****************************************
****************************************
** Phoenix Valley Wrestling Presents  **
**            SHOWCASE                **
**            02.22.11                **
****************************************
****************************************



-> Marcus Manson #1
-> Tyson Cain
-> Devin Houlihan (Renegades)
-> Danny Daniels & Dan Flores
-> Rick Marley
-> Senor Cloak Dos
-> Tom Landis
-> Sinister
-> Max and Sal
-> Chris Hartt
-> Perry Fontana #1
-> Doc Holliday
-> Johnny Detson
-> Prophets of Rage
-> JD Houlihan (Renegades)
-> Larry Gionet
-> The Mercenary
-> The Heat
-> Los Corazones
-> William Craven
-> Tommy Ryder
-> Marcus Manson #2
-> Hersher von Donkerhardt
-> Christopher Black
-> Gibson Hayes
-> Zeke and The Gutch
-> Perry Fontana #2
-> Dan Flores
-> Caleb Foley



****************************************
****************************************
Marcus Manson #1
****************************************
****************************************

[The camera catches up with Marcus Manson, who is on his way out of
the 52nd Street Armory. Manson glances into the lens. A voice behind
the camera speaks.]

Cameraman: "Marcus, can we get some comments for Burning effect?"

[Manson stops and reaches past the camera lens, pushing the man
against the wal.]

Manson: "Comments for Burning Effect? What could I possibly say that
would make any louder of a statement that what I did to your American
Champion tonight?"

"Herscher von Donkerhardt is but an ant beneathe my boot heel. All I
seem to hear when people talk about wrestling these days is how great
HvD is. He's a submission machine and can make anyone tap out. Well, I
call bullsh[beep].

PVW wants comments? They want to know what's on my mind? Watch
Heatwave next week. Actions speak louder than words and I will show
you exactly how I feel about HvD and his fans."

[Fade.]

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

[The screen shows a vision of old cartoons/comic book pages. It looks
like the Marvel Comics logo scene for every hero movie out these days.
We see well-known antagonists of comics, such as Superman, Spiderman,
Captain America, Wonder Woman, et al. As those visions are seen, a
voice is heard.]

V/O:  We all have our heroes...

[The screen shows the collection of the Justice League of America.]

V/O:  For some, it is a person with super-human powers and
abilities....

[The screen morphs to show Transformers' own Optimus Prime and
Megatron.]

V/O:  For others, it is a machine that can do extraordinary things...

[The screen now shows a fireman, standing next to a policeman in the
dust of the 9/11 attacks.]

V/O:  Some, like me, ground their heroes in reality. Those we come
into contact with on a daily basis or find some resemblance of good
and decency in. I have heroes like that all my life. I have looked up
to policemen, firemen, teachers, coaches, my parents...

[The screen goes dark.]

V/O:  But when I was a kid, there was one man I thought was the
coolest damn thing around...

[The screen fades up to show a picture of Sinister.]

V/O:  Sinister was on every week on the old AWMC broadcasts. I used to
watch them without missing a single episode.

[The picture of Sinister slides into just a third of the screen and we
now see who the voice was this entire time. "Showstopper" Tyson Cain
stands next tot he picture of Sinister, decked out in a blue silk
shirt and black pants. His sunglasses are in this breast pocket of the
shirt. Cain has a very normal look on his face, not the normal cocky,
arrogant facade we normally see.]

Cain:  Big Daddy Sin! I can't tell you how I reacted when I saw him
come through that curtain! You wait an entire show knowing he is
scheduled and when that music hits...

[Tyson jumps in the air, almost like a child.]

Cain:  BOOM!

[Tyson chuckles like a fanboy.]

Cain:  I can't explain it. Aside from my Dad, Big Daddy Sin was _THE_
guy out there for me. I lived and died with him in the ring. When he
was getting the  business given to him, I was more pissed off than any
child in the world. When he was getting his hand raised, I was on
cloud nine like I had just won the AWMC World Heavyweight Title.

[Tyson pauses and looks over at the picture of Sinister.]

Cain:  I always dreamed of being in the ring with him as his young tag
partner or something like that.

[He shakes his head.]

Cain:  I never thought I'd be facing him. But sometimes, in order to
make an omelet...

[Cain quickly throws his left hand out and smashes the glass on which
the image of Sinister was projected.]

Cain:  ...you have to break a few eggs.

[Tyson's cocky look has returned to his face.]

Cain:  Seasons change. Kids grow up. Legends must eventually fall. It
is evolution, after all.

I'm not dumb enough to think that eventually I wouldn't have to
conquer my childhood allegiance for a shot at success. The moment
Sinister won the Television Title, I knew that I would eventually have
to retire my idol.

[He shakes his head, almost depressingly before continuing.]

Cain:  But what kind of idol are you now Sinister? You were all but
indestructible back in the days of the Motor City. You were a rock in
my life of victory and strength. I knew the kind of cool stud I wanted
to be by watching you every week.

But now, all you seem to do is lose.

Do you know how that makes _ME_ feel? You were my hero and now you are
just a shell of your former self. When I was a kid, you were the man.
Now you are simply the pillow the TV Title is on until a worthy
champion comes along. How far down can you go big guy?

[Cain smiles that sly grin.]

Cain:  So I am making a vow to end your title run before your run of
mediocrity tarnishes the PVW and your legacy. I care that much about
my memories to ensure that you don't ruin them any further. I want to
remember you as you were, not as the heap that I plan on leaving you
in at On The Road.

Once I have finished off the hero of my youth, the title is in my
future.

[Tyson makes the universal gesture for title belt around his waist.]

Cain:  This will set me up with a Title shot against you and you will
fall again. I will show you the door to the old folks' home and take
my title to face challengers aplenty.

I'm sure another old-timer looking to reignite his career will want a
shot at any title I have.

[He winks at the camera.]

Cain:  Isn't that right AsH?

[Tyson chuckles.]

Cain:  You finally escape that bottomless pit of a bitch-fed to try
and find success elsewhere. What happens?  You end up staring up the
ladder at a rookie. Think about our debuts for a second. I told you
that you were not the prize signing of that group and everyone
discounted it.

But what was said AFTER the match?

Yes, your team got the cheap pinfall win over my team and I even took
the pin. But what was said after it was over?  What was trending
across the net?

hmmmmmmm?

[Cain gives a cocky glance with a knowing smile tat just makes you
want to smack the taste out of his mouth.]

Cain:  It sure as hell wasn't that tough-as-nails veteran named AsH.
It was ME!  I was on the thoughts and minds of people from the moment
that match began.

He's so fluid...

He's one of the most talented workers out there...

He has "it"...

This guy is a future world beater...

All of it gets said about me and what was said about you?

[Tyson chuckles.]

Cain:  He gave a solid effort and looked good in his PVW debut.

[Tyson pauses and grins yet again. Then, he quickly drops the grin for
a serious look.]

Cain:  You're welcome. I made you look like something worth discussing
in public. I made you look like you had a snowball's chance at
becoming a player in PVW.

Without me.....you are just like Big Daddy Sin....

...all washed up.

[Cain's arrogance is in full display with the way he stands and looks
at the camera.]

Cain:  Everybody out there wishing they had a shot at the TV Title
will be sucking my knee caps in a short period of time. It doesn't
matter who they are, from Copeland and Larry Gionet to that Mexican
jumping bean Super Soaker Two; I will not be denied becoming the
greatest TV Champion PVW has ever known.

On my way to the Triple Crown and becoming the greatest in PVW
history!

My star is on the rise and all you can do is sit and watch! There is
nothing anybody can do to stop me.

[a pause.]

Cain:  I'm on my way. Just get ready for the "Showstopper!"

[Tyson turns and walks away as the screen fades to black.]

****************************************
****************************************
Devin Houlihan (Renegades)
****************************************
****************************************

[Before us sits half of PVW's newest tag team sensations the
Renegades, the half being Devin Houlihan.  Devin's chosen to keep it
very simple.  He sits on the right side of the scene, in front of a
black back drop, single spotlight on him and a cold, hard steel chair
resting underneath him.  Devin's in his wrestling gear, and leaning
forward with his arms on his knees.  His stare is off camera, distant
in a sense.]

DEVIN: So... been a few weeks, eh?   See, after getting pinned
on Heatwave and costing my team the victory...  Just felt like I
needed some time to clear my head, to think, reflect, recharge and
come back stronger than ever! But I do find it funny that while
getting pinned in that ring is about the most embarrassing thing that
can happen to a man... It's not what's on the forefront of my mind.
What _IS_ is that little bitch Emylee, and how she is trying to turn
the whole WORLD against me!

[Shakes his head.]

DEVIN: We all saw it the slap  We all saw _EXACTLY_ what happened on
Heatwave.  The Corazones did what they always do, cheating and
exploiting to get a leg up on the competition.  Hiding in Mexicio,
they decide to have cousins do their dirty work for them! But turns
out, their cousins are a bit like them -- they don't know how to do
anything _RIGHT_! So instead of leaving us in a bloody mess... Instead
of injuring us and forcing us out of competition, they got their
favorite lady _bitch slapped_ on live television!

[Slight chuckle]

DEVIN: Can't say I'm proud of it.  Can't say that my mother would be
proud of me.  But look at the tape... Look at what happened.  Emylee
started _ALL_ of this.  She brought _ALL_ of this on herself.  And
when push came to shove, she tried hiding behind her cousins like they
little coward she is! Turns out, God isn't much of a fan either of the
Corazones, or else when I was swinging for the fences, Emylee would
never have been in the way!

[Sigh.]

DEVIN: And, as much as I'd like to put it all behind me...  As much as
I liked to forget the whole thing.... I know I can't.  I know that
since the Corazones are _finally_ done 'defending' their ASLL titles
and are actually in the neighborhood, I have to keep my head on a
swivel.  I have to keep my eyes open and looking everywhere.  They
already had it out for us.  We are already on their shit list... and
then I went and slapped their girl...  I wonder what lengths they will
be going to to extract revenge.  I wonder what pathetically stupid and
inept plan they have to get their taste of justice...

I just wish they would be _MEN_ and settle this in the ring...

I just wish they would be _MEN_ and fight us, face to face....

[Deep breath.]

DEVIN: Good God, I can't wait for our third match, the 'blow off'.  I
can't wait to put these punks behind us, and focus on Pee Vee Dubbya's
_REAL_ talent...  But the truth is, I have to put them behind me least
for this week.  I have to clear them out of my mind, and stay focused
on what is happening this week! If the Renegades want to be the BEST
in Pee Vee Dubbya, beating the former tag champs is a great way to do
it!

[Nods.]

DEVIN: But enough of this talking bullshit... Time to get back to
work, get back to training and preparing...  While I know the
Corazones out for revenge and are certainly coming after us, all I can
do is put on the blinders and stay focused.  The Renegades? We _NEED_
this victory at "On the Road."  We _NEED_ to show _EVERYONE_ exactly
how amazing we are!

[Fade.]

****************************************
****************************************
Danny Daniels & Dan Flores
****************************************
****************************************

[Open a locker room somewhere in middle America, no doubt after a very
successful PVW spot show. Dan Flores sits on a wooden bench in front
of a cubicle, sweat ridden and wearing gym shorts and a random cut off
shirt, carefully taking the tape off of his right ankle...

D"YH"D:  Greetings!  And Salutations!
[...when a voice breaks the silence. Flores looks to his left, and
there, as the camera pans back, is Danny "YOUR HERO" Daniels.  Danny's
wearing his yellow t-shirt, trunks and wraparound sunglasses.  He has
the SUPREME Title around his waist... and a chair in his hands.  He
walks right up to Dan Flores...]

DF: Whoa, whoa, okay, I can explain, cuz, just take it easy...

[... and sets the chair down.  Sitting down, Danny Daniels fires off
two finger points at Flores.]
D"YH"D:  Dan Flowers!  We need to talk.  As you know, last week I was
educating the fine fans about the history and prestige of the SUPREME
Title, when I was assaulted in the ring.  And you know who did that
horrific assault?

DF: Yeah, about that. I've got nothing-

D"YH"D:  I HAVE NO IDEA EITHER!   It was a sneak attack, done behind
my back in the dark.  I'm wondering if whoever did it had secret
ninja-like skills...  [Danny shakes his head]  It was a tragedy- and a
mystery.  Someone in the PVW is out to destroy the prestige of the
SUPREME Title.  But, with your help, I'm certain we can track down
this evildoer.

[Flores' eyebrows go up in surprise, and he just looks at Daniels for
a second.]

DF: With my help? Really?

D"YH"D:  Obviously, this ninja is clever, and wary of my
investigation!  I need a partner, someone I can trust, to help root
out this villainous... VILLAIN!  As a fellow, 'Dan', I know I can
trust you to be by my side as we tackle this clever foe!

DF: ...yes.

[Flores shakes his head, not sure he's really hearing this.]

DF: You count on me.

[Shrug. Oh what the hell, just go with it.]

D"YH"D:  Now, our first suspect... [Danny walks over to another locker
and grabs the PVW Program.  He flips it open to a picture of the
Mercenary.]  This man.  Mercury Morris.  My opponent for this week.  I
considered the possibility that he may have attacked me from behind,
jumping me to 'soften me up' for our epic contest.  Now, everyone I've
ever talked to told me that Mercury is a man of honor who wouldn't
attack a man from behind... but that JUST MIGHT BE the cunning
disguise our ninja attacker would use!

DF: Mercury Morris is...

[Flores stops himself, and let's Daniels continue.]

DF: No, you're right, I apologize.

