****************************************
****************************************
** Phoenix Valley Wrestling Presents  **
**            SHOWCASE                **
**            04.27.11                **
****************************************
****************************************



-> Mike Bisignano
-> Danny Daniels
-> Chris Hartt
-> AsH
-> Tyson Cain
-> Nevermind
-> Prophets of Rage
-> Senor Cloak Dos
-> Max and Sal
-> Larry Gionet
-> Johnny Detson
-> The Mercenary
-> Christopher Black
-> Hersher von Donkerhardt
-> Caleb Foley
-> Tommy Ryder
-> Perry Fontana
-> Christian Copeland
-> Sinister
-> The Heat
-> Rick Marley


****************************************
****************************************
Mike Bisignano
****************************************
****************************************

[We open up inside Yuma International Airport where there is a lot of
commotion going on near one of the gates. The camera man pushes
through and we see a gate agent being yelled at by a group of people;
at the front of that group is "The Biz" Mike Bisignano.]

Biz: WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT'S GONNA BE ANOTHER TWO HOURS BEFORE WE GET
OFF THE GROUND AGAIN? Do you have ANY idea who I am and just how
important it is that I be in Tombstone in... oh I don't know...

(looks at his watch)

... thirty minutes from now.

Attendant: Sir, I understand your problem but there is nothing I can
do at this time. We have to wait for the next plane to arrive, de-
board all of _those_ passengers and prep the plane before we can take
off once again.

Biz: This is utterly ridiculous. You can rest assure I will NEVER fly
Southwest again.

[The Biz storms off, heading away from the crowd towards a nearby bar.
He sits down and the camera man saddles up next to him.]

Biz: What a bunch of crap. Then again this is what I get for letting
PVW book my travel plans. Only _they_ would pick an airline that has
planes with thin skin and end up with holes in the fuselage.

[He sighs and looks down at the glass in front of him]

Good thing this place serves decent tequila.

[He takes a sip from his drink and puts it back down]

And good thing PVW has The Biz around because it was _MY_ doing that
got the Scramble match back on the lineup for End Game. But clearly
it's going to take a little more "convincing" to move it from just
another pre show curtain jerker to the definitive match of the night.

Which brings me to my upcoming match in Tombstone...

[Another sip]

What a god awful name for a town. Of course it IS suitable seeing as
thirteen careers are going to be buried after my hand is raised as the
victor of the "Lucky Seven" battle royal.

[He turns towards the gate]

THAT'S IF I EVER GET OUT OF THIS GOD FORSAKEN AIRPORT!!!

[People stare at him but he pays them no mind as he turns back to the
bar.]

Quite a cast of characters in this one, if I must say.

We've got the retarded luchador, Senor Cloak Dos...

The self-professed Lightweight Legend who should really consider
wearing tear-away shorts, AsH...

A psychotic freak in Christian Copeland...

Tyson Cain -- a man who to be honestly hasn't done enough to even
warrant further comments from me...

Christopher Black and his foolish dream to become the next Television
champion when it's a full fledged prophecy that it will be _me_ who
takes the gold away from Sinister...

And who can forget my bosom buddy Tommy Ryder... Tommy you got lucky a
few weeks ago but one victory doesn't warrant you a winner in my book.
It's gonna take a lot more than luck to get your hand raised twice in
a row so if I were you, I wouldn't even bother showing up. Heck, the
same can be said for the rest of the lot ... the Irish boy, the
Superhero and his sidekick... do yourselves a favor and stay in the
back while the real men go to work.

[Sip]

Because a win over you is pointless when I can stand tall and proclaim
victory over our President, Johnny D or over Larry Gionet... a man who
I haven't seen in years yet everytime I hear his name, my arm gets
numb from the memories of our matches together back in the old days.
Larry, old boy... I do believe I owe you a little something and that
is going to be a painful conclusion to your long-lived career in this
sport.

Then again this entire rant could be for naught so if I don't make it
to Tombstone, you best thank Southwest ing Airlines.

[He grabs his drink and just chugs the rest of it before slamming it
down on the bar as we fade out]

****************************************
****************************************
Danny Daniels
****************************************
****************************************

[The camera fades in to... darkness.  A lot of darkness, though the
audio is picking up someone moving around.

Then there's a CLICK, and then there was light... well, from a large
flashlight.  Held under the chin of one Danny "YOUR HERO" Daniels.
The bright light casts some odd shadows upon Danny's face, but the
wraparound sunglasses give him away.  When he speaks, it's in a
whsipery voice.]

D"YH"D:  [whispery]  Greetings... and Salutations!  Last week, Dan
Flores and I had a MASSIVE meeting of the minds- but our plans were
censored, obviously by the ninja!  It was a msitake on our part to
announce our plans so openly!  This week, I've hidden in my top super-
secret location to plot strategy as we prepare for the End Game!

[Danny nods sagely]

I know the ninja will strike there, and he- or she- I must not assume
anything!- may strike this week, in the battle royale!  Even with my
trusty partner Dan Flores watching my back, we may get jumped at any
time!  I concede that Larry Gionet is still our top suspect for the
ninja.  He's French, you know, and they have a long history of
ninjahood!  But Larry could be a distraction- any single one of the
these other twelve competitors could be the ninja who has been
attacking me relentlessly.

But fear not!  My partner in Danosity, Dan Flores, and I are prepared
for anything!  The ninja will not censor us this week, and...

He.

Will.

Be.

Stopped!

[a Pause, then with a CLICK the flashlight snaps off.]

D"YH"D:  TOODLES~!

[Still in darkness, there are steps of Danny walking away.  There's a
few seconds of pitch darkness and silence...

...


...


...


... and then, four CLICKS as flashlights now show up under the faces
of the Yuppies, who begin singing (to the tune of the theme from
Spider-Man cartoon)]

Yuppies:
# Danny is "YOUR HERO", man #
# Fighting ninjas like no one can #
# With Dan Flores by his side #
# They'll stop the ninja with lots of pride #
# Look out!  Here comes the pair of Dans... #

# Are they tough? Listen, bud. #
# They've got pure heroic blood #
# Can they beat a dozen men? #
# Just you name where and when #
# Hey there- there goes a pair of Dans... #

[Four more CLICKS as the flashlights shut off, then the camera fades
out to more darkness]

****************************************
****************************************
Chris Hartt
****************************************
****************************************

[Night is slowly falling on a dusty, quiet Western town. The old
saloon, general store and livery stable all are awash in an orange
glow from the setting sun. The clouds in the sky are hazy with purple
shadows and orange highlights.

Walking slowly through the center of the street is a lone figure,
dressed in a long tan duster and white Stetson is 'The Paladin' Chris
Hartt.]

"Tombstone, Arizona. One of the most famous last stops in Arizona
before hitting Mexico. It's been called 'The Town Too Tough To Die.'
Seems fitting that I'm here. Despite all that's been done to me,
lately. Despite Johnny Detson, Nevermind, Larry Gionet, I'm still
standing.  I'm walking and talking, and now I'm in the battle royal
for the Called Shot Qualifier. I'm one fourteen men all filled with
the hope and expectation that they'll be the only one to walk away
with the big win leading to End Game.

My standing in the company has been called into question, lately. I've
been referred to as 'damaged goods' and a 'death knell to
friendships', but while other wrestlers seem to come and go in dealing
with me, there's still one friendship, one association, I've never
lost. That's with the fans. They believe in me. They're behind me and
drive me to do all I can to represent them the best way I possibly
can.

I know that I will walk away from this battle royal ready to go on to
End Game and capture the PVW television title. It'd be an honor and a
privilege to carry that title and show up every week ready to defend
it against any who think their stones are strong enough to go against
me.  Let's see the World Champion offer up anything similar. Not gonna
happen, that's for sure.

Facing fourteen men is a huge challenge. But I've faced similar and
managed to make it through. This will require the best and biggest
game I've ever managed. But live or die, nobody in this match will be
able to say that 'The Paladin' Chris Hartt did not give each and every
one of them the fight of their lives.

This may not be End Game, but this battle royal is important for so
many where only one can walk away victorious and go into End Game with
momentum and possibly take it all!  With all the ability I possess and
all the strength in my body, I will fight until I'm past wanting to
drop. Past wanting to quit. I will give until there's nothing left of
me. Because, like Tombstone, I am just too tough to die."

[Hartt walks forward, disappearing as the camera rises up and focuses
on the darkening town, before fading to black.]

****************************************
****************************************
AsH
****************************************
****************************************

[Camera opens on AsH sitting at a bar with his head down. Light is
still faintly shining through the windows, so we can assume it isn't
very late yet. His arms are crossed on the bar with his head laying
face down between them. He's wearing a plain white tee and a pair of
black cargo shorts with blue and white Nike Free Runs on. One can only
assume he's a bit dejected about his latest loss... I mean, head down
on a bar at what can only be assume as 7:30 on a ...holy crap, a
Tuesday night? Jesus, man. Take a valium]

AsH: uuuugh...

[The bartender walks over, rather non-descript as... seriously, do you
even care what the bartender looks like? It could be a cyborg. You
know what? It is. It's a cyborg. Enjoy that visual while we get back
to the meat]

Bartender: Something wrong?

[Without looking up, AsH points to the empty pint glass next to him.
The bartender grabs it, sticks it under the Abita tap and fills it up,
depositing it back in front of him]

Bartender: We don't serve beer with straws, so sit up and drink it.

[AsH grumbles under his breath but pulls his head out of his arms and
rests his chin on his left balled fist. AsH make perfect eye contact
with the bartender while taking a sip of his beer... without lifting
his head off of his hand. In an act of contrition, the cy-bartender
nods and walks away. AsH grumbles again, finally sitting up properly
and taking another sip out of the glass before sitting it down and
crossing his arms, resting his chin on them again. The camera zooms in
on his face as he grumbles under his breath]

AsH: ...friggin BIZ of all people. One on One I'm O for Two. Dammit...

#POOF!#

[A tiny version of AsH pops up on the bar in front of him. Dressed in
a red version of AsH's current garb and holding a red fork. AsH slowly
sits up while raising an eyebrow]

AsH: Lemme guess, my bad conscience?

Little guy: Bingo. But you call call me Bad AsH.

AsH: What is this, Army of Darkness? And what's with the fork? I
thought Devil versions had pitchforks.

