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** Phoenix Valley Wrestling Presents  **
**            SHOWCASE                **
**            01.03.11                **
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-> Rob Cole
-> Rick Marley
-> Max and Sal
-> Danny Daniels
-> Eddie Cassidy
-> Chris Hartt
-> Livestock and The Gutch
-> Gibson Hayes
-> Johnny Detson
-> Larry Gionet
-> Carson Cutter
-> Hersher von Donkerhardt
-> Tommy Ryder
-> The Mercenary
-> William Craven
-> Caleb Foley
-> Tom Landis
-> Prophets of Rage
-> Alex Martinez
-> The Renegades
-> Marcus Manson
-> Los Corazones
-> Everlasting Hell
-> Doc Holliday
-> Sinister









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Rob Cole
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****************************************

[Fade in to Rob Cole sitting with one leg over the edge of a six foot
drop into a dirty grave. He rakes the fingers of one hand through the
dirt, staring at the trails left by his fingers. He holds a shovel in
his other hand, resting his forearm against his knee. Dressed in black
jeans and a green teeshirt, he holds the Title over one shoulder and
his longish hair hangs in oily ringlets about his features.]

RC: They said it was stupid. They said they couldn't believe I'd done
it, that it should have put me in prison, and that it was beneath the
Champion. It shut this company down... sure, people are taking random
bits of credit and trying to gather infamy or some sort of nonsense
but I'm the man who broke the law, the man who put a life at risk, and
the man who created an international incident. I created a lot of real
bad publicity... I nearly threw my life away. Why? To take a
challenger... to bury him in the middle of nowhere, to rant and to
rave the way I did... they say it'll kill my career. They say a lot of
things and I hear about it, read about it, think about it... they
don't see things the way I do. They see their own little teeny tiny
interpretations of the world, limited by their little shades of black
and white and the gray tones moving around.... Whatever. I see
something else... something they don't or can't understand.

[Cole quirks a little grin, shaking his head in disgust. He picks up a
handful of dirt, letting it drift through his fingers as he watches it
fall... ]

RC: Ashes to ashes... dust to dust... all you kids in the back, all
you big boys and girls who are watching this interview and wondering
what I'm going to say to sell myself, to scare my opponent, to set the
crowd on fire... I have hung people like so much meat and bathed in
their blood, I have peeled the flesh back from wrestlers' faces, and I
have wrapped my body in barbed wire in order to make certain the
unforgiving steel cuts deep into flesh on impact. What do I have to
say? I have spit my own blood into the eyes of my opponents. I have
been injured, brutalized, and was once pronounced dead... a seven
second heart stop and no vital signs while the medical staff worked to
bring me back from that awful brink. And now... ? Now... ? Buried
alive? What should I tell you?

You think I won't do that terrible thing? You think it's /just/ a
gimmick? Maybe I should've wrapped the ring in barbed wire, set up a
ladder beneath the belt, or done something with explosives, a cage, a
casket, but I demanded that the winner of this match has to bury his
opponent alive. A few months back, I ambushed my opponent after he
beat me senseless and hung me out... I watched him drag my wife out to
that ring and humiliate her! AND YOU WONDER WHY?!?!?!!!

[Cole turns hateful eyes toward the camera; breathing deeply... his
chest is trembling. He reaches down and picks up another handful of
dirt... he clenches it hard between his fingers, pressing his fist to
his head as he closes his eyes.]

RC: Only one man ever dragged my family into this business... the
things we did to each other were horrible, Rick. Blood was spilled,
flesh was torn, and hearts were broken. Maybe that's why you did it...
maybe you thought you could bring back the kind of attention me and
Retro used to have, maybe make your impending title win something that
the history books would mark with a legendary feud and snapshot
highlight reels... but I'm not going to put my wife through that, I'm
not going to put my son through that, and I damn sure am not going to
put myself through all of that again just to make you into a
superstar! That's the problem, Ricky... you want the flash, the bang,
the blood, the guts, and all the glory of some epic battle with a big
finish. You're an arrogant little piggy and I am going to bury you...
I'm going to put you down in the dirt and I'm going to bury you and
there won't be a highlight reel, there won't be a snapshot of glory.
NO!!!  There's just the taste of dirt in your mouth and the miserable
reality of utter darkness.

There won't be a big epic finish. There won't be that flash bulb
moment. There's only going to be one man shoveling dirt on top of the
other... one man unable to climb out of the hole, one man unable to
stop the dirt from falling, and one man walking away with a title
around his waist. It's a sad and pathetic end to this little play,
Ricky... did you think I wanted this fight because it would be
exciting? I know it plays on some fears... some deep dark fears we all
have, but ultimately this is just about one of us putting the other
man in a hole. No... no, this is about me putting YOU in that hole,
shoveling the dirt on top of your prone body and making certain you
can't get up again. This is about putting you out of my life and out
of contention for this title.

[Cole releases the handful of dirt and stares into the camera.]

RC: Get it? Do you understand? Have I spelled it out for you, Mr.
"Called Shot"? You and I... we're not an epic battle, we're not the
next incarnation of your feud with the green monster, and you aren't
EVER going to get anywhere near my family again. Six feet of dirt... a
mighty short drop and a mighty small box and I'll cover you up and
that will be the end of Rick Marley.

[Fade to Black]

****************************************
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Rick Marley
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[The camera fades in on a locker room.

Row upon row of metal standing lockers stand silent vigil beneath the
flickering flourescent lights buzzing quietly overhead, the long
wooden benches between them bolted into the grey floor, each identical
to the last.

Finally, after panning through five rows of lockers, a new sight shows
up on the camera lens...the form of "The Last Widowmaker" Rick Marley.
The dark haired cruiserweight is wearing a pair of black sweat shorts
and a white tank top and he's slowly wrapping tape around his wrists
in preparation for his workout.  Without looking up, he begins
speaking...]

"You know the funny part?  I really did try to stay away."

He leans forward at the waist as he sits on the bench, his elbows
coming to a rest on his knees as he stares down at the floor.

"PVW had shut its doors...I'd walked away.  Started training new
wrestlers...I was content to leave things where they stood.

I'll grant you that I'd never make any sort of Hall of Fame, but I'd
had a good career.  I'd taken part in a lot of great matches, I'd
beaten some of the best ever and that was it.

...

...

Even if it meant waking up every night and feeling like I was f(BLEEP)
ing suffocating because of that stunt that Cole pulled at the last
Heatwave before PVW went on hiatus for nine months.

Even if it meant never silencing the critics.

Even if it meant never facing Holliday in a wrestling ring."

Marley goes silent for a moment, then shakes his head, chuckling
bitterly.

"Even with all of that, I was still willing to walk away, leaving Cole
to rot in that asylum that he was in...

But then I heard that the Willinghams were looking for investors to
bring PVW back.

PVW.

The place that *I* built.

I got a half hearted offer for a contract...but they made it clear to
me that they were looking to go in a new direction...that they didn't
see me as part of the solution.  They had newer attractions.

Different from me.

Better than, even."

Marley continues to look down, his face contorting into a scowl.

"So just like I always have, I MADE PVW pay attention to me.  I signed
the paperwork that got Cole cut loose, then I showed up uninvited to
the first show.

Some of the wrestling insiders are talking about this as me attempting
to cement my legacy, whatever the hell that means.

I've heard other people say that I just can't stay way...that I want a
run against the top that PVW has to offer.

It's all bullsh(BLEEP).

I'm here to exorcise the demons.

To make that tiny hold that Cole stuck me in go away.

To make HIM feel what its like to be alone in the dark.

To make HIM worry about what his family thinks...to picture his kid
clawing at that dirt to free him.

Legacy?

To hell with legacy.

This is good old fashioned revenge, Widowmaker style.

I'll take Cole to school and take my title from him...and nothing in
the world is gonna stop me.

And you can take that to the bank."

[fade]

****************************************
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Max and Sal
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[The camera fades in to a darkened room.  The only illumination comes
from one light in the corner of a very large room, but the viewer can
see a large square table with several figures standing around it.  The
camera is shooting in Black and White, so there is no color visible.
Out in the darkness, a door can be heard opening and closing, and
several footsteps echo as two more people approach the table.
Finally, a voice can be heard.]

VO:  Gentlemen... we're so glad you could make it.

[A breaker closes, and the room illuminates with light.  Salih Mubarak
and Max Weinrib, dressed in their wrestling outfits, continue moving
towards the table.  The 'figures' standing around the table (two to a
side) turn out to be life-sized cardboard cutouts of Derek and Shadoe
Rage, Tom Landis, Perry Fontana, Livestock Zappa, and Gutch
Bartilucci.  Sal continues speaking.]

Sal:  We have much to discuss.

[Max walks over to the cutouts of Tom Landis and Perry Fontana,
throwing one arm around each cutout's shoulder.]

Max:  First off, Perry...we finally got around to seeing the full show
from a few weeks back.  We would have seen it sooner, but someone--
[He shoots an accusatory look at Sal.] --decided to record "Top Chef"
over it.

Sal:  Padma's hot!  Besides, you were drooling over those desserts.

Max:  Point.  [Max turns back to "Landis" and "Fontana".]  Anyways
boys, Sal and me, we have no desire to be dragged into and used as
pawns in your petty, little soap opera.  Tom, we feel for you!
Really!  But go find a credible family therapist and hug it out.  Or
at least tell your sister to go talk to a lawyer...

Sal:  Fortunately, you don't have to look very far.  [He walks over
and pulls off a business card stuck to "Zappa's" hand and sticks it
onto the cutout of Tom Landis.]   Look, we know family issues can be
tough.  Max has a sister in law he doesn't talk to, and my own
Uncle... well, it's a long story.  But you guys work out your issues,
and we're wishing you the best of luck.  Now, onto....

[With a loud creaking sound, the cardboard cutouts of Derek and Shadoe
Rage lean back... and tip over, landing on the floor.  Sal and Max
look at each other and sigh.]

Max:  We missed our window.

Sal:  They needed their mid-morning naps.

Max:  Damn- maybe after they've woken up and eaten their strained
peaches.

[Max and Sal walk around the table, stepping on the cardboard cutouts
of the prone Prophets, as they head to the Tag Team Champions.]

Sal:  That leaves the champs -- Livestock and the Gutch.  Quite
frankly, YOU have problems...

Max:  And WE'RE the only ones that can help.

Sal:  Let's look at the history.  Our first match in PVW, we pinned
you- but the Wild Cards distracted you.  So you said we couldn't
_really_ beat you.

Max:  Then we won a couple weeks ago- in an eight-man match.  Not a
straight up tag team match.

Sal:  You're the tag team Champions.  In theory, you're the best tag
team in PVW.  Only you've lost to a pair of rookies...

Max:  And you've lost to those rookies twice.

Sal:  We want to know... the PVW fans want to know... heck, deep down,
_you_ guys want to know- can Livestock and the Gutch beat Max and Sal
in a straight up, two on two match?

Max:  Only... you got too cute.  Now, instead of a two on two match,
it's a two-on-two-on-two-on-two match.  No matter what happens-
whether we win or Team Jerry Springer wins or Team Geriatric wins...
there's going to be a question, a doubt, an excuse... over who the
better team really is.

Sal:  Unless that excuse is what you were looking for.

[Sal and Max walk off, leaving the table and cardboard cutouts...

...

...]

Max VO:  Kind of a weak ending, don't you think?

Sal VO:  It gets the point across... but it does lack some...

Max VO:  'Oomph'?

Sal VO:  'Oomph'.  Exactly.

Max VO:   I'VE GOT IT!  We need...


...


...DANCING GIRLS!

[The video suddenly changes from Black and White to Color, Can-Can
music starts to play, and behind the table, a series of wagons is
pulled from off-stage.  On the wagons are cardboard cutouts of ladies
in Vegas Show-Girls outfits, complete with feathers and sparkles.  As
the music dies down...]

Max VO:  Now THAT'S an ending!

[Fade to black]

****************************************
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Danny Daniels
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[The camera fades in to see a podium, with a microphone stand.  There
is a crash of organ music, and up to the microphone is the SUPREME
World Champion, Danny "YOUR HERO" Daniels.  Danny is wearing a yellow
t-shirt with YOUR HERO written in block letters, wraparound
sunglasses... and a white frilly shirt opened to the navel over his t-
shirt.  He walks up to the microphone purposely as the organ music
reaches a crescendo...]

D"YH"D:  Dearly beloved
We are gathered here today
To get through this thing called life

An Electric word life
It means forever and that's a mighty long time
But I'm here to tell you
There's something else...
The world of "YOUR HERO", Danny Daniels... a man so nice they named
him twice!

[Danny raises his arms as the organ music crashes down again.]

D"YH"D:  The world is "YOUR HERO" is a glorious, wondrous place...
most of the time.  But occasionally, there are slips, there are
mistakes, there are flaws.  Recently, I tried to redeem a blight upon
wrestling, a blight in the form of... EVIL~! SINESTRO.  And... I
tried.  Believe me, my friends, I tried.  We went to meetings, we
shared feelings... I thought we were bonding.  I thought....

[Danny pauses, then lifts up his sunglasses to wipe away- is that a
single tear?  Danny continues.]

D"YH"D:  As you all saw last week, SINESTRO slipped back into his
EVIL~! Ways.  Perhaps the pull was too strong.  Perhaps I was too
gentle in dealing with him.  Perhaps the Fondis brothers were able to
corrupt him back to his old ways.  But he is a lost cause, my dear
dear friends.

[Danny sighs before continuing.]

