audience who cares about America. You, the viewers who know that
if you do not donate money hand over fist Gibson will fall. You, who
know that Gibson needs numerous checks, money orders and well
concealed cash. You, who know that re-writing your will with Gibson as
the sole beneficiary would do more for this nation than voting in some
boring presidential election.
[An eagle (and by eagle I mean a plush eagle on a wire) zips down
towards Gibson's shoulder but overshoots by a sizable amount. Hayes
looks peeved but quickly regains his composure. Needing to do
something Gibson picks up the US flag with his left hand while
saluting it with his right.]
V/O: As you can see: not even eagles are safe in Arizona as long as
Gibson Hayes is not champion. Boarder jumpers like Miguel "Poncho
Villa" Quesada will not rest until they have stolen all of our jobs!
Evil business buying Japanese imperial spies like The Dragon Kid
subvert our industry! People like Rick Marley will not rest until all
of our children are under the influence of gambling, drugs and
alcholo! Larry Gionet sounds French! Shayne Grissom almost rhymes with
Blaine Simpson and I think he worked at this bar called the Manhole
and we all know what kind of agenda that would bring and aren't
Teamsters already lazy so why should we kowtow unions, that's
downright unamerican! The Tucson Kid is a dirty Red who wants
all your children to hate God!
[Gibson sneaks a peek at his watch while maintaining his pose.]
V/O: Jaiden Andrews obviously can't spell and that could make your
kids stupid. Eric Williams is an alias for someone accused of cattle
poaching in New Mexico! Outlaw? He was featured on To Catch a Predator
according to a reliable source down at the bus depot. Livestock? He
was the cow poached by Eric Williams and Zeke Craven is boring and
Americans hate boring things...
[Those shoulders of Gibson begin to slump.]
V/O: ...and just what the heck is an OmniFly? I know I hate stupid
names and so do proud Americans who like good names like Joe, Gibson,
or Tyrone.
[This last name illicits a dirty look from Gibson.]
V/O: What? Er, anyhow PVW viewers, there is only one obvious choice
for you to root for and give all your money to at End Game: Gibson
Hayes, America's last hope. Gibson Hayes - America's best hope!
------------------------------------
MM: Egads, man! He's misleading America's youth! That voiceover...
Zeke: Was inspired! Nearly as good as Gibson Hayes himself.
MM: That dastardly voice over was none other than Tyrone "Purple"
Hayes himself!
JB: Gibson was trained by Tyrone, so it is entirely possible.
Zeke: Shut up and eat your Fatty Bouyz Meet Snax.
JB: Next up is Chris Hopper's protege, "Sugar" Shayne Grissom...
Zeke: Interesting kid. After the last time I heard him speak, I have
to wonder ... just how nice this "nice guy" that people seem to view
him, is.
[Cut.]
------------------------------------
Remote feed,
"Sugar" Shayne Grissom.
------------------------------------
[The camera fades in to show the inside of a small room. As the view
grows, we notice CDs stacked neatly against a wall and
a few posters up on the wall of 1980s hairbands like Scorpion and
MegaDeath. Finally a voice is heard......]
VOICE: It's the night show with "Swingin'" Dean Hayes and I'm here to
make sure every swing here in Phoenix has a happy ending. We're going
to take a couple of commercials and be right back with tonight's
special guest, "Sugar" Shayne Grissom. Be right back!
[The "On-Air" sign above the desk goes off and the door to the area
opens, as Grissom emerges. Shayne is wearing a typical "Sweet as
Sugar" T-Shirt, blue jeans and his trademark dark sunglasses. Hayes
reaches and shakes the rookie's hand, offering him a seat and the
headphones.]
Hayes: Shayne, thanks for stopping in tonight. You just wear these
and speak into that microphone. Odds are you won't have to try hard to
be heard, but that is where you do need to focus. The gain levels are
solid it looks like.
Grissom: No problem Dean.....always glad to help out.
Hayes: Anyway, I got some general questions for you and then we can
answer some of these letters I got from the fans after I announced you
were going to be on the air with me.
Grissom: (chuckles) Alright Dean. Let's roll with it.
[The "On-Air" light flips on and Dean goes from calm, regular
conversationalist to smooth night DJ in a second. He even goes as far
as to glide his hands out as he welcomes his listeners back from
commercial.]
Hayes: Ohhhhhhh Welcome back night owls to the big swingin' night
show with "Swingin'" Dean Hayes. With me now is one of the newest
rookie sensations to hit PVW, "Sugar" Shayne Grissom.
[Hayes points to the studio producer who immediately clicks the button
for cheers and applause. Grissom laughs in reaction to this.]
Grissom: Wow Dean, a studio audience and everything!
Hayes: Nah kid.....that is my personal affirmation button. Anytime
I feel a little down....
[Points again and the cheers go off again.]
Hayes: ......instant standing ovation!
Grissom: Yeah! I should get one of those to use at the
Armory......It might help spice up some of the other guys' promos!
[The two share a laugh.]
Hayes: Speaking of PVW Shayne.....you are one of those "new breed"
wrestlers that have been brought in by Mr. Willingham. Why has there
been such an emphasis on these younger guys?
Grissom: Honestly, it's a misnomer Dean. Half of these guys that are
being called "New Breed" and they were wrestling when I was still in
junior high and high school.
Hayes: Really?
Grissom: Take Larry Gionet, for instance. Larry has been around
nearly a half decade already. He is a former World Champion in other
promotions and has been a top-ranked wrestler almost every year since
he debuted. I realize he takes chances and wrestles in smaller leagues
like PVW and ACW before that......but that doesn't make him NEW, does
it?
Hayes: I suppose not.
Grissom: In my opinion it makes him a coward, and that goes for the
others that are in PVW after having such storied careers
elsewhere.....guys like Rob Cole, OmniFly, William Craven and
Rick Marley. All of those guys are being hailed as big fish in a
little pond....but it is because they chose to stay in
little ponds and never fared well once they went up stream.
[Hayes crinkles his brow a little, obviously surprised at the rookie's
bluntness.]
Hayes: Those are awfully strong word Shayne and you are talking about
some of the best PVW has to offer there.
{Shayne nods in the affirmative.]
Grissom: My Dad worked for some big promotions and I never heard him
speak of William Craven and Will Geddings much after AWMC died. Gionet
has been a footnote ever since walking out of SPW. Jaiden Andrews is a
joke who can't handle true competition and usually runs away once he
is beaten. I say the odds are dead even to pick 'em if he even shows
up at End Game after I wiped the canvas with his rear.
Hayes: Speaking of End Game, you are in the Called Shot match along
with nine other PVW superstars....
Grissom: Well I don't know if I'd call them "superstars". I mean
honestly,
Maybe Marley qualifies as a bonafied superstar, but even "The Rocket"
has never held a major singles title. This is a match of a bunch of
guys to see what sticks. We're essentially Dex's spaghetti and he is
throwing us into the wall with tables, ladders and chairs to see who
stays up long enough to grab an envelope.
Hayes: Your only loss in PVW was to a team that included two members
of your opposition in this match: Gionet and Livestock.
[Shayne just shakes his head and chuckles.]
Grissom: For the life of me, I'm still trying to figure out exactly
why a guy is
wrestling named Livestock. I'm not wrestling a cow. He isn't ushered
in by Sam Elliott yelling over the PA System "Beef! It's what's for
dinner and coming for you!" (chuckles) That guy is not going to be a
factor and Gionet is a lucky veteran who cost me enough back in the
day. So I am planning on getting some payback for ACW by making sure
Larry doesn't sniff that title shot.
Hayes: PVW also has the likes of Outlaw....
[Grissom holds up his hand and cut shim off quickly.]
Grissom: .....I'm not even discussing that idiot. How he is even
allowed near a microphone is beyond me. He curses like a sailor and
smells like one too after low tide....if you catch my drift. The fans
of PVW deserve a person with a true sparkling reputation to get a
title shot. They deserve a wrestler they can be proud of backing
because he stands for many wholesome, American qualities....
Hayes: Guess that counts Dragon Kid out then. (laughs)
Grissom: Don't be too quick Dean. Kid has been a friend behind the
scenes and don't let his language barrier fool you. He is the most
dangerous man in this match. I respect him for his talent and for what
he can achieve if given a chance. If there is one guy that has a
slight chance to beat me in this match, it's Dragon Kid. I'm not
afraid of him, but I know that he and I are the best in the match
right now.
Hayes: And the rest of the field?
[Shayne laughs again before answering.]
Grissom: Are you kidding me?
Hayes: Uh.......er...no?!?!
Grissom: Hayes and Williams are just there to round out the field.
Those guys haven't been competitive since the league opened. Andrews
is still sulking about being punked by me on television. This match is
really mine to win or lose, depending on my confidence and mood that
night. Do I look like a person who doubts himself at all?
[Hayes nods slowly.]
Hayes: No sir, you do not.
Grissom: Right you are! After End Game, the called shot will be mine
and the only decision I'll have is what title I want to take and who
do I take it from. PVW Heavyweight Champion Shayne Grissom.....sounds
sweet as sugar to me Dean.
[Dean pulls a piece of paper up as both guys chuckle at Grissom's
bravado.]
Hayes: I have a letter here Shayne, and I'd like you to take a moment
to answer it in the small time we have left, if you don't mind.
[Shayne smiles.]
Grissom: Not at all! The fans are why we exist in this profession,
so I I'm more than happy to interact with them.
Hayes: Alrighty...here goes.....Dear Shayne. Why are rookies such a
big deal in PVW and do you think you will be as successful as the
first breakout rookie, Caleb Foley? Signed, Rebecca James of
Flagstaff.
{Shayne smiles.]
Grissom: I like Caleb a lot, so I won't jump to that part of the
question. Rookies are vital to PVW for a couple of reasons. First,
we're cheaper for the league to employ as it begins its quest for
business and advertising. On top of that, the league is new. It only
stands to reason that the league would want to grow its own stars and
no better way to do that than to use rookies.
[Grissom smiles a sly smile.]
Grissom: Far as the part about whether or not I'll ever be as
successful as Caleb....well we will see about that. Caleb was a
product of being a stud rookie when the league opened. I'm coming from
a different background already, as the league is several months old.
It really is apples and oranges. Had I been here when PVW
opened.....would I have been the rookie in the heavyweight title
matches? Who knows? I think it definitely would be a horse race.
[Grissom sits back comfortably as he continues.]
Grissom: But I tell you this Becky......when I win that Called Shot
at End Game and can challenge any title I want. I will make sure that
you get an answer to that, especially if Caleb wins the big strap.
I'll see what I can do in answering that second part then.
Hayes: Thanks again for coming down and hanging out with us Shayne.
Grissom: My pleasure Dean. Anytime man!
Hayes: Alright kiddos, we're going to listen to some Cheap Trick and
be right back with more of the "Singin' Night Show".
["On-Air" Light goes off and Grissom stands, shaking Hayes' hand
again.]
Hayes: Thanks again man.
Grissom: It was fun. We'll see how it all plays out at the Pay-per-
view.
Hayes: Good luck kid!
Grissom: Thanks!
[Shayne exits as the screen fades to black. Cut back to studio.]
------------------------------------
JB: Strong words from the extremely self-confident Shayne Grissom.
Zeke: Kid sure seems to know what it takes to get to the top ... now
he just needs to follow through. Maybe ... he just needs some
guidance.
[Zeke rubs his bearded chin in a manner most unnerving.]
MM: I find his self aggrandizing to be somewhat distasteful. A true
hero does not TELL everyone what a hero he is...he SHOWS them with his
actions day in and day out.
Zeke: He showed us all we need when he tossed his KO'd opponent over
the top rope, you crybaby. Grissom is the real deal. You dangle that
carrot in front of him and he'd drown a kitten to make it to the top.
JB: Moving right along, the next competitor in the match has caused
quite a stir since his singles debut here in PVW with the reformation
of the famed and feared stable: Widowmakers Incorporated.
Zeke: I certainly won't argue against Marley in this match.
JB: Really? What if your brother gets involved?
Zeke: Oh? Bill? Well ... I'm trying to remain neutral on that right
now.
JB: Neutral? He's your brother!
MM: (growling) No comment. Roll the footage.
[Cut.]
------------------------------------
Remote feed,
"Showtime" Rick Marley
------------------------------------
[The camera cuts to a well-apportioned living area. An overstuffed
brown leather armchair sits in one corner of the
tastefully decorated living room, holding court to the "lesser"
furniture (a sofa, glass-topped coffee table, end tables,
wall paintings). This portrait of high-end living has a large sliding
glass door that opens out onto a deck, offering a
beautiful panoramic view of the Phoenix skyline.
The dark wood door on the far left swings open, allowing the suite's
owner to enter. Widowmakers Inc. member and PVW
mainstay "Showtime" Rick Marley strides into the room, placing a black
gym bag on the table and sinking smoothly into the
cushions of the arm chair and turning to look into the camera.]
"What...expecting some sort of training montage?
Sorry, but that seems like it's a bit trite and overdone under the
circumstances...after all, is it supposed to be news
that the guys getting ready for their huge pay per view matches are
all working hard at getting ready? This is their
damned jobs, they SHOULD be busting their asses to be ready. Not only
is this the big stage, but it's the first time that
PVW is going on a road trip...let's not lose sight of that:
SoCal...specifically Anaheim, a hop skip and jump away from Hollywood.
And naturally what does the Championship Committee decide to gift
these people with: a platform for The Human Highlight
Reel...Heatwave's Hero. You're gonna put me in a match with nine
other guys, then suspend a guaranteed shot at any title
I want over the ring in a briefcase, then give me tables, ladders and
chairs and turn me loose?"
[Marley leans forward, smirking.]
"Why not just hand it to me now? We all know that's what Strickland
Sports wants, right? Widowmakers Inc is good for
business. We move more t shirts, we bring in more casual fans, and
generally up the profile of this organization just by
setting up shop here. And guys like The Dragon Kid or Eric Williams
are supposed to concern me?
Suuuuure, that'll pack 'em into the seats.
Let me explain something to the other wrestlers in this match, and to
you poor little naive kids at home: This is a
business first, middle and last. SSN is worried about one thing:
Making money. Widowmakers Inc makes them money.
End of story. PVW, on the other hand fined WMI for 'excessive
beatings'.
SSN allowed Rob Cole to pull out a straight razor and slice another
wrestler's chest. We've seen what happens when SSN and
PVW's brass butt heads...SSN wins. Otherwise Cole and his dance
partner wouldn't be playing out their snuff-porn fantasies
on each other for everyone to see.
So now that our lesson in economics is over, we can get to the part
where I run down each opponent...pointing out
strengths and weaknesses in each of their matchups with me.
...
...
...
Except I'm not going to.
Y'see, I DID my research. I've watched the tapes of their matches.
I've read transcripts of what they've said, and what
their opponents have said, and I don't really think that I'm going to
share any insight into what I've learned with anyone
not drawing a Widowmaker's Inc. paycheck. If my opponents haven't
managed to do the same, that's their issue...their loss."
[Marley comes to his feet, walking over to stand in front of the
sliding glass door, facing out and staring out over
Phoenix.]
"I'm not playing with these people or this organization any more. I
sent that signal when I re-formed Widowmakers Inc. One
thing matters to me at this point: domination. I WILL take the
Heavyweight Title. Chase Williams, Brian Young, Caleb Foley,
Rob Cole, Spectre, William Craven...it doesn't matter. Regardless of
who's holding it for me, I'm serving notice now: WMI
is going to own every meaningful accolade that PVW has to offer, and
that belt is now rightfully mine.