D"YH"D:  You see, paranoia is a constant foe, when fighting a ninja.
It is doubtful that our attacker would be someone I was facing so
soon.  Plus, I understand that Mercury... [Flips over a couple of
pages on the program, then holds up a picture of Jessica 'Fatality'
Marshall) is having girlfriend problems, so his mind is probably very
occupied.  It is doubtful that Mercury is our man, but we must be ever
vigilant.
[Danny suddenyl turns around and points at Dan Flores]

D"YH"D:  FEAR NOT!  I realize that, by volunteering to help me uncover
our ninja attacker, you too have put yourself in the spotlight.  He
might very well go after you next.  But, do not worry, fellow Dan!
For I will be watching, waiting, ready to POUNCE at the slightest sign
of any trouble!

[Danny turns around and grabs the chair he was sitting on.]

D"YH"D:  Let us go!  The game is afoot!

[Danny stalks out, chair in hand, leaving a speechless Dan Flores
behind]

DF: ...

[Flores puts his head in his hands and then lifts it up and shakes his
head, as if he's warding off a dream.]

DF: I can't believe that just happened.

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

"How'd it feel, Doc?"

[The camera fades in on Rick Marley, standing in front of a black
backdrop, the PVW Title belt draped over his left shoulder, and a
wireless mic held in his right hand.  He's wearing a button up green
silk shirt and black dress pants, and his dark hair is pulled back in
a pony tail.]

"How'd it feel when Craven was savaging you...when you realized that
there was nothing you could do to win that match?  That you'd be lucky
to escape without a serious injury...and that the only thing that was
standing between you and full time on that ranch was ME deciding that
I wanted to show you once and for all who the better man is in that
ring."

[Marley smirks, but the smile comes nowhere near his eyes as he
continues to glare.]

"You can sit around and lie to yourself Doc: You can say that you're
still relevant.  You can say that you've still got it...that your'e
the guy that took the Ultimate Title back in New York, and had
everyone dancing to your tune...but we both know that's not the case.

THAT Doc Holliday would have never taken the beating that you did at
Heatwave.  THAT Doc Holliday would have found a way to turn the
tables.

THAT Doc Holliday wasn't all bark...he had bite to him...but you?"

[Marley shakes his head.]

"Toothless.

Maybe it's for the best that Hayes seems to want to stick his face
into our little disagreement...maybe it'll save you from embarrassing
yourself...after all, things move fast here in PVW, Doc.  You've gotta
keep up or your ass is getting run over.

End of story."

[Marley pauses, lets out a short chuckle, then shakes his head
ruefully.]

"I have to be honest with you...when you first showed up, saying you
wanted a piece of me...I was worried.

I mean, hell...you were Doc Holliday...you wrote the book on how to
maneuver in this business...then you started breaking the rules in
there too.  You've forgotten more about wrestling than most guys ever
know...

The problem is that you seem to have forgotten more than YOU know too.

...

I mean...I feel sorta bad, Doc.  Please tell me there's more...that
you're not this pathetic shadow of your former self that I've seen
standing in front of me.

You're looking to take my career...I'm looking to cement my
legacy...that means while you can skate by and pray I blow out a knee,
I need more from you.

And I'll get it, because so help me, Holliday: If you don't deliver,
I'll cement your legacy for you...I'll make sure you and your student
end up just the same...I'll lay your as in a hospital bed right next
to the vegetable.

And you can...no...even better..."

[He shakes his head, a vicious smile spreading across his features.]

Because...Doc...that's the DAMN truth."

[fade]

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

[Scene opens to a close up shot of an inflatible hammer in front of a
backdrop of some sort.]

Voice: Smacky Dos, mi amigo, you are needed more urgently than I
feared!

[The camera pulls back to reveal the masked luchadore in the hooded
cape we know as Senor Cloak Dos, standing in front of a PVW banner and
looking down at his inflatible hammer he has named "Smacky Dos".]

SCD: Poor Senor Foley! I know he won his match against Senor Copeland
but he was in such danger! Senor Copeland used that hammer, Senor
Smacky, on Senor Foley in the match! The potential for a crippling
injury or..

[The small Mexican masked man shivers.]

SCD: Worse clung heavily in the air. All because I could not find
Senor Copeland before the match to give him this wonderful
alternative..

[Cloak Dos holds the inflatible hammer up to the camera.]

SCD: Smacky Dos! Senor Copeland, I hope that we can find some time
before this match upcoming on Heatwave to talk. Because I think you
should take a look at my little friend, Smacky Dos! If you are wanting
to express your anger towards opponents, he will let you do that but
with an added bonus over your current Smacky.. No one will get
seriously hurt!

[We imagine he is smiling, we don't know for certain because his whole
face is covered by his black mask but he nods his head alot.]

SCD: It is a winning proposition amigo! Smacky Dos, he is very
charismatic Senor Copeland. I will miss him very much when I give him
to you, Cristiano, we have had many warm conversations. He has a
friendly soul but is also muy valiente!

[Cloak Dos does a fist pump to get across his message of the
inflatible hammer's bravery.]

SCD: Si, I will miss mi amigo Smacky Dos but he goes to do an
important job under your care, Senor Copeland, so I am happy for him.
And speaking of important jobs..

[The luchadore places the inflatible hammer offscreen and turns to the
camera.]

SCD: Madre Dios! Rush Hour Rules match! Mi amigo Senor AsH, Senor
Copeland,  hopefully with Smacky Dos in his possession, Senor
Bisignano who showed so much anger towards my mask, and myself.. All
against one another and if we go over or through the ropes to touch
the floor outside.. WE'RE ELIMINATED!

[Cloak Dos puts both hands on top of his masked head and shakes his
head.]

SCD: Mi Lucha Libre! The flying, the planchas, the soaring.. It can
cost the match! I thought having my mask stitched up after Senor
Bisignano's attacks on it was a task but this.. MADRE DIOS!

[He shakes his head.]

SCD: This is a difficult hurdle amigos y amigas out there but I ask
that you have faith in me and believe that I can fly like an eagle and
grab victory from the jaws of defeat by not flying at all! Together
between your support and mi corazon we will navigate this maze and
come out of it together victors!

[Cloak Dos pumps a fist in the air.]

SCD: VIVA! VAMANOS! ARRIBA!

[Scene fades.]

****************************************
****************************************
Tom Landis
****************************************
****************************************

[The screen is black.  And stays that way.  The sound of a telephone
ringing is all that's apparent.  It rings a second time.  And a third.
On the fourth, the phone picks up, and goes straight to voicemail.  A
woman's voice answers, and after a few seconds it's clearly that of
Emily Landis-Fontana.]

"Bonjour! Vous avez rejoint Emily et Perry, mais on est pas la, alors
laissez un message! Hey, you've reached Emily and Perry, but we're not
here, so leave a message!"

*BEEP*"

[CLICK.  And a dialtone.

Now we fade from the black to the front hallway of Perry and Emily's
home, with the telephone in full view.  The phone suddenly rings
again, and this time the voicemail picks up after the second ring.  We
hear the same message.]

"Bonjour! Vous avez rejoint Emily et Perry, mais on est pas la, alors
laissez un message! Hey, you've reached Emily and Perry, but we're not
here, so leave a message!"

*BEEP*

[CLICK.  And this time, there's more.  It's another woman's voice,
that of Tara "Sunburst" Marshall.]

TSM: "Emily... are you there?  You need to pick up the phone if you
are. We need to talk.  Perry... Perry's crossed a line this time, Em.
Tom's got another concussion and there's no mistaking it this time.
Your husband's run out of free passes.

[Silence.  Then...]

TSM: "Just call me back when you get this.  Bye."

[Click.]

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

[The scene fades in to a still shot of the PVW Network Title sitting
atop a black marblewood stand, illuminated by a lone bright light that
shines above it. Etched onto the front platelet is SINISTER in bold
black lettering, confirming the recent change of title from Larry
Gionet to Sinister. The camera zooms out to reveal a room filled with
various trophies with accomplishments etched into them, spanning
various wrestling federations, martial arts tournaments and community
service recognition. Some of the trophies and other awards are
obviously years old but nonetheless in excellent condition.
The camera pans to its right and we see various pictures of Sinister
shaking hands, standing next to, fist bumping or hugging various
"known" people in various industries, his broad smile on display in
each and every one of them; even the ones where he is bleeding and
damaged. The camera pans to the left and we see the man himself
sitting on a large black couch, a large bag of ice adorning his right
knee. Sinister is wearing a white short-sleeved shirt, red jean shorts
and a pair of black Nike Air Jordan's.

"Hello ladies and gents, I hope all of you are well. In a rare moment
for me, the loquacious one, I had difficulty formulating a way to
speak about winning the PVW Network Title. Why, you may ask, am I of
all people struggling with words? [He chuckles a few times] It's
difficult for me to ascertain the magnitude of carrying this title
because I haven't been in the PVW all that long really. Now I
certainly know the lineage of the Network Title champions before me
but I shall save you the headache of not running down the list, such
as my 'friend' Danny Daniels opted to do about his Supreme Title. Good
lord Daniels you were killing me with the running around and the
spewing history on the microphone!"

[He shakes his head slowly and grasps the base of his nose between his
right thumb and index finger, rubbing it a few times before lowering
his hand]

"Every time I hear your voice I just have flashbacks to that
nightmarish thirty days of hell I had to spend with you. [He inhales
and exhales loudly] Thankfully those days are no more. Moving on, I
will give the respect that Mr. Gionet deserves for making me earn this
title. [He looks into the camera and while doing so, he lowers his
head a bit, demonstrating a sign of respect, and after a few seconds
raises his head to its original level] Mr. Gionet, you are an
excellent wrestler and a warrior with tremendous heart. It does no
justice to watch someone wrestle and assume you know their skill
level."

[He looks at the large bag of ice surrounding his right knee and taps
it gently a few times with his right hand]

"You were focused, relentless, and executed numerous maneuvers in a
flowing manner that kept me off balance, in pain and frustrated. I
prepared as best as I possibly could for your combination of maneuvers
yet I was unable to prevent many of them, a testament to your
abilities. Admittedly it has been a while since I have been able to
pin someone using the 'Sadistic Ride' but I absolutely needed to
utilize that to not only slow your momentum but take advantage of the
situation as best as possible. I do have one apology though Mr.
Gionet, and that is for the antics of one Mr. Black."

[Sinister's eyes tighten with obvious anger and he balls his right
hand into a thick fist. With his left hand he cracks the knuckles of
his balled-up right hand, each knuckle popping loudly. He then pounds
his right fist into the palm of his left hand, an audible clap
resonating in the room. He lowers his right hand and extends his left
index finger, holding it on the left side of his jaw]

"Mr. Black, your presence is beginning to vex me and that is not
something you want to do! Who are you to badmouth me during my
battles? Who are you to laugh and take delight in my pain while
relinquishing a submission hold that is placed upon me?  Neither Mr.
Gionet nor I wanted you anywhere near this match, yet there you were!
Even Mr. Gionet told you to depart, obviously in not so many words,
but the message was very clear. Continue to stick your nose into
business that does not concern you and there will be dire
consequences! Your victory over Ash demonstrated to me what you are
capable, and incapable, of doing, but yet I did not need to come down
to the ring and interject myself verbally. The path you walk is
slippery Mr. Black. A caveat: watch your step!"

[He lowers his left index finger and steeples his fingers, resting his
elbows upon his stomach. He looks up momentarily and takes another
deep breath, visibly calming himself]

"Mr. Detson and PVW management have decided to pit me against the
young, hungry and aggressive youngster known as Tyson Cain. For those
who don't know me well, I am not one to back down from a challenge.
The battle against Mr. Gionet pitted skill and experience versus one
another. However, against Mr. Cain, my experience in the ring will be
tested in a different manner as Cain has obvious speed and agility
advantages over me. Needless to say I will prepare as best as possible
with the obvious focus being to keep my right knee in stable
condition. Injuries are a mistress to any athlete thus I know what to
do Mr. Cain."

[Sinister lowers his right hand and supports his chin with his left
thumb and index finger. He looks down and to his left at nothing in
particular, gathering his thoughts. After a few moments he looks into
the camera]

"Obviously you have impressed the correct people Mr. Cain and I don't
doubt your abilities. The question remains, however, about your level
of experience. Will you be able to find a way to overcome what I am
capable of long enough to wrestle the Network Title from my grasp?
Will you be able to withstand the precise manner in which I exact
punishment unto you? We shall see Mr. Cain. Until then, I bid you good
day."

[The camera fades out on the focused stare of the Chicago native]

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

[The camera fades in... to a locker room.  Where Salih Mubarak stands-
in a blue suit, white shirt, and red tie that is about three sizes too
large for him.  He grins and addresses the camera in an over-the-top
radio announcer voice.]

Sal:  As an American Icon, I know all about what it means to be
American.  That's why I throw only pure American Salt into the eyes of
my opponents.  Now, a lot of people think that Cowboys are American-
but trust me- as an American hero, I can tell you that Cowboys are
actually from Argentina... or Brazil.  or Chile.  Or one of those
other, non-American Countries.  Isn't tha...

[And from the left, Max Weinrib enters the shot- wearing a towel
around his waist and a huge grin on his face.]

Max:  SWAN DIVE~!

[Sal stops in mid-sentence and starts waving his hands, speaking in
his normal voice again]

Sal:  Hold it, hold it... cut, cut.  [Turning to his partner]  Max,
I've told you before- Gibson Hayes is NOT the guy on the Old Spice
Commercials.

Max:  But...

Sal:  Besides- I get to make fun of Hayes, you got Holliday.  We
played Rock-Paper-Scissors for it, remember?

Max:  Aw, c'mon, man, I don't wanna be Holliday!

Sal:  Look, how hard is it to be Holliday?  You put on the cowboy hat,
throw in a bunch of western references everywhere and drop all your
G's at the end of words.  You've got it easy!

Max:  No thanks.  You know how much cotton I've got to stuff in my
mouth to get his drawl right?  And don't even get me started on that
bow-legged walk of his!  Besides, you cheated anyway!  That was
clearly paper you were throwing down against my scissors and your
curled your hand to make it rock.