D"YH"D:  I come here to mourn the loss of our friend GOOD SINESTRO~!.
But he is no more.

[Danny sighs again, and lays his head down on the podium, pausing in
an emotional breakdown.  For a few seconds, nothing happens.  Then
Danny stands up and faces the camera.]

D"YH"D:  And I now see what I must do.  I must rid wrestling of the
scourge that is EVIL~! SINESTRO~!  He MUST not be allowed to corrupt
the men... the women... even CHILDREN... of PVW.  Nay, I must remove
this blight upon our sport forever.

[Danny speaks faster and becomes more animated, pointing left, right,
and at the camera at random intervals.]

D"YH"D:  EVIL SINESTRO!  What cannot be cured MUST be eliminated!  I
will take you on at Rise from the Ashes, and remove you from PVW.  I
will go to the ends of the earth, I will bear any burden, I will fight
the good fight, I will defend my SU...

[Danny suddenly pauses... and shakes his head.]

D"YH"D:  No... No... I cannot risk losing the SUPREME Title to such a
source of EVIL~!.  You had your title shot, EVIL SINESTRO~!  You
didn't win.  You will not get another title shot.  But it doesn't
matter- as I will challenge- and defeat- the source of EVIL~! Itself!

D"YH"D:  And if De-Elevator run by EVIL SINESTRO~! Tries to take us
down... we shall go crazy, punch a higher floor, and...

[Danny punches the podium with each word]

D"YH"D:  DEFEAT~!

D"YH"D:  EVIL~!

D"YH"D:  SINESTRO~!

****************************************
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Eddie Cassidy
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[Standing in front of a PVW banner is a young man with sandy-brown
hair pulled back in a ponytail and dressed casually in a red t-shirt
and jeans.  He appears to be in his mid-twenties, is lean and of
average height, but well-built for his size.

He also appears to be as nervous as all hell.]

Man:  Hi!  [He immediately shakes his head.]  Wait, lemmie try that
again...  Hey there!  [pause]  Heya?

[His shoulders slump slightly.  Then he takes a deep breath,
straightens up and focuses his eyes onto the camera.]

Man:  My name is Eddie Cassidy and this is a big moment for me.  [He
nods and smiles a little, as if trying to encourage himself and the
audience with each passing word.]  I've got the chance to be a part of
one of the hottest federations in this sport today.  To stand toe to
toe with men like Caleb Foley, Chris Hartt and Larry Gionet!

[Eddie's smile gets wider.]

EC:  "Eddie Cassidy -- PVW Superstar"...it's gonna happen!  And it's
all gonna start at Rise From The Ashes!  Carson Cutter, you better
watch out!  2011 is the Year of Eddie Cassidy!

[Cassidy's grin is brimming with intensity and earnestness, the
earlier nervousness now gone as he gleefully thrusts a fist into the
air.]

EC:  YEAH!

[Fade to black.]

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

We open upon a busy gym, where men and women train. Seriously train.
The look of the folks in this place make you think that if they chose
to, they might just be able to lift the building or lay down a world
of hurt on the entire zombie apocalypse.  The camera follows a path to
an elevated sit up bench, where 'The Paladin' Chris Hartt does a
series of sit-ups while clutching a 50 lb. barbell weight. The heavy
amount of sweat tells the tale of how long he's been at this exercise,
let alone his total workout.  He lays the plate down to the floor on
an extension and releases himself from the t-bar, toweling off.

"Rise From The Ashes is back again. This was a really important match
for me the first time around and this time is no different. Last time,
I went into the match hungry and eager to face Chase Williams and show
him I wasn't someone to be dismissed and overlooked. We were two
warriors facing off in the ultimate of battlefields, each looking to
to make sure the other didn't stand in our way to glory. We fought as
hard as we could to get closer to holding that title and being the top
dog in this company.

Now, we meet again and practically for the same reasons. But, I do
have an additional edge to my focus in facing Chase Williams. It
transcends simply holding the gold, but at the same time, is fueled by
my desire to hold it. Chase and I have always been on the deepest
extremes in this company. Our outlooks toward everything around here
has been so drastically opposite, you could base a Sesame Street skit
on it. He says up, I say down; he says job, I say fight to win; he
calls fans morons, I call them my lifeblood; he fights excessively
dirty, I make his ass tap out clean!

Chase Williams always thinks that he can run end-rolls around everyone
and get the most by doing the least, but always the worst. Any dirty
trick he can use to sneak past the real work that a decent,
respectable man should do to earn his spot, Chase will pursue like a
frat boy seeking tail. I gladly stand in his way and live to make sure
he never fully benefits from his selfish douchebaggery. Holding that
title and being a proud champion that's worthy of the belt would make
Chase go fetal with rage. But that doesn't really matter. Being the
champion. Being the best. Being the one that everyone in PVW can
believe in and feel good about seeing hold that prestigious belt is
All. That. Matters!

Champions come and go, but in the time they have their runs, it's
important that they truly mean something. What does Chase Williams'
championship run mean? Devious, filthy, underhanded, selfish notions
only meant to serve Chase and use up anyone he happens to see. He's a
soul-devouring demon who can never be trusted. But I'll be there to
stand up against him and make sure he's banished to depths that can't
ever be escaped.

You think he doesn't deserve it? Ask Caleb Foley's father! Ask Caleb,
himself. Chase took advantage of an innocent man and used him as bait
to Caleb. And when Chase didn't get enough of what he wanted in that
situation, Chase took it upon himself to hurt a man who did nothing to
him, simply because his small mind told him that hurting anyone and
everyone is the only way he can feel good about himself.

Chase Williams did all he could to destroy the Foley family. All
because a happy family is the biggest threat to Williams. Anyone's
happiness is, but family most of all. Chase can't live knowing that
anyone truly has love and respect for each other, so he has to lash
out and tear it apart. But he won;t be able to just walk away and
carry on with his next target. He's going to realize the error of his
ways and it'll be at my hands. I'm the Avenging Soul. God's Own Hand.
With great vengeance and furious anger, I'm going to make Chase
Williams suffer for his sins. He'll know agony and pain. It'll be
something he'll carry with him forever onward. And the only way he'll
manage to escape it is...to tap clean!

There won't be blood. There won't be weapons. There won't be swerves
or cheap shots. All there'll be is two men taking full measure of each
other and me making you suffer for your sins by one simple gesture.

Tap. Tap. Tap."

Hartt turns back and sets up another machine to begin working on his
legs, as the camera fades out.

****************************************
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Livestock and The Gutch
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****************************************

Gutch: Just because you got the good diction and *BLEEP* don't mean
you're right all the time.

[Backstage, just after the last Heatwave.  Loud, angry voices fill the
hallway.]

Livestock: How do I make this clear?  Step one; screw Max and Sal so
we get a softball at the PPV.  Step two; Nothing at all!  Step three;
profit.

[Rounding a corner, the camera catches sight of PVW's oversized tag
champs, Livestock and the Gutch, still sweaty, postmatch, arguing.]

Gutch: Look man, Max and Sal are alright, alright?

Livestock: No, no, see, they just fed you.  I give the occasional
sandwich to a homeless man but really, I just do it to feel better
about myself.  That and because they'd just spend money on crystal
meth.  _Sal_ and Max were just using you towards their own ends.

Gutch: What ends?  Anh?  What's balancin' the scales gonna do?  Maybe
if you'd just gone along with me we'd have just the one team to fight
at Rise.

Livestock: If I'd gone along with you?  Are you serious?  Those two
slackers already slipped one in on us.  Why give them even one chance
when we hold the gold?

Gutch: Why give the Prophets a chance?  They already had a run with
the belts.

Livestock: Why?  Because there's no way they could beat us!  That's
why!  Now what?  We get to fight them, and Max and Sal and ...
Everlasting Hell?  Perry Fontana, that manipulative putz and his
unwilling brother in law.  Man, I'm just now understanding that
dynamic.

Gutch: What's that supposed to mean?

Livestock: You can't guess?  Gutch, Perry Fontana is a badass
mastermind saddled with a second tier wannabe.

Gutch: So you're saying you're a wannabe?

Livestock: Cute.

[Interesting; Livestock refuses to make eye contact when he's really
upset while Gutch just talks with his hands like your average Italian
stereotype.  Neat.]

Gutch: Hey, I'm just sayin' you ain't no mastermind.

Livestock: Ah, hah, okay.  Okay.  Clearly you've taken leave of your
senses because, well, if I'm no mastermind then why are we still
champion?

Gutch: 'Cause of Zeke and 'cause we're two bad men.

Livestock: Wow, Gutch, and here I thought your stupidity was just an
act!  Thanks for setting me straight.

[Bushy brows knitting, Gutch steps towards Livestock, moving into
position to force eye contact.]

Gutch: Okay Mister vocabulary, howzabout this?
Antidisestablishmentarianism!  Phylogeny recapitulates ontogeny!

Livestock: What does recapitulation theory have to do with our current
situation?

[Wait.  What?]

Gutch: I'm provin' a point!  You think you got all the brains just
'cause I keep it real instead of puttin' on airs!?  You're DREAMIN'!

[Plodding into the scene behind Livestock and moving around to stand
beside Gutch, Bubba Hayes decides to involve himself.  The massive
black man closes ranks with his equally massive Mediterranean
counterpart.]

Livestock: Oh sweet Christ...

Bubba: Look Cowman, not all of us gotta sit there and pretend to be
better'n erry one jus'ta make ourself feel betta.  You hatin' on the
Guz'a here cuz you jealous. You jealous of his jahwa du vev-re, his
lady an' his passion fa life. You jus' a hata, Cattleboy, jus' a hata.
You don't gotta listen to this hata, G-Money, fo'get him an' his bitta
ass.

Livestock: Wh-what?  Honestly, did you have a stroke since the last
time I saw you because, currently, I'm not certain if you just
insulted me or solicited me for the March of Dimes.

Bubba: See what I mean, Gutchman? He's all playing he ain't know what
I am sayin', dig? He be insulting me jus' so he can pretend he smart.
You ain't smart, you just a bookworm who turn inta a roid monkey. All
shrivel dick n'*BLEEP*. He one of them blue-eyed racist devils; all
pretenning he don't unnastan. Gutch, can you believe this bigot? I bet
he got a white hood in his locker and *BLEEP*!

Gutch: Yeah, yeah!  You do, I've seen it!

Livestock: Seriously?  Seriously.  That's my Steelers hoodie.  It's
white and has the team logo on the back and over the heart.  It's a
sports team.

Bubba: See Gutchie, he admit it!

[A tense moment passes as Gutch gets nose-to-nose with Livestock and
the two glare balefully at one another.]

Livestock: You really wanna do this, fatty?  Is this how it all ends?

Gutch: Oh, so now we're back to my weight?  After all that sweet
sandwich talk, too.

Livestock: I was talking about Jared and how you should eat low-
calorie Subway sandwiches...  You might recall that you were, at the
time, mugging the sandwich artist to make him put more meatballs and
artery-hardening cheese on your grinder.

Gutch: Don't go makin' no excuses now, 'Stock.  No, not Stock, Mister
Zappa!

Moze: Livestock: Don't go there.

Gutch: Just did!

Livestock: That's my dad, not me.

Gutch: And yet here you stand.

Bubba: Bitch like Cowman don't deserve no last name.

[Running into the scene to stand among the oversized men, Zeke Craven
looks, perhaps understandably, panicked.]

Zeke: What the hell is going on here!?  What are you two doing!?
You've been best friends since college!  Remember?  Remember the
football team at Penn State?

Gutch: Oh yeah, I remember that, I was a linebacker and Mister Zappa
here was what again?  Oh yeah, a CHEERLEADER!

Livestock: Okay there Captain Caveman!  Sorry that we can't all be
blunt objects.

Bubba: Gowan, bitch, say Gutch's name. Respect yo betters. Say "I'm
sorry for being an arrogant, racist, steroid using, woman hating,
lying, stealing blond haired, blue-eyed devil son o'Hitler."  Call him
Mr. Bartalucci, you honky son of a whore!

Livestock: You are just out of your mind...

Gutch: Seems Mister Z--COWMAN here--

Livestock: What the *BLEEP!?*

Gutch: --don't think I know what's what!  Well lemme tell you buddy,
you don't tell me what's what I tell you what's what!

Livestock: But--

Bubba: What'cha gone do now Cowman. What. You. Gone. Do?

[There's a moment of silence as the middle-aged and crazy man (Zeke)
normally known as one of the chief ringleaders of PVW is struck dumb
by this interplay of huge weirdos.  Bubba crosses his arms and
shoulders in past Gutch to stand in front of Livestock, menacingly.]

Gutch: Yeah, HONKY!

[Shaking his head, looking hurt, Livestock takes a step back.  Gutch,
emboldened by his partner-in-stretchpants being present, moves beside
Bubba, and the pair of them make a nearly 7' wide wall of fat that
fills the hall.  Finally, looking defeated, Livestock looks away from
his partner.]

Livestock: Y'know what?  Hell with it.  Gutch, you and your butt-buddy
there can have each other.  Hope you're happy with yourself.  I'm out.

[Turning on his heel, Livestock walks quickly from the scene.  This
finally snaps Zeke out of his stupor.]

Zeke: What?  Wait, no!  Livestock, son, you're a champion!  You can't
just quit the team!  LIVESTOCK!

[Dashing off after the big pretty boy, Zeke leaves the two fat men to
block the hall.]

Bubba: That's right, Casper, go on back to ya Klan meeting! Bet the
gran' wizard misses his bottom bitch!

Gutch: Was that for Zeke or Livestock?