Called Shot is the first step to WMI's dominance of this organization,
and any of you nine guys that stand in my way are
gonna end up getting flattened.
Take it to the bank."
[fade to black]
------------------------------------
JB: Rick Marley and by extension Widowmakers Incorporated, sending
notice to all of PVW that they intend to take the titles
by hook or by crook.
Zeke: Is there any other way?
MM: Perhaps...hard work and fair play?
Zeke: Are you an alien?
JB: The next competitor is none other than PVW's own Outlaw!
Zeke: Cue the censors!
[Cut.]
------------------------------------
Remote feed,
Outlaw.
------------------------------------
[Cut to a parking lot. A lone orange shopping cart rolls into the
camera shot, followed closely by Outlaw who appears to
be chasing it.. A moment passes, and Semi calmly strolls by, stopping
to look at the camera. He moves closer, and grins.]
Semi: Howdy... follow me.
[The cameraman tries to keep pace with the seven footer, turning to
his left, and revealing the location. An audible groan
is heard from the cameraman.]
Semi: Yep, Home Depot. Now I bet yer askin' yourself, "why on earth
are we at the Home Depot, while filming for a wrestlin'
program."
[Semi stops, pondering..]
Semi: Yeah, I got nothing. I just followed him here for the free
lunch.
[As they walk to the door, Outlaw comes in from the side of the camera
with a big orange cart.]
Semi: Bucket not big enough?
Outlaw: Not for what I [bleep] need.
Semi: I don't s'pose yer gonna tell me what that is ?
Outlaw: Do I ever [bleep] tell you anything?
Semi: Nope.
Outlaw: So why would today be any [bleep] different ya big [bleep]
goof.
Semi [looking back at the camera]: One can dream.
[The two men and the cameraman walk into the store.]
Semi: As far as I know, there's no carpenters or contractors involved
in the called shot match. So we're obviously not
here researching that.
Outlaw: Well that's just [bleep] stupid. Have you ever [bleep] heard
of a [bleep] carpenter [bleep] wrestler? That'd be
like having a [bleep] wrestler who was supposed to be a [bleep]
trucker. That'd be [bleep] stupid.
[The camera zooms in on Semi with his mouth open, as if to speak. He
catches himself and just shrugs.]
Semi: A'ight, so if there's no carpenter, why in the blue heck are we
at home depot.
Outlaw: We need some [bleep] equipment to [bleep] train for the match.
Semi: Uh, I ain't in the called shot match, i hope you're not
expecting me to be training for a TLC match.
Outlaw: You can be the [bleep] ladder. You're [bleep] tall enough.
Semi: yeah, ya ain't climbing me. It's bad enough you use me as a
springboard in matches.
[Outlaw chuckles.]
Semi: Ya know it hurts when you do that, it's like you're kicking me
in the chest. Actually, that's exactly what you're
doin'.
Outlaw: Still [bleep] funny. This aisle.
[The two turn down aisle 14. Semi looks up at the sign.]
Semi: Tables.. We're buyin' tables, but of course we're buyin'
tables. Hey 'law, you do know I have my own match at
End Game right?
Outlaw: A [bleep] tag match against the [bleep] Prophets of Rage..
Come on, seriously, you're [bleep] worried about that
[bleep] match?
Semi: Well, yeah. Johnny is being all Stalker thanks t'Geddings. So
it's not like this is going to be pretty.
Outlaw: Boo [bleep] hoo. You'll get to have a [bleep] brawl. You and
I both [bleep] know how much you love to [bleep]
brawl.
Semi: Yeah, that's true. So the tables, I assume because of the TLC
match.
Outlaw: Correct. I need to [bleep] practice putting people through
[bleep] tables.
Semi: Uh, wait a sec, ya ain't puttin' me through a table.
Outlaw: Of course I won't [bleep] do that. I've got that [bleep]
covered.
Semi: oh. uh, good.
Outlaw: I just [bleep] need you to [bleep] carry all this [bleep]
stuff. In case ya didn't [bleep] notice, you're one
big [bleep] guy. You're basically the [bleep] muscles of this
organisation, and I'm the [bleep] brains.
Semi: Lord help us.
[Outlaw and Semi put a couple of tables on the cart.]
Outlaw: Folding chairs are in the next [bleep] aisle.
Semi: And you do know your not hitting me with a chair right.
Outlaw: Again.. I've got this [bleep] covered.
Semi: You know you're not hitting Johnny in the head either right?
Outlaw: Yes, I [bleep] know.
Semi: Just checking.
[They start loading up the cart with chairs.]
Semi: I assume we're going to get ladders next?
Outlaw: Nah, I've got those at [bleep] home.
Semi: Oh ? what size?
Outlaw: [pauses to think] Uhm, all [bleep] sizes.
Semi: Why the heck do you have that many ladders at home?
Outlaw: I like to [bleep] jump off of them.
Semi: Onto what?
[Outlaw shrugs.]
Outlaw: Whatever's [bleep] there. People, furniture.. If there's a
[bleep] ladder, I'm [bleep] jumping off of it.
Semi: Yeah.... you're really looking forward to this match aren't
you?
Outlaw: What [bleep] gave it away?
Semi: Oh nothing. So are you actually taking into consideration who
your opponents are? or are ya gonna play it by ear?
Outlaw: Wait, I've got more than one [bleep] opponent? When did this
[bleep] happen?
Semi: Uh, since it was announced, don't you remember attacking like
nine different guys on the show last week?
Outlaw: No. I know BOBBY [bleep] COLE attacked some guys and Masked
Maniac attacked some [bleep] guys. Oh and Victory
[bleep] Lane attacked Omnifly. That was [bleep] awesome.
Semi: Yeah.. that was awesome.
Outlaw: Yeah it [bleep] was...
[The two men look up, visualizing Omnifly being attacked. They both
sigh..]
Outlaw: All I [bleep] did was attack [bleep] Rick Marley..
Semi: Actually you attacked Judd Marley.
Outlaw: Who?
Semi: Rick's brother Judd. See, one of your opponents is Rick Marley.
You attacked his brother Judd.
[Outlaw stares at Semi... and then a moment of clarity, and he
laughs.]
Outlaw: You [bleep] had me there. Judd Marley.. Who in the [bleep]
would [bleep] name their kid Judd.. You're a funny
[bleep] guy.
Semi: [sarcasm] That would just be ridiculous.
Outlaw: Judd.. [he laughs.] Come on, lets [bleep] pay for this
[bleep] stuff. You gonna come watch the [bleep] training
this afternoon?
Semi: I don't think I can let myself miss it.
[Fade to black as they pull up to a cash register.]
------------------------------------
JB: Outlaw...always...uhhh...
Zeke: I assume there's a method to his madness, but thusfar, all I've
seen is madness.
JB: (sighing) moving on, we have the winner of the Called Shot preview
on last Heatwave, Larry Gionet.
Zeke: Is he French? His name DOES sound French...
[Cut.]
------------------------------------
Inring segment,
Larry Gionet.
------------------------------------
[The camera pans to a near empty PVW arena. He we are minutes after
Heatwave went off the air. Gionet sits on a cold
steel bench collecting his thoughts as blood drips down his face.
EMT's are trying to work on Larry Gionet as he angrily
pushes them aside. He puts his head in his hands as he breathes
heavily from the intense fight he just participated in
regrading the Called Shot 4 way exhibition match.]
Larry Gionet: Society tried to deny me. The wrestling world tried to
STOP me! PVW TRIED TO BREAK ME! Well I've got news
for ya boys, you can't break what was once destroyed! I went out
there with a mindset for war. The wreckage around me
in that ring reminded me of why I AM a dying breed in this sport. The
carnage showed me how much all of those men want to
win it all for a shot at immortality. But by the blood on my face and
my hand raised in victory shows that I want it MORE!
[Gionet's teeth grit and seethe with purpose. Paramedics again try to
come in to help alleviate the pain and close up the
wound but Gionet throws him against the locker in afit of rage. He
looks deeply into the camera's lens with ambition in
his cold blue eyes. The wound drips three times more forming a puddle
between his black wrestling boots. He looks at his
hand covered in his own blood as he makes a fist of rage that nobody
wants to dare come across.]
Eric Williams this blood I shed is because of YOU. If you think that
a little fountain of blood is going to stop me from
grabbing that contract and earning my shot at championship gold you've
lost your mind. Don't be mad at me because you
lost your wife that you lost your kids and lost your chance at 5,000
dollars. If you try to pass another fast one like
that on me kid, losing your mind will be the least of your worries.
[Larry looks up for a split second as a paramedic tries to shine a
light in his eyes to see if anymore damage was done to
his face. Gionet grabs the kid by the throat and without saying a
word the paramedic fled the scene as if a ticking time
bomb were to explode in any second. The blood dripping from his head
starts to cover the ends of Larry's dirty blond hair.
Gionet inhales deeply before exhaling through his mouth like a
hurricane ready to blow through a lonely city.]
Dragon Kid the time for playing nice is over. Chumming up to Eric
Williams last week on Burning Effect will do you no
good. He isn't going to be cheering you on at End Games. He is going
to be out there just like you just like me and 7
other guys wanting that title shot. The second you trust anybody in
the called shot match at End Games is the second you
lose the damn match for yourself! I won't think twice about breaking
you down and running your ass over to be victorious. I
won't take a moments notice to rip you flesh and bone and tearing that
mask of your off. Exposing your vulnerability in
front of the wrestling world. You say I have changed for the worst,
who is to say I changed at all? You just like
everyone else want to turn a blind eye to whats in front of their damn
face as if shielding their vision from whats their
shields the vision of the world too. Well guess what Kid this IS
reality and I am the most real wrestler to step foot in
PVW. Put the wool over your eyes all you want, shield your eyes from
the light of truth till you see nothing but darkness
but at End Games the truth will be told.
[Gionet puts his black wrestling boots over to make sure blood doesn't
stain them. He finally grabs a bandage and puts
pressure on the wound on his forehead. The pressure sends the blood
dripping to his nose until it eventually trickles down
towards his chin goatee. He lets out a sadistic smile as the blood
begins to settle in with his chin goatee drying up
changing its natural color.]
Shane Grissom seems like all you ever do now a days is dwell on the
past. Preaching to the choir of the sins I committed
against you. The only reason I got involved in your business is
because you had to shove your face in mine. Your
"innocent" remarks and your snide comments just proves to me and
everybody else that you don't take this seriously. Yeah
crack a joke for people out there who don't mean a damn. Where are
they going to get you when that bell rings? All they
want is blood and violence. They want to see you bleed they want to
see you so down and out that you need to be
wheeled out on a stretcher and sent to the hospital. Don't you worry
Shane, I got that covered. I will leave you gasping
for breath as blood pours off your body like mine is. It's not for
those vultures out there it's because I am the most
dangerous man PVW has laid its eyes on and I will do anything possible
to become PVW World Champion.
[Embracing the silence, Larry Gionet looks off in the distance.
Thoughts of violence, retribution and achievement run
through his mind a mile a minute. Thoughts of chaos and destruction
return the evil mannered smile even unsettles the
darkest of hearts. He looks back to the center of it all with those
icy blue eyes that seem are freezing the cameraman in
place out of fear of what Larry Gionet could do next.]
Outlaw, Hayes , Andrews do you think a little loss of blood is going
to stop me?! Do you think this proverbial car crash
is going to stop me from getting a chance to be champion!? I've been
in 4 man, 6 man 8 man matches all across the globe!
I know fore well I need eyes in the back of my head at all costs.
Livestock, Marley & OmniFly I know all about what it
takes to win at all costs. Don't think for a second that I don't have
an ace or two up MY sleeve! With this called shot
match where one man can potentially achieve the world of his dreams,
its no longer about how or why PVW it's all about do
or die!
[Gionet looks off to his left as he grabs his wrestling boots.
Without saying a word, he slams open the doorway out into
the world. Will Gionet use his dominance to go all the way and win
the Called Shots match at End Games? While the shift
in momentum is in his favor only time will tell as we then fade to
black.]
------------------------------------
JB: Well...Gionet certainly didn't waste and words...
Zeke: The French are afraid to speak ... they invented mimes, after
all.
MM: MIMES! No greater villainy can be attributed to man!
Zeke: Mayonnaise too.
MM: We'll spare Paris for now.
JB: Fans, I'm receiving word that we have a second piece from Outlaw.
Zeke: Why not? Maybe the FCC won't fine us for excessive use of a
censor beep. Maybe.
[Cut.]
------------------------------------
Inring segment,
Outlaw.
------------------------------------
[Cut to the armory. The jobbers are standing in the middle of the
ring in formation. The ring is cluttered with chairs
and tables, and on the outside a dozen or so ladders are present. ]
[Outlaw passes in front of the jobbers like a general giving out his
assigment to the troops.]
Outlaw: Alright boys. This is [bleep] it. This is as [bleep] close
as you guys will [bleep] get to the [bleep] Called Shot
match. You all know why you're [bleep] here.
[Brian Masters takes a step forward]
Masters: Uh, actually no. I'm not sure why I'm here, my agent told me
to be here, but not why.
[Outlaw sighs.]
Outlaw: This is a [bleep] battlefield simulation. You [bleep] guys
will be simulating the [bleep] called shot match, so
I can [bleep] prepare.
[Masters stares dumbfounded.]
Masters: I need to fire my agent..
Outlaw: Yeah, you probably [bleep] do. Alright, so here's everyones
[bleep] assignments. Andy Action, you're Eric [bleep]
Williams.. Now can someone tell me what the [bleep] is a
"Wherewithal"?
[Silence.]
Outlaw: [bleep] thought so. Freddy Travis, you're the [bleep] Dragon
Kid. And yes, you may speak in another [bleep]
language. Paul Packed, you're [bleep] Jaiden Andrews.. Yeah, I got
nothing for ya. Ed Green, you can be Gibson "red"
Hayes. Why because red and [bleep] green.
[Outlaw chuckles to himself.]
Outlaw: Next, we've got Larry [bleep] Gionet. That'll be you Jason
Dynamite. Brian Masters, you can be Sugar Shane Grissom.
Why? You both [bleep] annoy the [bleep] out of me.. Hippo Higgins,
you'll be [bleep] Omnifly..
Higgins: Uhm, I'm a lot bigger than Omnifly.
Outlaw: Yeah, but this is much [bleep] funnier. Masked Maniac..
[The Masked Maniac perks up. He's hopping from side to side, like a
kid waiting to get a present.]
Outlaw: You can be me. The [bleep] winner of the [bleep] match.
[Maniac jumps up and down hands raised in the air.]
Outlaw: And last but not [bleep] least, Caleb Foley, you can be
[bleep] Rick Marley.
[The camera pans quickly to the ringside area, and to the front row
seats.. Caleb Foley looks up.]
Foley: Oh come on, is that why you asked me to be here? I'm not a
jobber! I've got a title match at End Game. Damn, why do I put up
with this? I've got other things to take care of right now.
[Foley gets up and walks out.]
Outlaw: [bleep] Alright guys, lets [bleep] forget Rick Marley. Not
like he's going to [bleep] have a [bleep] chance anyways.
[Outlaw rolls out of the ring, and heads to the time keepers table.
He quickly rings the bell.]
[Nothing happens.]
[Outlaw looks back the at the ring.]