Bad AsH: Oh, they do. WE do... budget cuts, though. I'm new to the
union and I'm assured it works just the same.

AsH: Doesn't quite have the same visual power or threat to it, though.

[Bad AsH inverts the fork and drives it into AsH's finger. AsH yelps
and pulls his hand away, shaking it]

AsH: You know, for a figment of my imagination that really hurt. And
you're kind of a dick, you know that?

Bad AsH: Indeed I do... and I came to help you indulge that little
thought rattling around in that paintcan brain of yours.

AsH: And that would be?

Bad AsH:Use that veteran brain of yours... all those years of getting
screwed over and all those years of finding a way to win. You know
that you coulda had that crackpot idiot Biz if you really wanted to...
but you're not willing to step outside the lines. Blur them a little
bit. GET A LITTLE GRAY!

AsH: Gray?

[Bad AsH walks to the pint glass and scoops a hand into it. He takes a
sip out of his hand and smirks as he wipes his hand on his shirt]

BA: Black and white, man... that's the world you live in. Things are
good or evil, honor or shame. The world, as you KNOW, isn't that
simple. Bend the rules here and there, hook some tights, enjoy a five
count before a DQ, gouge an eye, kick a crotch... get a win.

[With that, another tiny AsH pops up, this one wearing an all white
version of AsH's garb. His arms are crossed and he's looking at both
normal AsH and Bad AsH with equal contempt]

AsH: Good AsH?

GA: You guessed it.

[AsH nods and pulls up the pint to tank a drink before giving a small
toast]

AsH: Welcome to my intervention pre-cursor.

BA: Please, that's your second beer. This is more likely explained by
repeatedly landing on that empty head.

GA: Empty it may be, but at least he's setting a good example.

AsH: HEY!

BA: Good example? For who? Those idiot fans that just want to see him
get hurt? He's just stupid enough to ENJOY that...

AsH: HEY!

GA: No, for his son... and for Senor Cloak Dos!

BA: That guy's even dumber than HIM!

AsH: YOU DICK!

GA: No, he's impressionable. He's YOUNG! And he's happy being a goody
two shoes. He's a good guy and he's a great ally... and if we start
walking that gray line, we may either corrupt the kid or lose an ally.

BA: Ally shmally! You put these two idiots in a room long enough and
they're going to try to jump through the concrete wall!

GA: Yes, but they'll be happy idiots.

[AsH grabs both the Good and Bad AsHs in each hand and holds a thumb
over both of their mouths]

AsH: One, I'm not stupid. I joke that I am and yeah, I've probably
lost more braincells than a normal person ever should... but that
doesn't mean I wanna hear an argument over just HOW stupid I am.
Especially from two manifestations that may or may not be the first
signs of an aneurysm. Two, Cloak's my friend... not a chess piece. I'm
not going to have him referred to as a possible weapon or shield.
Three... [turning to Good AsH] Where are you wings?

GA: B---

AsH: Lemme guess, budget, right?

GA & BA simultaneously: You're just lucky we're not on furlough.

[AsH places his thumbs back over their mouths]

AsH: Listen, you both successfully brought me out of this little slump
I'm in. I now know that sitting in a bar and moping about it isn't
doing anything for me. In fact, I'm gonna go back to my table and
finish eating with my wife and son.

[Both are able to move their mouths away from his thumbs]

GA: You just came over to the bar to drink by yourself while your wife
and son are eating back there?

BA: See? Living gray already.

AsH: SHUT IT! I came over to mope for a FEW MINUTES in piece... twenty
minutes so my son didn't see me being a mopey bitch. And to just clear
it up, NO, I'm not going to turn out backstabbing friends and cutting
corners. If I'm going to succeed, it'll be because I was the better
man and I did it the right way. My son deserves that, my fans deserve
that and dammit, my LEGACY deserves that.

BA: You're an idiot.

[AsH squeezes his hand and the Bad AsH version pops into a red mist]

AsH: No, I'm thinking clearly. I'm going to go into that Battle Royal
motivated and ready to win. I'm not the biggest, strongest, freshest
or even the smartest bastard in that ring... but there isn't a SINGLE
person in their that can match my experience. Maybe I'll lose... but
maybe I won't. But I do know, that at the end of the day... I'm still
going to be the Cruiserweight Icon. And I'm still going to be a master
of my OWN FREE WILL!

[AsH looks at the camera for a second]

AsH: Sort of...

[The camera fades]

****************************************
****************************************
Tyson Cain
****************************************
****************************************

[Scene opens to large, outdoor swimming pool. There are a trio of
scantily-clad women around it. The brunette is sitting on the side of
the pool dangling her legs into the water. The blonde is sunbathing on
a beach chair by the large, white fence in the background. The
redhead, well she is over at the covered area mixing drinks. The
camera pans to the left of this gorgeous scene and shows Tyson Cain
sitting on a beach chair of his own. He is lying back and sunning
himself, but his face is not one of contentment. In fact, he looks
downright pissed off. And considering the talents of the three DD-
elicious ladies at his disposal, you have to wonder what is on his
mind.]

[Cain notices the camera through a squint and just lays back with his
eyes closed. He begins speaking without ever making eye contact with
the camera.]

Cain:  It was my moment. Planned to perfection. I had Sinister beaten
in the ring. He was in lock down. I know it and so does he.

[The redhead walks up with a tray of drinks. Cain doesn't even look
up.]

Ginger:  Here's your drink Papi.

Cain:  Thanks Red.

[She bends down to place his drink on the small table next to his
chair, giving ample view of her bodily assets. She raises up and walks
over to give drinks to the other girls as Tyson continues, never even
opening his eyes during the entire interruption. What a stud, huh?]

Cain:  The TV title was in my grasp. It was over. Sinister was seconds
away from tapping out and then it was all taken away.

[Cain looks up at an awkward angle with a sobering look on his face.]

Cain:  Jealousy....it's a motherfucker.

[He puts his head back down and just shakes it slowly as he
continues.]

Cain:  It is hard to watch someone younger and more talented pass you
up and be on the verge of winning a championship. You spend your
entire careers elsewhere and think it will lead to immediate rewards
in PVW, but then this rookie steals the thunder.

[Tyson snaps up to a sitting position, now seemingly too fired up to
play this conversation off any longer.]

Cain:  Black and AsH are pathetic conspirators. Both too weak to earn
shots on their own merits in the ring, but rather willing to sneak and
lurk on the sidelines to tear apart the success of better men. Both of
you are worthless in my book. What little respect you had due to the
mediocre skill you possess is now history. Both of you are just sad.

[Tyson reaches over and grabs his drink, takes a sip and continues.]

Cain:  You can't compete on anything resembling a fair playing field,
so you make certain I don't become TV Champion.

AsH comes out and tries distracting me. It didn't work. I may have
taken a moment to tell you how pathetic you are, but other than that,
you didn't slow me down. I planted Sinister and had him locked down
for the win. I was completely set for my moment of holding that title
above my head and announcing to the world that television was now
worth watching again because the "Showstopper" had the title.

[Tyson grimaces a little as his free hand feels the back of his head.]

Cain:  Until that coward Black decided to hit me with the TV Title.
People can say it was to try and keep the title headed his direction
since he gets to face Sin next. Thinking he can take the title away
from Sinister by himself.

But that isn't why Black hit me with the title.

[Tyson takes another sip of his drink.]

Cain:  The truth is that he knew if I became TV Champion, it would be
the title run to end all title runs. It would be epic comparable only
to very few in wrestling history. Think about it for a second. The
greatest, most charismatic, utterly talented man in PVW grabs hold of
a title that gives him guaranteed airtime each show and the ability to
showcase his abilities in that time. How would that man ever lose?

The answer is....he wouldn't.

And that is why Black struck me like a frightened child. That is why
AsH ran down to play his little distraction card. That is why Senor
Jumping Bean, Tommy Ryder and even Mike "The Bitch" Bisig-anal rushed
down to screw up the match.

[Cain's trademark cocky look is back on his face.]

Cain:  They know they can't beat me. They would never be able to take
what I would have gained around my waist. Sinister can talk any way he
wants, but deep down inside his gut, he knows that I am the rightful
Television Champion. He knows the truth, even if he refuses to admit
it in public. Those losers are all out there just hoping to get
noticed and be part of my coattails.

[Tyson finishes his drink and sets the cup on the tray.]

Cain:  Coattails that are so big, they carry a primer for TWO pay-per-
view matches!

[Tyson stands up and begins walking around the pool.]

Cain:  This coming Heatwave they decided to stick all of us in one
match. All of these jokers who think they can do anything more than
suck my kneecaps are now allowed to be in the ring with me. It is sad
that in order to help those guy get traction with the masses, they
have me involved in the match. The scramble seven, as some have
started calling us.

But it is more than that!

I'm also being depended to help get some notoriety on a set of guys
who ought to be better along than they are. The "Called Shot" crew.
Those seven guys get dumped into this battle royal match just so they
can get airtime with the most gifted man in the history or
professional wrestling, Tyson Cain.

[Cain ignores the girls as they call out to him while he walks by.]

Cain:  You're welcome folks. I'm glad I could help bring life into
what was once a great gimmick match, even if I'm not part of it this
year.

[He reaches the covered bar area and smacks his hand on the table
top.]

Cain:  I mean why have me be in the Called Shot match, but I see the
logic in that. I mean if I got the Called Shot, I wouldn't milk it the
way Marley did. I wouldn't hold onto it forever because I was too
chickenshit to use it. I would walk right up to the champion and take
what I wanted.

[He slams his hand on the table hard.]

Cain:  There's my Shot, asshole....now ring the bell!

[He gives a short chuckle before continuing.]

Cain:  But they give other guys chances at the Called Shot.  Guys like
Detson, Daniels and Nevermind are there. They have skill and
legitimate skills, but not enough to handle me.

That no-talent human pinball known as Caleb Foley is there. This guy
is so desperate to be seen as a player, that I swear you can see him
EVERYWHERE if you look hard enough. His Irish mug is on posters for
nearly every small-time, down-on-its-luck, never-gonna-succeed indy
fed as he can sign up for. You know why tat is?

Because he can't handle this level. Quite frankly, he sucks in the
ring. He may have been at the top early on in PVW history, but when
real talent starts arriving, you drop pretty fast, right "fellah?"

[Tyson hops over the bar and starts tinkering with the bottles and
such as he keeps talking.]