[Beat.  Bubba looks sly.]

Bubba: Honestly, G-money, all honkys look the same to me.

[Gutch's eyes cross.  Cut.]

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

[The inside of a wrestling gym is saturated with sweat, bruises and
broken hopes. Standing in the middle of a training ring is none other
than America's champion, Gibson Hayes. A baby blue set of trunks,
white knee and elbow pads, baby blue kick pads, red boots, red cast on
his arm and baby blue hooded cloak are what our savior is wearing. He
seems to be holding something in his hands.]

You see this place? I bet most of you people out there, in the nation
that helped give birth to the greatest human being alive: me;
America's stone of truth and justice; the one and only; savior by
action; modern messiah by birthright; Gibson Hayes, have never seen in
inside of a gym, let alone exercised. I forgive you, though, because I
am just that wonderful of a man.

[The American champion smiles.]

I am not here just to show you a place where wrestlers are made and
pretenders are broken. No, no, no. The glorious Gibson Hayes is here
to tell you that even I, the illustrious and wonderful man that I am,
took his first steps on the road to actualizing his immense potential
in a gym not unlike this one. Gibson Hayes was once just a regular
better than pretty much every one of you sort of guy, but not quite
the epitome of America's great shining hope. There were one or two
more ladder rungs I was destined to climb, all the while burdened with
the knowledge that Gibson Hayes is going to be carrying worthless
heaps of crap on his shoulders because he is the only American left
that can do so.

[Taking a deep breath, our favorite American ever lets loose a deep
sigh.]

Sometimes I lay awake at night, thinking about just how hard it is to
be the only beacon of hope in a world filled with bleeding vagina
monsters that live under the bed and bury people for no real reason,
green tattooed man-children, midgets with guns, some guy from
Allentown and I think to myself: no problem, Gibby. You are such a
damned fine speciman of humanity, the culimation of the best this
species has had to offer, that you can do anything. That brings a
smile to my face.

[And he is smiling right now... until he frowns.]

Then I crash back to reality, remembering my time in these stained,
smelly and scummy gyms. I remember climbing from a disrespectful
beginning. I remember beer halls and bingo palaces. I remember
training under a man who's whole goal was to give all you wallets the
best goddamned show you would ever see in your whole God forsaken
life. I remember indifference from you stumps, you idiot fans who do
not recognize amazing when it takes center stage.

[Arms stretched, Gibson stares hard at the camera.]

And I remember going to Europe to train with a submission master. When
I was on that awful contintent filled with welfare cheats and whores I
saw you, Herscher. I saw you and your stupid fake father. I saw you
treat every little thing he did as gospel truth. Meanwhile, I learned
what I had to from that loser. I called Tyrone, asking him why he sent
me to that dank hole in the worst part of Amsterdam; asking him why I
needed to go there when I had already learned so much from others. Do
you know what he told me, Herschey-kins? Do you know what he said?

[A questioning look from the new prodigy.]

He said he sent me there to see what the end looks like, first hand. I
saw a man who was broken, used up by his betters. I saw a tool, used
by Todd for the betterment of those more deserving. I saw a fool and
his little pet, comfortable in their own dank and tiny miserable hole
in the wall. The failure I saw there inspired me to do what it takes
to avoid becoming the butt of a joke. And Herschey-poo, your mentor is
nothing but a joke.

[The hyena like laugh and smile that Gibson has one his face are very
reminiscent of another Hayes.]

Oh and what a joke he was, HvD. The set up was him believing he was an
equal. The players were a champion and a brilliant manager... with
their masked errand boy. The punchline was not only getting a cut of
his pay but using him and his likeness for better things than he ever
could have dreamed. You think your pretend daddy wasn't a tool of
Todd? He was more than just a tool; he was a loyal lapdog, starved for
attention. Then, after Todd was done with that broken chewtoy, he
threw him away. When the mutt wouldn't stay down, they euthenized his
career.

[From the ground behind him, Gibson picks up his championship belt.]

Then we find out he has himself a son... well something like a son.
What better way to punish a helpless, three legged dog than to drown
its pup? That cage is where your career takes its last gasp, Herscher.
Nothing is going to be the same after we tear the last bit of soul
from your surrogate father and put to rest the final pathetic vestiges
of your "promising" career.

[Slinging that belt over his right shoulder, Hayes puts his hands on
his hips.]

And then, after my heel has been dug into the back of you and your
father's misery, I will look around at the fans of Phoenix Valley
Wrestling and bask in their adulation. Because I am their last, best
hope for a bright America.

[DOUBLE V FOR VICTORY FINGER SALUTE! And then... black.]

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

(We open the scene at the PVW "Headquarters."  There we see Johnny
Detson sitting behind a Mahogany desk wearing a black suit with a
white shirt and red tie.  Several people are moving in and out of the
shot carrying various papers or talking on the phone, giving off the
impression of a real working environment.  To his left hangs a banner
creating a backdrop.  The banner reads, PVW:

JUAN VASQUEZ FREE SINCE 2008!"  To his right, a sign reading, "THERE
HAVE BEEN _0_ JUAN VASQUEZ RELATED INCIDENTS FOR 1,090 DAYS!"  Detson
plasters on his politician smile as if he's actually running for
office before starting.)

Detson:  My fellow PVW-ites, welcome to the first, of what is sure to
be many, State of the PVW address.  Where I, Johnny Detson, President
and CEO, educate the uneducated in an attempt to let you know what is
going on here in the PVW and how I, Johnny Detson, President and CEO,
have made this a better place.

(Detson's smile morphs into his cocky smirk before continuing.)

Detson:  The trials and tribulations as President and CEO are many.
The angst from the position is great.  But as you will see, the
successes that I have created in my short time as President and CEO
are far greater than anyone could have anticipated or accomplished.
To be the single greatest mind in the professional wrestling
business... well it is its own reward.

(Detson nods in agreement with his own assessment.)

Detson:  That is not to say it hasn't been hard.  There are... certain
detractors who let's say wanted to stay the course and keep the status
quo.  But as I have shown all you people out there, the status was
never quo.  I needed to get in there, as President and CEO, and fix
the problem... lead the PVW to a dawning of a new day, a new era!  And
in the end, most people can agree that Johnny Detson, President and
CEO, was right, and these certain detractors were wrong.  The old PVW
is gone, this new PVW, created in my image, as President and CEO, is
the one leading this formerly insolvent company back from the brink of
death.

(Detson again quickly nods in agreement as he reaches over and stacks
some paper in front of him, looking very official and business-like.)

Detson:  There are many things I have undertaken in my time as
President and CEO, the first of those things is image restructuring.
When I first took over, PVW was a joke; it was dead and the absolute
symbol of corporate greed.  Things needed to be done...

(Detson stretches out his open palms as if he's presenting something
on display.)

Detson:  The first of which is the show you are watching tonight.  You
people all remember what this use to be called... Burning Effect.

(Detson shudders before continuing.)

Detson:  Now naming a show after a side effect to a VD is just never
good business.  It didn't play well with the PVW's demographic, which
would be you, the little people.  As President and CEO, my first order
of business was to change the name of that horrible show into
something more presentable.  So now Johnny Detson, President and CEO,
can proudly present to you... SHOWCASE!  Where the stars of the PVW,
mostly myself, can Showcase their thoughts and abilities to the
demanding public.

(Detson flips some papers on his desk, stacking them neatly before
continuing.)

Detson:  The second order of business was better matches, namely
inserting Johnny Detson, President and CEO, into the Main Event.  Now
to say this was a rousing success would be a significant
understatement.  The numbers were through the roof!  And I, being the
magnanimous person that I am, sacrificed a match in which it was
obvious that I could win at any time I wanted, just to give you, the
little people, more minutes of Johnny Detson on your television set.
That's because Johnny Detson, President and CEO, puts the needs of
you, the little people, desperate and starving for REAL entertainment,
above his own needs.

(Detson smirks again at the camera.)

Detson:  Another thing I have done as President and CEO is budget
cuts.  This is always the hard part of executive life but changes
needed to be made.  The Alex Martinez, Doc Holliday match?  That's
half of our expenses gone right there, which can be redirected into
giving the PVW a brighter future and a better tomorrow.

(Detson nods.)

Detson:  Also, the PVW has embarked in an effect with local charities
to clothe the homeless.  The PVW has ton of extra merchandise laying
around, so we have donated it to the less fortunate.  Take a look at
some of these stills.

(A picture appears on the camera of a disheveled homeless man with no
teeth decked out in a brand new Caleb Foley tee shirt and hat giving a
big thumbs up to the camera.)

(A picture of a mother holding her newborn baby, who happens to be
swaddled in his own Caleb Foley tee shirt.)

(Another shot of an alleyway where the homeless stand in front of a
trashcan fire.  One man throwing a Caleb Foley tee shirt in the can to
keep the fire going.)

(The shot returns to Johnny Detson with a huge smile on his face.)

Detson:  You see?  The PVW gives back.  By donating tons of
merchandise that was never selling and never going to, the PVW shows
that it does in fact care.  Cares about the unfortunate, cares about
the needy, and cares about all of you.

(Detson wipes away a fake tear.)

Detson:  And also, giving away all of that jack-o's non-selling crap
is one heck of a tax write-off!  PVW cares about the needy, but they
also care about their bottom line, which in the end will ensure that
the financial difficulties the last time around will never happen
again.

(Detson gives a big thumbs up to the camera.)

Detson:  The final issue I wish to discuss with you tonight is the
health and mental well-being of the PVW employees.  Now I know some of
you out there will think this is a foolish endeavor on the part of me
as President and CEO, but its one that I care about deeply.  This is a
plan that will not only treat the current roster of the PVW, but will
also allow the past administration the ability to have a thorough
mental examination.  I mean, giving Craven the ability to pick his own
stipulations in a match?  The guy tattooed himself green and I have it
on good authority that he once ate a midget!  Not the best decision
maker we have.

(Detson shakes his head back and forth.)

Detson:  And giving Rick Marley a title match?  These are the reasons
that the PVW failed.  Decisions like that and people like Caleb
Foley...

(Detson sneers at the name.)

Detson:  Now Mr. Foley, you are here in this new, great PVW because I
allow it, but I've heard you speak.  You continue down the same
foolish path of clamoring that you are the face of PVW.

(Detson vehemently shakes his head.)

Detson:  You think this is the same place where you made a name for
yourself losing big match after big match after big match?  Its not!

(Detson slams his fist down on the desk.)

Detson:  BECAUSE I WON'T ALLOW IT!  Why do you think I've working so
hard?  So we can go back to what it was?  A failing organization with
failures for wrestlers and failing ratings?  No, I refuse to allow
that to happen!  Now I understand, you carved a little notch for
yourself in that place, but understand this, that place is gone.  You
were a really small fish in an even smaller pond, and it got to your
head, I understand.  And now?  Now, you feel as if you have to defend
that place that made you what you are.  But what are you?  You're a
little annoying flea yelling and screaming about how I offend you and
you need to defend the PVW...

(Detson shakes his head.)

Detson:  The thing you fail to realize though Caleb, is that I am the
PVW.  Johnny Detson, President and CEO, has brought this place back
from the dead.  This is my place.  I stayed and saved it.  You left
and saved yourself.  I keep you around because you amuse me and
because you serve as the reminder to everyone else of what we're
trying not to be.  You see, Caleb Foley and the Old PVW failed, A LOT!
This New PVW, the one created in my image as President and CEO, will
succeed because I made it so.

(Detson glares at the camera.)

Detson:  So come Rise from the Ashes, I'll show you and the world just
what I mean.  Because you represent something that I just can't stand,
and that's the way this company used to be run.  And when I see you
clamoring for days of yore it boils my blood because you just don't
understand the effort, sweat and tears I put into making this place
succeed!  But you will.  The Old PVW is dead, and you helped kill it,
what I'm doing is making sure it stays dead so that my New PVW can
live.  And at Rise From the Ashes?  I'll show you how much this New
World is better.

(Detson sits up straight, folding his hands in front of him.)

Detson:  It's my Executive obligation.  As President and CEO, I will
crush your pathetic coup and lead the PVW to a better tomorrow.  Thank
you, good night and God's speed!

(With that the scene fades to black.)

****************************************
****************************************
Lary Gionet
****************************************
****************************************

[It is roughly 6 PM Pacific Standard Time.  The sun is finally setting
down on the horizon.  Its' presence is felt as the sky line is painted
orange and yellow as some cloud forming above are marred in purple and
red.  A sight only nature could woven up.  A cactus is shown on the
right hand side. On the left side standing on the desert terrain is
the PVW's Television champion and warrior, Larry Gionet.]

Larry Gionet:  So here we are back to where Phoenix Valley Wrestling
had its start.  At Rise From The Ashes PVW's first PPV I had yet to
debut. It would not be until April 30th 2008 would I step foot in a
PVW ring and defeat Masked Maniac, the man I would defeat for the
Television Title two years later.

[Larry Gionet points to his prized possession as the camera captures
the name plate naming Larry Gionet as Champion shining in the camera's
eye.  Gionet sticks his sneaker into the Earth below as a little dust
cloud forms behind him.  He looks into the cmaera with a renewed focus
in his cold blue eyes.]

LG:  Along the road I've traded wins and loses here and there.  I even
suffered a shoulder injury at the hands of Chase Williams that nearly
ended everything.  But now at Rise From the Ashes II it is like
starting fresh all over again.  It is time for the wrestling world to
remember who Larry Gionet really is, who I am capable of being.