Sal:  Hey, Gibson Hayes is supposed to cheat!  I was just getting a
jump on the character and--

Max:  Don't make me drop this towel.

[Before Max can make good with that threat, the action thankfully
freezes.]

Max VO:   Now, lest you think we're disregarding Doc Holliday here,
let me assure you that's furthest from the truth.  Holliday's tenure
as a member of one of the most legendary tag teams out there was heavy
on our minds and we spent a good amount of time earlier getting
reacquainted with his body of work.

[The scene suddenly switches to Max and Sal sitting back at their
apartment.  On the TV, "Tombstone" is currently playing.  On top of
the TV, a DVD copy of "Maverick" waits patiently.]

Sal:  Man, Val Kilmer really let himself go these days...

Sal VO:  We continued debating, but it didn't hide the fact that we
had an enormous task in front of us.  Doc Holliday was considered one
of the finest wrestlers in the world; Gibson Hayes had held multiple
titles in PVW.  Both were claiming to be the #1 contender to Rick
Marley.  But we had one advantage in our favor.  This was a tag team
match and Hollidays/Hayes did NOT get along.  Teamwork would be a
factor- and one that favored us...

[As Sal's voiceover continues, Max and Sal, back at the locker room in
the suit and towel respectively,  resume their argument on screen.]

Max:  ...and I'm gonna grab those spurs and ram them up your--!

Sal VO:  ...in theory.

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

[Backstage in a locker room, Chris Hartt sits on a bench, resting his
forearms on his thighs. The tape from his hands dangles down, hastily
torn off after the match. Hartt sits in silence and breathes deeply in
and out.]

"The test of any man is how he stands up to adversity. And over the
last month, my resolve has been tested again and again. The paths that
I've taken have never been easy. i never expected them to be.
Recently, Johnny Detson has seen fit to make things more difficult
than necessary. For Caleb Foley, for me, for anyone he has personality
conflicts with. He's found all sorts of methods to make sure no
significant result ever comes from facing him or living in any
defiance of his rule.

Detson, I have no doubt that you are behind Nevermind and his
appearances during my matches. I have no doubt that you're the one
holding up the works to make sure he can appear, pull his stupid games
and still skate away clean because he has no contract, doesn't have to
get into the ring and doesn't really have to answer for his actions.
But you will. And I won't stop until you do. And if Nevermind ever
does ink a contract, you can bet without a doubt that I will be the
first to be in line to pull his punk card and make him face me.

You both have cost me matches. You both have stood in my way and
laughed uproariously at my losses thanks to your antics. But the
laughs will die off and I'll get my chance to laugh last. The odds can
only stay in your favor so long. When the tide turns, the waves of my
retribution will flood over you and wash you both to sea. My day will
come. Nothing you can do will ever drive me away. Nothing you ever do
can sway me from seeing this through to its end and come out
victorious.

I pray that your souls are really ready to face the judgement that
awaits you. Because the punishment you'll suffer will make Hell seem
like a theme park.

Next week, Dan Flores and I will team up to take on Detson and Perry
Fontana. I'm sure you'll find another way to dance around actually
facing me, Detson. It's clear you don't have the stones to honestly
face me in true competition.

You set up matches with the intention of skewing the results all in
your favor. But I know that soon, and hopefully at my hands, your own
plans will all blow up in your face and leave you begging for the
Lord's help. I know He'll look on you kindly, but only after I get my
hands on you to really show you what lies in store for all your
insidious actions. Can you handle the Purgatory awaiting you? How will
you compose yourself when you're forced to face the true results of
your actions? I know what I think will happen and I'll be truly
appeased when I'm there to make you suffer for each and every
infraction. Each and every lie. Every insidious plan and every delight
you've taken in hurting other people intentionally.

Your screams and your tears will ring on deaf ears until every charge
has been met and answered for. I almost pity you, Detson.  Almost.
This is the Hell you've made for yourself and no matter how hard you
scheme, you won't escape it. Run, hide, beg, scrape and plead.

I'm coming for you. And Hell's coming with me."

[Camera backs away as Hartt takes hold of the tape on a wrist and
begins to pull it off completely. A stern, hard look crosses his face
as he yaks with fury. Fade to black.]

****************************************
****************************************
Perry Fontana #1
****************************************
****************************************

[On-screen appears the dimpled chin of Perry Fontana, jutting out from
under the hood of his orange, red, and gold boxer's robe.]

Fontana: Cousin you're a good man.

Without your intervention, PVW could easily have been overrun with
clowns like Cole and Holliday, meatballs such a Ryder and Sinister,
bland milquetoasts like Gionet and Donkerhardt or discoloured palookas
like Caleb Foley... yet, there's still so much work left to be done to
right this ship...

[The Everlasting One raises his head high, so that his piercing,
encircled eyes can look at the camera beseechingly.]

Fontana: Can you really spare the time to indulge in a tag team match?

[Now, he even pulls back the hood of his robe, revealing his lush,
blackk hair and the full extent of his gargantuan muttonchops... only
to earnestly plead before the camera with his gravelly, raspy whisper
of a voice.]

Fontana: President Detson, I implore you, change this match.  Take the
night off.  Use it to focus on your good works or as a well earned
vacation, I give it to you to do as you will. Just... change the
match. Make it a handicap match! There isn't enough pantywaist in the
combined pair of Flores and Hartt for us to share. You know it, I know
it. One sanctimoniously quotes vapid _pop_ tarts, the other self-
righteously thumps an _out-dated_ anthology of SUPERSTITIONS! They're
asking for it, aaahh OUAIS! They _really_ ARE!

[As "Le Phoenix" becomes increasingly manic, his enlarged black eyes
bulge out with gleeful greed.]

Fontana: Cousin, I gotta have them _both_! ...This armbar maestro
wants to stretch those meatballs and harmonize their screams of pain,
ahhh ouais, compose a sweet symphony of excruciating pain!

[After waving his arms like a conductor, "Le Phoenix" stops to
emphatically point at the screen, calling out to Detson Uncle Sam-
style.]

Fontana: Johnny, cousin, you have the power - and the _responsibility_
- to CHANGE this match.  I know you're the kind of man that can
appreciate the kind of _trauma_ I've been submitted to this past
year...  you have to _know_ I'm not going to team up with anyone
again, not even un _uomo_ VERO like _you_!

[Palms up, thumbs touching the tips of his index fingers, "Il Eterno"
practically begs the camera to feel his plight.]

Fontana: Had you gone though what _I've_ gone through, you'd feel the
SAME! I'm the _wolf_, el _hombre_ LOBO, ..._FREED_ from his _cage_...

[The Deathless One, frenzied, spins on himself only to come to a
sudden halt, staring into the distance.]

Fontana: Ouais, I'm _FREE_, now...

...Free to leave Landis behind in a cloud of dust...

...Free to keep climbing the ladder rung by rung until I reach the top

...Free to rip arms off to my hearts content... Free to maim and
torture...

...Free to dissect Flores and crush Hartt...

[Now staring at the screen, he smiles for the first time; a mirthless,
malevolent smirk appears on his thin lips. His last words are
whisperes so hushed it barely registers on the decibel scale...]

...Free to pull off some petals and break some hearts...

[The image fades on Fontana's still smirking visage, his hypnotic
black pupils fully dilated...]

****************************************
****************************************
Doc Holliday
****************************************
****************************************

[We open up to a very familiar scene... just outside the black fence
that surrounds the grounds of the White House.

It seems to be very early morning, and there is no activity to speak
of. A layer of snow covers the ground. Standing here in the foreground
is the unmistakable figure of Doc Holliday. Well, I suppose you might
be forgiven if you did mistake him for someone else, as infrequent as
his appearances on Damage Control have been lately. But this is indeed
him, wearing the 1880s era clothing ensemble he's noted for: a black
frock coat, slacks, white silk ruffled undershirt, and black hat. A
gold watch chain dangles from his pocket, and he stands leaning on his
mahogany hand-carved cane. His angular, cleanshaven face is flanked on
either side by locks from his glorious sandy-brown wavy mullet, and
his face bears a coldly impassive expression.

He begins to speak, in his familiar baritone heavily-accented twang.]

DH: They asked me ta come out an' say some words, on account o' ah
been quiet lately. But they ain't nothin' ah got left ta say regardin'
Rick Marley. He ain't gonna git no more intimidated than he is, he
ain't gonna show no weakness anyhow, an' he'll cling ta his views come
hell or high water. He'd be a worthless man if it were any diff'ernt.
Marley thinks ah'm comin' fer his belt... truth is, ah'm comin' fer a
lotta belts. Gonna belt him in each eye, inna mouth, inna chest, inna
jaw, an' anywhar else as mah heart an' mind tells me ta belt 'im. But
his champeenship belt? He kin keep it... fer th' thirty days he gets
until they strip him fer bein' unable ta defend.

No, ah'm heah ta address someone else. Came out heah taday ta teach
Gibson Hayes somethin'. Not lak he's willin' ta learn, but ah'd be a
lousy ol' man if'n ah didn't try ta pass somethin' off on these kids.

Hayes, ya damn fool, if ya had th' sense God gave a flea, you'd'a
waited. Waited 'till ah done Marley in, an' then stepped in ta git his
belt aftah they was nothin' left of him. Or from me if ah do end up
takin' it, on account of ah don't pretend thet finishin' Marley is
gonna be easy or without cost. Somewhar in thet thick head o' yours,
ya lost sight of yer pragmatism... ain't too surprisin' since yer
really a delusional little bastard. Ya lied so much, that now ya
believe it.

But ah keep hearin' ya talk about America, Gibson. Ah suspect ya
flunked American History at all levels, so lemme tell ya about
America.

America wasn't made by politicians. Sure, they drew up th' papers an'
got they faces put on th' money, but in th' end, th' concept thet one
man could 'save' America is jus' lak th' idea thet th' White House
heah represents th' people's will. It is...


[Doc turns around, extends his fingers, and TEARS A MASSIVE GAPING
HOLE IN THE SPACE-TIME CONTINUUM, OBLITERATING THE WHITE HOUSE FROM
EXISTENCE!

...

...no, wait, stop cheering. Unless there's a brick wall on the other
side of the space-time continuum (and if there is, Albert Einstein
totally lost that bet), Doc just ripped the bluescreen he's standing
in front of. It sure LOOKED like a guy ripping space and time apart
for a moment, but now we can see that he's nowhere near Washington
DC.]

DH: ...an illusion.

Which suits ya fine, Gibson. Yer all about illusion. Mindless insults,
meanin'less chatter, outright lies... anythin' ta cover up th' fact
thet yer a mediocre wrassler who got by because Todd Johnstone an' his
checkbook willed it ta happen. Ya got a special combination of verbal
competence, charisma, lack o' any moral compass, an' gullibility...
th' combina-shin Johnstone kin ride ta th' bank any time. Ya really
think it was YOU all this time? Donkerhardt exposed ya, kid, an'
exposed ya hard. Todd Johnstone don't win Manager Of Th' Year on
account of anyone likes him; he wins on account of even a fool kin see
how he kin manipulate a dumb kid with middlin' ability, an' basically
screw everyone with blatant number games an' deliberate disqualifica-
shins.

But ah ain't really got no quarrel with thet. It'd be lak blamin' th'
spider fer resortin' ta th' use of a web. No, whut ah got a problem
with is yer sense thet all this somehow entitles ya ta stick yer nose
in mah business. Thet yer false vision of yer own greatness somehow
entitles ya ta break in line. Hayes, fer all yer high-horse soundin'
yak, in th' end, yer an oblivious gullible dumbass who pretty much
fell off th' turnip truck yesterday. Tyrone suckered ya, Todd suckered
ya, an' all ya really kin do is hold on an' hope Todd lets ya make
enough money ta git by when he finally finishes with ya, an' does ta
you whut he did with Donkerhardt's mentor. But ah'm sure this ain't
th' first time ya heard thet, now is it?

America, Gibson Hayes, wasn't built by ego. Wasn't built by rhetoric.
Wasn't built by avarice. It was built by th' common man who wanted a
chance fer somethin' better, an' was willin' ta suffer ta git thet
chance. Not entitlement. Not hype. Not even a guarantee. Just a
_chance_. America, Gibson Hayes, has been twisted by th' likes of you
ta be a land of entitlement an' th' embrace o' delusion. A little
delusion in yer life is fine... after all, ah set heah dressed lak a
man outta 1885. But at th' end o' th' day... I _know_ mah name is
Matthew.

You? Yer still tryin' ta figger out howta win a match by yerself. An'
ya wanna jump in line, git in mah business? PLEASE. Las' time, ah
behaved mahself while you had five men jump on me fer ya. Ya talk lak
somehow, this is an accomplishment. No, Hayes... you want an
accomplishment? Ya wanna chance ta prove yer yap?

Unlahk Gibson Hayes, ah understand whut AMERICA is s'pposed ta be
about. So ah'll give it to ya: a chance. A chance ta make yer life
bettah.

At Tradi-shin, if ya wanna be th' Numbah One Contendah, fight me.
Yerself. Ah don' care how bad ya cheat, if ya do it yerself. If Todd
Johnstone so much as steps in th' door o' thet buildin', ah don' care
how old an' worn out he is, ah swear he won't so much as make it ta
th' gorilla position. If Bubba shows up, he'll learn whut a 'cracka'
is when ah 'cracka' rib or six with a damn ball bat. If them
ministers, or them doctors, or even th' goddamn Spectre hisself step
in them doors, ah swear they'll be carried out b'fore our match even
begins. Ya got mah WORD on thet, Hayes. If ah gotta hire Merc, if ah
gotta hire a goddamn Mafia hitman, it'll happen. Yer gonna walk thet
aisle alone. An' if ya still beat me, it's all yours. Numbah One
Contendah, no quarrel.