Cain:  And of course you have the black hole twins, Dan Flores and
Larry Gionet. You could take the charisma of both of these guys,
combine them together, and you STILL wouldn't have enough to get
anyone over. Flores has skill, I grant you that. He has technical
ability and I respect the hell out of him for what he can do in the
ring, but he just has no personality.

And Gionet may be worse because he actually thinks he DOES have a
personality! He does all the yammering about being a warrior, but he
sucks ass! He is weak!  Larry, just a personal note here baby...get
some personality! Show some real fire that doesn't look like you just
finished blasting off in the restroom! I mean it looks like you might
not even have a soul!

Then again, maybe you were born that way, baby.

[Tyson finds the open bottle of Jack Daniels and raises it up to the
table, setting it down.]

Cain:  This is why I'm here!  None of these guys can put two words
together or find a coherent sentence with two hands and a flashlight!
They are supposed to be the next crop of potential main event players
vying for the mythical "Called Shot," but they aren't interesting
enough to stand on their own.

[He pours himself a full glass of the drink and smiles. He raises the
glass to the camera.]

Cain:  That's why they came to me. That is why the matches were
combined because they needed the utter appeal Tyson Cain brings to the
ring each and every time he steps between the ropes!

The problem for all the management guys will be...what happens when
Tyson Cain walks out of Heatwave as the victor of the battle royal?
What happens when he shows himself as more talented than the six other
scramble contestants and all seven of the Called Shot contenders?

[Another sip of the drink and he smiles with a quizzical look on his
face.]

Cain:  WHAT A PREDICAMENT!!!

[This time a huge gulp of whatever was left in the glass.]

Cain:  I look forward to how it gets dealt with. I'm walking into
Heatwave and dismantling everyone in my path. I'm going to prove why
I'm already better than these thirteen men. You will come to know me
as exactly what I say I am...

The Jaw Dropper...

The Big Papa....

The Ratings Spiker....

and The Showstopper!

[The brunette girl has walked over and runs her hand over Tyson's
shoulders as she walked behind him.  She stands in front of him and
just squats down out of view behind the bar. Tyson's grin just
explodes into a full-scale smile.]

Cain:  I'll see all of you at Heatwave, just don't cry when you all
look like idiots for putting me in there against them all.

[The camera fades out.]

****************************************
****************************************
Nevermind
****************************************
****************************************

[The scene opens on a PVW banner hanging upon a wall of painted
cement.  Into the scene in front of the banner walks The King of
Nothing – Nevermind.  A fading black t-shirt covers his massive torso
and around his waist is a ragged grey flannel shirt tied by the
sleeves.  He wears a home-made kilt of black fabric instead of pants,
and on his feet are dingy grey socks under a pair of black combat
boots that are literally held together by the strips of silver duct
tape wrapped around them.  The camera tightens in on Nevermind's face,
which is almost obscured by the long greasy black hair that falls
forward over it.  He tilts his head and runs a hand through the
tangled mop revealing his broad face covered by a thick black beard
that hangs several inches below his jawline.  He stares directly into
the lens of the camera with sunken dead eyes and brings a microphone
up to his cracked lips...]

Nevermind:  About twelve years ago, after I wrestled my last UEW
match, I walked out of the arena.  I threw my gear in a dumpster and I
started to walk.   I kept on walking till I got tired and then I layed
down in an alley and I slept.  When I woke up, I ate out of a garbage
can, and I started walking again.  That's what I've done for twelve
years.  I walked, I slept, I ate.  Until a few months ago, when I
found myself on 52nd street in Phoenix and saw people going to watch a
PVW show.  So I figured I'd sneak in and see what was going on.  I hid
out backstage and watched, and it was like the past dozen years hadn't
even happened – it was exactly the same as the night I looked up at
the sky, saw my own breath in the cold night air, and decided to start
walking – and that's when I knew what I had to do.

People think that world has changed so much in the past 10 or so
years, but I'm here to tell you all, it hasn't.  That's the problem.
Nothing has changed.  I know.  I've seen it for myself.  You see,
those twelve years I was just walking, I was also watching.  I watched
everyone and everything around me, and I came to a conclusion: none of
you can really see.  You're all blinded by your own greed and
selfishness.  You are only able to see the things that you care about.
But when you care about nothing, you see EVERYTHING.

[The normally blank, emotionless face of Nevermind begins to show the
ever so slight traces of feeling: anger, regret, confusion, and even
fear...]

Nevermind: And I did see everything.  I saw old people die in
alleyways right beside me from lack of food, or shelter, or just
someone giving a damn.  I saw women and children neglected, beaten, or
worse, by those who should have loved and protected them.  I saw men
rob, beat, and kill one another over things that meant nothing.  But
they couldn't see me.  They couldn't see me because the existence of
someone else never even entered their minds.  They couldn't see me,
and neither could all the countless people who stood or walked right
by all the horrible things I saw because they couldn't be bothered to
see what doesn't concern them directly.   But I have to see it.  I
have to stand by and watch all the soul-crushing, miserable crap that
goes on around us every day, and that no one will do anything about.
It's not fair that I have to see the world for what it really is, and
you all don't.  And things will never change, because you can't change
what you can't see.

Now I know that I have to make you all see.  You have to see things as
they really are.  After all, why should I have all the fun?   All of
you people who come here to watch this garbage, you all need to see.
All the guys here who lie, cheat and betray one another for some
fleeting glory to justify their depressing, meaningless lives – you
all have to see.  So in Tombstone I'm going to climb in that ring in
front of all you people, and I'm going to single-handedly take out the
13 other men who willingly give up what's really important in this
world for a chance to win a piece of leather with some tin nailed to
it.  I'm going to make 13 other men hurt.  I'm going to make them
bleed.  I'm going to make them feel what I couldn't all these years.
I'm going to make them beg me to stop.  Then, I'm going to throw 13
other men over the top rope onto the hard cement floor, and they're
going to have to watch when I go on to win the Called Shot at End Game
and then go on to win that God damned belt that means so much to them.

And all of you, and all of them, are going to be utterly helpless when
I take that belt, and I walk off with it, dragging it through the mud
behind me.  And just like twelve years ago, I'll keep on walking, till
me and that belt are both gone forever, and no one will ever see us
again.

Then, maybe when it's gone, you'll all see.  You'll see the world
through my eyes for what it truly is, and when you're done screaming
and crying, you'll either have to change things, or you'll have to
just...  never mind...

[He stands there for several moments, his blank eyes boring into the
camera as the microphone amplifies the sound of his heavy breaths.
Finally, the drops the microphone to the floor with a loud thud and
walks off, leaving the camera to focus upon the PVW banner for a few
seconds before fading to black...]

****************************************
****************************************
Prophets of Rage
****************************************
****************************************

[Fade in:

Swingin' Dean Hayes seems unusually happy.  In fact, he has a positive
glee as he looks into the camera, microphone in hand.]

SDH: Ladies and gentlemen, Phoenix Valley Wrestling is heading into
End Game and what a card that is shaping up to be.  Don't you dare
miss it.  But in the meantime, Heatwave is coming up from beautiful
Tombstone, Arizona.  Where my guests this week will be trying to prove
that it isn't time to write their epitaph ... Ladies and gentlemen,
the
Prophets of Rage.

[First on the scene is Pizzazz.  The six foot beauty positively
smoulders as she stares down Hayes.  She puffs at her lit cigarette,
green eyes blazing as she eyes him.]

P: Vous pensez qu'il y a quelque chose d'amuse ici, 'ayes?  Vous
pensez que nous sommes de bon humeur aujourd'hui?

[It is clear that Hayes doesn't understand French, but he does
understand pissed off wrestler.  He backs off his joviality.]

SDH: It's just that spring time in Arizona is so beautiful, Pizzazz.
Almost as beautiful as you.

[He seems to have struck the right note because Pizzazz seems to
soften.  She looks up, smiling.  Hayes thinks the smile is for him.
He's wrong.  He seems to sense the shadow looming over him.  Derek
Rage enters the frame behind him.  The big man, as always, is dressed
impeccably in a suit, his eyes hidden behind aviator sunglasses.  He
studies the scene for a moment, pursing his lips.]

DR: What's going on here, Hayes?  Should I be jealous of something?

SDH: Of course not.

DR: Of course not.  I shouldn't suspect you of hitting on Pizzazz,
right?

SDH: No!  We were just talking.  Well, she was talking to me.

DR: Oh, so you're saying she was hitting on you?  Well, isn't that
something?  Isn't that something Pizzazz.

P: C'est quelques chose vraiment.

SDH: That's not what I said, either.

DR: So what are you saying then?  It certainly couldn't be that
Pizzazz isn't good enough for you.  You can't be saying that, right?

SDH: No, of course not.

DR: So she's just good enough for you?  Really?  She just makes your
league, huh?

SDH: Listen, you're twisting my words.

[Derek seizes hold of Dean's arm and brings the microphone close to
his mouth.]

DR: Then may you should just learn to shut up and listen.

[Swingin' Dean Hayes blanches.]

SDH: Yes sir.

[It's at this point that Shadoe Rage enters.  He is dressed in a
sleeveless yellow T-shirt underneath a black leather vest.  He flexes
his biceps in front of the camera before he turns to Hayes, flicking
his tongue.]

SR: I remember a time when you were a lot more humble, Hayes.  It
wouldn't be that you're celebrating the Prophets recent run of hard
luck, would it?

SDH: No.

SR: Because it seems to me that you're not remembering your place.  It
seems to me that you're not remembering who we are.  We are the
Prophets of Rage, the natural ruling tag-team of the PVW.  We are the
standard by which all other teams are measured.

[Rage points a finger in Hayes' face.]

SR: And you will show us the proper respect.

[Shadoe spins to face the camera.]

SR: And Los Corazones, you will show us the proper respect in
Tombstone, Arizona.  Because we're the Prophets of Rage and we're
going to give you a coronary.

[Derek Rage rubs his knuckles.]

DR: I think, brother, that we've got to remind a few people of just
who we are are and what we do.

SR: Oh yeah.  It's time some people learned that our business is the
hurting business.  And our business never suffers through a recession.
No indeed.  We just go on expanding and expanding and expanding.
That's what we do.  And we're just better than you, Los Corazones.
From the bottom of our hearts we're better than you.  We're better
than you.  WE'RE BETTER THAN YOU!