[Although his shoulder has been fully healed now he touches it as if
never to forget the fate he narrowly escaped.  He looks down at the
pounded Earth deep in though. He steps into his footprint symbolizing
being content and staying put where he is in his life.]

LG:  Tommy Ryder this is your grand opportunity.  There is a lot on
the line going into this for you. As much as there is at stake on your
end there is twice as much on mine.  My first defense can either make
or break my standings as a champion here in PVW a TRUE champion.

[Larry Gionet looks up at the slowly darkening sky as some sand whips
past his dirty blonde hair. A few strands of hair rest on his eyebrows
that ignite a look of reflection in his eyes.  He stares at the
masterpiece set before him looking intently at the clouds. He keeps
his back to the camera as he picks up where he left off.]

LG:  As much as you want your moment in the sun Tommy, I am afraid to
say that I am going to be the cloud that rains on your parade.  That
cloud which will hover over you being a reminder of what could have
been.  That you were THIS close of becoming the PVW Television
Champion.  Maybe you will be just a millisecond too late in getting
your shoulder off the mat or you will just be inches away from
reaching those ropes or perhaps you will not even  remember the
outcome.

[Larry Gionet clinches his fists as a few crackles of knuckles can be
heard.  Larry spins around so he is facing the camera again as he
kicks a rock causing it to skid off into the cactus. His look of
reflection morphs into intensity without a moments notice. Larry
points to his PVW Television Title before pointing to the camera.]

LG:  This is the big leagues Tommy. While you may prove to be a hungry
fighter I want this championship a little more than you!  While I may
respect you, there is no way in hell I am not going into Rise From The
Ashes II with both guns blazing and fighting until I can't fight
anymore.  This is in my blood. It is all I know and all I ever have to
know Ryder.  You will help end my year with a bang!  At Rise From The
Ashes II The Phenom goes down in flames!

2011 will be monumental year.  Where I take down challenger after
challenger.  All in the name of pushing one step closer to the biggest
accomplishment of my career.  Phoenix Valley Wrestling, 2011 will be
the year of the PVW WARRIOR!

[Larry Gionet looks into the camera's eye raising his left fist to it.
He stands still like a statue as the PVW Television Title glistens
over his right shoulder.  We hear the wind howling in the night as a
few stars twinkle beneath the cloud's grip. We then fade to black.]

****************************************
****************************************
Carson Cutter
****************************************
****************************************

[The scene cues up onto a gym.  Poorly lit with faded athletic posters
and paint peeling from the walls, the place has seen better days.  So
too is the large Caucasian man throwing jabs at a punching bag in the
corner.    He's bald, though with a bushy brown beard flecked with
salt and pepper.  Nearly six feet tall and looks to be about three
hundred pounds, give or take about twenty pounds maybe.   He is
wearing a maroon singlet and has a white towel draped around his
neck.]

"Seventeen years..."

[The grizzled man snorts, continuing to punch the bag.]

"...seventeen years, I been in this bidness.  Seventeen years of being
told I had to 'pay my dues'.  To show 'respect' to the veterans.
Seventeen years of busting my hump for peanuts in no name feds while
the new pretty boy gets hotshotted to the gold right away 'cause he
sucked off the boss in the back.

Seventeen years of BULLSH**!"

[He strikes the bag harder and harder.]

"Too late for me to go learn something else.  What am I gonna do
anyway?  F***ing real estate?!"

[The man sneers.]

"But I get this call.  'Stoney, we want ya for the big time!  Phoenix
Valley might have a job for ya!  All ya gotta do is win one match...'
F*** that, I know what they're saying.  'Lie down, old man...make the
punk look good and we'll keep ya around for a month in Keening's old
gimmick.  Maybe even throw in a beer too.  Ya gotta pay per dues...'

F*** THAT SH**!"

[He finally turns to face the camera, his expression etched in a cold
glare.]

"I'm gonna tell ya what's gonna happen.  No more F***ING 'dues', no
more BULLSH** about 'respect'.  I've had seventeen years of LIES and
busted bones.  Now?  Now it's MY turn!  If some sh**sucker named Eddie
Cassidy gotta end up as a greasy smear on the mat for ME to finally
get some damn respect...

[Now he finally grins, toothy and angry.]

"...then I ain't gonna be sorry."

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

Scene: A silver colored Pontiac Sunfire pulls up to a very plain and
small one level house. Out of the car emerges Herscher von
Donkerhardt. Herscher gets out of the car and is walking with a limp.
Herscher is sporting a grimace on his face as he walks over to the
trunk of the car and retrieves his equipment bags. Herscher closes the
trunk and slowly makes his way to the door. He opens the door and is
greeted by the blond haired man he has been seen training with.)

SMACK!

(With the mans silver cane across the face of Herscher. Herscher falls
to the floor, holding his face as he rolls around in pain.)

Unidentified man: You little [TV EDIT]! How stupid are you!? I should
do the job for Gibson and finish your knees off with this cane! Who
wants to see the end of your career more, Todd or you?

HvD:(removing his hand from his face to look at the man): Ik begrijp
dit niet. Wat heb je het over? Wat heb ik gedaan om te beledigen u
mijn mentor?

Man: English, Herscher! Engels is voor Amerika het Nederlands is voor
Nederland!

HvD: Um, what have I done to offend you, Mentor?

Mentor: You're gross stupidity offends me. Your inability to see the
trap being set for you. I told you wrestling in America wasn't the
same as Europe. Wrestling skill is not enough here. Not only do you
have to know to wrestle, but you must know how to play the game.
Obviously I have failed to teach you about the game and now you are
doomed to learn about the game by one of its masters, Todd Johnstone!

HvD: This man insulted you and in doing so insulted me! (Herscher
shakes with fury) He claims to have known you, and to have broken you!
I could not let him get away with that!

Mentor: Todd Johnstone is a man capable of saying the most offensive
vile and disgusting things I have ever heard. Todd feeds on people's
reactions; he wants to shock and anger people, get them worked up,
leaving them off their game and vulnerable in the ring to his charges.
He has few equals in that department. Todd is essentially fire, he
warms and enlightens people to see what lies in front of them, and he
burns those who get too close or fall out of favor. You, my stupid
little prodigy, now find yourself as another log tossed onto that fire
- fueling Todd's need for power, prestige, and the undivided attention
he has always craved since he was "Big Time" Teddy Johnstone.

HvD: He does know you?

Mentor: Todd says terrible things, the most terrible of those being
the truth. I know Todd and he knows me. Wrestling is a small world and
we have a shared history. I joined forces with him and another man who
would become a good friend. Together we took on wrestling and left a
trail of carnage in our wake. We said things and did things that made
the business stop and take notice. We would step into the ring with
men 300 pounds and over, look into their eyes, and practically hear
them make a mess in their trunks, out of the sheer thought of what we
might do to them. We faced the heart throbs, the fan favorites, the
legends, the legends in their own minds, and put them in their place.
We also faced the both incredibly confident and stupid in that ring;
we had the most fun playing with them. We were a trio with great
potential to shock, surprise and disgust. We did our best to live up
to that potential. I did a lot of terrible things, made a lot of
enemies and was extremely proud of myself for it. In hindsight I was
young, blinded by the spotlight and my own arrogance.

(Herscher's teacher runs his hand through his finely cropped hair.)

At the time, I also considered Todd a friend. In the end I learned
that Todd doesn't have any friends, just people he uses until they
fall out of favor or outlive their usefulness. (bitter laugh) I
learned this the hard way. One day I fell out of favor with Todd and
he left me for dead, literally. I was angry and I wanted revenge. So I
went down the path of vengence by taking on his champion. Of all the
things I regret doing, this was the worst. I incurred the wrath of
Johnstone, and between facing his champion and everything that Todd
brings to the table, I was horribly outgunned. In the end, I found
myself with an injury that effectively ended my career, on many black
lists in this business due to my past and Todd's influence, and most
important of all I had lost the best friend I ever had in the process.
It would be years before we talked again. Now, now I see you in almost
exactly the same situation, with the same outcome a very good
possibility. As a rule I don't interfere in the affairs of my former
students, but you have too much potential and I can't watch Todd try
to destroy another man when that man's career has barely even begun.

HvD: He won't, not with us on the same side! We shall both have our
revenge on the fatman!

(Herscher's comment brings fire back into the icy blue eyes of his
surrogate father.)

Mentor: Hold it right there! I'm not here for revenge and I'm not here
to help you beat Gibson. I'm only here to advise you, to give you an
idea of what you are up against. I told you I will not interfere in
the affairs of former students, especially when they face one another.

HvD: Face one another? What do you mean? Are you talking about Gibson?

Mentor: Like I said, wrestling is a small world and Gibson was a
student of mine, briefly. He was sent to me by his mentor, to show him
the finer points of submission wrestling. Gibson didn't stay long,
claiming he learned all he needed to learn. What Gibson learned was he
didn't want me to stretch him and twist him into a pretzel, like I do
with all my students. I knew Gibson had potential and championships
would come his way. The problem with Gibson is his laziness and
reliance on taking far too many shortcuts. He is nothing at all like
his teacher in that manner. I will not show favoritism to either you
or him.

HvD: But what about Todd? Don't you want revenge for him ending your
career. What about all his insults?

Mentor: I have no interest in revenge and I have no interest in Todd
or his insults, not anymore. As far as ending my career, the injury
ended it, not Todd. The doctors told me that with surgery and a long
rehabilitation, there was a remote chance, less than 20%, that I could
step in the ring again. Todd had the stroke to make sure no promotion
in the US would hire me, but I had my choice of working in Japan or
Europe or elsewhere... but I didn't want to. The surgery and the pain
just didn't seem worth it and after my last match I didn't have the
heart for this business any longer. I wanted revenge and it ate away
at me. I hated Todd and his champion so much I couldn't cope. The only
way I could deal with it was to plunge even further into the alcohol
and drug binges that I had engaged in during the latter half of my
career. I was coked to the gills in my last match, it ended badly but
I was feeling no pain. For the next few years I descended into drugs
and debauchery, if it could be done, I did it. Thats how I came to
find myself in Amsterdam, yet another American looking to take in the
seedier side of the country. I was living on the streets and I knew I
was going to die there. Todd had won or so it had seemed.

HvD: But you're not dead! What happened?

Mentor: I was saved - picked up and given a much needed kick in the
ass. I was helped by the one person I had least expected help from,
Todd's meal ticket... and my  best friend. He tracked me down,
literally picked me up off the street and put me into rehab. He told
me to let it all go, it wasn't worth it. Yes, I had lost the match and
my career, but I hadn't lost the friendship; it was still there. He
saved my life, he was still my friend and in doing so I achieved a
victory over Todd, the man he helped make champion and the man he
tried to destroy, were still friends in spite of him putting them at
odds with one another. I defeated Todd by depriving him of what he
wanted, satisfaction in putting me in perpetual victim hood. I clean
myself up and chose to stay in Holland. I did some work in film and
television over there and opened up my wrestling school. I even found
someone to spend my life with and my days of decadence were replaced
by the boredom that comes with married lies. I couldn't be happier and
that pisses Todd off. Like I said before Todd is fire, and you deal
with fire by cutting off the oxygen. I cut off the anger that he fed
on. And that, my pupil, is what you must do: give up your anger and
let go of this desire for revenge.

HvD: How do I do this? How do I turn away from these insults directed
at us?

Mentor: By doing what got you here. By not squandering the second
chance you were given. Wrestling got you off the streets that left you
for dead. It saved you from a past that was doomed to leave you
another angry Dutch skinhead, with a rap sheet a mile long and fatally
stabbed by another equally angry Dutch Moroccan. I returned the favor
done to me, by picking you up off the street and teaching you to
wrestle. You were given the chance that many others like you didn't.
You got a way out of misery and pariah status that your father didn't.
By throwing all that away and giving into your temper, you give
greater insult to you, me, and your father than Todd could ever come
up with in two lifetimes. Wrestle Gibson, give him the stretching he
thought he escaped; turn him into a pretzel if need be! Wrestle the
best match of your career, because this match is your career. Just do
your best and above all, ignore Todd.

HvD: That is asking a lot; that fat man, he makes me so angry! How do
I even begin to ignore him?

Mentor: Start by icing those knees and resting. Then we do the only
thing left to do: train.

(Herscher nods as his trainer pats him on the shoulder. Fade to
black.)

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

[The lights come on in the arena.  "The Phenom" Tommy Ryder and "Lady"
Laurel Levinger walk quietly to the ring.  Tommy takes a deep breath
as looks around at the empty seats.]

TR: It's going to happen.  At Rise From the Ashes II, I have a shot at
a title and I just wanted to make a few things clear Larry Gionet.

First, I'm not going to say you don't deserve the PVW TV Championship.
Quite the opposite.  You've paid your dues and you earned it, but
let's get this straight... I've paid dues too.

I gotta say this is going to be refreshing Larry.  Both of us Want
that championship.  Not as some stepping stone, but to bring some
meaning to the TV Championship.

[Tommy pauses to look around the arena and back toward the dressing
rooms.]

TR: This isn't going to be some normal match Larry.  That title means
more to both of us than that.  For us that title means that we could
do it.  That we earned it.  No one handed it to us and certainly no
one helped us get it.

[At this point Laurel makes a smirk and raises an eyebrow at Tommy.
It's clear that Laurel feels that Tommy's need to stand up for people
and her ability to get Tommy in trouble have played some part in
things.]

TR: To tell the truth, I don't think I'd want this any other way.  You
want to keep that championship because it's your accomplishment and
I want that championship to be my accomplishment.  Most of the guys
in the back want to win a championship as if it were some tangable
part of their ego.  We want that TV championship so that we can prove
ourselves.  As if to tell the rest of the locker room "This is mine,
try and take it from me."  Oh yeah, this is the way I want this match.