Outlaw: That was the [bleep] bell. I know for you guys that normally
means you just [bleep] lost a match. But now it means start the
[bleep] match. Whoever wins, gets to [bleep] hold one of my [bleep]
title belts for ten minutes.
[The jobbers quickly spring to action, swinging chairs, setting up
tables, and grabbing ladders from outside of the ring.]
[Outlaw goes to sit in Caleb Foley's empty seat, next to Urban Legend
members Semi and Stalker.]
Outlaw: [bleep] brilliant right?
[Semi grabs a piece of popcorn from the bucket in his lap.]
Semi: I can think of worse ways to spend an afternoon.
[Stalker just looks at the action in the ring, not moving or saying a
word. Outlaw and Semi stare for at him for a second,
and then resume their conversation.]
Semi: So how's this going to help you ?
Outlaw: I figure by [bleep] having these [bleep] jobbers do the
[bleep] match, I can know what to [bleep] expect from my
[bleep] opponents.
Semi: So you're going to watch guys who lose for a livin', pretend to
be other wrestlers, and expect to learn something
worthwhile?
Outlaw:Isn't that what I [bleep] said?
Semi: I was just clarifyin'..
Outlaw: You know, for a [bleep] guy who actually carried a [bleep]
jobber title for a couple of [bleep] months, you sure
are negative.
Semi: Huh, you remembered that did ya?
Outlaw: I never [bleep] forget a [bleep] thing.
[Stalker turns away from the action and stares at Outlaw... [beat]
he turns back to the action.]
Semi: So why Higgins as Omnifly? The guy must weigh a good 400lbs..
Outlaw: It's [bleep] great isn't it?
Semi: Well, yeah.... It is.
Outlaw: Now look at that [bleep] guy.
[The camera swings around towards the ring, as Freddy Travis (aka The
Dragon Kid) climbs a 12 foot ladder on the outside of
the ring. Hippo Higgins (aka Omnifly) is laid out on the table below
him.]
Outlaw: I've got ten bucks he [bleep] misses the table by five [bleep]
feet.
Semi: I've got twenty bucks that says he falls off the ladder.
[Travis stands on top of the ladder, and unceremoniously falls to his
right, and through a different table.]
Outlaw: [bleep]. But this [bleep] tells me one thing.
Semi: What's that?
Outlaw: Dragon Kid is a [bleep] klutz.
Semi: Remind me again how it is you actually win matches on a regular
basis?
Outlaw: [bleep] brains. I know my [bleep] opponents better than they
[bleep] know themselves.
Semi: Uh, Johnny and I need to remind ya before your matches who your
opponent normally is.
Outlaw: You've got a [bleep] point?
[Semi stares back at the ring as Andy Action trips over the ropes
climbing into the ring and hits himself in the face with
a chair.]
Semi [shrugging]: Whatever works..
[He tosses a piece of popcorn in the air, that drops into his mouth.
He tilts the bucket towards Outlaw]
Semi: Popcorn?
[Fade to black ... cut back to the arena.]
------------------------------------
JB: That actually wasn't too bad.
Zeke: The beeper is, amazingly, not yet burned out.
JB: Fans, let's hear now from what many are calling the minimalist,
the pragmatic, one of the most dangerous New Breed
members; Eric Williams.
------------------------------------
Remote feed,
"Wherewithal" Eric Williams
------------------------------------
[Fade In]
Williams: Myself and nine men, at End Game, are going to embark on a
archaeological exploration –
[As the scene fades in, more and more of Eric Williams' hotel room is
shown. It's an average room, with two beds, one
nightstand in between them, a coffee table, two chairs, and the ever-
so-necessary random bit of artwork above each bed –
one that shows a tropical beach at sunset, and the other a rainbow
over the place where the Twin Towers fell. Two little
boys with short brown hair, both in matching railroad-train pajamas,
are jumping on the bed furthest away from the camera.
Eric Williams is seen sitting on the corner of the closer bed, staring
calmly into the camera.]
Williams: An excavation of the human will. The winner of the night,
and the one with the Called Shot, will not be the best
wrestler or fighter out of all of us. There's going to be little room
for that, with a ring full of weapons, and nine men
ready to use them. This match is going to be all about internal
fortitude.
How much pain can you take before your body gives out?
And, in this respect, I find myself at a great advantage.
I, unlike most – if not all – of my opponents have spent ages in this
business – a business that is renowned for devastating
the human body. And I have not been in it nearly long enough to have
been pre-worn by it. If I have a chance to escalate to
glory, now is my time to take it.
And I will.
For me, my undying dream…
[He gives a quick look back to his two kids bouncing up and down on
the bed, and turns to the camera with a slight smile
on his face.]
Williams: And my two sons.
I will not fail.
[Fade to black.]
------------------------------------
JB: Eric Williams, fighting in this match for so much more than just
his own fame and fortune...fighting for his
children.
Zeke: If he was any kind of father, he wouldn't have lost 'em to that
cow in the first place.
JB: ...that's...moving right along, Omnifly--
Zeke: Will Geddings.
JB: OMNIFLY has been in an angry sort of mood lately...and he's been
taking it out on the rest of PVW ever since.
------------------------------------
Backstage segment,
Omnifly
------------------------------------
[The scene opens to the normal OmniFly venue: one chair, black
background with the word "Omni" over it, and one OmniFly.
Omni doesn't look nearly as upset now as he did the weak before.]
[Omni]: I told you, Johnny. I told you what was going to happen. I
delivered on my promise too, didn't I Johnny? I put
you out and away and dispatched of you in the manner that befits your
legacy...without fanfare or aplomb.
[Omni]: You called out your friend to help ya, didn't you Johnny? You
thought that this Outlaw cretin could save you from
Omni...but you must realize that this is but an ephemeral savior.
Coming out with this mask...this significant mask?
Should I care? Am I supposed to understand, Johnny?!?!?!
[Omni shakes his head violently]
[Omni]: I don't understand, Johnny! I don't understand! You keep on
keeping on, Johnny! You keep trying to tell Omni
what he is supposed to be! Omni is what he is supposed to be, Johnny!
Omni is perfection!
[Omni]: And Omni will show everyone what true perfection is, Johnny,
at End Game. I will win this called shot nonsense...
a trivial matter. The shot should be Omni's regardless of the outcome.
Omni should have been given a shot at the title of
his choosing. Instead, he is forced to compete in some side show. A
side show that is not even in the main event, no less!
A waste of my time and my talents.
[Omni]: I don't know who all is involved in this farce of a
competition. Omni doesn't care. He will climb, climb, climb to
the top of his blasted ladder. And on top of that ladder, Omni will
look down upon all of the less-thans and
never-will-bes and grab his golden ticket. And then, Omni will gaze
over the PVW and decide exactly which title it is that
he wants to procure. The big belt? Chase's belt? Too sullied. Too
worthless now. Dragged to the bottom by the Conceited
Bastard, it is a laughing stock of a championship.
[Omni]: The Rising Phoenix? Chris Hartt's baby? Any title that merits
a "competition" between the likes of he and RJ Souza
is not worth Omni's time. Perhaps Omni will simply take over the new
title? A title that has not been disgraced by the
likes of the rest of the "competitors". A title that is pure and
worthy of Omni.
[OmniFly smiles]
[Omni]: And when I stand with this pure championship, Johnny, maybe
then you will look at me with the appreciation and
respect that Omni deserves? Maybe, Johnny? Maybe then you will believe
the fact that all of these other...people...that you
continue to parade out...these FlyKings and Victory Lanes...maybe you
will finally believe that these people are no more...
[Omni]: Long live...
[Omni shakes his head violently, his hand shooting to his forehead as
the scene fades]
------------------------------------
JB: More PVW competitors to come after these words from our sponsors.
Zeke: God help us.
------------------------------------
[Three boys are on a baseball field. one is pitching, one is
hittngbaseballs, but not very well. A third boy is heckling on
the side.]
Billy: My sister hits better than you do.
???: But I bet he can hit better with this....
[PVW's Man In Black walks up with a cartoon bat.]
Ronnie: Whoa, It's RJ Souza!!
RJ Souza: That's right kids. And I brought something that gives
yourswing a little more PUNCH. It's Lil Louieville.
Matt: Are you telling me I can hit the ball further with the "Lil
Louieville"
RJ Souza: NO, not at all. But what Lil Louiveville can do is beat
thecrap out of your opposition.
[The cartoon bat goes right into the hands of Matt. It turns real.
Matt starts beating the crap out of Billy. Soon, Billy
is bruised up, missing teeth and bleeding]
Matt: Do I still hit like your sister, bitch??
RJ Souza: The secret to Lil Louieville is the metal bar put into
barrel of the bat. That way you break more...... bones!!
[A white screen with the Lil Louieville comes on with a small oval
screen of RJ Souza in it.]
RJ Souza: Get it now....before you really get it from someone else.
------------------------------------
[Cut back to the studio.]
JM: Souza and Hartt’s match promises to cross the line into dangerous,
Zeke.
ZC: That’s why you never rub another man’s rhubarb. They tend to take
it personally.
MM: Like marrying your brother’s ex wife…that would be out of the
question in polite society.
ZC: …andnextupwehavesomeonetalking. Roll it!
------------------------------------
Tag Team Grudge Match
Prophets of Rage
-vs-
Urban Legend
------------------------------------
[Fade in:
A Bentley pulls up to one of the million dollar homes of Paradise
Valley, Arizona. As it stops before the large doors the
chauffeur emerges and steps back to the passenger's door, opening it
to allow one amazed Swinging Dean Hayes to emerge. He
goggles at the beauty of the manicured lawns behind the terra cotta
adobe walls. Like most of Phoenix, the main house is a
single storey high, but is spread out along the acres of grass. The
red-tiled Spanish roof glistens in the sun. Rows of
tall palms lead to the ivory archway of the dark wood front door.
Behind the house, the sky stretches out limitlessly, the
brightest and clearest blue. Paradise Valley is aptly named. Here is
the most expensive real estate in all of Arizona and
here we find the Prophets making their temporary home in the
southwestern state.]
SDH: People actually live like this? I can't believe it.
[The front door opens and Pizzazz leans against the archway. She
strikes a pose, one high heeled foot resting against the
doorframe, her back arched and her head tilted back to let her raven
tresses cascade down her back. Her emerald eyes gleam
at Hayes as she puffs on her cigarette and carelessly blows a cloud of
blue smoke out at him. Without saying a word she
swirls, skirts of her purple paisley-printed white sundress billowing
as she turns her back to him. With that she clicks
her heels towards the interior of the house, leaving Hayes to hurry to
catch up with her.
Cut to:
The keystone back patio with the garden, deep green lawn and more low
palm trees surrounding a kidney shaped pool. The
pool is empty right now. Derek Rage sits at a poolside table, sipping
sangria. He is dressed in an immaculate white
cotton suit with a crisp pink linen shirt. A straw porkpie hat tilts
itself across his dome. His deep brown skin glistens
with oils as he gestures towards a seat. Shadoe Rage is seated in one
of the other deck chairs, wearing a sleeveless Pedro
Who? T-shirt and board shorts. Thong flip flops dangle from his feet
as he soaks in the sun, making his golden skin an
even deeper burnish. His eyes are hidden behind honey-coloured
aviator lenses. Still, the unmistakable intensity of his
gaze is on Hayes, as sharp as a raptor's gaze.]
DR: Swinging Dean, sit down. Sangria?
SDH: Sure. [He looks around in marvel at the home.] I gotta say I
didn't know you guys lived like this.
DR: It's rented. There isn't any other way to live, though, is there?
I mean, we deserve some luxury.
SDH: You can't be getting all this from your PVW salary, can you? I
mean I can barely afford my car payments.
[Derek Rage studies Hayes for a moment as he takes a seat. The big
man shares a look with his brother and then at Pizzazz
who comes to sit in his lap. The three share a deep laugh.]
DR: (mirthfully) Dean, we've been a success everywhere we've been. I
don't even know if we've spent any PVW money yet to
be honest with you.
SDH: Must be good to be a Prophet.
DR: It's great.
P: C'est incroyable.
[Shadoe Rage springs to his feet and slaps his way to the gathering.
He studies the Pedro Who T-shirt for a moment and
then strips it from his body, throwing it in the pool so he can stand
before Hayes like some kind of Greek God.]
SR: This is what the people don't understand. You've been invitedinto
one of the many capitals of Rage Country. Arizona
is now Rage Country and it is only fitting that our throne be
stationed in its most beautiful territory. Get a good look.
See exactly why we're so different from our competition. They talk
it. We live it.
SDH: What does that mean?
P: Vous n'avez pas lu les coupures de presse de nous?
DR: (smirking) The internet is the best and worst thing to happen to
journalism of all time. Now anybody with a knowledge
of code and an audience of two can write a blog and pass themselves
off as journalists or editorialists of some merit. I
think professional wrestling is most rife with amateur sportswriters
always adding their two cents.
SR: Half the stuff I've read ... I owe them change. Ponder that.
[The remark leaves Hayes scratching his head. He merely sips from
theglass of sangria, smacking his lips in delight.]
DR: I think he likes your recipe, Pizzazz.
[Pizzazz simply tilts her head and smiles arrogantly. She draws
alungful of smoke and exhales into Dean' face.]
DR: Be polite, Pizzazz. Dean is a bit overwhelmed. I suppose
heexpected us to live ... where would you expect us to live,
Dean?
SDH: (shrugging) I don't know. I thought it would somewhere more ...I
don't know. I have to admit I don't get you guys.
DR: You're struggling with our image the same way the dirt
sheetwriters are, I suppose. Well, it's very simple. We are
successfulathletes. And successful athletes win. Championships.
Prizes.Tokens of success. [The younger Rage sweeps his
arm over thehorizon.] That's all this is, it's a measure of our
success.
SR: This is the kind of privilege that comes with
winningchampionships, drawing crowds and absolutely defining your
sport.
This is the trappings of our success.
[Derek Rage nods at that.]
DR: But it doesn't define us. You see, the problem many people
havewith the Prophets image is that they think we're living
a gimmick orare some kind of characters. We're not two-dimensional.
We're not one-dimensional. We're people. We're real
people who work a job thatwe were born to do. Not many people can say
that. Not many peoplecome to this business as
naturally as we do. So if my political views and my abilities in the
ring don't mesh with my wardrobe and my choice
of beverage that's simply because one has nothing to do with the
other. Yes, I enjoy the finer things in life but they
aren't what define me.
SDH: What does define you?
DR: I'm a serious and intelligent Black man, Dean. My
intellectdefines me. My drive defines me. My hunger defines me.
[Hayes looks to Shadoe Rage to pose the same question, but he
thinksbetter of it. The more staid of the two Rages is
probably the preferable person to ask questions of identity.]
DR: Understand something about wrestlers like Wholly Moses and the
UFOs. They offend me. They offend everything I believe
in because they've sold out with their phony jive talk and poor hair
grooming techniques. They watch a few Blaxploitation
movies, talk some jive and they become one-dimensional gimmicks and
the people eat them up. Well they should because those
kind of wrestlers are nothing but minstrels. There is nothing
minstrel about me, Hayes.
[Hayes cringes under the hostile glare of the Intelligent Thug.
Thereis a challenge there that Hayes just won't meet.]
SR: But there is something minstrel about our opponents at End Games,
isn't there Hayes? Urban Legend are simple one-note
caricatures. No difference between them and a cardboard cutout, is
there? Do you really see any depth to Semi and
Stalker? They're just a pair of jackasses along for the ride on
Outlaw's train of nonsense. Sure they try to make all the
people in TV land out there pay attention with their useless swearing
and goofy set ups. They don't have an ounce of
dry wit or subtlety or even genuine oddness. Not like me. Not like
me at all.