DR: (snarling) Testify!

[Pizzazz wraps an arm around Hayes' neck.  He winces as Derek glares
down at him.]

P: Ca va etre un merveilleux combat.

SDH: Okay.

SR: Tell the world, Hayes.  The Prophets of Rage are gonna put on an
execution in Tombstone.  And if Hollywood by Night wants to come down
and get a front row seat ...

DR: They're more than welcome ....
SR: To die in darkness.

DR: Fade to black.

[Fade out]

****************************************
****************************************
Senor Cloak Dos
****************************************
****************************************

[Scene opens to inside an incredibly well furnished home. These people
have money. Lots of money. And all we can see is basically the front
door from inside the home with a few things around it and we can tell
instantly, the owners of this house  have money. Suddenly a door bell
chime version of "Girl From Ipanema" rings out and we hear two sets of
footsteps. One sounds like high heels the other one sounds small and
rapid. Then a white woman with brown hair that comes down to her upper
back dressed in a white dress suit with a fashionable black belt
around the waist and a sheer blue colored scarf around her neck. The
skirt of the dress suit has black trim. And on the ground walking
behind the woman is a fawn pug dog with a little black top hat on his
head and a black bow tie on his collar. The woman looks slightly
perturbed and confused and she looks very familiar...]

Woman: What the [MEEP]?! How did someone get over our super tall gated
fence?

[She looks through an eyehole and peers out for a bit.]

Woman: Huh? It's some dude wearing a Senor Cloak mask!

[She turns towards the camera and we see the agitated face of
Stephanie Delacroix more clearly.]

SD: HONEY BUNNY! There is some crazy fan at the door!

Male Voice off Screen: What do they want?

[Delacroix makes an incredulous face.]

SD: You think I OPENED the door to some masked man?

Male Voice off Screen: It might be an old friend for all we know!

[Delacroix closes her eyes and shakes her head.]

SD: I will kick this kid in the balls if he tries to force his way in
the house then kick Mr. Unconcerned over there.

[Stephanie sighs then opens the door with a fake smile.]

SD: Hello?

[Standing there is a Mexican man wearing a black luchadore mask that
covers his head with cherry colored eye visors and cherry colored
"SCII" on the forehead. He is also wearing a brown suit jacket, gray
pants, black dress shoes and a yellow button up shirt that is open to
his upper chest. Yes, it's Senor Cloak Dos dressed up.]

SCD: Hola! I am Senor Cloak Dos!

[Delacroix leans in looking at him a bit.]

SD: Hey... HEY! Didn't we tell you not to call anymore?!

[Dos hangs his masked head sadly.]

SCD: Si, senora.

[Stephanie's eye twitches angrily and she looks down at her pug dog.]

SD: Go on, Juanito. Tear into the intruder!

[Juanito just happily stands there wagging his tail and sticking his
tongue out as he pants. Delacroix narrows her eyes at her pug dog.]

SD: You are only good for being cute! You lazy yet irresistably cute
dog!

[Stephanie turns towards inside the house.]

SD: IT'S THAT SECOND SENOR CLOAK, BABY!

[Dos looks up as footsteps approach. A white man with brown hair
dressed in a dark gray suit with a white button up shirt underneath
and a black tie as well as a white silk scarf over his neck walks up
to Delacroix. She gives an annoyed look to her husband, "Up All Night"
Pablo O'Connor.]

SD: Do not let Mr. Fashion Train Wreck over here take too long, we
have to leave for that party in an hour.

POC: Don't worry, Sweet and Sugar.

[Pablo kisses his wife quickly then pats Juanito on the head as the
Mrs. and the dog walk off. Then he turns his eyes and a smile towards
the man who now wears the mask he made famous.]

POC: Senor Cloak Dos!

[Pablo stretches out a hand.]

POC: How are you doing?

[Cloak Dos takes his hand and shakes it very vigorously and nods his
head excitedly.]

SCD: Very well! It's such an honor and privilege to meet you! You were
one of my heroes! I can not believe I finally get to meet you!

[Pablo stops the constant handshaking.]

POC: I get it, I get it. So.. What brings you up over my fence and at
my front door?

[Dos nods his head.]

SCD: Well, Senor Original...

[O'Connor rolls his eyes.]

SCD: After I recently let down all of my young fans by failing to
overcome El Rey de Nada and qualify for the Called Shot match at PVW's
End Games pay per view, I found out that I not only will be in a
multi-man scramble match to determine the number one contender for the
Television Championship of Lucha Libre de Phoenix Valley but I am to
compete in a battle royal against not only my opponents in that match
but the Called Shot competitors. You are the one and only person to
ever win a 200 Man Battle Royal in all of pro wrestling
history so I thought I should ask you, Senor Original, for advice!

[Pablo sighs then motions with his head.]

POC: Come inside to my office, we'll talk in there.

SCD: Gracias, Senor Original!

[O'Connor shakes his head as he leads Cloak Dos inside and they walk
through the lavishly decorated and expensive looking house to Pablo's
office. Trophies, title belts, posters, Cherry Cola merchandise.. All
of it seems to be neverending in Pablo's office. O'Connor sits behind
his desk and motions for Dos to sit in a chair in front of the desk.
Both men get seated and Pablo looks at the young luchadore for a
while.]

POC: First off, I have to thank you.

SCD: Thank me?!

POC: Si. Did you know that everytime people buy those Senor Cloak Dos
masks only PVW and my wife and me get money from the profits?

[Cloak Dos nods his fully masked head somewhat sadly.]

SCD: Si, Senor Original. I am aware.

[A big smile flashes upon Pablo's face.]

POC: You have done an excellent job promoting the Senor Cloak brand!
There is talk of action figures and dolls soon. The money you are
generating for both PVW and us.. Top notch, amigo! Many, many thanks.

SCD: You are welcome, Senor Original. But.. I was not trying to
promote anything, I have just been trying to do my best for what I
believe is good and right.

[Pablo nods his head with a big evil smile.]

POC: And I thank you ten times for it, amigo!

SCD: Well.. Happy I could help, I guess.

POC: Yep. Ah... Now.. Your situation.

SCD: Si.

POC: TV Title Shot on the line in a multi-man scramble match.

SCD: Si!

POC: Big Battle Royal on Heatwave..

SCD: Si, Si!

POC: I don't see how I can give you any advice on any of it.

SCD: Que?!

POC: Look.. When I won that 200 Man Rumble for the Toad Trophy.. I did
not have a mask on.. Senor Cloak did not exist yet at that point.. I
was fighting as myself, for myself.

SCD: ...

POC: I guess you do not quite follow me yet..

[Pablo leans forward.]

POC: I know that you know that I know who are under that mask.

SCD: S-si..

POC: You did not have to come here wearing that mask to talk to me,
mano a mano, about all of this. But you did come here wearing the mask
to talk to me about this because you are now very much aware of the
weight and responsibility that comes with wearing a mask in this
sport.

SCD: It is important.

POC: Muy importante, Cloakito. It really is a whole other way of
seeing the world and getting up in the morning and living.

[O'Connor shrugs.]

POC: You're a superhero, kid. I am a man. I won that battle royal as a
man. I've done pretty much all of my great things as a man. I even
wore that mask as a man. It was a means to compete up in Canada and do
a little work in Mexico for me. I never believed in it like you do. I
was never a superhero.

[Pablo throws up his hands.]

POC: I can't give you advice on how a superhero wins a battle royal or
a
scramble match. Lo siento, "hijo".

[Cloak Dos hangs his head rather sadly.]

SCD: G-gracias for your time.

POC: But best of luck with all of it! I mean after all...

[Pablo stands up and offers Dos a handshake while flashing a sinister
looking smile.]

POC: The better you do the better for me! BWAHA!

[They shake hands as Cloak Dos stands up and Pablo walks him to the
door.]

POC: Now, if you want some solid advice business wise I will tell you
one pro-tip. If you ever lose the mask, look into endorsing a popular
drink of some sort. Cherry Cola money has given me so much in my life.

SCD: All of this is from Cherry Cola?!

POC: No, but it sure has helped.

[They get to the door which O'Connor opens the door and motions for
Dos to leave.]

POC: Thanks for stopping by but if you climb our fence again I am
going to call the police on you.

[Dos hangs his head even lower and sadder now.]

SCD: Si, Senor Original. Mucho gracias for everything.

POC: No problemo. Adios!

*SLAM*

[O'Connor slams the door in Cloak Dos' face. The luchadore looks at
the door for a few moments then turns around, his head hanging sadly
and he walks across the very large and well kept yard to the gate
which opens and he walks through them and out of sight as the scene
fades.]

****************************************
****************************************
Max and Sal
****************************************
****************************************

[The camera pans in to see Max and Sal, sitting in front of a video
game- Madden '11 from the sounds of it.  From the look of glee on
Sal's face and the face of doom on Max's face, we can guess who's
winning.]

Sal:  Pittsburgh's up, 21-6, one quarter to go... you and your
Patriots are dead.  You've got a better chance of getting Mignon's
name right in ten tries before you'll...

[Sal stops in mid-sentence...  his face falls... as does his
controller.  While Max's frown suddenly flips upside down.]

Max:  Ben Rothliesberger... groinal injury... OUT FOR THE SEASON!

[Sal buries his head and while stands up and does a dance of joy.  The
camera fades out to grey, then fades back in to see Max and Sal seated
at a table, looking into the camera and appearing more serious.]

Sal:  Injuries in a video game is one thing.  But there's actually a
serious situation this week.

Max:  Next Heatwave, we'll be teaming up again Hersher von Donkerhardt
to take on the combination of Marcus Manson and the Heat.  We've
worked with HvD and we can give first-hand experience to the strength
and skill of the PVW American Champion.  However, like any good and
worried PVW fan, we also took note of Hersher's revelation about his
doctors' concerns about his physical health.

Sal:   We obviously respect HvD's wishes to be a fighting champion and
we can't exactly ask him to not participate in this match...

Max:  ...mainly 'cause he'd kick our asses for even suggesting it...

Sal:  ... but we've grown up in the business, and have seen firsthand
what it can do to your body.  Max's dad uses a cane to help him walk
around, and my dad has about three boxes full of medical files for all
of his injuries.  And those were just the normal wear-and-tear from a
twenty year wrestling career.  To keep wrestling while already
suffering some severe injuries...