I'm not going to tell you that I'm taking your championship and
there's nothing you can do about it.  But I will tell you that from
the fight  I'm willing to go out there and put up for that TV
Championship, that title will be a reward for whichever of us comes
out with the win.  I could go into some cliche stuff about how I have
to win so that the  fans have a champion that they believe in, but
that just doesn't seem to feel right this time.  Don't get me wrong, I
Believe that cliche  stuff, but while you are willing to do anything
to win, you do have a point that I haven't seen you go past yet and I
have some respect for that.

Larry, I need to make this very plain.  I WANT what you have and I am
going to do everything I can to take it from you.

[The camera fades out.]

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

(Scene opens. We're outside the 52nd Street Armory where the Mercenary
is leaning against the fender of his new Hummer. His arms are crossed
over his chest and he seems to be very relaxed, which is strange mood
to be finding him in, considering what happened recently at Heatwave.
Maybe it has something to do with the single shapely bare leg
protruding from the rear driver's side window with a green string
bikini hanging from the big toe... but that's just speculation...
Anyways, he sees the camera crew approaching, so he quickly grabs the
swimsuit, tosses it into the open window, and shoves the leg back
inside as well. )

Merc: Well, I guess you're here to get my comments on the upcoming....

(But the shot doesn't stay focused on the Merc. Instead it gets closer
and closer to the open window of the Hummer, but before we can see
what's going on inside, the tinted window is rolled up, and all we see
is a reflection of the cameraman with drool dripping from his inkempt
beard. He lets out a barely audible curse before turning back to the
Merc.)

CameraMan:  Damn...That perv Zeke would have paid good money for a
shot like that.

Merc: Yeah, I'm sure he would, but then I'd have to put your nuts in a
blender. Would he have paid enough to replace them?

CM: Uhm... Probably not. So, anyways, I'm here to get your comments on
your match at Rise From the Ashes. It seems Jessica Marshall is
bringing in a mystery person to face you. Are you worried?

Merc: Worried? You must be new here, aren't ya? You should know that
the only thing that worries me is running out of money, and with the
way I'm setup right now, there's not much chance of that happening
anytime soon. But I will be more than happy to address how we got to
this particular point in time.

(Merc takes a step away from the fender and sits himself on the
running board step, the dollar sign on the drivers door partially
visible behind him)

Merc: It took a long time to finally get you attention, didn't it Miss
Marshall? Or is it Ms? Whatever... it makes no difference. What
matters is that I finally got your attention. I thought maybe you'd
get pissed off about the pizza thing, but no, you thought that was
Doc. Then I fed you the wrong information on who Doc had picked to be
Martinez' opponent. And again, you thought it was Doc. Which, at the
time, suited my purposes just fine. My real employer wanted to run a
little subterfuge on you, and keep you distracted while we put our
real plan into action while keeping his... or her... identity a
secret. Now, I will admit, yes, I was collecting two pay cheques for
doing what I did to you, but each of them got a different result. Doc
got an advantoge over you and Martinez, while the person behind the
scenes got to drive you a little crazy.

Everyone was happy. That was until somehow along the way, you figured
out that Doc wasn't totally responsible for what I was doing to you.
I'm not sure how you figured that out, and I'll have to deal with that
later, but you decided that I needed to become more of your focus. So,
you decided to come out and do just enough to cost me my number one
contendership match for the TV title. Granted, I did want to get your
attention eventually, but I wasn't expecting you to figure things out
so soon. After all, its been months since we last interacted due to
the hiatus that PVW went on and I thought you'd forgotten about what
was happening here. Then again, that also gave you lots of time to do
some digging around. Does it really matter? No, not really, except now
I won't be underestimating you. Yeah, I know about your reputation. In
fact it's that reputation that got me hired for this job. but since I
didn't have any first hand experience with you myself, I just didn't
quite believe it enough. A mistake I won't be making again.

Now, allow me to make just a little detour right here... Doc, I would
like to apologize for using you like I did, but we both know that I
don't mean it. We've crossed paths enough times for you to know me
better than that. And well, you know how it goes, and all of you out
there can repeat after me..."Business is business".

Which brings us to the business at hand. It seems Jessica wants to
play the same game that I am by bringing in a mystery opponent to face
me. Well, I guess she kinda had to, since her lapdog of the moment is
going to be busy trying to save his career. Too bad... Could have been
epic, me and Martinez, but its just not meant to be right now. It's
been awhile since we butted heads, Alex, and last time we were in the
same fed, we were actually working together. But that was many moons
ago. And I'm sure if you happen to beat Doc and stick around here, we
will meet up again. But until then, it'll just have to wait. Right
now, I've got to finish dealing with Jessica and her new pet. Does it
matter who she's bringing in? Absolutely not. The boss and I have been
putting this plan together for a long time now, and you can't just
think we wouldn't be prepared for any eventuality, even an 'unkown'
opponent? We know that you wouldn't bring in someone new, as this
situation is just too important for you to trust a rookie. So, its got
to be an established wrestler, with a known track record. Shouldn't
take much to figure out who it'll be.. all we have to do is review
your past alliances, choose the most likely two or three and plan
accordingly. Then again, it doesn't take much to just beat the living
daylights out of someone, does it?

(Merc gets back to his feet and opens the driver's door. He climbs up
into the seat, and just before he shuts the door...)

Merc: Then with this little distraction is out of the way, and I mean
this match, not the girls, it'll be back to the main plan... making
Jessica Marshall pay for her past misdeeds.

(Merc shuts the door and fires up the engine. As he pulls away, the
green string bikinin comes flying out of the sunroof, draping over the
lens of the camera. And we fade to a green blur)

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

[Fade in.  Viewed from afar, rowed seating interposed, the framed
stage of the Phoenix Opera fools no one.  Focused further in one
becomes lost in an outdoor scene from the play La Boheme; rather, they
would be, were the stage and, indeed, the opera house itself not
empty. Empty, rather, save for one lone figure.  Barefoot, wearing an
athletic shirt and army fatigue slacks, William Craven is dressed
"casual" tonight.  As casual as one can be who is inked to look like a
bipedal viper.]

WC: Great are the works of man.  Rising up from the base chattel to
stand bestride the world, his hand alone is here visible from the inky
blackness of the void.  Mankind has made the Earth in his own image.
Boisterous, loud, busy and utterly Narcissistic, we find ourselves
ever more deeply ensnared in a trap of our own making.  Technology,
once man's slave, now enslaves man, making him ever more reliant on
increasingly worthless gadgetry. Oh, what a wonder man once was, man,
before entropy first rooted itself within his soul.  He created the
Colossus of Rhodes, the Great Pyramid of Giza and crafted deep,
abstract concepts that had no place save to elevate man to an ever
more transcendent state.

Poetry, paintings, prose and, of course ... the theater...

[Stepping out to center stage amid tables standing outside a diner on
a Paris street, William looks ever more out of place.]

WC: Later tonight, an orchestra will fill the shrouded space before
the stage and herald the players who call this venue, the Orpheum,
their home.  In this modern world, this cultural wasteland, the
Orpheum is a point of light in an otherwise dismal sky.  It is ... the
exception, not the rule.

[Sneering with seeming anger, William topples one of the chairs set
beneath the table nearest to him.]

WC: I for one, you may be surprised to hear, am a creature who lives
life by rules, not exceptions.  True, my rules are frequently of my
own creation, but they are rules nonetheless. In the theater one must
always be on time, if not early, or else the rhythm may be lost and
the performance sullied.  For a conductor, most importantly, every
note must be sweet on the ear of every man, woman and child in the
opera house.  If a single woodwind, brass, string or percussion should
be out of tune, well, the result could be as bad as if the lead in the
play had forgotten his lines.

Truly, it is a matter of scale, for as the lead is the most important
part in the play and conductor the most important role in the
orchestra, on and on down to the lowest of the low until one reaches a
man with a tiny hammer and a metal triangle, waiting his time to
strike and deliver his high-pitched ring.

Of the roles in PVW, I would consider myself to be the lead but then
who is the triangle?  Who among this crowd of thugs and ciphers is the
least important man?

Dean Hayes.  No, no, while he may be a simple individual Dean is still
not the least among us.  He is yet worthy the triangle but, in PVW,
there is one yet lower.  One so incapable of holding a note, carrying
a tune or playing a role that he's more a cowbell than a triangle.

Marcus.  I think it is understood that I speak of you.

[Chuckling, Bill walks to stage left, swatting aside the table whose
chair he previously mistreated, his sneer spreading across his face as
a shark-toothed grin.  Throwing his arms wide in a gesture of affected
and exaggerated drama, Bill's raspy, gravel-filled voice raises to
fill the Orpheum.]

WC: I sang to you entreaties and apologies, to assure that I, indeed,
never meant your special friend Regnigh any ill will.  In reply ...
you clanked.

Indeed, it were possible that you and I might be great friends and
allies as our mutual love for the violence could unite us as a force
of nature!  Presented with this opportunity you replied simply ...

"Clank".

[Smile fading, Bill focuses strongly upon the camera lens and thus the
viewer.]

WC: When, finally, I resigned myself to the role given me by you of
foil and crafted for us a delicious playground in which to ply our
trade of violence, you curled your lip and looked upon me with a blank
stare.  Presenting it to you with the utmost pride, with visual aids
showing the horror I so wished to inflict upon the world that we might
be remembered always as the men who originated the Meatgrinder!

For all my troubles, what do I hear?  What thanks can I gather unto my
breast for bringing with me glory enough to share with you, ungrateful
child that you are?

Clank ... clank ... clank...

[Hopping down into a seated position at the edge of the stage, Bill
rubs the top of his bald green head with both hands, waggling his twin
tongues before gritting his sharpened teeth.]

WC: They say that great men are seldom understood in their own time.
I would like to believe that this is nothing more than such an
anachronism and that you will come to your senses at some far distant
future.  However the more I see of you, "Marcus Manson", the more I
think to myself "he is nothing more than one note".

[Bill's voice goes unnaturally high and fairly drips with mockery.]

WC: One note 'I'm undefeated'.  One note 'I'm the toughest man alive'.
One note...  You say that you're undefeated, I say you're unproven.

You claim such power to yourself but who have you beaten?  Have you
pinned the world champion Rob Cole?  I have.  I have pinned him three
times.  The only way he's ever "beaten" me was by disqualification as
another man struck him against my wishes.  Rob Cole fears my every
footstep, Marcus.  I doubt he even hears yours.

You're undefeated?  How do you cope with loss, then, Marcus?  Do you
even know?  How can you understand misery when you yourself have known
nothing but exultation?

Even on the very surface, without ever breaking ground, I can see the
bones poking through the earth of your credibility's shallow grave.
You count on your fingers and toes every win without ever considering
what it must be like to lose.  You clank along and pound your chest
without ever thinking to ring out loud and your monotony dooms you to
obscurity.

[Leaning forward on the heels of his hands, Bill leans towards the
camera, his eyes forming white semicircular silhouettes set in the
black shadows cast by his brow.]

WC: I do hope to be surprised come Rise, Marcus, but my hopes are
meager.  You sit now atop a pedestal merely waiting to be crowned yet
not seeking higher glory.  When that pedestal topples, be it by my
hand or that of another, your fall shall be far indeed.  With any luck
it shall not break you, Marcus, because as painful as that will be I
tell you now, from experience ... it gets worse...

[Dropping down behind the shield that hides the orchestra from the
audience, Bill is seen no more.  Fade.  End.]

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

[ The camera fades into a very small cemetery. It looks as if it is
about to rain outside. You see a couple walking with a young child
standing next to a tombstone and then all of a sudden you hear a very
familiar voice. The camera does a quick spin around and you see "The
Celtic Crippler" Caleb Foley walking into the cemetery... ]

Caleb Foley: You know when I was a young lad I used to hate places
like this. It sent a chill up and down my spine whenever I walked pass
outside of these gates. It did not matter what time of the day it was
.. if I was coming home from school or riding my bike back from the
local drug store I was always afraid I would fall into an open grave
and be buried alive.

[ The camera pans down and this is a first you see Caleb dressed in a
pair of black dress pants and a green button down shirt with some
black penny loafers on. Caleb has some flowers in his right hand as he
begins to walk down a path. ]

Caleb Foley: You see that same young lad that was afraid of this place
was the same person who joined Phoenix Valley Wrestling when their
doors first opened. Sure I was living my dream but I was afraid. I was
afraid of letting down my family and friends. I was afraid I would
come back to Dublin and be a failure. But you see when my Pa got sick
he said to me son the only way you can become a man is by facing your
fears. You can not be afraid of being a failure in life because if you
do life will pass you by.

[ Caleb all of a sudden stops and looks down at a grave. Caleb has
reached his father's tombstone and a few tears begin to roll down his
chin as he continues to speak. ]

Caleb Foley: And he was right. The first 20 years of my life I was
afraid but when my Pa passed away I realized it was time to be a man.
It was time to stand up and fight what I believe was right. At the
first ever Rises From The Ashes, I had an epic battle against Chase
Williams. Yeah I may have lost the chance to win the World Heavyweight
Title but experience helped me grow as a man. It taught me a valuable
lesson that nothing in life is handed to you. If you want something
you have to go out and earn it.