DR: And their act is really only designed to do one thing cover up
their deficiencies in the ring. They are clowns. They
know it. We know it. Outside of a few stupid videos of them
harassing some monks have they done anything to the Prophets?
SDH: Well, Stalker did beat you one-on-one.
[The big man simmers with anger at that comment. He takes a
mouthfulof sangria.]
DR: He got a fast count, you're right. Yes he did. But when
UrbanLegend matched up with the Prophets of Rage proper we
beat them. And Shadoe showed Semi exactly what we are about when
we're focused. We're serious men, Hayes. There are only
a few things that excite us.
[At that Pizzazz sits up proudly, arching her back and pushing up her
chest. She nuzzles at Derek's earlobe. Not unseen
by the camera is alittle pang of jealousy from Shadoe. He shakes it
off quickly andturns to Hayes.]
SR: Yeah, there are the women we love, our family and then the belts.
Yeah, it was said that pleasure, power and
possession is all that counts in this world. Well, if you look at the
Prophets we have the possessions ... yeah, beautiful
homes, food on the table, everything we desire to mark our
accomplishments. And do we have pleasure? Do we have pleasure?
Look at the two of them ... [He gestures towards Derek and Pizzazz.]
They are made for each other. And those she's
thousands of miles away ... my darling Marissa Monet is _my_ pleasure,
my raison deter ... my muse. And I tell you when we
get together the pleasure is more than any one can know! Way more!
Yeah! But that brings us to the power. The power
that is eluding us right now. The power that will soon be ours. And
that's the power that comes with belts.
DR: Hayes, you saw the embarrassment the Royal Family suffered being
fed laxatives and itching powder? Champions cannot
afford to look ridiculous. Well, the Royal Family looked beyond
ridiculous. They looked weak and ripe for the picking.
SR: Yeah, they did. They looked ready to give it up. The PVW tag-
team titles will fall! Yes, they will. And those belts
are the Prophets passports right back to the top of the mountain and
the unlimited power that goes with it!
DR: Deep down in their hearts the Royal Family knows that they got
lucky in the tournament. Stalker stole one on a fast
count and the Prophets of Rage were stuck as the second seed. Well,
we damn near did it anyway, didn't we? Imagine if we
had been later than second. Imagine that. Imagine us still fresh at
the end of the match. Would you bet against us, Dean?
[Before Hayes can answer Shadoe is squatting before him looking
rightthrough his soul with those savage eyes.]
SDH: No, I don't know if I'd be comfortable making that bet!
SR: (springing to his feet and jabbing his finger in Hayes' face)
Ofcourse you wouldn't. Because you would have lost. No
question about it. See it's all about End Games. Urban Legend ...
playtime is over!
DR: It's serious business time for serious men. There's a title
shoton the line against a lame duck champion. This is all
we're about. This is all we work for. This is all we are concerned
with. So go be the jokers. That's fine because every
court needs it's jesters. Understand something, it won't be us.
SR: You can't kill what won't die! Yeah, the Prophets of Rage are
going right through you at End Games and we go full
circle right back to where we should always have been ... World Tag
Team champions. That's it. No more. No less. World
champions. We don't see ourselves as anything less.
SDH: You've put a lot on the line at End Games, what happens if you
lose.
[The three members of the Prophets stare at Hayes as if he just
defecated on the lawn.]
DR: That is something that winners don't contemplate. We will not
lose. It's very simple. At End Games we take our shot
at the Royal Family and after that we go on to commit Regicide.
SR: Now unless you have anything else to say, Hayes, I suggest you
pack your bags and leave Rage Country. Do you
understand? Go out there and tell ALLLLLLL the Pedros, ALLLLLLL the
doubters and all the people out there who watch
Phoenix Valley Wrestling faithfully that the greatest tag-team of all
time is coming back to take the title just like we
were always supposed to.
DR: I think we're done here.
P: Salut, monsieur.
[Pizzazz tilts her glass of sangria at Hayes. The dismissal is clear.
Hayes takes one last look at the wonder of Rage
Country in Paradise Valley Arizona and leaves with the Rage clan
staring hard at his back.
Fade to black.]
------------------
JM: The Prophets of Rage are intent on sending a message not only to
Urban Legend in this match, but also to the winner of
the Wild Cards Royal Family match…they want those belts, guys.
ZC: Wanting ‘em and getting ‘em aren’t the same thing. I’m sure
there’s some paperwork that they’ll need to fill out…and
I’ll make sure to file it RIGHT away.
MM: And their opponents have some feelings on the matter themselves…
-----------------
JB: The next two guys have been tearing into each other from the
moment that Rick Marley hired The Mercenary to take out
Major Damage...and they're not ready to stop now...
------------------------------------
One on One Grudge Match
The Mercenary
-vs-
William Craven.
------------------------------------
------------------------------------
(Scene opens. We're in a fancy looking waiting room, probably some
type of doctor's office or something as there are large
rubber plants, expensive paintings, leather waiting chairs and one hot
receptionist behind the counter. The door to what we
assume is the doctor's office comes crashing open, and through it
comes flying some random dude in a business suit. We zoom
in and see that the person responsible for the airborne schmuck is
none other than the Mercenary.)
Merc: (poking his head out the door). Sorry about that bud, but I've
got some important business here with the doc, and I
don't have much time. Maybe this will make up for the inconvenience.
(Merc tosses a black and red t-shirt onto the
motionless body, and we see that the WMI spider adorns the garment).
Merc: (turning back into the room and followed by the camera). Ok,
doc... Let's get this done...
(The camera has now made its way into the office, and we see that this
is a psychiatrist's office, identified so by the
leather couch situated to the left. Seated behind a large mahogany
desk sits a little man with round glasses and graying
fu-Manchu beard. )
Doc: (in a slight German accent): So, I see ve haf some anger issues..
Pleaze, zit down und ve vill start immediately...
Merc: (sitting on the edge of the leather couch).. Heh... You got no
idea Doc... and thanks for seeing me on such short
notice.
Doc: Vell, it zeems I had a last minute cancellation. So, Mr... uhm
Merc: No Mr... You can just call me Merc.
Doc:Ok... So, uhm, Merc...Vhere vould you like to start? I think maybe
your childhood?
Merc: Let me just stop you right there... I'm not here to talk about
myself... I'm here to talk about an acquaintance..
Doc: Ah.. so, this 'acquaintance'...
Merc: Let's call him William.
Doc: Ok.. So, William... He is a friend?
Merc: Friend? Hardly. I wouldn't take a leak on him if he was on
fire... Well, ok... maybe I would... But it wouldn't be to
put the flames out.
Doc: Uhm... Ok...So, if he's not a friend, then why would you like to
talk about him?
Merc: Well, I just want to get a better understanding of him. And I
was hoping you could maybe help me out.
Doc: Vell, this is highly unusual
Merc: He's a very unusual person, Doc. You see, he likes to think he
was some kind of military man...
Doc: Uh huh.. Well, that's not zo unusual... Lots of people served in
the armed forces. In fact, I see many post-traumatic
cases...
Merc: Yeah, yeah, yeah... I'm not interested in those cases.
Doc: My apologies. Go on...
Merc: Anyways, as far as I know, he's never served a day in his life.
And even if he did serve, there's no reason for him
to be still walking around with a flag, saluting it as if it actually
means something. I dunno... Maybe he just likes
carrying a large pole around... Trying to make up for some short
coming.
Doc: Ahem... I'll make the diagnosis, if you please.
Merc: Huh? Oh yeah... Right. Anyways... A friend of mine wanted me to
help put an end to the charade...
Doc: Yes
Merc: And so we did. Or well at least we tried. We exposed William for
who he really was. Of course it wasn't easy. First
we beat him senseless, and beat him senseless again...
Doc: Excuse me? You beat this poor man? I can't condone this...
Merc: Yeah, well, if you don't want me to beat you like I beat him,
then you'll just shut the hell up.
Doc: Vell, I never...
Merc: Whatever. So, anyways... Like I was saying, we tried to get him
to admit who he really was... and we finally did
that. We managed to strip away the mask he was hiding behind, And we
were right. We found the green monster...
Doc: Ah yes... the monster known as envy.
Merc: Uhm no... Not that figurative crap. We actually found a real
green monster, complete with fangs and yellow eyes.
Anyways...
(Upon hearing that the green color was real, the Doc starts to get
real nervous)
Doc: Uhm... er... So, this , uhm.. William... He really is green?
Merc: Yeah... Quite the freak...Anyways...
Doc: I'm sorry. You'll have to go now.
Merc: Excuse me? I don't think so...
Doc: I'm sorry ... I must insist. I cannot go on with this any longer.
(to his speaker phone)...Uhm... Nurse ... Can you
please call security...
Merc: Whoa... whoa...whoa... Security won't get here quick enough to
save your sorry ass. I came here for some help, and
you're going to give it to me.
Doc: I'm afraid I can't do that. Doctor/ patient confidentiality takes
precedence.
Merc: Heh... Well, what do ya know... I pick the one doctor who is
actually dumb enough to take on Will as a patient.
Doc: Vell, I am one of many...
Merc: Figures... So, you really can give me the answers that I'm
looking for. Like for instance, what is his biggest fear?
How can I scare the crap out of him? Break him down mentally?
Doc. I'm sorry... I cannot help you. If he knew I vas even talking to
you...
Merc: Huh... So, you're more afraid of him than me. Well, let's see if
we can't remedy that...
Voice from the doorway: I don't think so. Its time for you to be
leaving.
(Merc turns to the door, and we see that there are 4 huge security
guards standing there, brandishing truncheons and Billy
clubs.)
Merc: Hmm...
(And for once, Merc decides that discretion is the better part of
valor in this situation)
Merc: Ok... Ok... I'll be going then...But thanks for the help anyways
doc...I'll maybe come back and see you some other
time.
Doc:... Uhm, sure... Just make an appointment with the nurse on your
way out.
Merc: Heh... You know, for a shrink, you're a pretty funny guy.
(And with that, Merc makes his way through the security detail,
brushing past them, but not enough to start fight. So we're
done, and fade to snow)
------------------------------------
[All at once the seal of the office of the President of the United
States appears on the television screen, and "Hail to the
Chief" plays gently as a golden voiced announcer speaks soothingly to
the audience at home.]
Announcer: This is a paid endorsement by the William A. Craven for
President Coalition.
In America, the greatest nation in the world, we have always valued
freedom, democracy, and money. Under the current
administration, it seems that our values have become freedom for other
nations, democracy for other nations, and spending
our hard-earned cash on remaking other random nations.
[Appearing in the center of the screen, displacing the Presidential
logo, is a picture of an octogenarian white guy with
glasses. He doesn't just look old, but sickly too.]
Announcer: William A. Craven served with distinction among the Marines
in World War II and the Korean Conflict; and for 20
years in the California State Senate... A vote for William A. Craven
will change this nation's course. William A. Craven
won't start any foreign wars, won't spend your hard-earned dollars on
other nations, and doesn't care if any country other
than the United States is free.
[The picture changes abruptly to black and white, and a banner appears
at the bottom, reading "Bill Craven, 1921-1999."]
Announcer: That's because he died last millennium, but don't let that
stop you!
[Then the announcer changes his tone, speaking flat, businesslike, and
too fast. His words also appear in printed
lettering at the bottom of the screen.]
Announcer: Craven in '08. Because after 8 years of bushy politics,
even a dead guy could do a better job.
[The sound of an old vinyl record being scratched shrieks over the
airwaves, stopping the audio, and is answered by the
half-human shriek of a pained, twisted soul.]
WC: IT GETS WORSE!!!
[With a shattering sound, the image of the screen falls to pieces, and
is replaced by a spray of blood-red sparks
illuminating the upper body of a scaled, pointy-toothed, bald-headed
humanoid horror. "Evolution" as performed by Korn plays in the
background as the monologue continues. This time, however, it's no
announcer, but the strangled hiss of William Craven...]
#I'm digging with my fingertips,#
#I'm gripping at the ground I stand upon.#
#I'm searching for fragile bones.#
#(Evolution)#
WC: Right name ... wrong man...
[Rapid-fire clips of chaotic video play, as the black-slacked, green-
skinned form of Craven kicks the crap out of
innumerable men. End with him shaking a cruiserweight like a ragdoll
while holding him in a crossface chickenwing.]
#I'm never gonna be refined;#
#keep trying but I won't assimilate.#
#Sure, we have come far in time...#
#(Watch the bough break)#
[Cut to show the man himself in a "live" setting, where his words are
being recorded. In more normal lighting, his skin is
clearly shown to be tattooed green. Raising his hands to grip his own
braincase, said horror flicks his split tongue out,
licks his chops, and speaks over the music. His voice a wretched
croak with more gravel than a quarry; he locks eyes with
the viewers at home.]
WC: Twice now I have danced my dance of death and dominated upon the
world stage...
#And I'm sorry I don't believe,#
#by the evidence that I see,#
#that there's any hope left for me...#
#It's evolution!#
WC: ...But tragedies come in threes...
[William smiles weakly, only to have his mouth twitch, then frown,
then his face slips into a dispirited glare. Fade.]
#Just evolution!#
[Quick cuts show white-bordered photos. William in his youth, a
raven-haired soldier in the US army, proud of his service
to his country.]
#And I, I do not dare deny,#
#the basic beast inside;#
[A second depicts a harder Craven in his mid-twenties, a massive scar
going diagonally across his face, and extensive
scabbing on his left ear, which is now half gone.]
#it's right here,#
#it's controlling my mind!#
[An even more scarred Craven, now shaved bald for the first time.]
#And why do I deserve to die?#
#I'm dominated by#
#this animal that's locked up inside!#
[The stills fade to video; William at the start of his wrestling
career, wearing nothing but the pants from his army
camo. He's ripped to hell and out of his mind with fresh, self-
inflicted wounds marring his entire upper body. He falls
to his knees in joyous ecstasy as we fade again. An instrumental
intermission as the video fades back to the "live" shot
of Craven.]
WC: See me now as I am, see me then as I was ... and fear what I may
become...
#Close up to get a real good view,#
#I'm betting that the species will survive.#
#Hold tight, I'm getting inside you...#
#(Evolution)#
[Cut to show Craven wearing green paint that depicts his face as a
"Mr. Yuck" frown-face. Cocking his head to one side he
backs down two men whose faces are blurred.]
#And when we're gonna find these bones,#
#they're gonna want to keep them in a jar.#
#The number one virus,#
#caused by procreation.#
[More face paint as a video depicts William as a white-haired, skull-
faced killer wearing a tattered tuxedo He duffs his
top hat and brushes it off before looking straight at the camera,
through it's open top.]
#And the planet may go astray;#
#in a million years they'll say:#
#"Those mother *censored* were all deranged!"#
#It's evolution!#
[And still we go forward, as William's bare, scarred face is shown
again, up close, then with a jerk covered over as a gimp
mask is zippered shut. His ex-wife, Lydia, steps into view, playfully
lashing Bill with a cat-o'-nine-tails. Cut again,
overlapping the video briefly to show the similarity between the two
scenes. Lydia is dressed as a cheerleader, and Bill
as a varsity athlete. He looks bombed out of his mind, and far too
happy.]