Max:  Look, we get it.  You want to be a fighting champion.  Plus,
you're going after Marcus Manson.  Now, I'm sure either one of us
would climb out of a hospital bed to go beat up Baptiste or Mignon...

Sal:  ...just on general principle.  But there's a difference between
ache and pains and serious injuries.  And if the doctors are saying
"stop"...

Max:  ...it's something you ought to consider.

Sal:  Still, it's your decision.  And as your partners, we have your
back.

Max:  And your front.  'Cause, let's face it, Manson's Heart Punch
does not look fun!

[Both men nod and wince as we fade to black]

****************************************
****************************************
Larry Gionet
****************************************
****************************************

[The camera pans to an abandoned parking lot.  The yellow numbers
signaling parking spaces are torn and stripped away with age.  A store
that once stood tall is mere rubble and debris. In the center of the
cemented wasteland stands Larry GIonet sporting a black leather
jacket, wearing a white PVW shirt along with blue jeans and black
sneakers.]

Larry Gionet:  You hear that Phoenix Valley Wrestling, that's silence.
For some silence brings a means of peace to an all too chaotic world.
To others it can become just the opposite.  In the case of Danny
Daniels and Dan Flores whom I stood toe to toe with chance last week,
their silence spoke volumes.  That silence showed the fear that was
stricken on their face, fear that strikes into their hearts and dares
to engulf their souls.

[Larry Gionet looks down as he makes strong fists with his hands. As
he looks back to last week's On The Road in his mind, a smirk appears
on his face.]

LG:  Danny Daniels  felt my fists of steel making him see stars. Dan
Flores felt my Darkness Falls up close and personal.  They knew in the
back of their minds that they were going to be in the fight of their
lives.  I was anything but silent in that ring.  As for my former
allies Chris Hartt and Caleb Foley, their silence weaves another tale
all together.  A feeling of shell shock, a sense of betrayal that they
are unable to come to grips with.

[Larry Gionet stands firm looking squarely into the camera with a
fierce intensity in his cold blue eyes.  Without blinking or moving a
muscle, Gionet looks like a statue that could majestically come back
to life if one gets too close.]

LG:  For the first time in a long time each and every one of you are
realizing for the first time how serious I truly am. Perhaps for the
first time you all came to understand how deadly I can become with the
proper mindset.  That when my mind is fixated on obtaining something I
don't stray, I don't fall behind I always move forward with force and
vindication.  On the final Heatwave before End Game fourteen
individuals duke it out at the same time so one can go into their
battle for survival at End Game with a boost of momentum.

[In a flash Gionet turns around as the camera follows his gaze as he
looks around at the fate this once thriving business had turned into a
sight of devastation.  Gionet looks down as his chin hairs drop down
like claws ready to attack at a moments notice.]

LG:  As far as my opponents at Heatwave are concerned you shall be
known as the unlucky thirteen!  When you all get eliminated one by
one, in the end amidst the wreckage and carnage I will be the man
standing tall in the end.  I will personally make sure that none of
you walk out of that battle royal without marks of war.  Perhaps if
the physical torture is not enough maybe the mental anguish these men
will feel may not even show up to End Game!  Because if they do, they
may not live to tell about it in one piece!  Steel colliding with
bone, wood scrapping flesh, the canvas booing with fallen men.  The
called Shot match will be anything BUT silent!  I will ascend to the
heavens by climbing that ladder to grab the contract which is my
golden ticket that will bring me one step closer to immortality.  In
the end that is what I fight for. Because it's not about how or why
it's all about do or die!

[Larry Gionet looks up at the once blue sky channels to gray as clouds
begin to gravitate towards one another as if like magnets.  Gionet
shoves his hands in his pockets as he slowly makes his way out of the
parking lot  leaving only droplets of rain to populate the once
deserted parking lot. As the rain begins to pummel down the concrete
we fade to black.]

****************************************
****************************************
Johnny Detson
****************************************
****************************************

(The scene opens up in the Presidential Suite of our Presidential and
CEO Johnny Detson.  Our President and CEO sits behind a mahogany desk
wearing an expensive three-piece suit with a red tie.  With a huge
politician smile on his face he begins to speak.)

Detson:  My fellow PVW-ites, we are on the eve of greatness.  Yes, the
Road to Greatness Tour is winding down to just a few short weeks,
where my greatness will take on a whole new form.

(Detson nods in agreement.)

Detson:  Now we can all agree that I, Johnny Detson, President and
CEO, of this fine company, make a great executive.  Profits, ratings,
and sponsorship have all increased under my watchful eye.  I have
brought you new shows and innovative ideas that have sparked not only
your minds and interest but also your wallets.  The boring uneventful
drivel that was sports entertainment is now gone and replaced by this
beautiful entity that I have created.

(Detson flashes a cocky smirk.)

Detson:  Alas, in just a few short weeks, at End Game, I, your ever-
faithful President and CEO, I get to add to my greatness when I claim
the Called Shot and take my rightful, long overdue, long overlooked,
place at the top of this creation.  But I am not bitter about this
fact...

(Detson shakes his head.)

Detson:  No, I am not bitter but excited for the opportunity to help
steer this company that I created in the right direction, not only as
its President and CEO, but also as its champion!

(Detson chuckles slightly.)

Detson:  Because all I need is that one match, that one match I
earned; earned the right and earned your respect.  The Called Shot
will be my ticket and it is all but assured that I will obtain it.
Using my superior technical skill of coarse...

(Detson flashes his cocky smirk again.)

Detson:  And to the vocal minority that opposes my authority, I say to
you enough already because your whining is falling on deaf ears.  Mr.
Foley and Mr. Hartt have done nothing but complain about my reign and
I'm sick and tired of giving them opportunity and have them bite the
hand that pays their checks.

(Detson sighs and shakes his head in disappointment.)

Detson:  Mr. Hartt you have blamed me for a lot of your shortcomings,
but your sermons should be directed at yourself and not at me, your
President and CEO.  After all I soundly defeated you using my superior
technical skill to qualify for the Called Shot match, but being the
compassionate man that I am, I gave you another shot at the match
didn't I?  I understood the difficulty you faced having been given the
task of defeating me, and rewarded your struggle with an opportunity
of redemption.  Now you seemed to have taken this opportunity and
qualified yourself for the very Called Shot match you were dying to
get in.  Where is your complaint?  Where is your objection?  I didn't
reward everyone with this opportunity, but the only one complaining is
you.  How sad and hypocritical, it makes me rethink my decision, but
as President and CEO, there are hard decisions that I may have to
regret, but yet I will struggle on knowing that I did what I thought
was right at the time.  Hopefully you will come to realize that your
persistent whining and complaining is the reason for your recent lack
of friends, hoping this will be a hard lesson, but a lesson
nonetheless for you to learn.  I am not your enemy.  You're your boss
and your better, but not your enemy.

(Detson smirks again and shakes his head.)

Detson:  And now Mr. Foley, you have been the biggest thorn in my side
since I restarted this now get company, Johnny Detson President and
CEO.  You have objected to everything and anything that I have done.
I have given you opportunity after opportunity and each time you have
failed to do things with the grace, sportsmanship, and respect that
your President and CEO has.  Shortcut after shortcut, excuse after
excuse, and yet I, as your compassionate President and CEO have also
let you qualify for the Called Shot match at End Game.  Do I get a
thank you?  An Apology?  A handshake?  A fruit basket?  No I get more
of your whining and complaining.  Well Mr. Foley I am sick of your
actions.  My constituents are sick of your actions.  Even your family
and former friends are sick of your actions.  You have nothing and I
have this entire company that I rebuilt from scratch...

(Detson glares at the camera with his arms outstretched.)

Detson:  Do you honestly think that I am, for one second, going to
listen to your counsel on the subject of what I should and should not
be doing?

(Detson shakes his head.)

Detson:  No.  The simple fact is, wins and losses don't matter.  My
business model for the success of this company was right.  We, as a
company, in which I serve as President and CEO was more successful
than back when people still thought you were a star.  Back before you
left and I stayed to rebuild it.  No, Caleb Foley, you're jealous that
after all this time and all our battles, you know I was right.  That I
am as good as I say I am and it's because of me that you still get a
paycheck.  And it eats you up inside, it tears you apart, you can't
handle it.

(Detson's smirk gets wider.)

Detson:  Just like you know, deep down in your heart, that I, Johnny
Detson, President and CEO, am going to win the Called Shot match.  You
know its true and you can do nothing to stop it, because I have
superior technical skill and you...

(Detson glares at the camera.)

Detson:  ...have dumb luck.

(Detson rolls his eyes and sighs, shaking his head he continues.)

Detson:  And you see... the thing about dumb luck is that
eventually... IT
RUNS OUT.  And that's where you are... matched up against your better
with no more luck to bail you out, no more allies to get you
through...
its just you and five other guys... watching as you ever-faithful,
compassionate, intelligent, highly-skilled, President and CEO
continues his Road to Greatness b y walking out of End Game with the
Called Shot.

(Detson chuckles as he shakes his head in amusement.)

Detson:  A bitter pill to swallow, Caleb.  But you swallow it
nonetheless.

(With a small polite nod by our President and CEO the screen fades
out.)

****************************************
****************************************
The Mercenary
****************************************
****************************************

(Scene opens. We're in the stuffed toy section of some unknown mega-
store, and we see the Mercenary is picking through a remnant bin of
not-so popular or slightly damaged toys. He seems to be looking for
something in particular, as he discards the ones he doesn't want over
his shoulder. Some are recognizable, like the 'White Trash Ken and
Barbie set (he's in a wife beater and torn jeans, she's in a ripped
tank top, Daisy-duke shorts and a sporting a black eye), a one-legged
zombie Spiderman doll or the Jersey Shore troll doll, complete with
orange skin and popped collar. Others, which aren't recognizable or
even describable, go whizzing by as well. Finally, not finding what
he's looking for, Merc pulls himself away from the bin, and faces the
camera)

Merc: You know, I'm not even sure what I'm doing here. I mean, sure
I've used toys and dolls to get under the skin of my opponents in the
past, like Craven the Frog, who I may have to actually do back and
find, given recent comments made by the guest commentator at my World
Title match, Eeyore the Euro-trash donkey, or even Achmed the dead
terrorist. And why did I do that? Because at the time, it was fun and
I wasn't really taking my opponents at the time too seriously. Sure,
it worked against William Craven, as I put him down for the one, two,
three.. but it didn't work so well against the now American champion,
Hershey von Donkeyhart. So, overall, I'm one up and one down, and at
some time I should try to break the tie, but that'll have to wait, as
the time for games is over with.