[ A moment of silence as Caleb places the flowers on his father's
grave and then bows his head as he pays his respect. Caleb then kisses
his right hand and touches his father tombstone as he continues to
speak ... ]

Caleb Foley: There was a day when the foundation was built on the hard
work of guys like Outlaw, Chris Hartt, Larry Gionet, Chase Williams,
Rick Marley, Rob Cole, and myself.  There were no legends.  No mega
stars gave us any thought. Then with power came greed.  Johnny Detson
your kind makes me sick.  You are exactly what is wrong with this
world. You stand in your ten thousand dollar suits claiming to be the
face of PVW.  What the hell have you done in Phoenix Valley Wrestling?
Week in and week out since you have come to PVW all you have done is
complain about this and complain about that yet you still call
yourself a MAN. You are nothing but a COWARD who is hiding behind his
expensive clothing and reputation.

[ Caleb begins to walk away from the tombstone as he continue to speak
... ]

Caleb Foley: Detson you can come out here making all these false
proclamations and saying you are the savior of Phoenix Valley
Wrestling. But we all know the truth. You love to hear yourself talk.
You probably also think you are God's gift to ladies. But that is a
different subject we will talk about another time. Johnny you want to
try and embarrass in front of all my fans by calling me names. At last
Rise From the Ashes, I was shown crying on camera in front of my
turmoil ill father.  Do you really think there is ANYTHING you can do
to humiliate me?

[ Foley pauses for a brief moment ... ]

Caleb Foley: Detson you are a huge draw.  Your name is known world
wide.  You are a legend in this industry.  You defeated Spectre in his
own back yard.  Took Doc Holliday to the end.  You wrestling Doc
Holliday to a draw.  Congratulations ...  I _beat_ Alex Martinez. And
as much as I _should_ respect you...  I just can't.  The second you
spat on every bit of hard work _we_ all put in this company.  The
second you stood as Mr. Hollywood bigger and better then every man in
the back that sat through string filling his skull or that had to pop
a handful of pills just to make it to tomorrow. You should be ashamed
of what comes out of your mouth and everything you stand for. Detson I
respect what you have accomplished.  However as a man you have proved
that you are nothing more then a snake looking to live off the misery
of your brothers. In Ireland we have this saying ... Wait no scratch
that ... In Phoenix they have this saying - When you catch a snake
skin it alive!

[ Foley lets out a brief chuckles as he says those words and then
flashes a smile to the camera as he continues to walk. ]

Caleb Foley: Detson I learned the hard way.  Respect is earned.  Even
my childhood idol sent a chair across my back to achieve the greatest
prize in this industry.  With PVW in my blood.  I am not ashamed to
admit that Brian was right.  So Detson what are you going to be able
to do to me that hasn't already been done?  Chase Williams made me tap
out in the last match my father was ever able to watch me.  Brian
Young stabbed me in the back.  Spectre has made my blood flow like
water. Heck even the World Heavyweight Champion Rob Cole himself has
called me a baby.

[ Foley has reached the beginning of the cemetery by the gates as he
leans up against them. ]

Caleb Foley: Johnny Detson, you want to be the FACE of Phoenix Valley
Wrestling this time around go ahead and say you are all you want. But
that was something that I earned the day Phoenix Valley Wrestling
opened it's doors. But I'll let you have because this time I plan on
being the SOUL of Phoenix Valley Wrestling ...

[ With those words the camera fades to black as it starts to rain ...]

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

"Come on, do you really think all of this is a good idea now?"

[We open with a shot of Tara Marshall's face in a close-up, her
expression looking quite serious as whatever she's focused on seems to
be causing her some discontent.]

TSM: I mean, let's face it Tom... he's a snake in the grass.

[The shot widens to reveal Tara holding her sleeping daughter,
Chelsea, in her arms as she sits in an office chair.  Across the desk
is her husband, Tom Landis, flipping through a binder full of papers.
Behind him on the wall is a modest plaque with the letters ACW etched
into it.  Tom looks up at his wife.]

HTL: That's a little harsh now, isn't it?

TSM: Wait a minute, you're the one who's been suspicious of him from
the very beginning!  And now you're telling me you're suddenly warming
up to him as your partner?

[Tom smiles a little and shakes his head as he goes back to the
paperwork.]

HTL: Not quite.  I'm trying to warm up to him as my brother, since as
you've been fond of pointing out since the very beginning, we're kind
of stuck with him.  Besides, we came to an understanding at the last
Rebirth.

TSM: And look how well that worked out.  Sinister handed you another
loss.

HTL: Yeah, but you can't fault Perry for that.  And he didn't try to
get involved and break anyone's arm this time.

[Tara shoots her husband a disbelieving look.]

TSM: Oh really?  Then it wasn't him who hired Livestock and the Gutch
to attack you?  Or him that was undoing everything you did to try and
save Sal Mubarak?

[This gets Tom's attention.]

HTL: Alright Tara, you've made your point.  Perry to this point hasn't
been a great brother.  Or partner.  And saner wisdom would point to me
washing my hands of him altogether.

TSM: Thank you.

HTL: _EXCEPT_... This isn't his decision anymore, and it's not his
party.  Everlasting Hell may have come together by his and the old
man's hand, but it's staying together because I say so.  Jack Fontana
may be a little eccentric in his ways, but he's not too far off in his
assessments.  And Perry and I do make a good team, personality clashes
aside.

TSM: Well I know better than to try and change your mind when you've
dug in like this.  Be careful, and watch your back.  Oh, and answer me
one question.

TSM: Shoot.

TSM: You're doing this for her, aren't you?

HTL: Maybe.  But officially, I'm doing it for the money.

[Tom winks at his wife as we fade to black.]

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

[Fade in:

Swingin' Dean Hayes stands before the PVW backdrop.]

SDH: Ladies and gentlemen, Rise from the Ashes promises a wild night
of tag-team action as four of the best teams in the world fight it out
for the right to be called the World Tag Team Champions.  My guests at
this time probably wish for it more than anything.  But will wrestling
Santa have them on his naughty or nice list?  Time will tell.  Ladies
and gentlemen, the Prophets of Rage.

[This entrance has no fanfare.  No set up.  There's no sense of fun or
playful intimidation.  The Prophets are just there on both sides of
Hayes at once.  Derek on his left.  Shadoe on his right.  They crowd
him, taking the space away, overpowering the screen and yet neither
betrays any kind of emotion.  Derek simply takes the mic and Shadoe
pointedly jerks his chin signaling Dean to exit.]

SR: Go keep Pizzazz company.

SDH: Pizzazz?  Really?

DR: She's over there.

[Hayes doesn't have to be told twice.  He's gone in a flash.]

DR: Right, now that that's done with let me talk directly to you,
Livestock, Gutch, Max, Sal, Fortuna, Landis ... There's simply no more
room for jokes in the tag-team division.  That's all that's been
happening ever since we were cheated out of our belts.  Well, the time
for joking is done.  It hasn't been a very good Christmas.  All we've
been thinking about are those titles and how they've been degraded by
the sleazy lawyers.  That degradation ends today.  It ends right now.
And it will not begin again.  There's one thing we take very seriously
and that's excellence.  For too long the theme around Phoenix Valley's
tag-team division has been cartoon characters.  The wackier the
better. But not in a way that makes anybody appreciate the sport, the
art of tag-team wrestling.  No, every match is decided by cheap
gimmicks and lame loopholes in the rules.  Well, we're here to say no
more.  It's done.  Now, if you want to survive in this league you've
actually got to be good.  We're going to make sure of that.

SR: They don't call us career enders for nothing.  A lot of poor
tag-teams have come through Phoenix Valley and tangled with the
Prophets of Rage.  A lot of them have never been seen or heard from
again. That's how we do.  That's what we do.  We are not pleasant men.
We are not friendly men.  We do not care about peace on Earth and good
cheer. What we care about is our craft.  And that craft has been
perverted. But don't worry, the Prophets are here to restore order to
the game.  We come from an age when a man's two hands were all that he
needed. Well, those times have changed because nobody has the talent
to actually wrestle any more.  We're changing that.  We're going back
to wrestling and at Rise from the Ashes II we are going to show the
world what it means to be a champion.

DR: So forget trying to outwit us because we're just going to punch
you in the mouth.  Forget trying to outsmart us because we're going to
supple you onto your ends.

SR: Forget everything about strategy and conniving because we're
forces of nature.  We're just going to come at you and come at you and
come at you and we won't quit and you're going to wonder how do they
do it?  How do they keep coming at us like that?  Why won't they just
lie down and die?

DR: (laughing) We won't do it because we can't.  We're not going to
let the game be a joke any more.  Phoenix Valley died once because the
wrong people were at the top.  Well, that won't happen any more.  That
won't happen.  We're going to Rise from the Ashes and we're coming out
the champions.

SR: The rest of you just worry about how you're going to survive.
We're the new measuring stick.  You can't win.

DR: And you'll only survive if we let you.

SR: The Gold is coming home!

DR: Fade to black.

[Fade out]

****************************************
****************************************
Alex Martinez
****************************************
****************************************

[The sky is grey and overcast, and judging by the turbulent surface of
the water, and one imagines its cold as well.  But, here we are, on
the beach.  And there he is, The Last American Badass, standing on the
beach, staring at the camera.  There's enough sun to glint off the
silvered lenses of his mirrored sunglasses, but only barely.  Its been
awhile since he's been on the beach, at least as far as wrestling fans
go, and yet, here he is.]

AM:     Let's talk about perception.

[The wind kicks up, blowing the black hair of Martinez.]

AM:     Awhile back, Holliday, you tried to, what? Expose me.  Tell
the world that I ain't got no money, and no friends.  And, turns out
the "doc" in "Doc Holliday" is some sorta psychiatry degree.  Or so
you'd have everyone think.

Problem is? You don't understand me at all.

[His hand goes through his hair, pulling it out of his face.]

AM:     Yeah, I was Hot Stuff in my younger days, and after that, they
called me Black Knight.  And yeah, its true, when I first started, I
liked to film my interviews on the beach.  And these days, I hang out
in strip clubs and bars, rather than the beach. So what?

I was born and raised in L.A..  I like the beach.  It ain't a crime.
Come on out to California some time, and you'll see that just about
everyone hangs out at the beach.  Only people that don't understand
that are people that don't know what it means to be Californian.

So I changed my name a couple of times.  Its just a name, and names
change.  Let me tell ya what hasn't changed.  When I was "Hot Stuff"
Alex Martinez, I was in a place called the MWF.  Wasn't there long
before I won my first title. Wasn't long after that that I won my
second title there.   And along the way, I beat the hell outta
everyone who faced me.  I lost a grand total of one match there, and
believe me, I got that win back.   Then, as Hot Stuff, I went to the
IWF/WOW.  And I won a belt there too, as I recall.  And many asses
were kicked.  Hell, there's one guy there by the name of DaMann who
was quite literally never the same after I finished with him.

I know I don't need to tell ya what happened when I was the Black
Knight, but here's a refresher for ya.  I started by cripplin' Magnus
Colby.  Spent a lotta time beatin' the hell outta Alex Extreme.  Then,
I beat Nevermind, a man who'd -never- been beaten before, and took his
title belt.  And that was -after- I was in an Ultimate Death Match.
Not long after that, I won the Ultimate Title.

Then I went to L.A. and I became the Last American Badass.  Here's the
short version.  Two world titles, best wrestler of the year.  And then
after that?

Yeah, that's when I became the legend.

So the way I see it, changin' names didn't change what was
fundamentally true.  Everywhere I went, jackasses got put away, and
titles went around my waist.  That's what maters.  Ring attire and
nicknames? Hell, that's just superficial crap.   Ain't no mysteries
there, as far as I can see.  I'm the same ass kicker no matter what
name I choose to call myself.

That's the important part of the story.

[Martinez smirks.]

AM:     But see, I don't expect ya to understand the distinctions
Holliday, 'cuz, though people have called me big and dumb in the past,
only the big part is true.  You got no ability to look beneath the
surface. Ya see the frostin', and ya don't think about the cake
underneath.

Hell, sometimes ya miss the obvious.

You wanna go and bring up Veronica?

[His expression darkens, mouth set firmer, hands clenching into fists
that begin to shake.]

AM:     Lemme quote ya:

"He's gotta give fifty percent o' alla it ta Veronica Temple."

Those're your words, and they prove what a damned idiot you are.  See?
Her name is Veronica -Temple-.  She married the man she left me for.
Holliday, I dunno if you've never been able to find someone dumb
enough for marry ya, or someone just never smartened ya up, but when a
woman gets remarried, the ex-husband don't gotta pay no more alimony.

[Angered as he is by the memories of his ex-wife being dredged up,
Martinez manages a chuckle.]

AM:     This is what it all comes down to Holliday.  Your dime store
analysis of me ain't even worth that much.  At every turn, you've
taken the easiest things to think and say about me and based all your
"knowledge" of who Alex Martinez is based on that.   Everything ya
think about me is based on stupid crap even a five year old would
realize was false.  There ain't a single thought in your head
concernin' Alex Martinez that's remotely accurate.  Ya don't know me
at all Holliday.

Add to that the fact that you're still wrong about me.

[Another smirk.]

AM:     Right now, you're thinkin' my back is against the wall.  See,
you've got this false picture in your head that I'm some kinda choke
artist.  Ya got it into your thinkin' that I don't win the big one
when I gotta.  But you're wrong again Holliday.

See, sometimes, when ya bet big, ya lose big.  That's why its called a
bet.  And all my career? I've always been a big better.  And yeah,
sometimes I've come out on the losin' end.  But I got a wall full of
title belts and awards that tell me I've come up aces more often than
I've come up snake eyes.