#Just evolution!#
[Fade again to show Bill in his first role as masked wrestler Major
Damage. Waving a burning American flag overhead, he
wears army camo pants, combat boots, a black mask, and a white A-shirt
that reads "confirmed kills", and shows an ridiculous
number of red hatchmarks below. A small man in an Army General's
uniform to his left smokes a cigar and laughs while rubbing
his hands together. This is William's former psychiatrist, Dr. Victor
Schwartz, as General Mayhem. Notably absent is
the green skin now associated with Bill, and the plenitude of scars he
wears shows all the better for it.]
#And I, I do not dare deny#
#the basic beast inside;#
#it's right here,#
#it's controlling my mind!#
[William laughs sardonically as the scene cuts again, and we see him,
in an electric chair, a team of tattoo artists working
in fast-forward to transform him into the snake-skinned monstrosity he
is today...]
#And why do I deserve to die?#
#I'm dominated by#
#this animal that's locked up inside!#
[A second interlude interrupts the lyrics, and we see William from the
side, at the "live" shot, rubbing his face.]
WC: A decade of dementia has come and gone. The years tick by.
Middle-aged and crazy. The green man cometh...
[Breathing deep, William exhales roughly, then turns to camera.]
WC: One unshakable truth still holds, and if you don't believe, you
will believe...
#Take a look around... (take a look around...)#
#Nothing much has changed.#
#Take a look around... (take a look around...)#
#Nothing much has changed.#
#Take a look around!#
[Quick fades show various opponents either backing away, or running
from William in his many gimmicks. Finally portrayed is
"Showtime" Rick Marley, backed into a corner, frantically trying to
wave off the green freak while yelling at the referee
and ducking his head out through the ropes. Craven merely edges
forward, his head cocked to one side. Panicking, Marley
reaches through the ropes with a hand, his eyes tearing up as he finds
the wire of a cage preventing his escape. Craven
lights into Marley's prone form as the scene fades.]
#Take a look around!#
#Take a look around!#
#Nothing much has changed!#
#Take a look around!#
#Take a look around!#
[Quick fades show William in his many forms heaving many men, some
much larger than himself, through the air. Finally,
video shows him hitting a heavy metal-gimmicked big man with his
"Thunder Melter" powerbomb.]
#Nothing much has changed!#
#Take a look around!#
#Take a look around!#
#Nothing much has changed!#
#Take a look around!#
[Again, the lightning-quick cuts recapping Williams career, but this
time William applies the various submission holds that
have been his finishers. Finally, Bill lifts Miguel Quesada in the
"Dead Zone", the Crossface Chickenwing submission that
he applies while lifting the victim. Quesada, turning red in the
face, kicks his legs wildly as Bill swings him through
the air like a ragdoll.]
#I, I do not dare deny#
#the basic beast inside;#
#it's right here,#
#it's controlling my mind!#
[Bill in PVW as the second incarnation of Major Damage. Not an inch
of skin betrays his identity as he holds a burning
American flag high overhead.]
#And why do I deserve to die?#
#I'm dominated by#
#this animal that's locked up inside#
[Once more quickly we cut through the many forms of Craven, from the
still photographs to the present day, finally finishing
by cutting to the "live" shot; Bill, green skinned, but still wearing
the gas mask of Major Damage, and holding aloft a
foreign object. This time, however, it's a wooden sword. Turning
fully to the front, it's now clear that he's wearing the
"Confirmed Kills" shirt again, complete with innumerable hatch marks.]
#Why? (why...)#
#Why do I deserve to die? (do i deserve to die)#
#(Why? Why?)#
["Evolution" fades to instrumental. William rips off his mask,
shuddering with emotion and puffing at the chest.]
WC: It gets worse...
[The emotion turns to a kind of hysteria, as William laughs
mirthlessly.]
WC: IT GETS WORSE!
[Finally, the music is completely done. Williams pupils are dilated
and his lower lip has actually split just from the
extreme contortion his face has made, and he froths at the mouth as he
screams--]
WC: IIIT GEEETS WWWOOORRRSSSEEE!!!
[Cut abruptly to black. Cravens jagged logo cuts into the screen,
followed by "in PVW", then all fades to black once more. End.]
------------------
[Cut back to the studio, where Mighty Man, slurring his words
slightly, toys with a number of chilled glasses, and several
empty liquor bottles.]
MM: Zounds, you are without cool liquid refreshment! Perhaps the time
has come for a trip to the liquor store?
JB: *Sigh*.
[Hard-soled shoes click on the hard wood of the sound stage as all
three men turn to look at where the sound's coming from. Pan over to
show "Putter" Preston Winfield, in a golf hat, golf everything,
really, and a bag of golf clubs over one shoulder.]
JB: Preston? What are you doing here?
PW: Yeah, funny thing about that ... I'm your new co-host.
JB: What? But, what about Fred?
PW: He has my old job. The good thing is more time for golf, the bad
part is being stuck on the B team. The worst part is being pulled
away from an 18-hole miracle which had me tied with Tiger Woods for
that course!
JB: But, he got A PROMOTION!?
PW: Apparently so. His attitude was so "professional"--
[That word clearly grates on Jack's nerves.]
PW: --when he was given his reprimand from home office that they took
him up to the big time.
JB: I can't believe this.
PW: Believe it. Hey, red, move or I'll sit on you.
[seeing Winfield's not-so-tiny rear end coming his way, Zeke hops up
to his feet.]
PW: Too much beard on this show anyway. Get a razor out or just get
out, I don't care which.
[Glaring, Zeke lifts his nose as far towards the ceiling as his
restrictive neck brace will allow.]
Zeke: Well, I have a case to attend to anyway. Good day to you, sir!
[Glancing over one shoulder, Preston looks at Mighty Man, who goes
stiff, his eyes looking around wildly from behind his mask.]
PW: And you. You better not have finished off the hootch.
[Without another word, Mighty Man sinks down behind the bar,
disappearing to whence he came.]
PW: So, in honor of our legal friend who's hopefully departed for good
... "what's next on the docket?"
JB: Rising Phoenix--
PW: Don't got all day.
JB: Hartt versus Souza.
PW: Okay, roll it!
------------------------------------
[Quick clips show backstage bits of "Paladin" Chris Hartt and "Bad
Karma" RJ Souza arguing. Bats swing freely, Souza
hitting Hartt, Souza hitting his own wife, and finally Souza being hit
by Hartt. Profile shots are shown, fading back and
forth, Hartt holds the belt high, and Souza glares at him with evil
intent and desire for the gold. End with a graphic
showing the two facing each other. Cut.]
------------------------------------
Production video,
"Bad Karma" RJ Souza.
------------------------------------
[The front page of the newest issue of "E-PWI" with Chris Hartt in the
front, RJ Souza getting clocked with a bat from
Hartt in the background. Quotes on the bottom in yellow that shout
"Hartt: I've been seduced by the Drak Side". Quickly,
you move on to page 38, where in glorious color, you see another
picutre of Chris Hartt, bleeding from his forehead. A
picture of RJ facing him on the other page, and the black text
starting to read.....]
Can you believe these two were once great friends?
The threat of a federation was in the grasp of the foursome of ACID
Reign. With them picking off faces one by one, it
looked like their reign would end all hope. A man....In Black, stepped
up and formed an Union. Four popular wrestlers that
would never allow such a force to feed without a fight. One of those
recruits was Chris Hartt. The foursome fought until
another member of the group told Chris Hartt something he should have
listen to.
"I don't trust that RJ guy. He's worse than them ACID Reign fellers
puttogether".
The Cowboy Vinny Vasquez knew what Chris Hartt found out the Hardway.
Souza could not be trusted. RJ has found his way.
Like Anikan Skywalker to Obi Wan Kanobi, the need for the drakside was
just too great. RJ's emotions flowed into hatred and
became a dark knight.
"I don't care who you THINK you are. You don't sleep with my wife
andget away with it."
Chris Hartt as well as Destiny Souza deny anything wrong with the
relationship. They both claim to be good friends and
worried about RJ's "Mega Agent", Paul Sandler.
Make Destiny Pademe and Sandler the "Emperor" and you have the story
up until now.
But with a single twist, the story is origonal once more.
"I've been seduced by the darkside" exclaimed Chris Hartt durring an
interview.
"RJ and I can never be friends again." He clears things up about the
friendship.
Paul Sandler noted the interview and had the follwoing to say.
"Really? Did he JUST figure THAT OUT?? Chris Hartt either held out
hope or is strong in good in people. RJ's not even CLOSE
to forgiving him for what he did with his wife. That's why RJ has
never been as aggressive as he has been with anyone. From
the time RJ found out the affair, He has NOTHING for Chris but an
(bleep) whooppin."
But Hartt has an explaination for the way RJ has been acting.
"(RJ) is (Paul Sandler's) puppet."
That would explain why we see a diffrent RJ Souza in Phoenix Valley
Wrestling. But some people behind the scenes say nothing
moves without RJ's say so. This is what is heard in the Sandler
office:
"The Paul Sandler is only following direction. RJ knows what he wants
to do, how he wants to do it. (Paul) has so many
ideas that RJ just did not want to run with. Paul wanted Destiny here
with RJ, but is was RJ who said no. If RJ wanted to
be the good guy, (Paul) could have set (RJ) up to be that guy. Don't
let Hartt fool you. RJ is angry at him. RJ wants Hartt
to hurt."
"Everyone knows if RJ comes in, make a path to Paul's office. Paul
gets a little on edge when RJ is not happy. That skit
you saw a few eeks back.... That happens here more than you think."
So if Paul's not Gepedo and RJ is pulling the strings, how can two men
who were close as brothers be on such diffrent ends
of the spectrum??
"RJ is never wrong" said Destiny Souza.
"RJ seen something that leads him to believe that something did go on
between Chris and I. Even if you can prove 100% that
it did not happen, RJ will never admit he was wrong. He would rather
die than say 'I'm Sorry'."
Destiny continues, but on Paul Sandler:
"If Paul Sandler is not the cause of this mess, I don't know who RJ
can blame. Paul brought him the "evidence". Paul told
RJ to attack Hartt. Paul has instigated this whole feud. And for
what?? A title RJ does not want. This feud has cost RJ his
Marrage , his home and his best friend in the business. I don't
understand what RJ is looking to gain."
Pulling Chris Hartt to the Darkside?? That would be a gain. It's been
what every rulebreaker has looked for Chris to do
since "The Pallin" had become the holier than thou fan favorate that
everyone loves. It might be that RJ might lose a lot,
but Chris Hartt will lose so much more.
His Wholesomeness.
[Cut back to the studio.]
------------------------------------
PW: Souza's gonna win, yadda yadda.
JB: I sense your heart's not in this.
PW: You're sensing pretty good there, kimosabe.
JB: Regardless, let's just hope that this match, which can only end
via submission, will be the last between these two
before one of them dies.
PW: Eh, either way's fine with me.
JB: Now let's hear from Hartt.
------------------------------------
[In a busy gym, Chris Hartt does his training exercises. Lifting 30
lb. dumbells in each hand, he alternates through reps.
The sheen of sweat over his body shows just how intense his regimen
has been.]
Hartt: This match is really important, right now. This is the end of
it all between us. RJ Souza and I have gone as far
as possible with our anger, hatred and acts of despicable violence.
[drops the dumbells]
And now, we'll find out who's gonna walk away with the war. Battles
have been fought and victories have been tallied, but
at Endgame, it all takes a final turn. 30 minutes of working each
other over to try and get the other to submit. Souza's
got some skills with submissions. I'm not counting him out on this
match, but I will readily admit that I have the upper
hand.
I am THE technical wizard in PVW. My list of holds and counters are
vast. There's not much you're gonna get past me. Try
all you like, but chances are, I'm gonna have you twisted like a
pretzel faster than you can count.
I'm looking forward to making Souza tap to The Avenger. I hope to hear
his screams of pain and anguish. Nothing would make
me happier right now.
[Hartt towels off a bit before speaking again.]
Souza's dragged me to places I never wanted to go, but I admit, I
needed to go there. I needed to visit my Dark Side and
confront the Evil hidden there. Only then can I control it. Only
then can I face it down and not let it rule me. So, to
that end, Souza, I say thank you. You showed me just how far I can
and will go, as well as shown me that I can face my
Dark Side without losing myself to it completely.
But, once this match is over, so are we, Souza. There's nothing left
in me that cares about you anymore. We'll run into
each other again, I'm sure, but I won't ever think of our past
relationship anymore. To me, you'll be as dead as our
friendship. And, as sad as it may be to say, I won't have any
association with Destiny, either. She understands as much
as I do that carrying on any friendship just opens up old memories
better left dead. You have yelled and accused us both
of infidelity, but there's been nothing between us beyond a mutual
friendship, sadly strengthened by your hateful actions.
Your accusations and hurtful actions against us both brought us
together as friends, but because of you and the memories
you've left behind for us both, we can't carry on any association.
I really hope your agent is worth all of this trouble, RJ. Once your
money is gone, where will Paul be? Once the phone
stops ringing and federations aren't asking you to perform, directors
don't wanna option you for bit roles or endorsement
deals, where will Paul be? I wouldn't look to closely for him. He'll
be wining and dining that new hot property that used
to be you.
On that day, I wonder, will you finally admit how wrong you've been?
Will you hold your hands out for anyone to comfort
you, only to realize just how far you've alienated everyone who's ever
cared about you? It almost makes me pity you.
Almost.
I carry my head high that I've done right in all of this. I tried to
save you from yourself, but you were too far gone. You
may be a black mark that can never be erased, but I will know that I
did all I could against a situation that was just
unwinnable from the beginning.
May God have mercy on your soul, RJ, because I won't.
JB: Next we have the Tag Team Title Match…and Preston just handed me a
note…
PW: It says just roll the clip so you don’t get fired…
------------------------------------
Tag Team Titles Match
Wild Cards
-vs-
The Royal Family (Champions).
------------------------------------
[The scene opens on a simple PVW backdrop with Black Jack Baldwin and
"The Gambler" Judd Marley seated in front. Currently
Baldwin is looking directly into the camera lens as Marley is slumped
into his chair, his right hand covering his face.]
JB: This is it. No more posturing. No more joking around The Wild
Cards: on stage and back to basics. We decided that
the best way to lead in to our match with opponents of the caliber of
The Royal Family was to do a Q & A session with the
wrestling press.
JM: (muttering) Of course, REMEMBERING to invite the PRESS is always a
good step when we're trying to do a press
conference...
[Baldwin looks over at his partner, offers a sheepish smile and
shrugs.]
JB: This is true...but, ever the professionals, The Wild Cards will
hold our press conference without that always
inquisitive and pesky press. I've taken the liberty of lifting some
questions off of the internet that we'll answer
instead.
JM: They weren't actually directed to US though, were they?
JB: Well...I've found that truely astute questions don't actually NEED
to be addressed to the intended recipients...so I
went and grabbed questions from the most trusted names in news. Ahem.
[Baldwin holds up a note card and reads from it.]
JB: Mr. President, a majority of Americans disapprove of your handling
of Social Security, rising gas prices and the
economy. Are you frustrated by that and by the fact that you're having
trouble gaining traction on your agenda in a
Republican-controlled Congress?
JM: You're kidding me, right?
JB: Just answer the question.
JM: This literally has NOTHING to do with what we're actually here
for...but...I blame all of those things on the fact
that
food has become more expensive.
JB: Because corn is being diverted away from livestock feed and
regular food and into ethanol production?
JM: Nope...Jonathan Monarch has gone off Atkins.
[Marley takes out a queue card and reads in deadpan.]