An' if ya lose, yer back at square one. Bottom of th' rankin's. So low
you'll hafta git a telescope ta see th' Masked Maniac's ass. Take it
or leave it.

An' ah know PVW is already steppin' in ta inflict ever'ones least
favorite "twist"... team up two men whut hate each other jus' ta see
whut they'll do. As far as Weinrib or Mubriak is concerned, they got
their issues an' ah got mine. Ah don' mind wrasslin' 'em; ah think
they's a real good team an' tough competi-shin. But ah mind when some
suit thinks this tired ol' team-up-th'-enemies bull is gonna produce
anythin' resemblin' competi-shin.  Ah know they don' lak when somebody
spits on a big scheduled match lak thet, but ya lookit th'
stipulation: if we win, we get a Tradition match. If Doc Holliday says
thar's gonna be a match at Tradition, an' if Gibson Hayes is up to it,
then it'll happen no matter if ah gotta clear th' ring mahself.  So
Sal an' Max, yer standin' inna way o' progress... a path thet's gonna
git cleared one way or anothah.

So Hayes, ya got exac'ly one op-shin if ya wanna be Numbah One
Contendah: accept mah terms.  But if ya keep ridin' yer delusion o'
grandeur, as if th' whole worl' stands still on yer say-so?  Then yer
gonna ride thet delusion past a whole lotta familiar faces, all th'
way down ta square one.  Where ya gonna hafta climb up on yer own
steam.

An' THAT is America, kid.

[Apparently, it's not a Holliday today, because Doc walks offscreen
without using the catchphrase.  They get old after a while anyway.  We
then fade out to the next segment.]

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

(The scene opens in a parking lot where our President and CEO stands
in a three-piece suit and a huge grin on his face.)

Detson:  ...

(Detson goes to speak but all that comes out is a laugh that he
quickly tries to stifle.  He holds a hand up as he doubles over in
laughter.  Suddenly he regains composure and stands back upright.
Huge politician grin on his face he starts again.)

Detson:  My fellow PVW-ovians, I stand before you here today the
picture perfect definition of success.  Let's us define this success
for those unfortunate enough to not grasp the definition.  The Caleb
Foley's of the world if you will.

(Detson smirks and holds up a single finger.)

Detson:  One, the Johnny Detson challenge is a roaring success.  The
results are even more than I, Johnny Detson, President and CEO, could
have even hoped for.  Young, naïve, and talentless Caleb Foley has
taken this challenge and cheated to win and then made a deal with the
devil himself to survive.

(Detson laughs again.)

Detson:  I mean I just wanted you to come down a peg and get savagely
beaten, which you did.  I had no idea that you would lose all mental
faculties and actually go to Spectre for advice.  Spectre.  Who I,
President and CEO, successfully beat in a Rebirth Rules match and you
went to get advice from?

(Detson shakes his head.)

Detson:  It makes me question your sanity Caleb.  Perhaps you will
have to be looked after by our mental health physicians before I,
Johnny Detson, President and CEO, allow you to compete at Tradition.
Because if there is one thing that Johnny Detson, President and CEO,
is, it is compassionate.

(Detson nods in agreement.)

Detson:  And I cannot, in good conscious, let you compete if your
mental well-being is in doubt.  That is if you can make it to
Tradition.

(Detson frowns.)

Detson:  I do have to admit, you did survive a little more than I
would have liked.  I thought perhaps maybe you would have quit by
know.  You seem to be confusing fighting a losing battle with bravery.
It makes me question your sanity even more.  I mean, to hear you talk
you think that if you get to Tradition that you actually have a chance
against me, YOUR President and CEO?

(Detson laughs and shakes his head.)

Detson:  Caleb, I am the face of the franchise, a highly technical
skilled athlete of which there is no compare.  I have taken this money
draining, hellhole of a company and turned it into the beautiful
utopia that you see today.  Also I have already sounded defeated you
using my superior technical skill.  Surely you don't think you can
win?

(Detson sighs.)

Detson:  Of course, we're getting ahead of ourselves aren't we?  I
mean who knows if you're even getting to Tradition.  Who knows who
you're even face this week in the final leg of the Johnny Detson
challenge?

(Detson smirks.)

Detson:  You've done a lot these past couple of weeks Mr. Foley.
You've cheated a friend and co-conspirator out of a certain victory,
which shook his core so deeply that he dropped his championship, which
he held so dear to him the very next week.  I suppose losing to the
likes of you would do that to a person, I wouldn't have the faintest
idea what that would be like.

(Detson stops as if pondering this very thought and then shudders
afterwards.)

Detson:  Then you make a deal with the devil just so that you can hope
to survive.  Where as I, Johnny Detson, President and CEO, used my
superior technical skill to claim victory in a Rebirth Rules match
against the originator of the contest, you had to beg a madman to hit
you with a chair just to hope to survive.  A hollow victory but then
that seems to be your theme.

(Detson dismisses this notion with a wave of his hand.)

Detson:  This week you face the unknown.  Given your fragile psyche
you are certain to not recover.  I mean it could be and might be
anyone.  As President and CEO of a highly successful, the talent pool
from which I can draw from is endless.  I don't have to stop at the
PVW resources; I could even pull from outside organizations.  The
requests and people clamoring for the opportunity to take you down has
been endless.

(Detson throws on his politician smile and extends his arms.)

Detson:  That is why, this Heatwave, I, as President and CEO, will be
holding open auditions for the final spot to face Caleb Foley in the
Johnny Detson challenge.  These auditions are open to anyone and
everyone, except Juan Vasquez, who wants to showcase their talents in
one of the best wrestling organizations, Johnny Detson, President and
CEO, throughout sports.

(Detson nods in agreement, excitement growing in his eyes.)

Detson:  Unlike some other places that like to drench themselves in a
cloak of exclusivity, I, Johnny Detson, President and CEO, believe in
open competition between all interested parties, a fair and balanced
approach if you will.  Because this isn't just about the PVW, but the
universal destruction of one Caleb Foley!

(Again Detson nods.)

Detson:  And that is one initiative that serves the greater good not
just of the PVW, Johnny Detson, President and CEO, but the greater
good of all of professional wrestling.

(An evil smirk creeps on Detson's face.)

Detson:  The other rousing success was my highly technical sound win
last Heatwave against Chris Hartt ensuring my place in the Called Shot
match.  Now your President and CEO did use his superior technical
skill to come away the victor in the match just like I said I would,
it was still marred by the presence of Nevermind.  Once again, Caleb
Foley sent this person down to the ringside area and cost his friend a
match.  Obviously he was jealous of their success at Rise From the
Ashes, in light of his sound defeat, and saw to it that his "friends"
failed to win a match thereafter.

(Detson hangs his head in disappointment.)

Detson:  Mr. Hartt, to you I offer an apology.  As President and CEO
of this fine company I want you to know that I deplore this kind of
behavior.  Caleb Foley is a disease that the PVW needs to be rid of
and I ensure you that it is one of my top priorities.  As a highly
paid executive of this company I will offer you this small bit of
advice and encouragement.  Make sure you choose your allies more
carefully in the future and let me ensure you that Caleb Foley's
diabolical scheme had no bearing on the match that I was bound to win
using my superior technical skill!

(Detson nods in agreement.)

Detson:  As I've stated before, I care about all who fall under my
employ.  You have a bright future in this company as long as that
future doesn't involve facing your President and CEO, as I
demonstrated last week.  Please take the lessons in sound wrestling
that I provided you last week in your defeat and use them as you move
on in this company.  In fact, I will have a spot open for you if you
choose to audition for the final spot in the Johnny Detson challenge.
You may want to consider this offer instead of having to be soundly
defeated this Heatwave by my hands once again.  No don't the betrayal
of Caleb Foley still burns in your soul as I can see that much like
your President and CEO, you are a man of integrity and honor.  Noble
traits to be sure, but not traits that can be match when in comparison
to your President and CEO.

(Detson smirks.)

Detson:  So now the grand campaign begins, where your President and
CEO gains full control of this company through the Called Shot.  Sure
there will be others who want this honor as well, but will surely fall
to my superior technical skill.  I have decided therefore, to reward
all of my supporters, the little people, as I march straight through
to End Game and claim my prize for as the hard work I've done as
President and CEO.  On my Road to Greatness!

(Detson walks down the lot a short bit stopping in front of a
magnificent tour bus.  The shiny silver bus looks brand new.  On the
sides of the bus it reads in purple and gold trim "THE ROAD T
GREATNESS!" and has a picture of Johnny Detson with the title
"President and CEO" and "Face of the Franchise" underneath his
picture.  The PVW logo is also emblazoned on the side of the bus.)

Detson:  With the economic gains the company has made since I've taken
the reigns, we have managed to afforded this state of the art vehicle
so I can travel the road and meet with all the little people on my
march to End Game, on my Road to Greatness.  The Road to Greatness
Campaign will be touring all the lesser known cities of the Southwest
so that you can have your very own encounter with greatness before you
have to return to your ordinary mundane existences.

(Detson smirks.)

Detson:  Yes the Road to Greatness tour coming to a city near you.
It's my way of thanking all the little people out there for their
support with the best gift that I could give.  ME!  So Tucson, get
ready because the first stop is there as the final leg of the Johnny
Challenge and also the final chapter of Caleb Foley.  Once I rid the
PVW of this plague, then your President and CEO, will march on
straight through to End Game where I take my first step to a greater
destiny.  As President and CEO, this isn't just for me...no...this is
also for all of you, the little people.

(Detson laughs and flashes his trademark cocky smirk.)

Detson:  You're welcome.

(With that the bus doors open and our President and CEO enters the bus
and it begins to take off.  As it leaves we slowly fade to black.)

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

[Fade in:

CRASH!

Something shatters as the cameras fade in inside the Prophets of Rage
dressing room.  Shadoe Rage is in the midst of a tantrum.  He hurls a
glass at the wall.  Glass shards explode everywhere.  The elder
Prophet breathes heavily.  His eyes blaze.  There is nothing calm
about him. Derek Rage, on the other hand, barely registers his
brother's tantrum. He simply gets dressed for the ring.  Swingin' Dean
Hayes is on hand. He watches Shadoe Rage warily, afraid that at any
point that the wild Nova Scotian will go after him.  Pizzazz Elysee
applies makeup.  She's been through this before.  She knows Shadoe's
temper and his barely there rationality.  She simply rolls her eyes.]

SDH: I've come at a bad moment obviously?

DR: (glancing at his brother) Him?  He's just working off some steam.

SDH: Some steam?

DR: Yeah, he's a bit pissed off that we lost to Max and Sal.

[Hayes ducks involuntarily as Shadoe throws something at Pizzazz's
makeup mirror, cracking it.  Pizzazz sighs deeply, collecting her
things.  She marches over to Derek, kisses him and promptly leaves the
dressing room.  She cuts her eyes at Shadoe before she leaves.]

SDH: I see that.  You?

DR: It's a bit difficult for us right now.  We're going through a
slump. But I don't handle things like this.  I don't think it's
productive.

SDH: But you can't control him?

[Derek looks towards his older brother.]

DR: I don't try.  Not when he's like this.  I just wait it out.

SDH: How long will this last?

DR: Until we win.

SDH: So what will it take to do that?

[Derek leans forward, folding his hands under his chin.]

DR: We've been a team for a lot of years.  There are a lot of ups and
downs that go through with that.  We can't just get by on energy any
more.

[He spares his brother a pointed glance.]

SDH: So what does it take?

DR: It takes strategy and teamwork.  That's the basic thrust of tag-
team wrestling.  More so than singles competition as a tag-team you've
got to have a strategy, timing and teamwork.  We usually have that,
but sometimes we're just not as focused on our game plan as we should
be. Sometimes we get bored, sometimes we get a little lazy, sometimes
we take teams for granted.

SDH: What does it mean then going up against the Renegades?

DR: It means we've got to bring more energy.  There comes a point
where teams start taking us too lightly and we've got to start taking
things personally and making a statement.  We haven't really been
taking teams seriously.  We haven't really been giving everything our
all for a little bit since Phoenix Valley restarted.  And we just
can't do that any more.  But there's no point getting mad about it.
We've just got to do something about it.  There are ways to do that
without destroying a dressing room.  But that's his way of getting
himself ready.  I'm not going to get caught up in it.

SDH: Sounds like there's some tension here.

DR: (shaking his head) Naw, we don't have tension between us.  We just
know we've got to do better.

SDH: Shadoe?

[The wildman's burning glare stabs through Hayes.]

SDH: Do you have any comments on what your brother has said?

SR: I told you before that the Prophets of Rage have to come back!
Yeah, Max and Sal, they got past us because we're sleeping at the
switch.  But that's not going to happen any more.  I am nobody's
stepping stone!  The Prophets of Rage are going back to the top of the
mountain.  That's all I have to say.  Now get out of here, Hayes.  Get
out of here before I really get angry.

[Hayes looks to Derek.  Derek gestures with his chin to the door and
nods gently.]

DR: You should speak to us after the match.  [He winks.]  Cool?

SDH: Cool.

SR: Now get out!

[Shadoe Rage picks up something that looks heavy.  Hayes bolts for the
door.

Fade out]

****************************************
****************************************
JD Houlihan (Renegades)
****************************************
****************************************

[Before us sits half of PVW's newest tag team sensations the
Renegades, this half being JD Houlihan.  JD's standing in front of a
black back drop, with a single spotlight on him.  He's in his
wrestling gear, sweat on his brow probably from working out recently.
JD stands with his arms crossed his chest,  a cocky pretty boy smirk
on his face.]

