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** Phoenix Valley Wrestling Presents  **
**            SHOWCASE                **
**            07.08.11                **
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-> AsH
-> Rob Cole
-> Max and Sal
-> Caleb Foley
-> Tyson Cain
-> Marcus Manson
-> The Mercenary
-> Danny Daniels
-> Larry Gionet
-> Davin Houlihan
-> Perry Fontana
-> Team Tomorrow
-> Christopher Black
-> The Berserkers
-> Sinister
-> Chris Hartt
-> Hersher von Donkerhardt
-> Mike Bisignano
-> The Renegades
-> Rob Cole & Senor Cloak Dos
-> Jaime Roberts
-> Spectre
-> Gabriel Whitecross
-> Johnny Detson
-> Sammy Knight
-> Nevermind
-> Gibson Hayes and Uncle Frank


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

[The camera opens on AsH and his wife, sitting in their living room in
Las Vegas. Both wearing their pajamas and somewhat relaxed. Somewhat,
because [EDIT: AsH's wife] is giving a very quizzical look to her
husband who has a set of 5 empty Redbull cans in front of him, with a
sixth, unopened one in his somewhat shaky hands]

[EDIT: AsH's wife]: Before we begin with that, you promise me that I
would start being able to use my own name. Promise. I don't want to
have your growing fan base...

AsH: Uh, doubling in size still leaves us with enough people to
comfortably sit inside a van.

[EDIT: AsH's wife]: Regardless, promise me.

[AsH looks at the camera, up, down, and back to the camera]

AsH: I promise you that _I_ won't call you AsH's wife.

[EDIT: AsH's wife]: ...I have divorce papers pre signed.

AsH: Yeah, but getting a divorce because people I don't control edit
your name out due to copyright reasons on a pro-wrestling pre-show...
good luck with that.

[EDIT: AsH's wife]: [BEEEEEEEEEP] you [BEEEEEEP]!!!

AsH: That was very un-ladylike, madam. And your son could hear that
from his crib.

[EDIT: AsH's wife]: *sigh* FINE... now explain to me the Redbull
thing.

AsH: Well, it's all about speed, my love. The Mercenary is the MASTER
of high impact, damaging maneuvers but his entire repertoire lacks
speed. MINE, however, is BASED on speed. And since I've already faced
and BEATEN the Mercenary once, I think my plan is solid.

[EDIT: AsH's wife]: Speed? You're on it or you're using it.

AsH: Technically, a little of both. I'm going to break my record and
have six Redbulls at once, and see how much faster things are for me.
If it will give me a legitimately large enough advantage.

[EDIT: AsH's wife]: And the part where you have a heart attack three
minutes in?

AsH: Hopefully the match will be over by then, and please have the
EMTs standing by.

[EDIT: AsH's wife]: The wrestling EMTs or actual ones.

[AsH thinks for a second]

AsH: Both. I may want to strike a few when I'm revived. Redbull isn't
flammable is it?

[EDIT: AsH's wife]: Why?

AsH: Don't wanna get defibrillator-d only to catch on fire.

[EDIT: AsH's wife]: I think you'll be fine. What really concerns me is
the fact that your whole body is basically vibrating, and you're about
to chug another one of those crack-in-a-can drinks. I'm worried...
because you haven't written a new will that includes your PVW
royalties.

AsH: What dutiful wife I have...

[AsH cracks the can and starts drinking it as fast as possible. He
slams the can down to the table and looks at his wife with his
eyebrows raised]

AsH: Mother of God...

[AsH takes a massive breath in and holds it before...]

AsH:
Soyoueverwonderwhythemercenaryissospecialimeanwhyisitanewthingtojustas
kformoneytodostuffwe'reallprowrestlersandspendourdaysbeatinguppeoplefo
rmoneyregardlessofthesituationlookatmeiveusedladdersandchairsandtables
andstaplegunsthatwasreallyfunandheydoyoulikethecolorofthisroomiamnotsu
reidobecauseitmakesmesadsadsadsad...

[EDIT: AsH's wife]: OH MY GOD SLOW DOWN!

[AsH can't stop. And in the interest of your eyes and my fingers, just
assume that a nonsensical and unending stream of babble is emanating
from his head. She motions towards the camera to speed up and catch
him at his rate. The camera then shows a counter showing vast increase
in frames per second and suddenly AsH is talking normally again, but
the world around him has frozen]

AsH: This is amazing! It's like time travel... well, kinda. More like
freezing the world in place. Only NOT in place, I'm just ...I'M THE
[BEEP]ING FLASH!