JM: Your top military officer, General Richard Myers, says the Iraqi
insurgency is as strong now as it was a year ago. Why
is that the case? And why haven't we been more successful in limiting
the violence?
JB: You can't handle the truth!
JM: I never said a thing about the truth...
JB: Son, we live in a world that has walls. And those walls have to be
guarded by men with guns. Who's gonna do it? Styles?
Monarch? I have a greater responsibility than you can possibly
fathom. You weep for me putting laxatives into Royal
Family's pizza and you curse The Wild Cards. You have that luxury. You
have the luxury of not knowing what I know: that
Jonathan Monarch's flatulence, while tragic...
JM: That's one word for it.
JB: .... probably saved lives. And my existence, while grotesque and
incomprehensible to you, saves lives...You don't want
the truth. Because deep down, in places you don't talk about at
parties, you WANT me on that wall. You NEED me on that wall.
JM: Wall? What wall? Are you off your meds again?
JB: We use words like honor, code, loyalty...
JM: No we don't!
JB: We use these words as the backbone to a life spent defending
something. You use 'em as a punchline. I have neither the
time nor the inclination to explain myself to a man who rises and
sleeps under the blanket of the very freedom I provide,
then questions the manner in which I provide it! I'd rather you just
said thank you and went on your way. Otherwise, I
suggest you pick up a weapon and stand a post. Either way, I don't
give a damn what you think you're entitled to!
JM: Finished?
JB: I'm good.
JM: (rubbing the bridge of his nose) So you lifted all of these
questions from a White House Press Conference?
JB: Sure did.
JM: From back in...what...2005?
JB: Yuppers.
JM: And all of your questions you're gonna just answer with movie
quotes, huh?
JB: That was the plan.
JM: Okay. Let's saves some time then. Royal Family is gonna get
buried. Plain and simple. There's not a thing that
Jonathan Monarch, Styles, or even Stevenson can do about it. I
guarantee it.
JB: You're guaranteeing a win?
[Marley nods.]
JB: Let's rock then.
JM: I'm sick of those smarmy self-superior dipshits wandering around
like they own PVW. I'm sick of them trying to ignore
their lack of legitimate title defenses against established teams.
I'm sick of a time I KNOW we're better than running
their mouths.
Royal Family: your time is up. You've kept those belts warm for us
for long enough. Now its time to move over. The
rightful owners are here to pick them back up.
[Fade to black.]
---------------
JB: The challengers seem to be extraordinarily confident heading into
their match…and given the way they’ve been getting
under the skin of the Royal Family, some people say that they have
every right to be confident.
PW: I am contractually barred from discussing the Royal Family in any
way.
MM: BROCCOLLI! Even though the Wild Cards seem to have neglected to
memorize the rule book, they will bring a measure of
Truth, Justice and The American Way to PVW’s Tag Team Championship.
JM: Well, if they do, it’ll be in stark contrast to the insane hell
that Rob Cole and The Spectre have been putting each
other through.
PW: There’s not a tightened screw in either of those guys’ heads.
MM: For once, I am in complete agreement with the golfer.
------------------------------------
Barbwire Hell Grudge Match
Rob Cole
-vs-
The Spectre.
------------------------------------
[The scene opens on a simple PVW backdrop. The black curtain and
silver lettering billows lightly in an otherwise unseen
breeze as the broad-shouldered form of The Spectre sits at the edge of
the raised platform. The dreadlocked grappler
perches like some sort of gargoyle, resting on the balls of his feet
as his hands rest on his knees, his stare blank as the
camera rests on him for a five count.
Then ten.
Finally at fifteen seconds, his chest rises and falls, his head turns
slowly, his pale blue eyes taking in the camera much
as a great cat at the zoo regards the patrons: something that can be
destroyed, but to what purpose?
The muscular goth uncoils, slowly coming to his feet and moving his
hands into the pockets of his tattered black trench
coat as he begins speaking, his head bowed as if in prayer.]
"We're confused, friend Cole...did you somehow thing that your attack
on us made you LESS like us, or more? Very rarely
have we experienced an attack of such ferocity...of such fury. Rarely
have we seen someone once held in such regard by the
mindless sheep in attendance revel so completely in the bloodlust that
the Beast within him demands.
You're not LIKE us, friend Cole.
You ARE us.
You are now our opus...our masterpiece. You have embraced all of the
lessons we have provided, even rending our flesh with
your blade as your adoring public stared on in horror, squirming in
their seats and shielding the eyes of their children,
screaming out in anguish as you spilled our blood.
Regretful warrior? Hardly.
Shameful of your violent past? Don't make us laugh.
You are beyond the childish Monster Under the Bed nomenclature that
you attempt to assign to yourself, friend Cole. Such
souvenirs of innocence have no place in your life now...just as your
own family and child have no place. You've evolved
beyond them. Surpassed the point where they can understand who or
what you are. Your loved ones require no imaginary
monsters to fear. You provide them with a very real threat simply by
being you, friend Cole. Deep down in that dark
place you reach for during your confrontations with us, you know the
Beast lurks within you...
And it hungers to be unleashed on your wife each time she pushes you
about idiotic pieces of domestic offal. It hungers to
be unleashed on your child each time he pushes himself into your life
when you are otherwise occupied."
[Spectre pauses, looking up, dead into the camera, his eyes are flat
and emotionless.]
"But for all of that, friend Cole, you attempted to enter OUR world.
Attempting to gain insight into what makes us who we are.
Are we a frightened child, desperately clinging to a human connection?
Perhaps.
Or perhaps we are just what we've always claimed to be: we are The
Spectre. We are the physical representation of the
perfection that can be acheived when Man accepts his baser
instincts...when Man reaches down into the depths of his soul
and comes eye to eye with the darkness that dwells deep within all of
us. We are hatred. We are rage. We are envy. We
are hunger.
When a mother stares at her newborn child in despair and presses the
pillow down over its soft face, we are there.
When a woman lies in the dark, fearful of what her abusive husband
will do upon his arrival, stupid with drink...we are
there.
When a teenager assaults someone and leaves them bloodied and broken
in an alley for their shoes, we are there.
So now, friend Cole...allow us to make this point perfectly clear: we
have seen the Beast that dwells within you. We have
stood tall and weathered your response.
Now it's our turn.
There shall be a reckoning friend Cole...for while your acceptance of
the vile creature that you've become has pleased us,
our Beast demands your blood.
And it shall not be denied.
Fear the dark, friend Cole. Fear the dark.
[cut to black].
-----------
[Light catches the blade, shining brightly in the dim room as Rob Cole
stares into the depths of silver stained red with the
blood of Spectre. The razor is held aloft, and the monster admires
it… studies it… examines and adores it.]
RC: My my my… don't you look spectacular? Don't I know you? The way
you catch the light, the way you still seem just a
little stained off red, a little dry crust caught in that nicked
groove, and the reflection of those familiar eyes. It's the
eyes that have it, you know? Dead give away to who you really are… a
window to the soul, they say, or so they say at least.
I remember you, a friend in the best of times and a comfort in the
worst. Another chorus, another round of meat pies,
another dance on Fleet Street… funny little song and dance and games
we play.
[Coles' eyes drop the camera, and he smiles.]
RC: Are we still playing a game, Spectre? I know I've been having
some fun with all this… thought you weren't really the
thing you said you were, but true enough you proved me wrong. You're
exactly the dark little creeper you threatened to be…
and you deserve the Monster that I am. I think this is probably the
most fun I've had in four years. What about you? Are
you having fun? Are you enjoying what you wanted, begged for, and
needed? Did you want the razor to cut a little more deeply.
.. a little more to the right, across the jugular, sever the arteries,
and spill your yummy-nummy all over that ring? Did
you want to wash me in a flood of your viscera?!?!! DID YOU WANT
THIS?!?!?!!! There was a moment there... just a flicker
in your eyes, a moment of doubt, a moment where you actually felt
afraid. You going to admit to it?
[Cole lowers the blade, smile disappearing as the hatred and rage
comes into his eyes. He shakes his head and spits to the
side… ]
RC: No, I don't think so. I think the game is done, the song is
winding down, and we are well and truly beyond the fun and
games at this point… DO YOU KNOW ME?!??!!! Do you recognize me, yet?
I know you thought you did… saw me as a reflection, I
suppose… saw me as a similarity? But we're not even close to the
same… you do this because it's fun, because it's a game,
because you want to wrap yourself in pain that heals, ignore the pain
that doesn't, and you don't even know what pain
really is. But there's a reason you don't know… I'm not saying it to
be profound! I'm not saying it to prove a point! I'm
not telling you this because it's intimidating! You wrap yourself in
darkness, wrap yourself in fear, wrap yourself in
horror and pretty soon you fo rget what horror really is. You forget
because there's no dichotomy… there is no light to
cast a shadow, no hope to crush, nothing to really matter in the dull
swirling mix of pain that is your life. What can you
compare your horror to?
[Cole lifts the blade… and drops it. He smiles softly.]
RC: Horror isn't the razor, friend Spectre… it's what the knife can
take away. It can take away the face you've grown
accustomed to, replacing it with scars that would make a baby shriek!
It can take away the limbs you once used to hold
someone you cared for… have you ever cared for anyone? It can end the
life you lead… but can an end to darkness be
anything short of a reprieve? Would it even matter? I know about
horror, kiddo… horror is what I'm putting on the line
when I step in barbed wire to put an end to this rivalry. It's my
family when they hesitate to touch my stitched up
wounds. It's my son, who is going to wonder why Daddy is so hurt…
it's my WIFE!!!! Who will turn her gaze from me in pain
and anguish for the things that I'm forced to d o! I'm putting all
that on the line for you, Spectre… that must make you a
very important man. And you are… you are very special. You're the
foolish little boy who thought that threatening my son
would be a good move… you're the stupid little man who thought he knew
what kind of monster he was taunting… you're the
victim! I don't want to be a hero that slays the dragon, kiddo...
never cared about being that sort of thing, despite what
the other people say. I don't want to break you because of all the
bad things you've done... don't want to prove I'm
sicker than you are... none of that really matters to me. I want to
hurt you because you threatened my son. I want to
make you bleed because you threatened my family. And when I wrench
you across that wire, when I rip your flesh down the
length of barbed wire, when I spill your blood; I want you to know
that I'm doing it because you make me sick and I hate
you. This isn't about earni ng a title shot, not anymore! This is
about you and me and the things we've already done to
one another. This is about how you threatened my son...
[Cole lifts the razor again, smiling brightly… ]
RC: You're the feast for the Beast… yum yum yummmmm…. At Endgame, the
monsters will be set loose in a ring wrapped in
barbed wire. There will be blood and pain, there will be horror and
fear, and there will be an end to all of this one way
or the other. Fear of the dark… monsters beneath the bed… none of it
matters when the blood starts to flow and the
screaming echoes throughout that arena. We both might wind up being
carried out of the arena… but only one of us is going
to wake up sated. Only one of us can drink our fill of blood, Spectre.
It might be you... but I am definitely one hungry
goddamn beast!!!! I once asked you... "Too much blood?" THERE IS NOT
ENOUGH!!!!!!!!
*BLACK*
-----------------
JM: And believe it or not, these two lunatics sat down with Alyssa
Blackstone for an interview…
PW: I’m amazed every time one of them forms a coherent sentence.
MM: And I’m shocked that neither of them attempted to eat her. PEOPLE
ARE NOT THE OTHER OTHER WHITE MEAT, NAUGHTY-SPAWN!
JM: Roll the interview…please?
--------------
[The camera zooms in on a young woman in her early twenties. She has
piercing sky-blue eyes and long flowing red hair.
Dressed, again, in a deep purple silk blouse and black jeans, Alyssa
Blackstone is leaning in and gently knocking on the
door.]
Blackstone: Mr. Cole? Are you in there?
[The door opens and Rob Cole steps out, looking down at the young
woman with furrowed brows and a degree of confusion over
having been interrupted in his thoughts.]
Blackstone: Hi, I'm Alyssa Blackstone, and I have noticed that you are
dropping in the ratings for the title contendership. Does this mean
that you are not interested in having a title-shot in the near future?
Have you lost your fervor for wrestling? Is this a sign of impending
retirement from the wrestling world?
[Cole blinks, angles his head... ]
Cole: You're serious. No, I haven't lost my love for this sport...
this isn't a sign of impending retirement... and I have
every intention of challenging for the PVW Championship after I heal
up from my showdown with Spectre. As a matter of fact,
I've got plans to tear the current champion in half whether or not he
retains his title... and then I'm going to take that
belt and lay it as bait for the next sad fool who doesn't know well
enough to be afraid of monsters.
Blackstone: Well... interesting... I'm sure all of these competitors
know well enough to be afraid of monsters, there seem
to be enough monsters in this federation... [She pauses, the asks.]
You don't think that Caleb Foley, Brian Young or Chase Williams will
stand at all in your way?
Cole: *chuckle* No no no... I fully expect them to stand in my way.
I'm counting on them to stand in my way. What kind of
fun could I have if they didn't stand in my way? Just because they
stand doesn't mean they aren't going to fall... there's
always someone willing to stand before the tanks when they start
rolling, but they just keep on rolling when all is said
and done.
Blackstone: Speaking of tanks, and of protesters, do you expect to
have many protesters during your 'Violent, bloody
massacre' of a Barbwire Hell Grudge Match?
Cole: No idea... I might. It's going to be a blood bath and I
wouldn't want my own son watching this kind of hell, but
people are free to make up their own minds... you want blood? Tune in
to the barbed wire hell and drink your fill, because
that's exactly what you are going to get. If you don't like it? Flip
the channel... end of story.
[Alyssa nods and consults her notebook.]
Blackstone: So you heard it here first, if you don't like it, change
the channel.
[She flips a page.]
Blackstone: Now time for some fan questions. David Avalos, an eight
grader from Phoenix, wants to know 'What are some of
the interesting challenges in your work?'
Cole: Travelling takes a toll... it breaks down the body a little
harder, it hurts my family, and it's hell on my taxes.
It's an interesting challenge to balance the travel with the rewards
of this industry, and sometimes you question whether
it's worth it or not... but in the end, it's what I was born to do and
so I do it.
Blackstone, nodding: Good answer. Mr. Roberto Avalos, David's father,
wonders 'What one word would others use to describe
you?'
Cole: One word??? Seems everyone likes to throw Legend around...
other people like to use Monster... some others like to
use "Has-been". It really depends on the "others" you're referring
to...
Blackstone: Good point, I guess by others, I mean colleagues. What
one word would say...
[Blackstone looks around and sees Spectre lurking in the hallway, his
dreadlocked head tilted to one side as he quietly
watches the proceedings.]
Blackstone: What one word would Spectre use to describe you, do you
think?
Cole: One word? Right now, I couldn't tell you what "one" word he
would use. I could tell you that it's probably going to
change after Endgame, though. After barbed wire ... that one word is
going to be "Hell".
[Blackstone looks a little unnerved as she turns to speak to Spectre.]
Blackstone: Uhm.. Hi Spectre.... Uhm, mind if I ask you what one word
you'd use to describe Cole? And for that matter,
what one word would Cole use to describe you?
[Spectre looked from Blackstone to Cole, his pale blue eyes locking
onto his foe.]
Spectre: How would we describe friend Cole?
Familiar...and what would dear friend Cole say about us in return?
Most likely scared.
[The goth madman flashes an evil smile, seemingly willing to wait
forever should the situation require it.