JD: So, did ya miss us?  Was us taking a week off a thorn in
your side, a blight on your week? Well if it was, I do apologize! You
see, after what took place on Heatwave a few weeks ago, we _NEEDED_
some time off.  When your a young up and coming tag team like this,
losing is hard enough! Losing already hurts enough that it makes you
want to tuck your tails in between your legs and hide! But we can
handle losing.  We can overcome a defeat.  Everyone knows that _NO
ONE_ wins every match.  But when you not only suffer defeat inside
that squared circle, but also get jumped in the back???

[Shakes his head.]

Defiantly time to take a week off to reflect and figure things out! If
not... something crazy mighta' happened!

[Laughs.]

JD: Not by my hands, no, I'm not the crazy one.  I'm the technical
wizard pretty boy! I turn people into pretzels with a million dollar
smile! But you see, Devin... Devin's the nut ball.  Devin's the one
liable to _EXPLODE_ and do something crazy! Thus, we needed some
personal time to reflect, and reflect we did!

[Nods.]

JD: Yins shoulda' seen the anger in Devin's eyes.  Not only did those
Mexican punks wallow in their Mexican filth, 'defending' their titles,
hiding from us, hiding from the enviable... they decide to send our
cousins after us! And, as one thing always leads to another, a certain
someone was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and was on the
receiving end of one helluva slap!

I've been calling it "THE SLAP HEARD ROUND THE WORLD!"

[Chuckles.]

JD: And as wrong as it is to hit a woman... and as apologetic as we
are here at Camp Renegade.... I do have to say... I enjoyed EVERY
minute of it when I watched it later! I even slowed it down on my DVR,
just to watch her expression change on impact!  Now, I know that's not
'cool' or politically correct.  I know I'm supposed to stand here, and
make a stump speech about how horrible it was for a woman to be hit in
the face by a man! After all, domestic abuse IS a big problem in this
world today!

But I just can't...

[Another chuckle and a shake of hate head.]

JD: Not after the Corazones have behaved the way they have....  Not
after the attacks, the cheating, the outright refusal to fight like
MEN... Not after they spent weeks in Mexico 'defending' their bullshit
titles, and especially NOT after they send their cousins to end my
career.  I might be the pretty boy of the group.  I might be the
'nerd', the one who wants to study film and spend all day in the gym.
But Devin and I _ARE_ twins, and I do have some of _HIS_ attitude
tucked deep within this gorgeous body!

[Nods.]

JD: So instead of pining over it.. Instead of crying about it... like
SOMEONE has...***COUGH*DEVIN*COUGH***  I will simply do what I do
best, and go out there and COMPETE! I will not worry about the
Corazones.  I already know their lying, cheating sacks of shit and
already plotting on how to ruin the main event on On the Road! But
that is not under my control...  I have to stay focused on the goal in
front of me and that is walking out of that ring with my arm held high
in victory!

[Smile widens.]

JD: That;'s right, Prophets...  After a week off, and even with
knowing those Mexican punks are in the building, that's all I am
focused on -- winning!  I know you're former tag team champs.  I know
all about the legacy, the history and your fame.  I know about it ALL,
and all I can say is this...

Looks like at On the Road there will be a passing of the torch!

[JD looks off to the side, dreamingly it seems. He laughs, shakes his
head and refocuses on the camera.]

JD: You guys are the OLD GUARD, the OLD MEN in the room with all the
new young talent. You are like the old rusted Camary, priced at a
discount because everyone's out buying the new Prius! Sure, you still
run good and their's some life left in the tank.  But you cannot
compete with the new models, the brand new cars on the showroom floor.
The new cars will out race you, out drive you and just flat out
perform you! It's only a matter of time, Prophets! The clock is
ticking on your career, which is why I believe you are here in the
first place! You couldn't stand watching the hourglass of your career
run empty without one final shot at glory, one final attempt to
reestablish yourself as bona fide tag team contenders!

So, with all the respect for what you've accomplished aside.... With
all the respect for what you've meant to Pee Vee Dubbya aside... I
will say this, Prophets, come PREPARED.  The Renegades are HUNGRY, and
ready to fight.  We have been dealing with Mexican trash for weeks
now, and it will fill _GREAT_ to get inside that ring, and actually
_WRESTLE_! WE will be putting on a tag team wrestling clinic at On the
Road, Prophets!

I just hope, in your OLD age you can _keep up_!

[Fade.]

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

4 PM

Stoughton Massachusetts...

[The camera pans to a back alley. A few small buildings stand adjacent
to one another. Snow blocks the sidewalks as graffiti mars the front
of the apartment complexes.  A slight breeze chills through the cold
winter air.  Standing atop a little snow bunker is PVW's warrior,
Larry Gionet. He wears a blue PVW Sweatshirt, navy blue jeans and
white Nike sneakers. The hood covers the majority of his face leaving
his piercing blue eyes visible.]

Larry Gionet:  What does a man do after being handed a set of loses,
after a few setbacks?  Some men would drown their sorrows in their
addictions. Others would ride off into the sunset and never return
back. Larry Gionet is no ordinary man. I came to where it all began
for me. To recharge my batteries physically and mentally.  Those that
doubt my ability, those that think I am on some slippery slope don't
know a damn thing about me. They do not know the first thing about my
life about what I've been through to make me who I am today.

[Larry Gionet looks down as the hood of his sweatshirt hovers over his
face giving off a dark shadowy light. The snow crumbles under his feet
as he is recalling a past he rarely showed with others. His eyelashes
flicker like a hummingbirds wings as Gionet blinks and lets out an
exhaustive sigh as one can see his cold breath blowing out like
steam.]

LG:  You see my dad was a Navy seal.  A disciplined fighter, a
featherweight champion in his day. His duties kept him away from home.
It left my mom to care for five children.  I was the middle kid having
to hear kids at school gloat about their dads taking them to ball
games or volunteering to coach their little league teams or taking
them out on camping trips.  Yeah we got postcards and money for
birthdays and Christmas but it could never substitute him being there
for the crucial points in my young life.  So I kept to myself and
started lifting weights as a teen which would prepare me for my career
when I got older.

[Larry Gionet blows into his hands that are turning red from the
single digit temperatures in Stoughton Massachusetts. He rubs his
hands together to keep warm as if igniting a flame within his soul.
His demeanor vastly changes by just looking into his eyes.  He shakes
his head back and forth in a look of disdain and disgust on his face.]

LG:  Then dear old dad came home when I was 17.  While the others were
overjoyed he came home I resented him. He stayed away from us and he
had a choice!  Now all of a sudden he wants to be the good father?!
He offered to take me under his wing and train me to box. Despite not
being 18 and not having much money to my name due to helping my mom
pay the bills I reluctantly allowed him to train me. He trained me
strict and hard to the bone. There were days when I felt I would
collapse from exhaustion.   The resentment stayed with me as I would
train to wrestle at 19 years old. Around that time my dad started
getting sick. He would develop lung cancer from smoking. Three days
before my first match at age 20 despite glimmers of hope, he lost his
battle and passed away never getting to see me wrestle.  It only added
to my anger and resentment.

[Larry Gionet rolls his hands in a circular motion like trying to rev
up an engine. The wheels inside his head begin to turn as he looks up
squarely into the camera with the rest of his face still being
obstructed from view. He looks up as snowflakes begin to fall before
looking back into the camera's lens with fierce focus on his mind.]

LG:  But throughout my thirteen year career, I realized my father was
100% right.  I had to be strict to make myself stand out high and
above the pack. It is a symbol of how I came to be better, tougher and
more talented then all these people in Phoenix Valley Wrestling who
fail to be as strict or austere. That are mere weaklings in comparison
to what I've striven to be my whole life.  Tom Landis you used to be a
tag team champion around here. Then you got left alone to fend for
yourself and lost the PVW Tag Team Titles. Maybe just maybe in the
back of your mind you feel like you failed your family. Maybe  this
match against me for the slot in the Called Shot match is your
redemption song.  Perhaps you feel the chains that previously held you
with Perry Fontana are now broken but you have not received your
ticket to freedom.  I can take the pain I embrace it because it makes
me feel alive. Just remember whatever you dish out at me Landis, I
will unleash ten times worse on you. Then you will know what its like
to feel alive, to be free. To live with the haunting reality that you
were just this close to immortality.  Look at me Landis and read my
lips. I don't fail!  Don't try to be a hero Tom because I won't stop
until that called shot slot is mine.  Until I walk out #1 contender
for the PVW World Championship. It doesn't matter if you go down in
shame, or die in flames. PVW you will forever know my name!

[Larry Gionet looks down at the littered street below and jumps off.
pieces of newspaper go flying as Gionet's feet hit the tar below.  He
slowly walks to his left as the wind begins to pick up.  Larry Gionet
pulls his hood further down to combat the wind and rubs his arms for
warmth as we fade to black.]

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

(Scene opens. We're in a fast food restaurant of some sort. The place
is pretty empty, as there are a couple patrons seated in one corner, a
couple teens ordering at the till, and in the other corner, seated at
one of the plastic table and chair ensembles, is the Mercenary. He's
chowing down on some kind of tortilla wrapped something-or-other, hot
sauce and grease dripping down his chin. Placed in front of him is a
serving tray, holding a plastic cup, tortilla chips smothered in
liquid cheese and ground beef, and a cardboard container of fries.
[The food containers have a red bell logo, but since the company
doesn't pay for advertising time with PVW, it shall remain anonymous].
Seeing the camera, Merc wipes his chin and takes a loud slurp from his
drink.)

Merc: Ahhh... Fresca and pseudo-Mexican food... the breakfast of
champions. Doesn't get any better than that. And yes, I'm referring to
myself as a champion. Why not? If Danny Danielson can call himself a
champ, why can't I? He might have come up with a fancy name... Supreme
Champion for himself, but what does that really mean? Does that mean
that he bought himself a title belt and covered it with ground beef,
melty cheese and salsa and called it Supreme, just like these so-
called Nachos Supreme? From what I know about him, he quite possibly
did.

Or if he didn't, and it is a legit belt, I've been around long enough
to see any number of wrestling organizations that used Supreme in
their name, Supreme Championship Wrestling amongst others, being the
first to come to mind. None of those federations amounted to anything
more than a backyard wrestling league with web cam. So, if he did
manage to find one of their old belts in a pawn shop, it doesn't mean
much of anything. Either way, the Supreme title means just as much as
a piece of toilet paper with Harvard written on it. Just because you
say its something, doesn't make it so.

Now, as for Chance McKenzie... You had better keep your nose out of
this match. You've already cost me a shot at the Network/TV title, and
I'm damned sure not going to let you cost me this one as well. Yeah, I
may have had something to do with you not moving on to the Called Shot
match, but in reality, you didn't have a hope in hell of getting there
anyways. Me showing up in your match was just giving the fans what
they wanted. And now its time to get what I want. Well, at least part
of what I want. First I get into the Called Shot match. Then I get my
property back... Then I get my shot at the big belt. And somewhere in
between all of that, my employer gets what he wants... and that's a
piece of Jessica Marshall. She's pissed off a lot of people in her
storied past, and someone or someones, wants to get their revenge on
her.

(A pimply face little Oriental girl comes up to Merc's table with
another tray of  nachos, burritos, mexi-fries, tacos, chimichangas and
gorditas. All of them are covered in cheese, salsa, hot sauce and
whatever mexican toppings you can think of. She puts them on the table
and returns to the kitchen)

Merc: (As he grabs a greasy chimichanga).. Now, if you'll excuse me, I
have some 'Supreme' training to do.

(Fade to snow)

****************************************
****************************************
The Heat
****************************************
****************************************


[A quartet stands in front of a simple PVW phoenix backdrop. One of
them is a hairy, muscled Mexican (Paco) and next to him is a big dude
with a white bandana and cornrows (Maxim). In front of these two is a
much smaller man who is in a pink tuxedo with LED flashing bow tie and
air horn. Demurely sitting on a chair, just a bit away from those
three, is a woman in a mesh and lace spider outfit with a veil on. She
twirls a bright yellow umbrella and a little white mouse sleeps on her
shoulder.]

MAGIC: Listen all you crazy kids out there, hoping against hope to
catch a lil'bit of The HEAT! Ya see, on this here next HEAT-wave, your
dreams are gonna come true!

[Arvelle blows his air horn. Florine's poor rat jumps up and scurries
between her cleavage.]

The HEAT, the most dynamic, sensation, lady pleasin', man beatin' tag
team in the history of tag teams is comin' at you Tuck-son. Ya know,
The HIT has been the top draw, talk of the town and the _ONLY_ reason
to tune in to the P-V-W. You've got the raw, unbridled MAH-CHEEZE-MO
of PACO and the legit street heat of Maxim, all right here in one
location. With the man who is MAGIC on the microphone and a damned
brilliant wizard in tactics, me, Arvie LaFayette, the HEAT can't be
beat. Gah-awn, try ta beat the HEAT! Y'all will jus' end up fried like
an egg on a hot Southern afternoon, believe you me!

[PACO and Maxim flex for the ladies.]

With PACO and Maxim, ya know the ladies in the Tuck-son area are gonna
be falling over themselves and outta them dresses ta get att'em. You
see, with beefcake like this, no pair of panties is safe. But don't
think we ain't got a lil' summin-summin for the fellas. Miss FLOOR-
REEEN, daddy-o! MISS FLOOR-REEEN Walker-Davies will also be at
ringside. She puts the boom-boom in the boom-boom swagga, if you catch
my drift. She's got more dangerous curves than an unpaved mountain
road in India and the only mountains that can compare to her in the
Western Hemisphere are the Andes... and even those are struggling to
keep up!

[Florine fishes out her baby and plants a little peck on its cheek
while winking at the camera.]