[AsH jumps up at the thought of this and accidentally brushes his knee
against one of his empty Redbull cans. It then flies across the room
and imbeds into the drywall like a hammer]

AsH: Whoa... physics. Probably should've paid more attention in that
class. I suppose my acceleration is at near-fatal levels at this
point. Note to self, no sex tonight. Not even solo... It could catch
fire!

[That's right, a whack off joke. Right there. Enjoy that]

AsH: Hmm... I wonder.

[AsH kicks at a throw pillow... which is then rocketed through his
skylight and far over the horizon. He cringes at this and looks
around]

AsH: Do not... touch... anything. And thankfully it'll be about an
hour, my time before the wife finds out about that.

[AsH stands in position, clearly worried about his next move before
looking at the camera]

AsH: Assuming you've got the same money in frame rate that you do into
seeing into my unconscious, I suppose I should talk about my upcoming
match some more.

You see, Merc and I faced off in the wasteland. Yup, we did. He took
some money from my employer to take the title off my waist. He failed,
of course, but not sure if that changes the dynamics at all for this
upcoming match. For me? I don't have any hard feelings. I mean, with
this much Redbull in my system, if I DID have any hard feelings, I
could probably blow a hole through a phonebook.

[Nice]

But with the Merc? He's probably got something to prove here, prove
that he's worth the money he makes. Well, on top of the money that he
ALREADY makes for being an employed professional wrestler. And in
terms of Mercenary work, could you BE a more narrow viewed Mercenary?
"Gee, I'd love to take your money to frame this guy for theft, but
unless he's a professional wrestler and it furthers a televised
plot... I can't do it."

Come on, man. Branch out. If you were a TRUE Mercenary, you'd be in
gay porn.

Doing anything for money and all.

Plus the Enema thing, oddddddly homoerotic. Damaging someone's anus
with a massive steel pole. You sure you don't have some issues you
wanna go ahead and get out in the open there, chief?

[AsH shrugs his shoulders]

AsH: It's a new century, man. I'm sure the world is ready for an
OPENLY gay Mercenary Pro Wrestler... Well...

Maybe the world would NEVER be ready for that.

But after we wrestle and you hopefully don't grope me, I'll go out,
buy you a wine cooler and get you a pretty pink journal to get out all
those repressed feelings. And nobody's gonna have to shove dollars
into your g-string and order you to do it.

Wait... Mercenary or stripper...

[I'll say it for you...what the hell just happened.]


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

[Scene opens in an empty training ring: Rob Cole leans back in the
corner, dressed in black jeans and a red "Evil Dead: the Musical" tee-
shirt. He rolls his neck and clears his throat. He furrows his brows
in thought, considering his words before he begins to speak.]

RC: I'm stepping in the ring with a partner at my side. A man I
respect. He's not like either of us, Bill. He's beyond your ability to
understand. He doesn't see the world crumbling, he doesn't wallow in
the misery of lost opportunities, and he provides the younger fans
with something to believe in. He's an ideal that

I won't even try to aspire to... but I can admire his courage and his
ability. I think this kid might just be one of those "Gems" you were
talking about, Bill. A gem you were prepared to run over without
second thoughts... forgive me if I don't wallow in the guilt of your
own
accusations? You'll be standing with Filth. Now, he won't be happy to
hear me talking about him... There isn't much to talk about, either.
Chris thinks that he can bully people like Senor Cloak Dos, he thinks
that a good man is an easy target. But the old saying goes like
this...
"Demons run when a good man goes to war."

[Cole smirks and chuckles a bit.]

RC: I breathe in. My chest expands and a scar along the top edge of my
collar twinges just a little, like someone put a piece of tape inside
my body that I just can't ever get rid of. I remember the night I got
the scar, I remember the pain and the blood from that night, and I
remember my opponent and the look in his eyes when I stood up from the
mess of table debris and yanked the shard free. I can close my eyes
and remember the smells, hear the people, and I can taste the sweat on
my upper lip. My body is a road map of scar tissue, each road a well
travelled memory of my career; titles, personal battles, achievements,
and all of it part of a remembered sensation directly linked to the
marks on my body. I have memories of walking on the beach with my
wife.... I remember kneeling before her, asking her hand in marriage,
and I remember the birth of my son.

I remember the thrill of it... I can contrast the love, the
excitement,
and the joy with every single mark of pain in my life.

[Cole smiles softly, closing his eyes as he breathes in and
continiues..]