(Merc moves away from the toy bin, and perches himself on a plastic
bench)

Merc: Chance McKenzie, its time to put you out of both our miseries.
These battles of ours have cost you your fiancée, which I couldn't
care less about and I've lost valuable time that could have been used
to put Fatality in her place, and that's what's most important right
now. It's time for you to go away, and if not now, then at the PPV.
I've spent way too much time and effort on you, which I suppose is why
Jessica brought you in to PVW in the first place. I've had enough of
you, and I'm sure the fans of PVW have as well... and I'm damned sure
that my employer has had enough of you as well. What we really want is
Jessica Marshall, and you would be best off to just get out of the
way... but I know that's not going to happen. So we'll just have to do
this the hard way. I just hope you've enjoyed your time on this
planet.

Now, I'd like to address my upcoming opponent, Perry Fontana. Now,
admittedly, I haven't really been paying much attention to what he
does, or what he's up to. But, I think I do recall him having some
distant connection or relation to the Marshall family. Then again, I
could be wrong about that.. sometimes it's a little difficult to
remember things. Either way, it doesn't really matter. I'm going to
pretend that you are related to her anyways, and send a message to her
and Chance. And its going to be a bloody one at that. I've got a
reputation to uphold, or as some might say, to regain, and I'm going
to start with you. I will not be going to the PPV on a losing note.
That's for sure.

(And with that, Merc gets up from the bench and heads towards the
store's exit. He rounds a corner and heads down another toy aisle, and
thinking he's not being followed, he scoops up an actual-size Green
Lantern replica lantern and keeps going to the check out. Fade to
snow)

****************************************
****************************************
Christopher Black
****************************************
****************************************

[Fade in, on the interior of a well-furnished conference room in one
of Tombstone's finer hotels.  With what's becoming a now-familiar
interruption in his scheduled meeting with his client, financial
advisor Jacob Rose at least has the manners to bite back his sigh of
annoyance towards the camera.

Meanwhile his client in question, "Bad Wolf" Christopher Black, could
really care less about either the camera or Jacob's discomfort.  The
Englishman has casually kicked his feet up, resting his Doc Martens on
the long hardwood table.]

CB:  [muttering]  ...it's bollocks, is what it is...

JR:  [gingerly coaxing]  Be that as it may, sir,  I do hope you're not
considering "no-showing" for this battle royale.  While you could
easily absorb the fine -- again -- it is my understand that the PVW
administration is wanting to take a harder approach towards those
who..."step out of line".  [A slight grimace pops up on Rose's face
before it fades away].  Should you offer yourself to be made an
example of, it could cost you your spot at End Game -- as well as any
chance against Mister Sin--

[Not even turning to face Jacob, Black waves him off dismissively.]

CB:  Don't worry your ugly mug.  The Bad Wolf's not goin' anywhere.
[Black's mouth curls into a sneer.]  Not with all them fat sheep in
one place...

[The look on Jacob's face is of a man who doesn't know if he should be
relieved or not by that statement.]

JR:  Ah...yes then, good...  [small cough]  I've taken the liberty of
putting together a portfolio about your fellow competitors in this
royale.  Besides the ones you're to face in the Scramble, that is.
[He hands Black a thick manila folder] Mister Foley you're already
familiar with, but given his recent issues with Mister Detson and
Gio--

[Still sneering, the Bad Wolf just drops the folder down on the table
without even a glance.]

CB:  They don't matter.  Only the sheep...  [The Wolf finally deigns
to look at Jacob, a sharp, sick smile with the barest trace of teeth
now showing.] ...an' Sinister.  [Rose reflexively takes a step back.]
They think they're bein' clever with this match.  All they did was was
open the barn door to the Wolf!  Now he gets to go huntin' -- an'
there's nowhere them sheep can hide...

[Black's icy-blue eyes narrow as he turns his gaze back to the
camera.]

CB:  The pretenders to the Bad Wolf's gold are gonna get picked off
one by one.  Only _scraps_ left come End Game!  Just like Sinister...
[He raises his chin slightly.]  You probably thinkin' ya got it easy
this Heatwave with no title defen--

JR:  [interrupting] Sir, I'd hardly think a match with Mister Craven
would be considered "easy" -- by _anyone_.  As for the Television
title not being defended, I get the impression that it's not on Mister
Craven's radar right now.

[Black shoots a baleful glare back at Jacob, who is looking very
uncomfortable.  But then the Bad Wolf's expression grows more
thoughtful.]

CB:  No.  A man like Craven, he takes a different sort o' trophy,
don't he...?

[Probably for the first time since arriving in PVW, Black's tone isn't
disdainful or arrogant in regards to another wrestler.  He is silent
for a few moments, tapping his fingers together as he no doubt muses
on all the potential violence and pain William Craven could inflict on
the Chi-Town Beast.  Jacob clears his throat.]

JR:  [concerned]  Sir?

CB:  Enjoy your last run at steppin' up for another ungrateful sheep,
Sinister.  [A low growl escapes the Bad Wolf.]  Your last gasp at
heroics won't mean _nothin'_ when the Bad Wolf comes to collect his
due prize!

[Fade to black]

****************************************
****************************************
Hersher von Donkerhardt
****************************************
****************************************

(Scene: An underground parking lot. The parking lot is mostly empty
save for a few cars. All is quiet save for a the sound of footsteps.
The footsteps grow louder until we see the figure of Herscher von
Donkerhardt walks into frame. Herscher is wearing his grey suit, with
white shirt and orange tie. He has a duffel bag in his left arm and
his PVW American Title draped over the shoulder of his right arm. In
addition to the title, Herscher is sporting a bandage over his right
eyebrow.)

HvD: There is quite an echo in here, my footsteps were quite audible.
I would dare say they could be heard all over this parking lot.
There's no chance of me sneaking up on someone here, or someone
sneaking up on me.

(HvD looks into the direction of the camera smirks and lets out a
small laugh)

HvD: That's ok, i'm not the type of person who wants or needs to sneak
up on other people. Of course, anyone who was watching Heatwave knows
that. I don't need to do that to make a statement, not unlike some
people. If you hear my footsteps, you don't need to look behind your
back, just look in front of you and there I'll be. I told Manson, what
i was going to do and i did it. I came down to the ring to get an
answer to my challenge, and nothing more. I said i wouldn't interfere
and I didn't. Manson, you lost that match on your own. The fact you
lost that match by someone sneaking up behind you is, ironic.

(HvD allows himself a smirk)

HvD: But i'm sure you're holding your head high Manson. It wasn't your
fault you lost because you have, an excuse. If you want to blame your
loss on me, fine, but who or what you going to blame for finding
yourself down on the mat, being forced to signify your acceptance of
my challenge by tapping out to my finisher? You can offer as many
excuses as you want, it will get you no closer to that win than before
you started. But i'm sure you're not looking for excuses, you strike
me as the type that looks for, redemption. Well Manson, PVW has felt
the need to offer you redemption against me.

(HvD drops his duffel bag and removes his title belt and holds up to
the camera)

HvD: If it were up to me, it would be just you and me in that ring,
for this title. However PVW feels the need to put us into a six man
tag. We will face each other, if only briefly. Its not a one on one
match, but its similar to one. How? Its similar in what i'm going to
do when we do face one another for this belt. What i'm going to do is
this, I will signal for my music to begin to play and it will play. I
will then walk down that aisle and towards the ring, making eye
contact with you the whole time. I will walk up the ring steps and
enter that squared circle.  You will feel and hear my footsteps as I
approach you and I will look into your eyes and I will continue where
I left off, making you regret crossing paths with me. I will see you
in ring, Misery Machine.

(HvD drapes the belt of his shoulder and picks up his duffle bag, he
walks away as everything fades to black.)

****************************************
****************************************
Caleb Foley
****************************************
****************************************

V/O: They say I have it all...

[The camera slowly pans in on a man hanging over a railing as the sun
slowly sets overhead. The evening rays of sunshine slowly begin to
drift away as the rainbow colored skies hang above head. The gleaming
sight of the sun drifting behind a set of a light brown mountain range
is captured by the camera's eye as the man stands in silence as the
night slowly begins to roll in.]

V/O: I have the looks ... the drive ... the determination ... the
heart ... the passion ...

[The light winds begin to pick up and they breeze threw the man's
reddish hair as he stands perched against the railing. With the pearl
waters underneath him and not another soul in sight, the man slowly
swings his body around to reveal himself as "The Celtic Crippler"
Caleb Foley.]

Caleb Foley: But I think is just a bunch of bull crap ... You need a
lot more than those things to make it is this sport. For me this is
just another day, another night, another day at the office, another
story to be told ...

[Caleb's hair continues to be kept out of place by the soft evening
breeze. His eyes gleam back towards the camera who seemingly is about
ten feet away. His chest is covered up by a white polo shirt that is
tucked into his favorite pair of blue jeans. With a dark brown belt
laced between the buckles Caleb stands firmly with his feet pressed
into his black boots on a picture perfect bridge. Caleb leans his
elbows back placing them upon the wooden railing as his soft voice
begins to pick up.]

Caleb Foley: Can you hear it? Do you hear the sounds of silence as
they surround us?

[Caleb calmly shakes his head from left to right and back. A smile is
followed by a small gesture of "do you" from his hands.]

Caleb Foley: I think not, for silence speaks for itself. When such
profound men stand before the world with nothing to say it is because
in fact, they can't say nothing at all. I don't silence men threw
hateful words and insults, no, I put them in their place with a little
dosage of medicine called reality. They say you can tell a lot about a
man when you get in the ring with him. When you are standing across
the ring from him and look him in the eyes. My whole career people
have been trying to knock me down. My career has been just like a
roller coaster ride. It has had its ups and downs ... a lot of curves
... Sometimes it felt like my career was going backwards ...

[Caleb still braces himself against the railing as he crosses one leg
over the other as he still stands with a slight angle in his stance.
The rays of sunshine have nearly all drifted away as the scene slowly
becomes darker by the second.]