The HEAT! HEAT-wave, a show named after our own best of the best,
champagne sipping selves! On your T.V.! On the pulse of what is HOT!
Bringing The HEAT! The semi-finals of the HEAT Invitational
Tournament! The HEAT take on... well, I can't tell y'all yet but buy
those tickets and, ladies, make sure you bring an extra set of undies
cause the HEAT are gonna make sure you're soaked at the end of the
night! The future of the tag team world is present, front, center and
oh so damned HOT! C'mon folks, we just got to HOT for the room!

[A snap of the fingers and the quartet walks off camera.]

****************************************
****************************************
Los Corazones
****************************************
****************************************

[The scene opens upon a hotel room, two twin beds sit in the middle of
the room, both of which have a black duffel bag upon them and items of
clothing can be seen tossed upon the bed and floor. A man walks in
from off camera with pile of clothes in his arms, which he just tosses
onto the bed. As the camera focuses upon the man it is instantly
recognized as Corazòn Rojo, the white mask with the red heart being
the dead give away.]

CR: Siete semanas ... siete semanas ... seven long weeks since we have
been in the United States.

[Corazòn Rojo just shoves a few shirts into the bag as he continues to
speak.]

CR: Siete semanas and nueve defenses ... and still we wear the ASLL
title belts with pride and honor ...

[Off to the side Corazòn Blanco can be heard snorting in disgust.]

CB: Pride and honor ... two words esos hijos de puta ...

[Rojo looks in the direction of Blanco's voice and just stares at him
as he continues to speak.]

CB: Don't look at me like that Rojo ... Los Renegados are just that.
You saw the pictures our fair Emylee sent us. Her lovely face
tarnished by a sick purplish bruise around her eye ... tarnished by
the right hand of that bastard Devin ....

[The camera finally pans around to show Corazòn Blanco, in his
trademark red mask with white heart upon it, tossing various items of
clothing into a black duffel bag, the ASLL sitting on the bed next to
the bag. He stops tossing items into the bag and grabs the gold ASLL
title belt and holds it in his hands.]

CB:  Tell me Rojo are these worth it? Are these worth leaving her with
El Corazòn Negro ...

[Corazòn Rojo walks over and places his right hand upon the shoulder
of Corazòn Blanco and grabs a hold of the title belt with his left.]

CR: Recuerda que fue su idea ... Emylee wanted to stay in the states,
to make sure that the PVW wouldn't forget about us. She could have
stayed with us ... done everything over the phone ... but she wanted
Los Corazones presence felt ...

CB: And look what happened!

CR: Emylee es una mujer dura.

[Corazòn Blanco shakes his head in agreement and places the title belt
back onto the bed.]

CR: Todavía no está bien ... Los Rengados will pay ...

[Corazòn Rojo nods his head in agreement.]

CR: Por supuesto que se ... por supuesto que se.

CB: Has Emylee told you our opponents in Tucson?

CR: A team who calls themselves the Arizona Choir Boys. She said they
had an impressive debut against El Corazòn Negro Uno y Dos ... but she
says our cousins seemed a bit ... shall we say distracted.

[Corazòn Blanco chuckles]

CB: Afraid is more like it.

CR: The Arizona Choir Boys appear to be an interesting duo ... Vega
Caliente would be a perfect fit in the ASLL, so Emylee says ... but
this E.W Montgomery is a bit of a wild card ... a bit of a brawler ...

CB: So a big boy?

CR: Bigger than you.

[Corazòn Rojo chuckles as Corazòn Blanco tosses a shirt at him.]

CB: Arizona Choir Boys ... a strange name ...

CR: Like I said a strange duo.

CB: What about Los Renegados ... who do they face?

CR: Prophets of Rage ...

[Corazòn Blanco sighs.]

CB: Había una vez ... they could have given Los Renegados a beating
... a vicious beating ... but they appear a step off their game. Once
has to wonder if their age is catching up to them.

CR: Blanco ... we need to focus on the Arizona Choir boys ...

CB: Rojo, they are just a speed bump ... a minor distraction on our
path to Los Renegados.

[Fade to black.]

****************************************
****************************************
William Craven
****************************************
****************************************

[Scene: an exterior view showing the Salt River Valley at sunset.
Tall, branching cacti cast long, blue shadows over a patch of reddish
sand.  From behind those cacti, having blended in with them almost
perfectly, the big, green form of William Craven emerges.  Rubbing his
bald head with one hand, Craven smiles placidly, then rubs a hand down
over his face.]

WC: They say that the water washes away all sin.  Here on the banks of
the Salt River, I find myself wondering why one would wish it so.  We
are, after all, nothing but the sum of our actions and, even if
another feels that you have acted wrongly, if you can take pride in
what you have accomplished...

[Trailing off, Bill stares off towards the shores of the river.]

WC: I, often, do regret my actions or, rather ... my lack of action.
Wish I'd done more, done it sooner, gone further.  But then, there are
... repercussions.  The powers that be disagree with my methods and
surely would make me pay for my sins as if they were archangels at the
gates of heaven.

Instead ... I find myself rewarded ... thanks to Chip Lester.

[Somewhere, somehow, Fred Hoyle is screaming with laughter.]

WC: You see, if I'd merely ended Rob Cole, who knows what may have
happened?  A career-ending injury leaves the roster short a former
world champion.  Heh, and if Cole were to die...

[Smiling, Craven gets a distant, wistful look in his eye.]

WC: So I find myself rewarded where, in the past, I may have been
marginalized.  In one night I spread Rob Cole's blood across the arena
like so much red paint and helped my former nemesis to defeat one of
my best friends, and immediately thereafter I am rewarded with my
first title match in PVW.

Many years have passed since I last held gold, and, interestingly, it
was a title whose holder was said to reign over North America.  Now,
Herscher von Donkerhardt, a non-American, faces a son of the Motor
City, the home of American industry.  Interestingly, he would much
rather face my dear, old friend Marcus...

Given recent events, Herscher, I don't blame you.

[Chuckling, Bill moves across the brush of the desert, twitching
slightly and ducking suddenly to snatch something up from the sand and
soil.]

WC: What have we here?  My long lost son?

[Holding up a reptile of pale earth tones, Craven continues to laugh,
turning the gaping jaws of the lizard towards the camera.  It's a Gila
Monster.]

WC: Can you see the resemblance?  Isn't it ironic that the greener one
between us is the man, not the lizard?  This creature, one of the only
venemous lizards to exist in the world, is truly a survivor.  For
millions of years he and his have existed to prowl the world's
deserts, hunting and scavenging for sustenance while those less
deserving took the lion's share.

We are, in this way, very similar.  You see, Herscher, that while you
wish to face the unproven Marcus Manson, you have instead found
something much worse.  Honed by the years to be an avatar of violence,
you face me now because I have proven, time and again, what I am
capable of.  I defeated many to lay claim to the Blood Bowl trophy,
and, more recently, I laid low the man who threatens you now by way of
the Meatgrinder.  At every turn in my career, spanning almost two
decades, I have evolved to face the challenge.  In each case I was
more than a match for what I was set against.  You thought Manson was
bad, Herscher?  Well ... it gets worse...

[Holding the lizard up again, Craven waits as the camera zooms in on
it's squirming head.  Fade.]

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

[The camera pans into a park where a lone person sits on a bench
wearing a grey sweat soaked jogging suit.  Not many are out this time
of year, but Tommy Ryder sits as if contemplating things.]

TR: Christopher Black, so that's who I'm up against next.

[Tommy puts a hand behind his brown hair scratching his head.]

TR: Chris, let me tell you that I don't like braggarts.  Never have to
tell the truth.  I mean to some extent the things you say are true or
will be true or you go to any extent to make them true.

why don't you tell me what makes you any different?  Are you going to
tell me about how bad that you're going to beat me and then while
we're in our match and you can't quite get the job done, some one
comes along and helps you get the win?  Is that what's going to
happen?  Tellin me and every one else that you're going to kick my ass
and then you need help to beat the 5'9" and 195 lbs guy?  Then next
time we hear from you it's all about how easy it was to get past me?

Chris let's do a quick check.  How many of the guys that have beaten
me have done it straight up?  I mean a clean win over the smallest guy
on the roster.  And how many have had to go to the hole of some one
coming out to save them because they couldn't handle what the 195
pound guy was throwing at them.  How many of them had to break out the
dirty bag of tricks to get the win?

So Chris, let's go ahead and say it.  I'm the better wrestler.  We get
in there on Heatwave and in a match where it's just you and me.  I
beat you.

Don't worry, I know that the match isn't going to go that way.  It's
going to be hard for you.  I'm going to take you to school and hit you
in ways that you didn't think that a human body could be used against
another person.  I'm going to take you and show you that a bad boy
image doesn't make you a good wrestler.  Being able to get in that
ring and do things that no one else can makes you a good wrestler.
And in a perfect world that person, The Phenom, gets the win.

Are we in that world?  Of course not.  But it's time again to see if
your dirty bag of tricks is enough to get you past a better wrestler.
It's time to see if arrogance and cheap shots is enough to get past a
guy that won't stoop to your level.  I've still got to prove to people
that you can do things the right way and get ahead.  What are you
actually trying to prove?

[As Tommy gets up from the bench, "Lady" Laurel Levinger comes jogging
up from around the bend in the path.]

LL: Are you done whining about cheaters yet?

[Before Tommy can answer, Laurel turns to the camera.]

LL: Look Blue...

[Laurel has a look on her face as if the camera man is talking to
her.]

LL: I don't care what color his name is!  Like it's his real name.
Oh, I'll call myself some color that makes people think of darkness.
Whatever.  Listen Pink, here's the bottom line.  This guy goes out
there and tries to prove something and you've got a chance.  If he
listens to me, there is no force on this planet that will get you the
win.  Period.  Think about that Mauve.

[With that the camera fades out as the two jog off.]

****************************************
****************************************
Marcus Manson #2
****************************************
****************************************

[The camera fades up to a shot of the building that serves as Marcus
Manson's gym in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. A big SOLD sign is stuck to
the side of the building. Near the sign stands Johnathan Regnigh, the
brother-in-law of Manson and a man PVW fans may be familiar with as
the former "manager" of WMI. Regnigh pulls a set of keys from his
pocket and unlocks the front door to step inside as he talks on his
cell phone.]

Regnigh: "Yeah, I just signed the paperwork. No, I don't know where he
is, I haven't heard from him. I'm actually surprised how little he
asked for the building.

[Regnigh pauses and tosses his keys back in his pocket as he flips on
the lights. Despite the building being sold, Manson's custom ring
still sits in the center of the  gym, with weight equipment and a case
on the wall with several title belts inside.]

Regnigh: Wow. He hasn't picked up anything. All his stuff is still
here. i don't know, I would have expected he would have put it in
storage or taken it with him to wherever he's staying.

[After a quick look around, Regnigh picks up the mail and moves to set
it on a nearby counter.]

Regnigh: Alright, I can't wait here to see if he shows up, I gotta go
pick up the kids from school...

[Regnigh says his goodbyes and turns to head back towards the door,
and nearly runs into his brother-in-law, Marcus Manson.]

Manson: What the hell are you doing here?

[Regnigh half smirks.]

Regnigh: Nice to see you too, I own this place now. Where've you been,
bro?

[Manson scowls and moves past Regnigh to pick up the mail that he'd
set on the counter.]

Manson: None of your business.

[Regnigh furrows his brow, frustrated.]

Regnigh: Well, when are we leaving for Heatwa-

[Manson turns, cutting off Regnigh and scowling.]

Manson: WE'RE not. I'm leaving when I feel like it.

[Regnigh opens his mouth to speak but Manson cuts him off again.]

Manson: John, you need to back off. I don't need your help, and I
don't need you traveling with me and nagging me about what I'm doing.
The path that I am going down is not one that you have the stomach
for.

I'm not going out there to please the fans. I'm not going out there to
deliver a stunning performance. I'm not you, and I'm not HvD, and I
don't need the crowd behind me to win. I'm going to hurt people, and I
am going to win championships. And that starts at Heatwave.

[Manson brushes past Regnigh and stops in the doorway.]

Manson: Go back to your wife and kids, and go back to your wrestling
school. Teach the next generation of stars, and stay away from PVW.
You probably won't like what you see if you don't.

[Manson walks out the door, and Regnigh sighs as we fade.]

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

(Scene: A room filled with various types of exercise equipment. The
room is empty save for one person standing in the corner, against the
wall with their head down. This person is wearing black sweatpants and
matching sneakers. This person is Herscher von Donkerhardt. Herscher
raises his head and looks into the camera and begins to speak.)

HvD: When I beat Gibson Hayes, I became champion. When I became
champion I became a target. I accepted that, it went with the belt. I
knew people would be coming after me, to show everyone what they are
capable of, to make on impression on PVW and on me. Marcus Manson, The
Misery Machine, set out to make an impression at the last Showcase.
Mr. Manson you succeeded and made an impression on me. Let me share
that impression with you now.

(Herscher steps out of the corner, and towards the camera)

HvD: You are SO impressive Marcus Manson. You amaze me with your
ability to attack someone from behind. Thats quite a skill you
possess, what an achievement. I am but a trained wrestler, but my
skills are no match for you. Nobody is a match for you for we do not
possess the talent to be, nothing more than a common thug! But wait,
to be fair you are much more. You are a coward who didn't have the
courage to face me man to man, you chose simply to attack me from
behind! You are a weasel for introducing yourself into a situation you
had no business being in. You are also, as you Americans say a whiny
bitch! PVW didn't recognize your achievements in the ring and grant
you a shot at any of the titles, so out of jealously perhaps you
decided to take matters into your own hands and nearly end my career!

(Herscher has become red faced and is breathing rather heavily right
now)

HvD: (Taking a moment to calm himself down) No, not this time. Unlike
you I will not let my anger get the better of me. Well you've gotten
what you wanted, the attention of PVW and of me, congratulations. But,
as you Americans also say, be careful what you wish for. We will meet
in the ring, we will face each other man to man and we will see how
you do in a fair fight. You have brute force, I have years of training
and experience in the art of submission wrestling. Lets see how well
you fare when you are stretched and contorted in ways you didn't think
possible and see if you really are The Misery Machine or just another
chicken[EDIT]!