Alyssa leans ever-so-slightly towards Cole and whispers 'I'm scared.
You?'
Rob Cole chuckles... he raises his brows as he looks at Spectre and
nods his head... ]
Cole: Actually... he's right. Scared is the word I /would/ use to
describe him. What a smart little boy he is.
[Spectre shrugs, still staring at Cole as he responds to Alyssa
Blackstone once again.]
Spectre: there's only one slight problem with friend Cole's
assumption: what is there that remains for us to fear? Pain?
Don't make us laugh. Pain like like wine to us...an enticing mix with
varying bouquets, each vintage its own heady flavor
that a true connoisseur can appreciate. We have grown beyond the
point where we have anything to fear with the remnants of
childhood lurking beneath our bed...
Blackstone: I can see why this is going to be such an anticipated
match between the two of you.
[Blackstone nods to Cole and smiles hugely at Spectre.]
Blackstone: Mr. Cole, I think Spectre and I will be going to grab a
glass of milk. Any last words before we go?
Cole: No... you kids go have your fun. I don't mind waiting for
Hell... this is the calm before the storm. I'm savoring
the anticipation. But, Spectre... before you go, let me honestly
answer your question. What one word would I really use
to describe Spectre? Alone. You have nothing to lose, no one to
share your pain with, no one to share your victory with,
and nothing to fight for. You are alone. So go... drink your milk,
enjoy your little talk with the nice lady, and think
about what that really means. Don't dismiss it out of hand... don't
be that much of a fool. Really really think about what
we're going to do to one another and think about what I'm willing to
put on the line... does anything really mean /that/
much to you? Have a good night, kiddo... sleep tight.
[Blackstone links arms with Spectre and tries to urge him down the
hall a little.]
Blackstone, muttering: You're going to be one exciting nut to crack!
[Spectre walks silently for a moment, apparently considering Cole's
words as the smaller woman leads him down the hall.
Just prior to reaching a concession area, his arm snakes out, blocking
Alyssa's path and trapping her between him and the wall...one pale,
scarred arm on each side.]
Spectre: Alone? Facing a match in which people tell us lives are in
jeopardy we are told that we are alone.
[He shakes his head, a sick smile spreading on his face as he removes
his arms, and then, oddly enough allows Alyssa her
milk.]
Spectre: Is it ever any other way?
[Alyssa licks her lips nervously as she sips her milk, absently
twisting a lock of her red hair. She leans into Spectre
and blushes.]
Blackstone: I know children are listening but ummm... [Blackstone's
blush deepens] have you ever entertained thoughts
about having a pretty girl hanging by her ankles from your livingroom
ceiling?
Spectre: (in deadpan) Even in the dark, we have needs, Ms. Blackstone.
Even here.
Blackstone, shyly: You know, you don't always have to be alone. [She
gently touches Specter's arm.] How did you get so
scarred?
Spectre: Metaphysically speaking we are all alone at the end. Though
companionship may allow us the illusion of closeness,
it is incapable of lasting meaning. Each person: you, us, friend
Cole, the paper tiger Williams, little Foley...each of us
stands alone where it matters most: in the darkness within ourselves.
What scarred us, Ms. Blackstone? The realization that nothing that we
had held dear mattered. The fact that an idyllic
lifestyle was torn from us. We have our demons, just as everyone
does.
Blackstone: Blood, Demons, and denial... Spectre, dear, on a lighter
note, do you use a nightlight?
Spectre: (raises an eyebrow) Do you mock us, Ms. Blackstone?
Blackstone: Well. (she gulps) Maybe?!? Sometimes these questions just
pop into my head. I was just thinking... well,
wondering really.. if monsters are afraid of the dark.
[Giggling a bit nervously, and expecting no more answer then a scowl,
Blackstone quickly consults her notebook.]
Blackstone: I have a fan question, Mark Cunningham wants to know, 'Do
you like William Castle movies?'
Spectre: His films manage to reach out towards the darkness that
dwells within the souls of the majority of humanity. We
can appreciate his artistry.
Blackstone: Is there any one film that stands out from the others?
Spectre: House on Haunted Hill. The imagery and the subtext strongly
reflect the darker aspects of human nature that we
revel in.
Blackstone: Yes, that it does, it truly reveals the darkness in man's
soul.
[Blackstone smiles slyly.]
Blackstone: Spectre, dear, as a result of this close enounter with
you, I can't help but notice what sharp, white teeth you
have. May I inquire as to your toothpaste of choice?
Spectre: (looking quizzically at Alyssa): Do you honestly feel that
you can dissect us so easily, dear Ms. Blackstone?
Toothpaste?
[Spectre leans forward and offers a smile that falls short of reaching
his eyes.]
Spectre: Ask us something with more meat, my dear.
Blackstone: Why don't you offer _me_ something with more meat, my dear
Spectre, some sort of unique, strong, pale, tortured
meat... but if I must...
[Blackstone sighs, and consults her notebook again.]
Blackstone: What are you expecting from your 'violent, bloody
massacre' of a Barbwire Hell Grudge Match?
Spectre: We expect nothing more and nothing less than friend Cole to
bring violence incarnate to the ring with us. We
expect to allow the Beast that dwells within us, allowing it to be
loose from its chains. We expect that dear friend Cole
will show everyone what he really is, and they will see that the Beast
that friend Cole is is no different than the Beast
that we are. We expect people to see that what they revile in us also
exists in their heroes. We expect to show them the
flaws and the darkness that dwells within him. And we expect to make
him bleed.
Blackstone: I noticed that you are the third contender for the PVW
Championship Title. Do you think you'll ever try for
it?
Spectre: The baubles and accolades of the masses mean little to us.
We will seek out the championship at such a time as to
prove to the mewling sycophantic sheep of PVW that their heroes are
meaningless. That the pillars of their youth...the
demi-gods that they worship are fundamentally flawed creatures who
simply live in a shallow lie.
We will expose that lie when the time is right...we will expose that
lie, and we will take their bauble, though it will
bring us no joy.
[Quirking his head to the side, the gothic madman's hand reaches out,
grabbing Alyssa Blackstone's wrist...which he then
turns, and...
...
...
places a gentle kiss on the back of her hand.]
Spectre: On that note, fair Ms. Blackstone, we must bid you farewell.
We fear the time has come for us to prepare to enter
the breach once again.
JM: That did nothing for my opinion on either of their sanity.
Spectre’s just as deranged as I thought, and Cole KNOWS
what he’s walking into, and seems to be RELISHING it!
PW: This is why golf will always be better…you don’t have to crawl
through barbed wire to sink a shot…except at the courses
in the middle east, but those don’t count.
MM: But the main event will not have barbed wire…only three men doing
battle in an attempt to wrest the Heavyweight Title
from the graps of the dastardly Chase Williams!
------------------------------------
PVW Heavyweight Championship Match.
Triple Threat Match.
"Fighting Irishman" Caleb Foley
-vs-
"The One" Brian Young
-vs-
Chase Williams (Champion).
------------------------------------
[The camera fades from black. The camera slowly pans as darkness falls
upon Phoenix. Building lights begin to turn on as
does the neon lights of the various bars and clubs of the city. As the
pan continues a deck can be made out, a couple of
chairs and a small table are upon it. From behind the camera a sliding
glass door can be heard opening and the camera pans
to reveal the figure walking through it. Brian Young stands before the
camera, wearing a pair of white track pants, and a
pair of white socks; he is shirtless and the bruise that has been
noticeable for the past weeks is finally gone. Brian
takes a sip for the Corona in his right hand. He walks towards one of
the chairs and places the Corona on the table before
sitting down upon it. He stares out at the Phoenix skyline for a few
moments before speaking.]
Young: Young … it's a name renowned throughout the wrestling business
… but very little is known about the personal strife,
the bitter divorce … the family torn asunder by the business every
male member has entered …
[Brian grabs hold of the Corona and takes a sip. He rests the Corona
on his thigh as he begins to speak again.]
Young: Caleb, I'm sure at this past Heatwave you made your father
proud as you once again earned the right to face Chase
Williams at End Games … and I'm sure as you sat next to him at the
hospital, holding his hand in yours, he told you just
how proud of you he is.
[Brian exhales deeply and lowers his head for a moment in thought.]
Young: I never heard from my father how proud of me he was, as I was
growing up ... no because of the divorce Brandon and I
were living in Canada with our mother while Brett elected to stay with
dad in Miami and continue on the family tradition ...
this business can drive a deep wedge between a family ... and I found
out first hand. Watching my mother try to care for
Brett, Brandon and myself, as Bob Young was out making a name for the
family, under going surgery after surgery upon his
knees ... watching as he was in and out of rehab fighting a cocaine
addiction. Have you ever lied awake at night Caleb,
listening to your mother pray that your father survives his next road
trip ... or watched her cry for hours on end for no
apparent reason?
[With his left hand Brian slowly rubs his temple for a moment and
thentakes another sip of the Corona.]
Young: He never listened, never realized how much I despised the
business for what it did to our family ... he would have
Brett calling me week after week wondering when I was going to
continue the training I started all those years ago ... he
couldn't get it through his head; couldn't understand that I refused
to do to anyone what he did to me ... I didn't want
to be my father ... I didn't want to ruin people's lives ...
[Brian smiles slightly but as he does so you get the feeling it is a
genuine smile of happiness.]
Young: Yet mom ... mom was so forgiving and understanding ... she
didn't want her three boys to lose touch ... so I took
her advice and traveled to Miami and trained with Brett and Chad ... I
knew that this business was second nature and like
every Young I took to it like a fish to water ... don't think for a
moment though that I saw my father ... he was still the
man who ruined my childhood ...
[Brian sighs and sits in silence as he just stares off into
thedistance of the Phoenix skyline.]
Young: But he was my father ... and as he laying on the hospital
bedthree years ago I took both Brett's and mom's advice
and I went to make peace with him ... as he laid on his hospital bed,
a beaten and batter man ... Caleb, all I heard him say
was; it wasn't meant to be like this son. I'm sorry ...
I stayed there that night with dad and let him say what he dreamed of
telling me for years ... and you know what I did
Caleb ... do you know what I said Chase ... I told him I'm not like
you dad. I'm taking care of my daughter, making sure she knows her
father ... I took off three
years to be with her ... and all he did was smile. It was at that
moment I knew that I'm not the man my father was ...
And Bob Young knew at that moment everything I am is because my mother
...
[Once again silence falls as Brian looks of into the distance. A
slight sigh comes forth from him.]
Young: People ask me why I dropped the Storm name when returning to
the ring. It's not a dedication or respect for my
father... It's forgiveness. Bob Young may not have been the greatest
father in the world to me ... but I still learned a
lot from him and for that ... he was owed forgiveness.
[Brian finishes off the Corona before he continues.]
Young: Caleb, At Rise From the Ashes I was rooting for you. I wanted
your father to hold that final memory of you standing
inside the PVW ring holding the Heavyweight Championship high in the
air. When you looked up at your father and that tear
fell ... Caleb, I felt the heartache with you. We both know that our
bond goes beyond this business, but don't think because
we have so much in common ... Don't think because I see elements of
myself in you that at End Game you won't see the best
Brian Young that the wrestling world has ever seen.
You see Caleb, I want you and Chase to realize I live for the big
matches ... I shine on the big stage ... The scars on my
body are proof of that ... And at the Anaheim Center with the PVW
Heavyweight Championship on the line the stakes are as
high as ever.
[Brian places the empty Corona on the table and for the first
timelooks directly into the camera as he speaks.]
Young: My Career doesn't lie... My blood... My linage ... My _name_
calls for respect. Chase Williams today you might be
the PVW Heavyweight Champion, but a Young doesn't fail. You see Chase,
I'm not Caleb ... this isn't my first time in the
spotlight ... it's not my first competing for the biggest prize in the
game ... Chase, Caleb ... right here right now the
two of you are looking at The One who will be the next PVW Heavyweight
Champion and there is NOTHING either one of you can
do to stop me!
[Brian slowly stands and after a brief moment he begins to walk to the
sliding glass door. As Brian stands in doorway of
the sliding door he pauses for a moment and turns back facing it one
last time.]
Young: Chase, Caleb ... I don't believe in Luck ... so there is really
nothing at all that is going to stop me.
[Brian walks into the apartment once again and closes the sliding door
as the camera fades to black.]
------------------------------------
[The camera fades in and you see "The Fighting Irishman" Caleb Foley
sitting in an empty arena. Caleb is dressed in a red
t-shirt with black lettering of "End Games" on the shirt with black
Avirex shorts on. Foley is sitting in the first row and
is leaning over the guardrail as he begin to speak...]
Caleb Foley: "So I guess you can say battle lines have been drawn for
End Games. It will be a triple threat match for the
Phoenix Valley Wrestling World Heavyweight Title. In one corner you
have a man who has overcome every obstacle that Dex
Willingham has thrown at him. He may not exactly follow all the rules
in the rule book but he is the Phoenix Valley
Wrestling World Heavyweight Champion for a reason. Then in the
opposite corner of him you have a man who many consider a
legend in this sport. A superstar who has given his whole life to
wrestling. A friend to some and a mentor to a very select
few. A man who has definitely given his blood sweat and tears in this
business. And then opposing them you have a man who
is just a rookie in the business. A wrestler who believes in fighting
the good fight and is looking to overcome the odds
and fulfill his promise to his dying father..."
[With those words Caleb stands up and hops over the guard rail and
starts to walk around the outside of the ring.]
Caleb Foley: "I have heard the rumbles in the locker room. No one
thinks I deserve to be in this match. Everyone thinks it
should just be a one on one match and that I have no business in it.
Maybe you guys are right I don't belong to be here. I
should just leave now and save myself the embarrassment right Chase?
You have beaten me already and proved that you are
better than me. I mean thats it I should just throw in the towel and
never show my face again in Phoenix Valley Wrestling.
But you see I just wasn't brought up like that. I was always taught as
a youngster to fight for what you believe in and in
due time something good will come of it. Good things happen to people
who are patient and work hard at it..."
[Caleb stops in front of the ring steps and whips his feet on the
floor padding before climbing up the ring stairs. Foley
stands at the top of the stairs and sits down on the ring apron with
his back leaning against the ropes.]
Caleb Foley: "In a few short days this building will be jammed packed
and you will witness a phenomenal show that all of us,
all the Phoenix Valley Wrestling superstars, are gonna put on for the
fans. Blood will be shed ... Titles may change
hands ... But one thing is for sure when Herk Douglas steps foot
inside this very ring and says it's time for the Main Event
the roof will explode..."
[The camera zooms in and you see a head shot of Caleb and you can see
the determination in his eyes...]
Caleb Foley: "Chase Williams, everyone knows the history we have. The
very first match we made history. We wrestled in the
very first ever PVW match and we won that match. Then you went on to
make history Chase and became the first ever Phoenix
Valley Wrestling World Heavyweight Champion but pinning Rob Cole. We
then both went on to make history yet again at Rises for
Ashes as we were in the Main Event of the very first Pay Per View in
PVW history. See where I am getting at Chase throughout
our professional careers in Phoenix we have been a part of history
Chase. And Chase I will make history at End Games and
become the NEW Phoenix Valley Wrestling Heavyweight Champion..."
"Some may say I am being over confident ... maybe cocky even ... and
maybe I am but that doesn't matter. The only thing that
matters CHAMP is that don't walk out of End Games as World Champ.