Caleb Foley: But I didn't lose faith. I didn't tuck my tail in-between
my legs and run. I didn't go into the corner and sulk about how
everyone was out to get rid of PVW's very own home grown superstar. No
I stood up and fought for what I believed in. Since Phoenix Valley
Wrestling came back from its hiatus one man has been a pain in my
side. He has made false proclamations and is in his own little world.
Johnny Detson, you have made me jump through hoops and have made it a
point to try and get rid of me ... Why ?!?!

[Caleb slowly pulls his body away from the railing and he begins to
pace down towards the north end of the bridge. Over the wooden planks
he walks with his head held high and looking straight forward the
entire way.]

Caleb Foley: I'll tell you why. It is because Detson deep down you are
afraid you are just like me.  You come out here week in and week out
saying you are the CEO and President of the PVW and that I am what is
wrong with the PVW. Then go ahead and fire me if am what you say a
disease to the organization. Guess what Detson you cant because in all
honesty you have no power at all here in the PVW. Detson you say I am
a fraud well I say why don't you look in the mirror ...

[ "The Celtic Crippler" pauses for a moment before continuing ...]

Caleb Foley: At Heatwave in the Battle Royal we don't necessarily get
to_choose_our destiny but we must fight to survive. Nothing will be
handed to anyone on this night. Friendship will be made and then be
broken minutes later. People will gang up on one superstar just to
throw him over the top ropes. There is bound to be someone in this
Battle Royal who shows off his flexibility but escaping an
elimination. Some may say otherwise, but deep down inside we all know
that a quest of impossibilities is in our way. For fourteen men are
chasing to get the upper hand going into End Games. The only
difference is many of us have different ways of approaching this
dream. Many of these men will do whatever it takes no matter what.
There are men that I can respect and men that I can say I don't. I
don't hate them or look down upon them for I really don't know them.
Are their people I am looking to eliminate once that Battle Royal
begins? Absolutely and those people know who they are ...

[Caleb is no longer on the bridge as he follows a small dirt trail
down to the water banks below. Threw rocks, bushes, and rubbish along
the way, Caleb finds himself now on the edge of the riverbank.]

Caleb Foley: You see the Battle Royal is all about luck. It depends a
lot on the type of strategy you have in a match where you must have
eyes in the back of your head. It depends on how many enemies you have
in the match. Heck let's face it the deck it stacked against me in
this match but that won't stop me from giving it my all. I have come
to realize that I will always be considered an underdog in this sport.
No one will ever take me serious or see me as a threat because they
believe that the bad guys always gets the last laugh. We will see who
gets the last laugh after End Games has ended ....

[With this said the camera slowly pans away from Foley as he walks
away into the darkness of the night, the sun is gone, the stars are
out, and Caleb Foley knows exactly where he is going.]

****************************************
****************************************
Tommy Ryder
****************************************
****************************************

["The Phenom" Tommy Ryder and "Lady" Laurel Levinger are working out
together at a local gym.]

TR: I"m telling you.  I'm ready for this battle royal.

LL: Tommy, I'm tired of you winning a match like this just to lose
down
the line.

TR: Don't worry honey.  I haven't won a battle royal before...

[It is apparent by the look on Levinger's face that she doesn't
appreciate Ryder's sense of humor about this.]

TR: Okay, but I'm telling you, this is my chance to take care of Biz
and move up in the title picture.

LL: Tommy, we've talked about this.  Stop worrying about "getting" The
Biz.  We're here for you to win matches and win titles.  Where does
that say settle scores?

TR: I'm not gonna let some guy come in here and use me as a stepping
stone!

LL: I'm not saying to do that.  You just need to stay focused on the
prize.  You let trying to be the hero get in the way of us being a
winning team.

TR: It's not as simple as that and you know it.  I'm not going to let
what this guy does to get ahead keep on going.

LL: You never change any of what these guys do and it keeps you from
getting ahead in PVW.

TR: Not this time.  This is the time that I turn it around.  Which
reminds me.  I need you to not come down to ringside at the battle
royal.

LL: What?

TR: Guys getting tossed from the ring, and if The Biz is tossed before
me, I don't need him messing with you while I'm trying to win.

LL: I can take care of myself out there.

[Other people in the gym seem to kind of agree with her seeing as the
two are of similar size.]

TR: I know, but please just stay in the back for this match and stay
out of sight.

LL: Whatever.

[Tommy changed the topic as the two continued their workout and the
camera fades out.]

****************************************
****************************************
Perry Fontana
****************************************
****************************************

[Then name appearing on the door's frosted window reads "Dr. Chang,
obstetrician." Seated nearby, in the waiting room, are "the
Everlasting" Perry Fontana and his wife, Emily, nee Landis. She
holds a magazine taken from the pile on the coffee table, and points
at a full page action shot of the Mercenary.]

Emily: Mercenary... your next opponent... is that the same guy as
Jessica's?


Fontana: Ouais, that's the one.

Emily: He sounds mean...

Fontana: Ouais, he's a nasty little clown, that one. He's tough, but
don't worry, babe. I can handle him. That's how it is for men who
don't fight for their own causes. He's the ultimate sell-out. He's
driven by money, not passion. He's not fighting for something
personal, Emilia, he doesn't care enough... and that means he's
prone to give up and quit.


Emily: Unlike you...

Fontana: You know it. Nothing can stop me. _Nothing_.

[She affectionately smiles, possibly fondly remembering some untold
romantic moments.]

Emily: Yeah, I know...

Fontana: The night we met...

[She nods.]

Emily: I slapped you, and you still came back.

Fontana: And then, babe, you kneed me in the coglioni, aah ouais, but
I came back again, and now... t'es ma FEMME! I never quit, and I
always get my way, in the end.

Emily: Which is why Tom and Tara will finally let us be!

[The Everlasting One frowns, and nods unconvincingly.]

Fontana: Eventually, babe, eventually... maybe.

Emily: Eventually? Maybe?? But you said...

Fontana: That beat down needed to happen. It was unfortunate, but you
know it was the only option left.

Emily: I know, but...

Fontana: Are you feeling guilty, now?

Emily: He was turning purple! ...Words never worked much with Tom, but
surely THAT had to get through to him!

Fontana: Baby, your brother lived through two other beatings this year
alone. This one probably won't stop him, just like it wouldn't stop
me.

Emily: ...He looked like he was on the brink of death or something...

Fontana: He might have been at one point.

Emily: Isn't that enough?

[Il Eterno shakes his head, but his raspy, gravelly voice remains
uncharacteristically soft.]

Fontana: Not when it's a family thing. It always goes further when
it's a family thing... much further... If anyone gives you a tape of
1987's Fontana vs Fontana at the Maple Leaf Gardens... don't watch it.

Emily: I don't want it to get worse... I want it to stop!

Fontana: Babe, it'll get uglier before it's over, but in the end,
it'll be for the best.

[He wets his thin lips with the tip of his tongue.]

Fontana: What went down at Tradition V was a one in a million fluke.
Everyone knows it was, but the office feels the match was decisive,
and that no rematch is needed. Now, there's a convincing argument in
favour of a rematch... from your brother's perspective, at least.

[Enlacing an arm around his doubting wife's shoulder, Perry
elaborates.]

Fontana: I know you _love_ Tom, and so do I. No matter what, he'll
always be your _brother_, and therefore, my brother too. But I told
you... all he wants is to sabotage our holy marriage. He doesn't want
you to be yourself, he just wants you to be Brianna's opposite. And
mostly, he wants to be the only man in a world of women, just like he
always has been.

[There are enough nuggets of truth in there to make a case, but it
appears as if the bespectacled blond woman still needs a little more
convincing.]

You never changed his mind with words, and I won't change it with
fists. Which is precisely wht he's such a threat to the family we're
building together, Emilie. La famiglia viene prima. Nothing is more
important than that.

Emily: Well... what will make it stop, then?

Fontana: ...

[It's clear that the Deathless One doesn't want to answer. Or, perhaps
he has no answer to give...]

Fontana: You don't have to worry about that.

Emily: ...What will make it stop?

Fontana: I won't stop, and he won't quit, babe.

[She squeezes his hand, and her tone becomes as insistent as it could
be without screams.]

Emily: Perry, what will make it stop? Just say it!

Fontana: ...I'll make his _body_ QUIT on _him_.

Emily: Like... end his career?

Fontana: He'll still have ACW, babe.

[She looks a little bit horrified.]

Fontana: ...He doesn't need two arms for that.

Emily: There has to be another way...

Fontana: I wish there were, but I can't see another way. End Game will
be exactly that, for Tom. The End.

[She frowns. He holds her tighter, and pecks her cheek.]

Fontana: And us... we'll be beginning something new.

[Perry caresses her stomach, and she finally smiles again as the image
fades out...]

****************************************
****************************************
Christian Copeland
****************************************
****************************************

"Enough is enough, and its time for a change!"

[Anyone else miss Owen Hart? I can't believe its been 13 years.]

"When I debuted a couple years ago, I turned the world on its
[beeping] ear by putting my very life on the line every time I stepped
into that ring. I took on the most dangerous competition around, from
Blackout to Voodoo. From Bad Eye McBaine, to Donovan O'Reilly. I
pushed some of the best in the world to the very limit. Win or lose, I
was always in the fight of the night, _everyone_ was talking about me,
the crazy little son of a bitch with the rusty hammer. All five foot
seven inches, putting fear in the big boys."

[Christian Copeland is seated backwards on a metal folding chair, head
lowered, his stringy hair obscuring his gaze.]

"But the times, they are a-changing in. I came to PVW because I
figured they boys here wouldn't know what to do with me. I was so used
to the deathmatch arena I assumed nobody would be able to handle
someone like me in a normal match? My belief was, if these guys
struggle against me with no rules, how are the guys that have to color
within the lines gonna deal with someone like me? Then something
happened."

[An audible, frustrated sigh.]

"I got lost in the shuffle and became a joke as I was thrust into
comic relief tag matches with a couple jokers like Ash and Senor Cloak
Dos. I lost focus and have repeatedly fallen victim to guys that
couldn't even carry my jock like Tommy Ryder and Caleb Foley. My heart
and desire was drained from my body after each meaningless encounter,
and now I find myself on a precipice I never thought I'd see in my
career."

[He brushes his hair away from his eyes and glares into the camera.
There's still fire there, but it desperately needs a stoking.]