(Herscher closes his eyes and takes a deep long breath. He then
exhales slowly, before open his eyes and facing the camera again)

HvD: But, that will have to wait, as I am scheduled to defend my title
against the man they call "The Motor City Mad Man", William Craven.
Mr. Craven I can honestly say i've never encountered anyone quite like
you in the ring. You are powerful, dangerous and most likely insane.
You're green with tattoos on the outside, black and cold on the
inside. You may be dangerous and unpredictable, but underneath the
facade you have created you are still a man. No matter how scary you
look and act, you are still made of flesh and blood like the rest of
us. You have muscles that can tear and bones that can break, and I am
more than capable of making them tear and break. Come and face me
lizard man, be "scary", bring your own brand of violence. People don't
know if you have come from a carnival side show, an insane asylum, or
the fiery pits of Hell but it doesn't matter. When you step in that
ring with me, and I will bring my worst and wherever you came from is
where you will be crawling back to. Ik ben Herscher von Donkerhardt!

(fade to black)

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

[Fade in, on the stunning vista of the Tortolita Mountains.  Set
against this backdrop in the Sonoran Desert is the well-manicured
facade of the Ritz-Carlton Tuscon (even if it is located in nearby
Manara instead).  We pan across the hotel, focusing on one particular
window.  Zooming inside for the shot, we find ourselves in a large
conference room with comfortable chairs, a long cherry wood table, and
one of those fancy coffee machines that offers a wide variety of taste
options currently not in use.

Making use of this conference room, however, is not a Steve Jobs type
trying to inspire his staff or worrying about the company's quarterly
earnings.  There are only two men occupying this room:  Jacob Rose and
"Bad Wolf" Christopher Black.  Apparently in the midst of delivering a
report, Rose eyes the camera warily.  However, Black only offers the
camera a faint smirk as he defiantly kicks up his feet and rests his
Doc Martens onto the table as if it were a foot stool.]

JR:  [brow arching slightly, then shakes his head]  ...as I was
saying, Mister Black, though I am not yet familiar with the specific
vernacular used for certain manuveurs, I think you'll find the
descriptions that I used more than sufficient in getting across how
efficient -- and potentially dangerous -- they are.  Likewise, I've
gone over where it seems Mister Sinister may be physically vulnerable
or at least may have a hard time countering.  I've also taken the
liberty of adding time notations on the included DVD so you can refer
to them easier.

[The finely-tailored Rose hands his client a manila folder.  Black
casually begins to flip though it, then frowns as he holds up a piece
of paper.]

CB:  Oy!  What's this here then?

JR:  Ah, yes.  That would be my dry cleaning bill for the past couple
of weeks.  It seems the Arizona "environment" has taken more of a toll
on my wardrobe than I was expecting.  [A small, frustrated sigh
escapes Jacob]  Really, Mister Black, if you persist in treating me,
as they say, like a "foreign object", I feel that I must add a hazard
pay rider on top of my usual expenses.

[The Bad Wolf's only response is a low chuckle, doing nothing to
reassure his financial advisor.  Rose stiffens, trying to carry on
with his report.]

JR:  Now, regarding your appearance during the match between Mister
Sinister and Mister Gionet, the PVW administration did voice their
concern abou--

CB:  An' they can just stuff it.  [Black drops the folder down onto
the table with a small snort]  The Bad Wolf didn't touch one hair on
them yobs' thick heads.  He didn't do nothin' to their lap dog an' his
precious new belt!  An' the thanks the Wolf gets for that kindness?
They let some mewling piece o' PUKE who whines an' beats his chest
about bein' tough but probably faints at the sight o' his own blood to
get first crack!

[Scowling, the Bad Wolf's voice drips with venom.]

CB:  Thought the Wolf made it very clear -- he's already staked his
claim on Sin AND his gold!  An' he don't like little blind [bleep]s
encroachin' on HIS territory.  [Pause.  Black shakes his head in mock
concern]  Oooh, the Bad Wolf's gonna be disappointed if ya fall to
this sorry wanker, Sinister.  Ain't ya supposed to be some great
bastion o' respect?  How can ya face the sheep if ya lose to him?!

JR:  [shifts uncomfortably]  To be fair, sir, there is a certain
protocol here to consider.  And you do have Mister Ryder to be
concerned with--

CB:  [letting out a harsh bark of laughter]  He's the walkin' wounded,
now ain't he?!  Pushed around, hen-pecked an' hidin' behind a mouthy
bird!  [Black's mouth curls into an ugly smile.]  But enough about
Sinister an' his bitch tits.  Gotcher knees all a-knockin', little
Tommy Tucker?  Can't sing for ya supper?  Ya can't be a man an' face
the Bad Wolf on your own?  No, ya go runnin' for the lap dog.   Of
course you need help...you can't even face your bully boy Biz.  If you
can't handle him, what makes ya even THINK you could survive the
Wolf?!

[Black raises his chin, a snarl now etched on his face.]

CB:  An' you, Sin...you _watch_.  You watch how the Bad Wolf culls the
weak an' cuts them down.  'Cause you're next...

[His voice drops to a whisper.]

...you just won't know when his teeth are gonna be at your throat.

****************************************
****************************************
Gibson Hayes
****************************************
****************************************

[A warm day in Phoenix, Arizona. Gibson Hayes sits on a park bench, in
a deep blue business suit with white shirt and red tie. Gibby's afro
blows in the wind as he picks up a flower (tulip) and inhales its
scent. A soft look crosses Gibson's face as he earnestly looks into
the camera.]

Matthew, I'm sorry.

[Wistful sigh.]

I'm sorry you are a low life criminal. I'm sorry you can't speak
English. I'm sorry you can't reach the top shelf.

[Hayes stands up, walking along with that flower in his hand.]

That elusive top shelf. Sure, you've come close. You had yourself some
fun and gotten some shiny belts but you've never been IT. You've never
been A-#1 with a bullet. You've never truly been the undisputed king
of the mountain, except in your own mind.

[A wry smile crosses the American Hero's face.]

Wait, you say, you were some champion in some place in New York City.
Well, darn it, Matthew, you're right. Matt, I'm going to call you Matt
now, you did get some shiny belt buckles. You have collected belts
from all over the world. I hear you have belts from exotic places like
Bullet Bill's House of Flapjacks, Apex Home for Wayward Cats and even
The Simmons Institute for Having Your Head Up Your Own Ass. Mighty
fine collection of belt buckles. I have a couple of those, too. Mine
are newer, fancier and came with nifty leather straps. Your collection
is much bigger but mine is better. Why?

[Arms wide, head up, Gibby takes in the world then brings his right
hand down and points a finger at himself.]

I did it on my own.

[All smiles, all the time.]

My own terms, my own way, with my own hands. You see, Matt, I turned
down Slick Rick Marley. Unlike someone I know, named Matthew Holliday,
I did not need a running crew to back me up. Rick, well, Rick and you
threw everything you had into using others as human shields or
stepping stones. Which ever way you frame it, you had a whole heaping
helping of hands to aid you. Me? I'm my own damned army. I never threw
my lot in with others to get me where I am at. Todd runs his own show,
he just happens to hang out with me for a paycheck and the occasional
favor. You? You can't let go of your past when the present is about to
send you back into the Palisade's retirement community.

[Shoulder shrug.]

You and your half brother or what ever Mueller is to you, you made
yourselves better than your light counting beginnings. Me? I've always
been on the fast track, even in cow towns like Cody, Wyoming or
Biloxi, Mississippi. I have IT, Matthew. You, you've had folks believe
in you so they can make a quick buck or 12 off your silly little
accent or that adorible little limp you got yourself, sugar britches.
You had your boy backing you up, then, when you wanted more, you found
yourself a crew to run with but instead of being the top dog, the
leader of the pack, you were just another number. You did not create
anything, you only took what was gifted to you. I took things too, but
I did it by my hand. America believes in those who do things on their
own. America does not believe in you, Matthew.

[Gibson states this very matter of factly. We are still walking with
Gibson as the false lawns and cactuses of Phoenix serve as a
backdrop.]

You talk a good game, I think. I can't really tell with all those
marbles in your mouth. You are from Arizona, Matthew. Arizona does not
have an accent. Arizona is as bland as the desert is hot and annoying.
Stop pretending you are something you are not. Stop pretending you
made yourself and stop pretending you are relevant. Stop pretending
your win against Alexandra Martina whatever means jack or squat. Stop
pretending you cared for your little student. Stop pretending you
matter in the grand scheme of things.

[Gibby looks none too happy with Holliday's trip to Neverland.

Matthew, you taught Rick Marley everything he knows. I am not sure
that is something to crow about or what drives you to tenderly weep
into your blanket at night. Either way, he's here and now. Despite
taking years to make a grab for any gold, Rick has put himself head,
shoulders, knees and toes above what you have done here, Matthew. We
are supposed to work together but all I see is Matthew Holliday
hitching his little wagon to another person, trying leech another day
in the sun from those who eclipse him.

[Shaking his head, Gibson tosses the flower on the ground and steps on
it.]

I have already beaten Sal and Max, since the two cannot seem to stay
out of matches and fight fair, so I do not need your "help", Matthew.
Why don't you go and do something useful, like help Rick shine that
purty lil' belt buckle he is keeping warm for me. I am done with you,
Matthew. Your little game of playing big boy schemer is at an end. I
am cashing in your check and giving you a nice severance package that
starts with my fist and ends up in your face.

[A right fist goes into Gibson's left palm.]

Rick? You heard me right, Rick. I am no Widowmaker, like you or
Matthew. I am a legend maker. Anyone who steps into things with Gibson
Hayes is destined to be all the better after they throw their best at
me. PVW does not need an indecisive tool like you, Rick, at the helm.
You complained about me taking too long to go after that belt? While I
was fighting all comers, 2, 3, 4 at a time where were you? While I was
defending 2 titles at the same time, where were you? When I was
holding onto the American title for the longest period anyone in PVW
had held onto gold, where were you?

[The look Gibson Hayes begs for answers.]

You were playing team leader and poking a giant green idiot. Instead
of going after that belt you claim meant so much to you, you cowered,
afraid of the responsibility. This is the big time, Rick. You have
years on me when it comes to wrestling but when it comes to having
that spotlight shining down on you? When it comes to having hungry
eyes ready to pounce the first time you show the slightest
vunerability? When you are hunted by anyone wanting to make a name for
themselves in this industry that eats its young? In a world where
careers are cannibalized for the briefest taste of gold? In a sport
where ending a career is a hobby and making someone's life a living
hell is considered a hot time in the old town tonight? You are not
ready for this Rick.

[Sternly, Gibson admires a rock that is on the sidewalk to break up
his talking; a pregnant pause was needed.]

I see the brave face you put on. I see the strut in your step. I hear
the bravado in the timber of your voice. I hear the certainty of your
words. I know the truth in your heart. I know that you are not
prepared for this, Rick. You are being thrown to the wolves and you
are out of your league. You say you faced Bill Craven and that prepped
you for this world? Not a chance. Smarter, better, more vicious thugs
than Craven now have you in their little cross hairs. Your name
litters their pee-chees. Your face is on their mirrors, to remind them
of what you look like before you get disfigured for sport.

[The smile Gibson has on his face is priceless.]

Rick, Gibson Hayes is the last bastion of American Exceptionalism.
Rick, Gibson Hayes is the world's savior. Rick, Gibson Hayes is PVW's
next World Champion.

[DOUBLE V takes us out.]

****************************************
****************************************
Zeke and The Gutch
****************************************
****************************************

[Fade in.  Broderick Ezekiel Craven sits at a desk in a nondescript
office, waiting with his finger perched above the speakerphone
button.]

Zeke: Any time now.

[Taking a bite from an energy bar, Zeke raps his fingers on the edge
of the phone.]

*Bring!*

Zeke: Ophk, *BLEEP*.

*Bring!*

[Chewing madly, Zeke suddenly regrets having chosen a chunky peanut
butter chew Clif Bar for his snack.]

*Bring!*

Zeke: *Gulp*, ugh, finally!

*Bring!*

Zeke: Y'ellow, you've got Broderick Ezekiel Craven, manager to the
stars, crack corporate attorney and snappy dresser.  How may I help
you today?

Gutch: Zeke!  Hey buddy, what's the good word?  They discharged me
today!

Zeke: What?  Gutch, hey, so you're ready to come back already!?
That's great news, we have got to defend this belt and quick before
PVW brass--

Gutch: Oh, uh, sorry Zeke.  I'm discharged 'cause they don't think I'm
at risk of gettin' worse.  I still can't, y'know, walk or *BLEEP*.

Zeke: Son of a ... why did you even bother to call me then?  I'm
waiting on a conference call with the PVW brass.  I thought, hoped
against hope, for a second that your screw up hadn't--*BEEP*--damn!
That's going to be them.

Gutch: Good luck, Ze--

[Yeah, he just cut Gutch off.]

Zeke: Hey-hey, you've got the red haired and silver tongued devil
ready to make a deal, B.E.C. for the 1-2-3, how can I help you?

Executive1: Craven, cut the crap.

Executive2: Indeed.  Whatever snowjob you have planned, shovel it.

Zeke: Why, whatever do you gentlemen mean?

Executive1: We mean that you have a terrible reputation, Craven.

Executive2: Nobody's forgotten how you threw your lot in with
Strickland.

Zeke: Gentlemen, I only want to do business in a way that is mutually
beneficial--

Executive1: Again, cram it.  Is your boy recovered?

Zeke: No, but we have 30 days--

Executive1: More like 14.