But that's somethin' you'll never get Holliday, seein' as how much of
your career has been spent never bein' more than an arm's length away
from someone savin' your ass.  You ain't never bet big.  You ain't
never been to the big show the way I have. All them things ya call
losses and failures? I call 'em experience. And that's the difference
between you and me.  You got a whole lotta theories, but no real
experience.  You've spent your time playin' it safe.  But Holliday?

Them days are at an end.

I ain't losin' to you.  I ain't walkin' into Phoenix and gettin'
harassed by some jackass cop who wants to see my ID just to lose to
ya.

I'm comin' to send you away.  I'm comin' to give ya somethin' you've
only thought you've had before.   And that's knowledge.  I'm gonna
teach ya what the real Alex Martinez is all about.

Just you wait.

[Fade to Black]

****************************************
****************************************
The Renegades
****************************************
****************************************

[The scene opens up in the Renegades lush two bedroom apartment.  The
brothers Houlihan, JD and Devin, are sitting side by side on their
love seat, cold Sierra Nevada Pale Ales resting on the coffee table in
front of them.  Their uncle and manager, Uncle Sid, sits on the near
by couch, turned towards his nephews and leaning forward on his knees.
While the brothers look relaxed and annoyed that Uncle Sid's bothering
them, Uncle Sid has a very serious demeanour to him. The curtains have
been pulled, allowing the giant windows behind the trio to let in
massive amounts of light, giving the room a natural feel.  The boys
still haven't gotten the bare walls covered with any sort of art, but
they have begun their own sort of decorating... littering it with fast
food wrappers, beer cans, and various articles of clothing.  As Uncle
Sid stares down the boys, both of them stare, making various 'angry'
faces at him.  JD's dressed in a polo and khaki cargo shorts, Devin in
a black Operation Ivy tee, with black baggy cargo shorts.]

UNCLE SID: Do you guys _know_ what happened to you last week? Do you
understand _WHY_ you came away with a loss, instead of a victory?

[Sid raises his eyebrows, giving the sense that these aren't
rhetorical questions.]

DEVIN: They're cheaters! That's why we [CENSORED]ing lost!

[Uncle Sid just shakes his head.]

UNCLE SID: _WRONG_!  What cost you was
not what _THEY_ were doing, it was what _YOU_ were doing! You took
your eyes off the prize, lost focus for a split second, and kissed
goodbye of all chances to start your careers off here in Pee Vee
Dubbya with a victory!

JD:  I understand where you going wit' all that
Unky, but seriously, we had that match _WON_! If they wouldn't have--

UNCLE SID: Would of's, should of's, could of's... All are phrases that
_DO NOT_ matter! This is _WRESTLING_, boys! This is the _BIG TIME_!
Week in and week out, everyone out there in that ring is going to give
it their all... They will claw, scratch and bite their way to victory.
They will do whatever it _TAKES_ to come out the victory! Put your
morals and ethics aside, it's _WINNING_ that matters!

JD:  They always said in the wrestling business, you can't
trust anyone! That everyone out there is just out for themselves, and
it's truly where nice guys finish last!  Guess I didn't really believe
it until I saw the _scoundrels_ first hand last week! I just don't get
how anyone could be _PROUD_ of themselves, if they have to cheat to
win!

DEVIN:  Is that what you got out of all that?  What I got from all this is we need to say good-bye to all the
pleasantries, and nice guy antics and fight fire with fire! If the Los
Corazones are going to cheat, then we need to cheat too!

[Both JD and Uncle Sid are shaking there heads.]

DEVIN:  What? What's wrong?

JD: What's wrong, brudda man, is that's the _COMPLETE_ wrong attitude!
We have to _RISE_ above their bullshit! We have to be _BETTER_ men
than they ever could dream of being!

DEVIN: We are better than them! We showed that in the ring last week,
and we will show them again at this little pay-per-view shindig we got
going on! But what _YOUR_ not getting, _brudda man_, is what Uncle Sid
was getting at -- it isn't always the most talented team that wins, or
the team that works the hardest, it's the team that does _WHATEVER_ it
takes to get the victory! That means, _brudda man_, that we need to
put our _MORALS_ and _ETHICS_ aside, and go out there and do whatever
it takes to win!

[Devin pauses, waiting for someone to interject.  When no one does, he
continues.]

DEVIN: I get it that we, as  "models for
America's youth" should not be promoting unethical means to attain
victory! But you heard Unky, it's that exact type of mind frame that
is going to keep from us attaining victory! We must not let _ANYTHING_
stand in our way! Ethics, morals... _RULES_... whatever! It all has to
be able to go out the window if we are _EVER_ going to make it here in
this profession!

[JD cracks a smile, as Uncle Sid shakes his head, letting the two boys
work this out.]

JD: Aight, I got 'chu... I see where you are going with all of this.
I get what you are saying... But I think you're looking at the glass
half empty again! Maybe in our careers there will come a time when we
need to be unethical, and do things that are morally inexcusable...
but that time is _NOT_ now! We do not have our backs against the wall!
We do not have a championship at stake! If we can't beat the _Los
Corazones_ without cheating, then.... then we don't even belong in
this sport to begin with!

[Devin nods.]

DEVIN: Okay, okay... You got me there.  I do see your logic there.
The Los Corazones _AREN'T_ the Prophets of Rage... They _AREN'T_ Max
and Sal, or Livestock and Gutch... They are just _PAPER_ champions
that are going to find themselves a bit too far north and hung out to
dry! I just can't wait to get into that ring, and smack those smiles
right off their [CENSORED]ing faces! _ARGH_! That irked me _SOOOOOOO_
bad last week, watching them celebrate their debauchery!

UNCLE SID: Good, Devin! Harness that anger! Don't let it go to waste,
use it to propel yourself forward! Anger is a wasted emotion unless
you are able to put it to good use!  And, speaking
of putting things to good use, we got a few more hours to kill before
dinner, let's hit the weight room for a little bit!

[Devin and JD exchange glances and then settle back on Uncle Sid.]

JD: Ya know... _NORMALLY_...

DEVIN: ...we wouldn't object one bit!

JD: We would do exactly as you wish, knowing you had only the best
interests at heart!

DEVIN: But on a night like tonight?

JD: Where we are ringing in the New Year?

[Both brothers look at each other again...]

JD and DEVIN: You can go _[CENSORED]_ yourself!

[The brothers share a laugh, a high five, and sit back on their love
seat.  They pick up their beers, and flip on the TV behind Uncle Sid.
Using the remote, the boys motion for Sid to get out of the way.
Shaking his head, he mutters something and walks off camera as the
scenes fades away...]

****************************************
****************************************
Marcus Manson
****************************************
****************************************

[Marcus Manson sits on a bench in the PVW Locker room, a travel bag on
the bench next to him. He is wearing jeans and a black tee-shirt, but
has not looked up at the camera.]

"So, PVW wants an interview from me regarding my match with William
Craven at Rise From The Ashes. They asked if I had any last words for
you before our match, Bill. I don't know why.  They apparently have
not yet figured out that you are either less than cognizant of your
surroundings, or that you just don't give a damn.

To be honest, I am not a hundred percent sure myself. You are either
certifiably insane, or the most ingenious bastard to ever step into a
wrestling ring.

I have not written off the possibility that everything you do is just
a giant act, and that behind the green tattoos and sharpened teeth is
one of the most calculating minds in wrestling history."

[Manson zips up his bag and stands, moving towards the exit of the
locker room.]

"Here's the thing Bill, it doesn't matter if you're Buddha's cousin or
Hitler's daddy, you are stepping into the ring with Marcus Manson, and
I am an equal opportunity ass kicker.

Aside from that, whether you're really nuts or it's all just an act, I
don't like you.

I don't like your delusional rants or your stupid quirky looks. I
don't like how you act like this is all some sort of big game..."

[Manson smirks to himself as he passes through the doorway into the
hall.]

"Bill, I don't play games. I win matches and I hurt people. I don't
screw around and play games while I do it, and I don't wonder why the
puppy dog can't play fetch after I've broken its neck because I pet it
too hard."

[Manson stops and turns towards the camera as they come to another set
of doors.]

"You won Blood Bowl and for that you got to pick the stip for our
match at Rise From The Ashes. Earlier on Heatwave you presented an
absolute abortion of a match that you want me to compete in. And like
I said on Heatwave, ultimately it doesn't matter what kind of match we
participate in.

Bill, I am going to hurt you. And I'm going to do it long before I
knock your sorry ass 12 feet to the ring floor. And I'm going to do it
according to your own rules."

[Manson shoves the door open and proceeds towards his vehicle through
the arena parking garage.]

"At Rise From The Ashes I am going to put an end to you, William
Craven. I am going to drop you on the top of your head from 12 feet
above the ring, and if that doesn't break your neck and end your
career, I will drag you up the scaffold and knock you off again. Get
your affairs in order, Craven, cus after Rise From The Ashes, you'll
be eating your meals through a straw."

[Manson reaches his vehicle and tosses his bag inside, turning to the
camera before he climbs in.]

"Craven I would ask you the customary question, but if I didn't
already know the answer, I wouldn't get a straight answer from you
anyway. Besides, I know that you absolutely can NOT handle the
Misery."

[As Manson pulls away from the arena, we fade.]

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

[Fade in from black. Blanco Corazón and Rojo Corazón stand before the
PVW banner with Emylee Marie standing between them. Blanco Corazón is
wearing his white mask with red heart upon it and a black t-shirt and
a pair of blue jeans. Rojo Corazón is wearing his red mask, with white
heart and white t-shirt and a pair of blue jeans with the ASLL tag
team championship belt over his shoulder. Emylee smiles brightly at
the camera.]

BC: Mis amigos on ola de calor ...

EMBC: Heatwave Blanco ...

BC: Si, Emylee Heatwave ... The Renegades stepped into the ring
against true champions ...

[Rojo Corazone slaps the ASLL Tag Team Championship belt draped over
his shoulder.]

BC: And like every other team that has stepped into the anillo de la
lucha libre ...

EMBC: Wrestling ring Blanco. You need to remember these animals can
barely even speak their own language.

RC: Ah Emylee, he desires for the world to as cultured as himself.

BC: Tan Cierto Rojo.

[Rojo Corazón chuckles for a moment.]

RC: Yet, they are not Blanco and unlike us they are not champions.

[The camera focuses on Blanco Corazón expecting a sly smile, yet the
mask hides his facial expression.]

RC: And the Renegades showed how far from champions they were after
our match.

[Emylee shakes her head side to side with a from upon her face.]

BC: Animals! Interupting our fiesta ...

EMBC: Shameful ... their actions were shameful ...

RC: Accusing world class athletes of cheating.

[Blanco and Rojo shake their heads in disappointment.]

BC: When Devin was they're own downfall.

[Blanco glances at Emylee who smiles at the camera as she twists her
hair around her finger playfully.]

BC: Once again he showed their minds are consumed by lustful thoughts
and it costs them the match.

[Emylee shutters at the mention of Devin's name.]

RC: And he refuses to admit that his own lapse of judgment costs them
their chance at glory.

EMBC: And worse yet their slimy Uncle Sid dared to raise a hand
towards ...

[Emylee once again shutters as both Rojo and Blanco stare directly at
the camera.]

BC: And for that the Renegades will pay ...

[The camera slowly fades to black.]

****************************************
****************************************
Everlasting Hell
****************************************

[San Antonio's Municipal Auditorium has unofficially been renamed the
"ACW Arena" by some locals, since Alamo Championship Wrestling owner
Tom Landis uses the elegant white-bricked building to showcase his
wrestling events. But while the ring in the middle of the poorly
lit hall we find ourselves in bears the ACW logo, we're definitely not
in the Municipal Auditorium, but rather the cheap warehouse that
normally houses the ring for a nickel, allowing the talent to use it
for training purposes from time to time... like now. "Hellraiser" Tom
Landis is running the ropes with some of the wrestlers that compete in
ACW, or at least hope to, one day, honing their skills until they can
finally hit it big in a promotion like PVW.]

Fontana: ( It's not going to work, mio zio.)

[Seated on a long wooden bench before the ring, "the Everlasting"
Perry Fontana is conversing in subtitled French with his uncle, the
less famous half of the Fantastic Fontana Brothers tag team that ruled
Canada in the early 80's.]

Fontana: (He's too stubborn, he refuses to do things the good way. He
doesn't _learn_!)

Uncle Jack: (Hunh! That isn't so, Perry.)

Fontana: (He's still the same bland milquetoast he always was.)

Uncle Jack: (He's a lot angrier than he used to be. He's not the
listless man that faced Gibson Hayes, anymore. He wrestles with more
intensity and aggression than he has in years... That's good, and
whether he admits it or not, it's all thanks to you.)

Fontana: (He's not listening to me, not doing it my way... he's an old
dog that doesn't want to learn new tricks.)

[In the ring behind them, Landis whips a young man into the cables,
scissors his arm on the rebound to take him down to the mat, and
quickly makes him tap with a distinctly Fontana-flavored flying
armbar.]

Uncle Jack: (Listen to me, Perry. A championship level team isn't
built on one man and his obedient dog. The ideal team is made of two
opposites meeting each other half-way.)

Fontana: (That's not how you made it sound when you talked about the
old days.)

Uncle Jack:  (Your father... [an exasperated sigh.] ... it wasn't the
same.)

[Perry stares down his uncle with a singularly incredulous gleam in
his dark eyes.]

Uncle Jack:  (Fine. Your father wasn't exactly the egotistical
parasite I make him out to be, alright? In hindsight... he didn't hold
me back that much, and... - Madre di Dio, what am I saying? - ... your
father... we never would have been champions without him. There.
Happy?