Chase for months you have been attacking me ... You have
hit me with titles ... cost me matches ... heck you even had the Royal
Family show up in a couple of my matches ... But guess
what I am still standing here. I don't care how many times you knock
me down at End Games. Every single time you knock me
down I am gonna get back up and beg you for more. Chase, your afraid
of me. Your worried that your not gonna walk out of End
Games and your absolutely right I can GUARANTEE your not leaving as
CHAMPION. I could care less if I walk out as champ or if
my friend Brian Young does but one thing is for certain IT WILL NOT BE
YOU..."
[Foley pauses and then stands up and is now pacing back and forth on
the ring apron...]
Caleb Foley: "Chase you have come out here the last 5 months saying or
thinking your the best thing since sliced bread. You
probably also think that your crap doesn't stink. Chase I think your
nothing more than a FRAUD. Your whole career all you
have done is play off your opponents weakness. Chase you didn't beat
me at Rises I BEAT MYSELF! I made the mistake of
bringing my father down to ringside. I took off my eye of the prize at
hand. Chase I want you remember when you dedicated
that match to my very ill father and how you were showing me bloodied
and battered to him while he was at ringside with my
sister ... Chase all I have left to say to you is that the time for
talking is over I am done playing with these mind GAMES
with you and on Sunday your World Title reign will END... "
[Caleb steps inside the ring and walks to the middle of the ring...]
Caleb Foley: "Last week on Heatwave Brian Young I realized just why
you are called The One. Brian Young we fought tooth and
nail ... We exchanged moves ... We countered moves ... Heck you even
busted open my lip but you know what mistakes happen.
But you know after I watched Burning Effect last week something you
said got me thinking. Is this the same Brian Young I
grew up watching and cheering for. Would this Brian Young like the
Brian Young from nine years. And then when I saw you and
Chase at the bar talking. Something just didn't seem kosher about
it..."
"Brian since you arrived back here in Phoenix you have claimed that
your going to fight your way back to the top. That
someday soon you will be the PVW World Champion. But let's look at
what has happened since you arrived here. Yes at Rises
from Ashes you saved me from an attack from Chase Williams. Then the
following week you claimed that the legend of The One
will continue. That you will stop at nothing to get what you came back
to the sport for and will do anything in your power
to get that title. So now I am wondering is this match a set-up. Has
Brian Young stuck a deal with the Conceited Bastard to
take out the Fighting Irishman..."
"Brian I respect your wrestling ability and everything you have done
for this business. But your actions lately are making
me start to wonder just how far you will go to win a World Title. The
Brian Young I grew up watching and cheering would of
never agreed to meet Chase Williams in a bar. Let alone have a drink
with a man who has no respect for anyone in the
business. So Young you have put yourself in a very difficult
situation. Just remember Brian for every action there is a
reaction..."
[Caleb stands in the middle of the ring and looks out to where the
crowd will be sitting...]
Caleb Foley: "So it all comes down to a triple threat match and who
wants it more. But to me this match is very simple it is
the PAST versus the PRESENT versus the FUTURE. The first man to score
a pinfall or submission will walk out of End Games as
the Phoenix Valley Wrestling World Heavyweight Champion. Chase
Williams and Brian Young the time for the FUTURE is now. And
when that bell rings and Herk Douglas announces the winner of the
match at End Games the Phoenix Valley Wrestling fans will
realize one thing and one thing only..."
"That dreams do come true..."
[The camera fades out with a close up of "The Fighting Irishman" Caleb
Foley face and it seems like he means business. Who
will walk out of End Games as the Phoenix Valley Wrestling World
Heavyweight Champion ... "The Conceited Bastard" Chase
Williams ... "The One" Brian Young ... or "The Fighting Irishman"
Caleb Foley? What type of role will the Royal Family play
in the outcome of the match? What is the condition of Caleb Foley's
dad and will he be in attendance? The only way to find
out the answer to these questions and any other you may have is by
watching Phoenix Valley Wrestling End Game...]
------------------------------------
"I don't even know what to say anymore..."
[The Golden voice that makes panties moist has been through a lot
lately. Subject to childish pranks and prattling, followed
around by an incessant child and subjected to the thoughtless drivel
that pours from the mouth of a washed up legend in his
own mind... Yeah its been a rough road. Hey... Just because he makes
it _look_ easy, doesn't mean that it is.]
"It just doesn't seem like anyone wants to listen."
[Manicured grass, leading to... feet clad in black Adidas sandals. Up
further still, and Da champ is smirking, relaxed in
a lawn chair with a brightly colored concoction comfortably nestled in
his hand. Shirtless and in a pair of red Hawaiian
Tapout shorts, he seems to be working on his tan. Or perhaps this is
how he "trains" for "competition, like Foley and
Storm... Or is it Young? What day is it?]
"I could talk about the conspiracy in our midst. I could sit here and
go on and on about how Phoenix Valley Wrestling is
conspiring to take my belt. How else could you possibly explain what
is going on?"
[He pushes his glasses down his nose slightly and raises a questioning
eyebrow.]
"I mean, I tried to save the PeeVeeDubbya and its wonderful fans from
another lacking Main Event. I even went as far as to
painstakingly engrave my belt into the faces of one Bryan StormYoung,
and the red-headed stepchild. The thanks I get? A
BLEEDING TRIANGLE MATCH!! I DON'T EVEN HAVE TO BE PINNED TO LOSE _MY_
BELT....
[Exasperated, he sips his drink and seems to calm down a little. But
he still sports a rather perturbed look on his face.]
"Now tell me that not a [beeping] conspiracy to the Tee. But I
digress, for a champion of my stature and wherewithal easily
posesses the accumen to see right through their audacious attempt and
simply cannot allow either of those two ponces to
stain _my_ belt with the stench of mediocrity. Make it a four way Dex.
Hell throw the whole [beeping] roster at me, I don't
give a damn _nobody_ is taking this belt from me. Not Foley, or Young,
or anyone walking around backstage muttering under
their breathe about what I don't deserve."
[A cheshire grin.]
"Bryan Whatever the [beep] his surname is today, acts like the only
one thats been around the block in this business.
Giving his cute little history lessons like anyone but Foley is paying
attention. Its hard for me to say this Brian, but
your ego might be even bigger than mine. You're a piece of work, I'll
give you that. Walking around, acting like you're
everyones friend. Holding Foley's hand and reading him the little
engine that could. Its been a regular [beeping] lovefest
since Brian [beeping] Young arrived. Its funny how people simply
repress what they don't want to see. Everyone loves Brian
Young, the hero come to take the belt from the second rate
champion..."
[He shakes his head in disgust, sighing audibly.]
"What the people see is Brian Young coming to the aid of Caleb Foley
when big bad Chase was gonna end his career. What they
don't see is the guy leaping over the rest of the roster and making
sure he doesn't have to earn a shot at me. Saving Foley?
My ass. Mr Virtue saw a quick way to the top and took it."
"What the people see, is Brian Young leading Foley around, being his
friend and leaving him little "I love you" sticky notes
on his locker room mirror. What they don't see, is Brian Storm
wrapping a steel chair around the head of corky if it means
he'll get ahead. Brian Young is the worst kind of scum. He'll
manipulate anyone or anything to get what he wants while he
hides behind his morals. People boo me? They should be booing Stormy-
boy."
[He looks to the sunlit sky as if asking the almighty "why me?" then
looks back to the camera with s sneer framed on his
face.]
"People don't want whats real. They want what makes them feel good,
even if it means pretending the people aren't hiding
their true colors. And as if Stormy-boy isn't bad enough, you've got
his psychophantic boy wonder would be sidekick Foley,
whose just a younger version of precious Brian. He's just as much of
an egomaniac as Stormy-boy, he just hasn't had time to
refine those skills quite yet. The kid is not even old enough to
drink, yet this loudmouthed little punk acts as if the
world owes him something. The audacity... And what exactly has Foley
himself done other than scream to the heavens that
anyone that defeats him is lucky?"
[He's asking you...]
"Not much. He failed to win Blood Bowl, he failed to win that god
awful worthless other belt that Hartt is currently
embarassing... He failed in his pathetic attempt to take my title from
me... Need I go on?"
[Again, he's asking you.]
"About the only thing the kid has done, is win a coupla tag matches,
and I believe he's got the Mercenary to thank for his
win over Craven. For all the hype and love Caleb gets, he's done
_nothing_ of of any real relevance since he arrived. Sure
he's taken up the cause and has done his best to stand against the
evil that is yours truly, but the reality of our situation
is, the only luck involved was that he's lucky I didn't breaking his
[beeping] arm last time he was in the ring with me...
[He removes his glasses, leaning forward so his elbows are resting on
his knees.]
"These are the guys you want as your champion? A wolf in sheeps
clothing, or one in training, eagerly, and already following
the aforementioned down said path with such a bad case of hero worship
he's blind to the axe about to take his stupid little
red head. and it ain't me holding the axe people. Think about it....
I'd laugh if the whole thing wasn't so [beeping]
pathetic. Oh what the hell."
[He laughs. He laughs until his belly hurts and he has to wipe the
tears from his eyes.]
"Real honest to god truth of our little situation here is... I'm not
done being champ yet. So cheer for Stormy-boy and
Caleb, until its time to boo one of them again. I'll be the guy
standing over two broken chumps when the smoke clears after
Endgame..."
[The hate seems to raidiate from his entire being as his stare burns a
hole in the camera.]
"Believe that..."
[Fade]
------------------------------------
{The shot opens up on the face of Brian Young. He is eyes tell a story
with their piercing glance as he casually walks up
towards a large, picturesque mansion .}
{The door is cracked slightly and Young walks up to and through the
door without hesitation.}
{Looking inside the house, it has a very cold feeling. Marble
everywhere with no pictures or decor to be seen. As he makes
his way down the hallway their is a dimly lit room at the end of it
with the door opened. A man sits in what appears to be
an office, with his back facing Young as he approaches. It is a man of
average build, wearing a dark suit, and a very tightly
cut head of sandy blonde hair.}
{The man slowly turns as Young enters.}
"It looks like you still know how to track me down..."
::Ryan Valtorro can now be seen as he turns with a slight smirk upon
his face::
{Despite a few more lines on his face, Valtorro still is well built,
and could still bring the fight to anyone.}
Young: There are some things you can never forget.
Valtorro: How is the family?
::That signature smirk beams on "The Revelation's" face once again.::
{Young fires back a cold, unemotional stare, and the two surprisingly
share a handshake. The handshake speaks volumes. Strong,
full of respect, yet both seemingly guarded and cautious towards one
another...for very good reason.}
Valtorro: I must say I was surprised to get a call wanting to meet.
What brings you all the way out here?
Young: The present, the past, hell even the future. It's been a long
time since New Orleans Ryan ... a long time indeed. I
mean here we sit, you a family man ... and me once again lacing up the
boots, going for the biggest prize the federation
has to offer after a six year hiatus ...
Valtorro: I figured you were going to stay the proud father.
{Young looks at Valtorro for a moment with a gaze and slowly it fades
to a smile.}
Young: I'm still the proud father Ryan, just not allowed to be there
all the time. But the last six years we're good for me
and Alissa ... her dad was around a lot and I got to have some great
times with her. But you know as well as I do this
business it flows through my blood
...
Valtorro: You mean what's left of your blood.
Young: Oh real funny Ryan, real funny.
{The two men share a brief moment of laughter.}
Young: As much as I live for the business I have to wonder is six
years too long ... I mean six years ago I could take the
beatings and come right back ... but now it's different, the beatings,
the injuries, they don't roll off of me as quickly ...
I wake in the mornings feeling sore ... looking at bruises that should
have been gone days ago ...
{Young looks Valtorro in the eyes for a long moment.}
Young: It's been a long time since I was the man with the bulls-eye on
his back ...
Valtorro: I was at a similar point not too long ago. It was no longer
all about titles and awards. It became all about
cementing a legacy that, while infamous, is something that I wanted
those who fought with me, against me, or were merely
spectators to have firmly engraved in their minds.
{Young nods.}
Valtorro: Night in and night out, people would be coming at me,
wanting to be the person that knocked me down off of the
mountain, whether I was at the top or still climbing it. You,
Sinister, Styles, Cole...and Bagwell.
Young: Whatever came of John?
{Valtorro's head drops and he slowly shakes his head.}
Valtorro: I made a deal with his father long ago that I would bring
him up in not only the ring, but in our outside
"business dealings" in exchange for an exit from that life that would
not only guarantee give me enough to go on comfortably,
but also to exit safely from that life. I positioned him perfectly,
and his failure to juggle the lifestyle and what it
takes to be on top was too much for him to handle. So to answer your
question, I don't really know...dead, jail, doped out
of his mind in a seedy hotel...to be honest, I don't need to know, nor
do I want to know what has become of that fucking
disappointment.
{Brian nods his head, weather it's in agreement to the fact that John
was a disappointment or if it is simply an I understand
isn't quite sure.}
Young: He crossed a lot of lines ... a lot of lines ...
{A eerie silence fills the room, Young once again speaks breaking the
silence.}
Young: At least with you I always knew where you were coming from ...
not John though ... John was an animal all to himself ...
{Valtorro nods.}
Young: End Games though, that's the animal that I am worried about.
Chase Williams and Caleb Foley ... Two very different
individuals, the Conceited Bastard and the rookie with the never say
die attitude ...one man respects me while the other
thinks I'm a has been ... a has been ... I've held NINE different
titles while he has only held one in his entire career!
Chase stands there smacking around a punching bag while I'm out there
night after night battling to once again be a Champion!
Valtorro: Even being the challenger, you will be the one they are
gunning for. They will want to make a statement. They'll
want to prove their worth against you, even with the belt being on
someone else's waist.
Young: Chase Williams is nothing more than pretender to the throne
trying to convince anyone who will listen that he is a
dominant champion! Dominant? I think he has only defended the title
TWICE! TWICE! How can you be a dominant champion when
you barely defend the title? I remember when you and I would defend
our titles on a weekly basis!
{Brian takes a long deep breath, as if he is trying to compose
himself.}
Young: There was a reason why New Orleans and Detroit became famous
for wrestling. It was because of this so called has
been going out night after night and putting on classic match after
classic match. My blood, my determination, our
rivalry ... it's what put various federations on the map! But Chase
... Chase is just content on cashing his paycheck and
stepping into the ring just to full-fill his contract ... he's not a
champion ... he's a disgrace. And then there's
Caleb Foley ... he's a good kid, still learning the business but he's
a good kid.
Valtorro: It takes more than being a good kid. Being a good kid will
get you laid and gain some fans...but until he
realizes that there is more to building a legacy, he will never match
up.
Young: End Games though ... End Games is where Caleb Foley realizes
that life is just not fair ...
Valtorro: This is your statement match Brian...this is where you can
show the world that; the organization, and wrestling
as a whole needs you and the fire you bring. That's the approach I
always took. Make them feel like without me, something
is missing, and everyone else is unproven.
Young: So any chances of you lacing them up again?
Valtorro: No.
Young: That was a pretty quick answer...
{Valtorro once again throws a piercing stare right at Young.}
Valtorro: While I know that you and I could make some more memories
for the ringside fans, as well as for those halfwit
pieces of shit you call competition...I've made too many promises to
people I care about to not go back to that life.
Young: Well I suppose that's all then...Until that day Ryan..
Valtorro: Until that day my friend...until that day.
{Young turns and heads out of the room before hearing his name called
out.}
Valtorro: And Brian....
{Young stops, without turning.}
Valtorro: Make them remember you.
{Young nods as we walks out of the office.}
::Fade to black.::
-------------------