Executive2: You have to make a decision now, Craven.  We've seen his
prognosis, the doctors look at a fat man with a bum leg and they know
he won't be doing any acrobatics come the next day.  You have two
choices.  You can either vacate the Tag Team Titles and the PVW can
hold a tournament to determine the new champions.

Executive1: I think it goes without saying that we don't care for that
option.  Tournaments are messy and costly.

Executive2: Or you can officially name Ohno Ow the co-holder of that
championship title.

Zeke: He was a substitution!  Substitutions don't get to keep what
they've won!  The contract is ironclad!

Executive1: We know.  That's the only reason we're giving you this
opportunity.  You can hold out, knowing that Gutch Bartilucci has no
chance of defending that championship when the time comes ... or you
can name a man who falls outside of your influence as Livestock
Zappa's partner.

Executive2: Make the right decision and you garner our favor.  Hell,
maybe you can even get back on the Championship committee.  We know
you're a climber, Zeke.

Executive1: Hold out though, Craven, and you're just asking for
trouble.  Trouble for you, trouble for your team.  Can you imagine if
they have to start from the bottom again, having been unable to
compete in the title tournament?

Zeke: That would be ... bad.  I'm not sure...

Executive2: Oh, Paul, you know, we're having that HIT tournament
thing.  That could very easily be retrofitted as a title tournament.

Zeke: OKAY!  Okay, okay, you've made your point.  Man, you guys sure
can play hardball now.  Where was that killer instinct when I was on
the committee.

Executive1: We trusted you back then.

Executive2: In retrospect, it was a stupid thing to do.

Executive1: So what's your answer?  Tell us now.  No more nonsense.

Zeke: You win.  Dr. Ohno Ow ... and Livestock Zappa are the new PVW
Tag Team Champions of the World.

Executive1: There, that wasn't hard now was it?

Executive2: And you said we'd have to threaten to fire him.

Zeke: Gentlemen, if you don't mind, I think I'd like to take my leave.
There's a bottle with my name on it.

Executive1: Drink one for me.  The wife made me give up the sauce.

Executive2: Really?  Laura's a drinker herself, isn't she Pa--

*click*

Zeke: Idiots.  This ... is not going to be fun.

[Cut.]

****************************************
****************************************
Perry Fontana #2
****************************************
****************************************

[Fade in to a close shot of an unhooked phone bolted down to a bedside
table. From it emanates a formal yet appeasing female voice.]

Voicemail: Prochain message non-entendu. (Next unheard message.)

Message: [feminine sigh] ...Emily... Tara again... Call me as soon as-

[Tara "Sunburst" Marshall's message is interrupted by a brawny hand
presses #7 on the phone's keypad.]

Voicemail: Message efface.  (Message deleted.)

[With his raspy, gravelly whisper of a voice (when calm), "The
Everlasting" Perry Fontana derisively responds, off-screen.]

Fontana: [off-screen] Good to hear from you again, Tara. Goodbye.

Voicemail: Prochain message non-entendu. (Next unheard message.)

Message: Oh, I... [Again, it's recognizably Tara Marshall's voice.]
...I just wanted to check on you, Emily...

Fontana: [off-screen] Watch me delete another of your messages, Tara.
Watch.

Message: ...Is your email sti-

[The finger returns and presses down on key #7 again.]

Voicemail: Message efface. (Message deleted.)

Fontana: [off-screen] Remote voicemail access is useful, isn't it?

Voicemail: Fin des nouveaux messages, pour reecout-. (End of new
messages, to lis-)

[The finger presses down on the pound sign.]

Voicemail: Aurevoir. (Goodbye.)

Fontana: [off-screen] Hope you'll forgive me for deleting all of those
messages, Tara.

[Slowly, the camera pans from the phone to the bed next to it table.
On it lies Perry "Le Phenix" Fontana. He hangs up the handset and
leisurely reclines on the bed, addressing the camera.]

Fontana: You should know my beautiful wife Emily can take care of
herself. She knows what's expected of her... especially when you're
not _harassing_ her, trying to CONFUSE HER!

[A cloud of spittle spurts out of his mouth, a murderous look in his
piercing black eyes.]

Fontana: Don't make me change our number, Tara.  Don't make Emily
_choose_...

[Crossing his fingers behind his head, "Il Eterno" leans back into his
hotel bed, relaxed once more.]

Fontana: Emily knows what's _best_ for her... and she _won't_ choose
you.  Instead, you should look after little Kelsey. The boy's growing
increasingly _effeminate_. Or... you should keep Tom as far away from
PVW as you can, because...

[He smirks.]

Fontana: ...If Tom Landis walks into a bar, and sustains a mild
_concussion_... That's still better than walking into an _armbar_, and
sustaining an _AMPUTATION_!  Aaaahhh ouais!

[It's not a jest, it's a threat. The baleful glint in Perry's eye says
as much, as the scene fades on the Deathless One's mirthless smirk.]

****************************************
****************************************
Dan Flores
****************************************
****************************************

[Bus terminal. Abandoned road. Tumble weeds. Dan Flores sits at the
bus stop while modeling and the new PVW "We <3 Arizona" t-shirt (with
the picture of the state of Arizona in a heart, with the words "Thx Fr
Th Mmries" underneath it), with a powder blue suit over top, suitcase
on each side of him. Flores studies a bus ticket and a map as he
begins to speak.]

DF: Another week, another thank you show in Arizona. Another chance to
say thank you to all the fans who supported PVW during the many regime
changes, money issues and other bumps in the road. Another chance for
Dan Flores to say thank you to all the fans who kept PVW afloat when I
was at home nursing my shoulder back to health, so that one day Dex
Willingham could send me a large contract so baby could get a new pair
of shoes.

[At this, Flores lifts his head and gives a big, cheesy thumbs up.]

DF: Thanks guys!

[Flores goes back to looking at the map.]

DF: Lots been made recently about PVW getting the financial thing
rolling again, about the PVW machine spittin' out dollar bills once
more. And that's all well and good, but that also leads to days like
today, when you can find Danny Flo at any of a handful of
transportation establishments, navigating my way through the
Southwestern part of the country.

It was on a day like today, lookin' out the plastic window of a bus
terminal, that I came to a little personal conclusion.

Truth is, I feel a little left out. We're on this big tour, thankin'
the people for all their support and all the memories, but there's
nothing for me to remember. There's no memories for me to be thankful
for. When the PVW audience thinks Dan Flores they think... uh, man,
that's one damn fine lookin' son of a bitch.

I like his hair. I wonder who does his hair?

And while that's all well and good, fact is, Dan Flores is more than
just a pretty face. I came to PVW for the competition, cuz, for the
rush of getting in the ring with the best in the world and coming out
on top. Which is why Tucson starts my own personal "Thanks For the
Memories" Tour. Every night, every match, the audience and the people
watching at home are gonna see somethin' special. Every night, Dan
Flores is gonna leave 'em wanting more. I know it ain't easy in times
like this, I know gettin' that cold hard cash together to buy the
tickets to come to a PVW show isn't real easy these days, so my own
personal gaurantee is that every person who buys a ticket and comes to
the show, they're gonna leave sayin'... damn Gina, that was worth it.

[Just as Flores goes to continue, someone walks into the bus terminal
and sits down a few feet from him.]

DF: Oh, scuse me, excuse me... do you know if the number nine bus is
running on time?

[The person, an older black guy with glasses and wearing a track suit,
looks at Flores and his garish suit, and then looks at his schedule.]

Guy: ...I'm not sure. I think so.

[Flores nods at the man, and continues.]

DF: Point is, by buying a ticket to Heatwave in times like this, these
people prove that PVW is important to them, which requires someone
treating them to something important. The same people who kept my name
alive when I was away for two years, the same people that traded my
tapes and made sure I stayed relevant even when I wasn't, those are
the people I owe a career to.

It wasn't too long ago that I was in the same spot. when I was growing
up, money was tight. Dad was out of work, Mom was in the hospital, and
there was six of us who had to make due. We could barely keep the heat
on, we had to wear old clothes. We weren't poor, but we were knocking
on the door of the lower class... so when there was a few extra bucks
to buy a ticket to see Hamilton Graham do his thing, we was on it like
whoa, jack. That became the highlight of the month.

So yeah, I've been there, I've done that. I would have sold the t-
shirt, but we didn't have any to spare. That's the kind of thing you
never forget... that kind of thing stays with you, long after those
times are over. Those are the kind of memories that drives someone
like me to make new memories, to give these people their money's worth
every time out.

[The old black dude is suddenly intrigued, listening to Flores talk.]

DF: Qualifying for Called Shot last week, that was a good start, jack.
That's gonna let me do the things I need to do, and gimme the
opportunity to get in the ring with the big dogs here in PVW.

Making my mark and keeping it, that's my goal. That's my vision. And
doing that by giving the people there money's worth and being someone
to get behind, by being someone who does things the right way, well...
that's where it's at. That's the mission statement going forward.
In a land of monsters and maulers and grotesque fat men, in a place
where the creepy and the dark and the altogether out to lunch lunatics
seem to rule the day, there's gotta be a center. There's got to be one
beacon of normalcy and right in the world. There's got to be on person
who stands for what's right.

That's me, daddy, that's my jam. I'm calling my shot.

[With that, the bus comes and Flores picks his stuff up.]

DF: Won't be the first time.

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

[The camera opens to the inside of an empty 52nd Street Armory. A
Heatwave and Phoenix Valley Wrestling banner are hanging from the
rafters and by the entrance ramp.  A large video-wall set up in
between two of the banners. A single light shines from the ceiling,
into the center of the empty ring, illuminating the PVW logo.  It's
strange just how silent an empty arena can be.  The camera pans around
showing thousands upon thousands of seats soon to be filled with
screaming fans.  A familiar voice suddenly breaks the silence...]

"Heatwave is starting to dawn on the horizon.  People are still
talking about how I unleashed the BEAST within me in my last match.
Hehe, tons of people are going through their little predictions, and
trying to say what's gonna happen before it does.

The funny thing about their efforts however...is that Phoenix Valley
Wrestling is unpredictable.  No one can predict what will happen next.
Honestly did anyone think I, Caleb Foley, would be able to beat
Christian Copeland in a Rebirth Rules Match..."

[A deep breath as the camera turns to the direction of the voice,
revealing "The Celtic Crippler" Caleb Foley sitting in the stands.
Foley is wearing a green t-shirt and blue jeans and has a banged over
his left idea showing his battle wounds from his Rebirth Rules Match
as he continues to speak.]

Caleb Foley: Since Phoenix Valley Wrestling has re-opened it's doors
Johnny Detson has come out here week in and week out trying to make a
fool of this organization. He is claiming to be the president of this
company. He is claiming to be the one who will help PVW reach that
next level of super-stardom. Johnny Detson is full of a lot of hot
air. It's guys like him that give the business a bad name.

Johnny, for whatever reason you have seemed to make my life a living
hell since we first crossed paths. It is almost like I am the reason
you are here. You are not here for the fans or fulfill your dream. You
are here in the PVW to end my wrestling career. You have made me
battle close friends and bitter enemies and this week I am facing an
unknown. I understand Detson you are frustrated that your plans aren't
turning out the way you like them to but you have to learn something
about me.

[Foley flashes a smile into the camera ...]

Caleb Foley: Whatever doesn't kill me only makes me stronger. My
passion and desire to be the best in the business is what motivates
me. I do not care who my opponent is this week at Heatwave. I do not
care if it a rising superstar, a returning legend, a handi-cap match,
a buried alive match. All that matters to me is that one day soon I
will get my hands around your neck and will not let go until I hear
you scream the words I QUIT.

But anyway yeah I've been in this business since I was at the tender
age of eighteen. For three years I have been doing this as my job. A
job I love going to every morning. Sure some days I am a little more
banged up than others like tonight for instant.

[Caleb points to the bandage on his head as his continues to speak.]

Caleb Foley: But it is all worth. All the pain your body suffers
inside and outside of that ring is worth it. I wouldn't change what I
do for any amount of money in the world. The rush you gets when your
music hits or the fans starts to chant your name is unexplainable.

My question to you Johnny is what can possible be next. What trick do
you have up your sleeve. Are your going to pull a rabbit out from
inside your jacket next? Are you going to suddenly appear after one of
my matches and attack me? Detson you have tried everything to get
under my skin. And let's face it none of it has worked. This mystery
opponent for all I know could be Johnny Detson under a mask...

[Caleb pauses for a second...]

Caleb Foley: You know that I would love. I would for you to grow a
pair and actually be my opponent this week at Heatwave. Stop hiding
behind your fancy suits and be a MAN. You claim to be the President of
PVW Johnny so LEAD by example. Put this company on your back and take
out your greatest ENEMY.

I DARE YOU ...

[Foley takes a deep breathe trying to remain claim and not unleash the
beast again ...]

Caleb Foley: Don't you understand, Detson? You are nothing more than a
FRAUD!! You are the ROTTEN APPLE of this company and I will do
everything in my power to get you out. I've built my chance, ... I've
eaten, drank, and flowed the blood of this sport ... it will not go in
vein. If only Heatwave could come faster... I'm ready to enter my
ultimate dreamworld, reach the absolute pinnacle of my journey.

Understand ... this is my time. I invite you to prove otherwise, to
make all of my efforts meaningless afterthoughts. Accept my invitation
with caution though, because the fact remains that I refuse to allow
such efforts to fall short ... and recent events have shown that
whatever it is I want... I take it.

"Three years of desire...

[A look of pure focus falls across Foley's face.]

...Three years of hard work...

[The intensity growing with each sentence.]

...Three years of hell...

[The tone of his voice becoming quieter but more stern.]

...All for one night...

One night, when my dreams will come true.  And my
journey...fulfilled."

[The camera then fades to black ...]