RC: I remember my son... misshapen thing all wet and purple and
crying... I walked with the nurse and I leaned in... I sang, "I love
you forever...I'll like you for always... as long as I'm living, my
baby you'll be." The boy stopped crying and reached out, little
fingers so impossibly large for his size... he wrapped them around my
thumb and turned his face toward me, recognizing the words from the
same children's book I read to his mother's stomach near every night.
That was love, pure and unfiltered with words or motivations... just
love and security and the knowledge, known from the moment of his
first breath that his father would be there for him.

[Cole shakes his head, turning his gaze back up to the camera.]

RC: You don't know hate, Bill. You've never known that kind of love so
how could you possibly understand the hatred that comes with it? The
hatred when an oversized play pretend construct steps into your life
and threatens to harm the object of that love... threatens to harm the
single most defenseless thing in the world, threatens to take it away
from you. You don't know real hatred, Bill. You wouldn't know what to
do with it... it doesn't drive you to rant and rave and scream and
make threats. It isn't an ugly thing like that, Bill.

It isn't a simple explanation, it isn't a blame game, and it isn't an
excuse to do horrible things. It drives you to stand up and stop
whatever it is that threatens the things you love... but I shouldn't
even bother to explain it because you will never be able to
understand. You only wish I was as fake as you... it comforts you and
keeps you from looking at who you really are. You thought you could
destroy everything I was? You wanted to erase me?

The only thing you did was reveal the very human and very real Rob
Cole... the man who never stops fighting. You exposed a raw nerve and
you tore at it... and then you did an unspeakable thing and that man,
that very simple very real and very angry man is beyond fear of you.
I'm coming to get you, Bill.

[Cole chuckles a bit and shakes his head. He lifts a finger... he
hasn't stopped smiling that soft smile. He hasn't really raised his
voice too much, either.]

RC: You think you know me? You think you understand me? Let me make
this crystal clear for you... if I cared about that audience, if I
cared about my image, if I even cared about half the things you assume
I care about then you would never have needed to call me out. Open
your eyes, Bill... wake up and look at what you've done, look at
everything that built the PVW, look at every supposed "war" you ever
walked into and compare it with my career.

You think I was handed all the glory you were denied? You weren't
denied... you just didn't deserve it. You're pathetic; a broken down
construct, a wasting thing, a crumbling ruin. All those lost
opportunities for family, for titles, and for recognition? Gone...
destroyed. You paved those roads yourself, made them all come true
with your inability to love or feel like a real human boy or even look
at yourself without feeling sick. No, Bill... you didn't feel
anything. You painted, you acted, and you emulated... but it was never
ever real.

[The smile fades as Cole leans forward, pointing a thumb up at
himself.]

RC: I am real. And I am really coming to get you.

*fade to black.*

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

[Fade in to see Max and Sal in a living room, playing Madden 2010
(2011 being in the middle of a labor dispute).  Sal suddenly stands up
and does the Icky Shuffle, while Max glares at his controller.]

Max:  We should be professional lacrosse players!

Sal VO:  We should probably be professional models and 'playas'.  Lord
knows enough tag teams like to talk about how well they do in the
bedroom.  HEAT is overcompensating for something, and we didn't know
what it was.

Max VO:  And now we have to face a team called "SEX APPEAL".  Really?
Sex Appeal?  Why not just call yourselves, "We Get Laid a lot...
really!  Honest!"

Sal VO:  And even Livestock went out of his way to prove he could get
his mack daddy on with PAIN's chippies.

Max VO:  Yeah. Ste... chippies?

[Cut to Max and Sal, standing, facing the camera, looking confused.]

Sal VO:  Former announcer Steve "Soundbite" Roberts claimed that every
tag team was made up of one gay guy and one tough guy.  Is every tag
team so obsessed with not being called gay that they go overboard to
prove their virility?

[Sal and Max stop looking confused... start looking worried... and
each steps to their side to get out of the camera shot.]

Max VO:  Really, what were these guys in this so-called "Sex Appeal"
thinking?  What's the point of calling yourself "Sexecutioner" Marty
"The Gangstah of Love" Powell?  Was "Valentino Lothario Casanova
MacBootycall" too subtle?

Sal VO:  And "Ruthless" Ryan Rutledge.  Sure, we had heard women tend
to go for the "Bad Boy" stereotype, but a name like "Ruthless" usually
sends up a red flag to the female of the species bigger than any
scumbag-of-the-week movie found on the Lifetime channel.

[The camera now cuts to Max and Sal, wearing white lab coats and each
holding a clipboard.]

Max VO:  But, maybe we were being too harsh here.  Maybe, despite all
common sense, women actually DO find these Neanderthals attractive.