"I'm one bad performance away from getting my walking papers in
Phoenix Valley. Hell after the pathetic performance I have put in
these past few months it may already be a done deal. But I'll be
damned if the PVW chapter of my career will go down as a footnote. As
far as I can see I have perhaps two more chances to show Phoenix
Valley just how dangerous Christian Copeland can be, and I intend to
take full advantage of these opportunities."

[He glares into the camera.]

"First the fifteen man cluster[beep]. I may or may not win this thing,
but people will be talking about my best performance in Phoenix Valley
Wrestling. People will realize that finally, the real Christian
Copeland has arrived, and that I'm here to stay."

[Fade.]

****************************************
****************************************
Sinister
****************************************
****************************************

[The scene fades in to a still shot of an ominous full moon hanging in
the night sky, the soft glow of light illuminating the sky. This
particular area seems rather desolate and still as the camera zooms
out to reveal more of the immediate surroundings. We notice the camera
is positioned on a cliff that juts out to overlook this particular
expanse of area. As the surrounding area comes more into view, we see
a 2009 silver Aston Martin DBS, beautifully painted, sitting on 20"
black with silver lip rims, and dark windows.  The license plate reads
"SINDAWG" as the camera moves closer to the vehicle.

The silhouette of Sinister sits in the driver's seat, obviously the
interior customized to accommodate his very tall, thick frame. As the
camera nears the driver window, it rolls down and we see Sinister, his
face a picture of contemplation. The camera person turns down the
intensity of the camera light and Sinister now appears to be slightly
more than an apparition]

"Damn, you must have Lo-jack or GPS on my cars because you always seem
to find me. [Chuckles briefly then inhales deeply before exhaling
slowly] As you can see this is a very good place for me to think in,
well, relative peace. [He winks his right eye once, poking a bit of
fun at the camera person] It took me a while to find this place
because I was new to Arizona and I never like to stray too far from
home unless I know where I'm going, like Las Vegas. Like many others,
I know exactly where that is [he laughs briefly then returns to his
original appearance]. Now, down to business."

[He shifts in the driver's seat, making himself a bit more comfortable
and cracks his neck loudly]

"First off, I want to apologize to Tyson Cain. Young blood, I had no
idea that once AGAIN...[his voice rises with a tinge of anger before
lowering it to normal speaking volume] Christopher Black would
interject himself in one my battles. [Shaking his head a few times as
he speaks] You're like a freakin' mosquito that only buzzes around
when the lights are off. [Stops shaking his head and again, inhales
and exhales deeply] You are becoming extremely annoying Black and
though you believe this is the way to make yourself known, or perceive
these actions as being a way to get into my head, you are wrong on
both counts."

[He leans slightly to the left and rests his left arm against the car
door's arm rest, placing his left thumb upon his chin and resting his
index finger along the side of his jaw]

"Handling business in the ring is the way to get attention in this
league little man. You can rant and rave, bitch and moan, and all of
that all you want Black. Jumping people from behind, sneak attacks
after matches are finished or are close to being finished...is
something
very detrimental to your health. You don't seem to understand that but
that's fine with me. There are consequences to everything Black, and
nailing me across the back of my skull with the Network Title [he
points to a sizable bump on the top of his head using his right index
finger then lowers it quickly] is something that carries a
consequence. Question is what will that consequence be?"

[Sinister moves his left index finger from the side of his jaw to his
chin, rubbing it in thought momentarily]

"Some food for thought, as the old adage goes. As for the overall
Network Title picture, I'm no fool. Even though I have cool brotha's
in the PVW such as Ash, Cloak Dos, Ryder, Foley...I know that they
want
an opportunity to hold the title I currently hold. Believe me
gentlemen, each and every one of you deserves it and thus, the major
battle between many of you will paint a clearer picture of who my next
opponent will be.  Oh, by the way Black, did you enjoy my ringside
view of your battle against Foley?  It seems like you did because you
said some very colorful things to me and then proceeded to lose. [He
chuckles loudly a few times] The look on your face was priceless but
believe me, Foley deserves to be in the bigger picture than you do."

[His momentary amusement ceases and he lowers his left index finger,
crossing his arms and the look upon his face is complete seriousness]

"However, I have a battle against a man that is a different animal; no
pun intended. [Nods his head slowly three times] William Craven, the
man who has been thrust into the spotlight of controversy, confusion
and contemplation. Pardon my alliterations but that is how I see the
situation. The very bloody, very brutal wars between you and Cole have
been downright scary because both of you are taking the sport out of
this business and have made it into a vendetta of sheer malice. [He
rubs both of his hands over his bald skull then back down over his
face, placing them into his lap] You have literally tried to end Cole
and that is taking things too far Craven."

[He steeples his fingers as he exhales forcibly, his eyes tightening
with intensity. He turns his gaze to the empty expanse of the
surrounding area that his windshield reveals to him]

"Cole and I have spilled one another's blood time and time again over
various points in time and various locations in the United States.
There was never a point in time where we attempted to end the career
of the other man though, Craven. Cole and I battled for what we
believed in and though he and I will never truly see eye to eye, there
is an understanding and solid respect between us. There are some
aspects of this business he despises, such as I, and one of them is
personal involvement of family. Family helps us become and remain
strong, absolutely, but there has to be a boundary where family is not
directly involved in the battles being fought."

[He pinches the bridge of his nose between his right thumb and index
finger, holding it there for a few moments before lowering his hand
back into his lap]

"What you did with Yllana and Bobby...[he exhales loudly and shakes
his
head vigorously six times]...is far beyond acceptable Craven. There
are
certain unwritten rules as wrestlers and as men. Despite how you feign
ignorance at various times you are not fooling me. I know you're an
intelligent man Craven, and that is what puzzles me about your recent
actions.  You and I have not spoken for some time now that I think
about it, but I know we keep tabs on one another because it's
inevitable our paths cross. Let me make one thing clear to you."

[Sinister turns to his left and peers directly into the camera, the
look upon his face and in his eyes borders on anger]

"Before I make you regret your actions, you and I are going to talk,
whether you like it or not. You can be a 'monster' or whatever but
that causes me no trepidation. Believe me Craven, you know I can hold
my own and you'll witness that first-hand very soon. I have questions
Craven, and like it or not, you will provide some answers, even if I
have to beat it out of you!"

[He loudly cracks his knuckles and visibly, forcibly, calms himself.
He clears his throat and lowers his voice]

"See you soon Craven and for your sake, do NOT underestimate me."

[The scene fades with Sinister returning his attention straight ahead,
peering out through his windshield at the vast dark expanse of the
area]
****************************************
****************************************
The Heat
****************************************
****************************************

[A pool! The hot sun of the Arizona desert shines down on four people;
four people known as The HEAT! PACO Magnon is jumping off the diving
board while Maxime Jean-Baptiste is lifting weights. In a terrycloth
robe is none other than Arvelle "Magic" LaFayette and sitting in a
lounge chair, in a throw back 1950s style pink one piece with her hair
in curls, red heart shaped sunglasses and very tall white high heels,
is Miss Florine Walker-Davies.]

AML: Welcome to the one show that never disappoints and the one sure
fire ticket to be entertained: the HEAT!

[Arvelle looks for a drink to sip and sees only Florine has one near
by. Arvie goes to grab it and Florine slaps his hand and gives him a
tut-tut reprimand.]

AML: Me-OW! Folks, the HEAT is always looking to bring a top flight
exhibition of supreme wrestling talent to each and every show y'all
attend. The finals of the HIT were gonna be OUT-STANDING... until two
spoilsports done cheated us, and most importantly, y'all out of a
match that woulda blown the roof off the joint!

[PACO does a cannonball, swims up to the edge, and...]

PACO: Two little whining pigs; Cerdos for the Spanish speakers.

[HOLY MOLY!]

AML: My friend is right. For two boys that don't eat ham, you sure
wanna try to hog the spotlight like a sow that's ready to drop her fat
butt down and deliver some oinkers. Ya see, Sally Max, y'all started a
war that sure as heck ain't lasting only 7 days. No, the Heat is gonna
see this thing to the end. Ya two slick ricks don't know what'cha got
yourselves into. This week, in Tombstone, in front of as many eyes as
possible, we are bringing it straight on back to y'all! Then... then
we get to smack y'all again at End Game.

[Maxime continues to pump iron as Florine gets up and goes to the
diving board while Arvelle moves with Florine.]

AML: If you two bozos think it was hot before, well ya ain't seen
nothing yet. The Heat and Marcus Manson are gonna make a statement
against y'all and your little partner, Herschel. And that statement is
that masks can only protect y'all from the HEAT once.

[Arvelle walks off as the camera fades.]

****************************************
****************************************
Rick Marley
****************************************
****************************************

[Scene opens on PVW Champ "Widowmaker" Rick Marley standing in front
of a black PVW backdrop.

The dark haired cruiserweight has a moderately irritated look on his
face as he adjusts the belt on his shoulder, then nods.]

"You know...I think its entirely possible that I get as sick as going
over this stuff as you guys get of hearing it.
Whatever-his-name-is-now Holliday
and Oh-God-do-you-never-shut-up Hayes both are tripping over each
other...Holliday wants to end my career for..."

[He pauses, then nods.]

"...for a truly douchebag move I pulled on the then Tucson Kid.  Hayes
is desperate to prove that he's relevant...to know that
the world still loves him.

Makes you wonder about him as a little kid, and if it involved a CPS
Agent holding up a doll and asking little Gibby where the bad man
touched him, doesn't it?

And here I wait...supposedly above the fray, but getting really
friggin' irritated that they both seem to be taking it as written that
once they get through
with each other that I'll be easy pickings.

A guy's ego can only take so much."

[Looking up, Marley shakes his head.]

"Now, what I've been doing up till now is going from supposed blase',
aloof enui to doing everything just short of hopping up and down and
screaming 'pay attention to me'.  It was really very dignified, I
assure you.  Just
the sort of thing you expect to see from a world champion...which is
why now I'm going to stand up straight, look into the camera lens and
let's get this over with.

...

...

You heard me right.

This has dragged on for too long, and while giving the fans what they
want doesn't exactly rank up on my list of things to do, this time the
sheep have a point.

Holliday, Hayes...just finish it.

Let's get this settled, so the winner can get to losing.

'Cause that's all that's waiting for you.

And you can take that to the bank."

[fade]