Fontana: (That does not sound like the tale you've been spinning for
the past twenty five years...)

Uncle Jack: (THE PUNK STOLE MY WOMAN! What kind of BROTHER does that,
hunh?)

Fontana: (What?)

Uncle Jack: (Never mind, never mind. All I'm saying... Luke brought
attributes I didn't have to the ring... through him, I learned things
that made me a better wrestler, and he, through me... That's what you
can get from your brother Tom Landis.)

[The look of incredulity returns.]

Fontana: (I'm easily the best wrestler in PVW. You know I have nothing
to learn from _him_.)

Uncle Jack: (Not everything revolves around the number of holds you
master. Sure, I got you started in the pit early on, to make sure you
had the kind of toughness that can't be matched...)

Fontana: (Or so you kept saying...)

Uncle Jack:  (But toughness isn't enough. Hunh! Everyone and their
mother is tough, these days. I'm talking about heart.)

[In the ring, Landis stands opposite a different type of opponent.
Little Chelsea Landis is a walker, and in spite of a still
underdeveloped balance, she runs towards her father who playfully
crumples to the mat when she "punches" him.]

Fontana: (Heart.)

Uncle Jack: (Yes. I had skill, but your father, he had heart.)

Fontana:  (Please tell me you're talking about conditioning, mio
zio.)

Uncle Jack: (I'm not. Don't under-estimate heart. At any time, a
mediocre talent with average abilities can pick up a victory against a
fighter like you just because they refuse to give up, keep going even
when the pain is intolerable, even when their cause seems hopeless.)

Fontana: (Bah! Any tough guy can-...)

Uncle Jack[Interrupting]: (No, heart trumps toughness. I've learned
that the hard way over the years. Toughness is a physical attribute,
and once a tough man has endured all he can, he's done. The man with
heart, like your brother, can endure even when his physical limits
have been surpassed. Toughness is an exterior shell that can whither
and crack. Heart and fortitude come from within, and only fail once
death-...)

Fontana[Interrupting]: (Pfff! I _crashed_ into Death's ride with my
truck, trapped him in a glass box rigged with cameras, and _buried_
him six feet under not once, not _twice_, but SIX~! TIMES~!!)

Uncle Jack:  (I know that well enough, Perry, but you still have
some.)

Fontana: (And I give it all to my beautiful wife every time we make
romantic love.)

[Behind them, Tara "Sunburst" Marshall has come to collect her Chelsea
out of her father's arms. As she exits the ring cradling her toddler,
she skewers Perry with a steely glare.]

Uncle Jack: (Tom brings heart to the ring. He carries his daughter and
his wife into combat every night, in here, and this gives him
fortitude that is seldom matched.)

Fontana: (I'd never bring "heart" to the ring.)

Uncle Jack: (Ah, but you already did.)

Fontana: (I _rip_ arms off with my heart, now?)

Uncle Jack: (No, not that. Hunh! But when that dopey lout threw that
Sal kid on me, last Heatwave... When I took a humiliating tumble... it
didn't take you long to run down the aisle to your old uncle's
rescue.)

Fontana: (That's different.)

Uncle Jack: (It isn't. You came to my defence with a vengeance. That's
when I knew there's a lot of Luke in you. A lot of your mother, too.
... Heart. You do have it, never doubt that. You only have to learn to
bring it out. I took you under my wing, boy, and I brought you to the
pit. I gave you the skill and the toughness... but your father left
you the talent... and the heart.)

Fontana: (Why... Why are you saying nice things about my father, all
of a sudden?)

Uncle Jack: (Because... [He sighs] ... Seeing you and Tom... It made
me realize I was wrong.  Your father and I won gold in every single
Canadian territory in operation, sometimes multiple times. But when we
had our chance in Atlanta, we lost. We had a shot in Memphis and we
lost. The Big Apple... well that was a catastrophe... You get the
picture, no matter where we went, we we always failed to win American
championships.  But I see now it wasn't Luke's fault... it was mine.
I... I had ambition, but I didn't have heart.

[Uncle Jack wipes the corner of his wrinkled mouth with the back of
his trembling hand.]

Uncle Jack: And you two, my nephews, you have the chance and the
potential to win tag team gold. Not just a small territory's belts,
like in my day, but possibly the most coveted tag team titles in the
entire world!

Fontana:  (I know.)

Uncle Jack: (You can achieve what I never could... so long as you
don't repeat the same mistakes I did. ... You gave Tom the mean streak
he was lacking. If he can show you how to harness the heart you
already have...)

Fontana: (Will you stop it with that cliché, already?)

Uncle Jack: (It's only a cliché because it's true.)

HTL: Hey, Perry. I thought we'd be working on team moves, here. Are
you coming, already? That move you wanted to do, I think I found a way
to do it.

Uncle Jack: 'Ee's combing, Tom.

[The Everlasting One looks from Tom to his Uncle.]

HTL: If we do it my way, I'm pretty sure it's gonna work.

[Tom backs away and slides into the ring. Perry frowns.]

HTL: Come on!

Uncle Jack: (Go on, Perry. Learn from him.)

[The Deathless One gets to his feet, cracks his neck, and slips under
the bottom rope to join his brother in law in the ring as the image
fades.]

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

[A wrestling ring.

It's in a darkened gym, with one sole light fixture providing
illumination from above.  The voiceover is the familiar baritone of
Doc Holliday.]

DH: This is mah home.

[Clips of various shows in PVW history zip past at high spped.  All of
them show a cheering crowd, but are focused on an empty ring.]

DH: Ah came from nothin', had nothin', an' somehow wrasslin' got me an
educa-shin.

[The next clip is of a different kind of wrestling mat.  A different
darkened gym, with one light fixture shining down on a collegiate
wrestling mat.  The logo of Arizona State University can be seen on
the mat.]

DH: It got me a chance in life.  It got me a life.

[More clips.  Holliday matches, all through the years.]

DH: It _IS_ mah life.

[Back to the empty ring in the gym.]

DH: An' who's gonna take mah life from me?  Is it you, Martinez?

[Clips of Martinez Firebombing people.]

DH: Ya talk about hurtin' folk, sure.  But lemme ask ya somethin'...
ya ever _kill_ a man?

[The scene shows a graveyard in the rain at dusk.]

DH: Ah mean, REALLY kill a man.  Take someone's life.  All they evah
was, all they evah coulda been... gone.  All th' resources poured inta
thet life from birth... wasted.  All th' love thet man got as a baby,
as a child... all ends in tears.  Ya evah kill a man?

Ya ain't got th' stomach ta do it.

[Back to the ring.]

DH: This is mah life, an' if ah lose this, ah may as well stop
breathin' an' fall in a hole.  Mebbe some day ah'll be ready ta die
peaceful.  Mebbe some day ah'll take mah money inta mah livin'
aftahlife, set in mah livin' room, an' rest till God comes lookin' fer
me.  But that ain't taday, Martinez.  That ain't taday.  Ah ain't
dyin' on no man's terms but mah own.  'Specially not yours.  Ya just
don't git it, Martinez.  Ya got no notion of how serious this is.
It's just pride ta you.  Pride in etchin' a name in yer big bad list
o' conquests.  Pride of not bein' forced out of a territory ya care
nothin' about.  Pride sounds lak a big deal... 'till ya put it next ta
_breathin'_.

Ya sure yer ready ta take mah life from me?

[The ring now has a figure in it.  Holliday, wearing his to-ring
attire, leans forward on his mahogany cane and glares down over the
ropes at the camera.  It's a cold glare.]

DH: Ya evah kill a man, Martinez?  Ya got whut it takes ta end a life?
No.  Yer still th' same man thet usedta set on th' beach all day with
no care other'n whar his next lay was comin' from.  Ya got just enough
convic-shin ta cripple somebody, but there's a line ya won't nevah
cross.  An' crossin' thet line is th' only way ta beat me with these
stakes, on account o' mah life _IS_ th' stakes.  I got no doubt you'd
take mah life from me by pinnin' me, if ya could.

It's just thet ah ain't gonna lose while ah draw breath.  I ain't
bein' figurative, Martinez.  Ya really don't know how serious this is.
They say thet sports ain't a life and death proposition... but at Rise
From The Ashes, that is exactly whut it is.  This!

[He raps his cane on the mat.]

DH: This is mah life, an' woe be ta any man whut tries ta take mah
life from me.  Ah will respond in kind.  The Code Of The Old West
declares thet any man whut tries ta take th' life of anothah man
without provoca-shin may be killt in self-defense.  Any means is
justified ta protect mah life.  ANY means.

But don' worry none about thet, Martinez.  Ah don' need ta put a
bullet in ya... ah'm a bettah man than ah once was.  All ah'm gonna
take from you?

Is yer pride.

[The overhead light switches off, and we can see no more.]

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

[The scene fades in to a bustling coffee house in no particular city
or location; one of many that are commonly seen and frequented.
Judging by the attire of the patrons immediately seen milling about,
talking quietly or perusing the various offerings.  The camera pans
the area and sitting in a corner, alone and apparently in deep
thought, is the man known to PVW as Sinister. He dons a burgundy
sweater with a white shirt underneath and we assume he is wearing
pants as only his torso is shown. A steady stream of steam rises from
a large white container that his right hand is wrapped around and he
looks very focused on whatever thoughts loom at the moment, his gaze
steady on the container of hot liquid]

[The camera approaches Sinister and various patrons take notice and
follow the path of the camera as well. We see the view zoom on
Sinister and he slowly looks up from the container and fixes his gaze
upon the camera intently]

"Good evening good people, I hope all of you are well.  Please pardon
my mood but during the holidays I like to reflect upon various aspects
of life that are both positive and negative that I have gained, or
lost, during the current year. 2010 is steadily departing and 2011 is
about to be born into history.  I think about those who have passed
away for various reasons and that helps me appreciate the gift of life
that much more. I am extremely grateful that there are men and women,
many of whom are under the age of 20, who fight for the very freedom
that so many of us seemingly take for granted, and perhaps do. I am
thankful for my ancestors who fought against blatant racism to allow
me opportunities in this country to be my own man and make a positive
mark in this vast world. I am grateful for those who still harbor such
vast stupidity that they judge me by the color of my skin because they
allow me to embrace the way I was raised and the way education has
expanded my mind to the point where I can see people for who they are,
rather than what they appear to be. "

[He nods subtly a few times then lifts the container to his mouth,
taking a long drink of the steaming liquid. He exhales with a look of
satisfaction then sets the container down]

"Something about Chamomile tea sets me at ease. Since I don't drink
coffee, it's either tea or the occasional hot chocolate for me.
Another aspect of life I appreciate is the fact I can live very
comfortably while doing something I truly enjoy, and that is
wrestling.  Now it's no secret that I am an avid martial artist,
always shall be, because martial arts is a way of life. However, I
enjoy the competition of professional wrestling because there are many
talented, and very...interesting...individuals in it. There are
numerous
physical and mental challenges that I face in this industry and I
tackle them as best as possible. One such challenge that has been well
documented is my dealings with Danny Daniels."

[He exhales slowly, shaking his head a couple of times, and rubs his
chin in thought as he often does. After doing so momentarily, he wraps
his hands around the Chamomile tea and takes another long drink before
lowering the container and continuing]

"Daniels has been a unique challenge to me because he tests me
mentally.  I know some of you smart asses out there will say a fifth
grader can mentally challenge me and that's fine with me.  Please
continue to run your mouths so I have just cause to turn my intentions
upon you. Daniels has continually labeled me as being 'evil' and has
continually disrupted any rhythm I have established in my matches by
yelling at me and complaining about this or that. For weeks I have had
to endure this type of treatment day and night, with very little
reprieve. This has caused me to spend countless hours training,
particularly rehabilitating my right knee for obvious reasons.
Ironically it was Daniels who would yell in my ear constantly, pushing
me to 'rid the evil' and 'become stronger with the side of good' that
helped me improve the strength in my knee, the flexibility in my body,
while allowing my Hapkido martial arts training to flourish. My
Grandmaster in Hapkido helped me focus better on meditating which kept
me sane to be honest, because while all of these physical benefits
occurred, Daniels' voice penetrating my skull and permeating in my
mind, even when attempting to rest, pushed me to mental areas I have
not dealt with for a very long time."

[He very softly chuckles once, a small breathe of air escaping his
nostrils, then he once again takes a drink of the tea.  He holds the
cup in front of him, studying the rising steam and does so for a few
moments.  He then sets the cup down and stares at it while speaking]

"Days evanesce just like the steam from this cup and there are times
when I struggle to recall what I have done during some of those days.
Obviously there are some events that occur that I will never forget
[he gingerly traces the scar that runs along the left side of his face
with his right index finger] and I can say for certain that this
battle against Daniels will not be forgotten. I have much to prove to
the PVW, to Daniels, but most importantly...to myself. 2011 is a year
that I need to make my mark in this federation and accomplish new
goals I have set for myself."

[He leans forward and peers very intently into the camera]

"Daniels, listen up and listen good. For thirty long, torturous days I
had to be your 'yes man' but those days are over. The 'evil Sinestro'
is going to be unleashed and you're not going to like what you see or
feel. That's just too damn bad Daniels because there's nothing you'll
be able to do about it. Now if you'll excuse me, I'll see you in the
ring soon. Then I'll show you just how much gratitude I have for all
that you have put me through.  You better pray for all you're worth
that you can withstand it."

[The picture fades on Sinister's familiar smirk as he slowly raises a
toast with the cup of tea]