Sal VO:  And what better place to conduct our research than on the
streets of Palm Springs itself?

[Cut to an outdoor cafe, where four women are sitting around, sipping
drinks, as Max and Sal approach, holding clipboards and showing
pictures.]

Sal:  Now, of these six people... are any of them remotely attractive?

Girl #1:  This one?  Dressed like a peacock?  [pointing to a picture
of  PACO]

Max:  We think he may be suffering from colorblindness.

Sal:  And a lack of people who will tell him the truth.

Girl #2:  I think this guy [pointing to Marty Powell] served me my
latte this morning.  Only, he's like, twenty years older or something.

Girl #3:  Maybe that's his dad....

[Max and Sal nod sagely to each other.]

Girl #4:  [pointing at one of the pics]  He's kind of cute!

[Max and Sal suddenly look taken aback as the picture in question is
one of the Gutch.]

Max VO:  This was a result we were clearly not expecting.

Sal VO:  Fortunately, a good scientist always remembers to recheck all
the variables.

Girl #2: [looking over and making a face]  Um, Tiffani?  Did you
forget to put your contacts in again or something?

Girl #4:  I tore one last night and-- [She squints]  Oh!  [Her face
falls]  Aw...nevermind.  I thought he was Vin Diesel.

Max VO:  Realizing we needed a larger sample size for our research, we
moved on.

[Max and Sal approach a group of women in swimsuits by a pool.  Sal
shows them the pictures.]

Girl #5:  Oh!  I think I saw this guy on TV!  [Points to Marty
Powell.]

Max:  Really?  Do you remember where?

Girl #5:  I think he was on TV with Chris Hansen.

[Max and Sal nod sagely again as they jot this important detail down]

Girl #6:  And this guy- didn't Debbie go out with someone like him?
[Holds up the picture of Ryan Rutledge]

Girl #7:  Oh yeah!  They went out a few times.

Sal [taking notes]  And her thoughts?

Girl #7:  She thought he was sort of cute... but a little lacking in
the stamina department.

Max  VO:  A data point- obvious, by trying to preen like a blinged-out
gigolo, Rutledge couldn't last more than a few minutes on any
strenuous activity!

Sal VO:  So, in conclusion, we found out that it seemed like every tag
team was acting like prima donna sex gods...

[Two more attractive women in bikinis walk over.]

Girl #8:  Come on!  We've got to go to Carol's party!

Girl #9:  [flirty, as she bats her eyes at Max and Sal]  You guys want
to come?

Max VO:  ...so why not us?

[With a grin, Max and Sal look into the camera, nod, toss away the lab
coats and clipboards, and quickly follow the happy women as it fades
to black.]

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

[The camera fades in to a very simple scene. It is a gold and black
Phoenix Valley Wrestling back drop and standing with his side
silhouette is 'The Celtic Crippler' Caleb Foley. The camera is zoomed
in closely on the face of Caleb as you can not tell what he is wearing
for the interview. Caleb begins to speak ...]

Caleb Foley: My father always told me to keep your friends close but
your enemies even closer. I never really understood what he meant up
until recently. I thought when Larry Gionet, Chris Hartt and myself
formed that alliance built on Loyalty, Honor and Respect that we would
change the face of the organization. I didn't think that my good buddy
Gionet would stab Hartt in the back and leave him hanging in that tag
match. I had no idea how much hatred and rage Larry had against me. I
would of never predicted anything that has happened to me the last
eight month in Phoenix Valley Wrestling. And that even includes going
against the CEO and President, Johnny Detson. I could sit here and
keep asking Why but honestly what will that accomplish...

[Caleb pauses for a minute before continuing ...]

Caleb Foley: Absolutely nothing. It will be just like me coming out
here week in and week out claiming to be the face of the organization.
I am not the face of the organization. Face it Johnny Detson is and as
much as it pains me to say it that man deserves it. I am no longer the
same man that I was when Phoenix Valley Wrestling opened it doors. I
am no longer some hot shot rookie looking to make a name for himself.
I used to be the hunter now I am the prey here. Someway, somehow,
somewhere I have lost my passion, heart and desire when I step into
the ring. I feel like I am letting everyone down. Sure I have always
been known to lose the big match to be a choke artist but I know I can
do BETTER than I am doing. I feel that I AM letting down the fans. I
feel like I have the weight of the world on my shoulder and maybe that
is my problem ...

[Foley is just standing there with a blank look on his face. Caleb
just isn't himself tonight as he seems to be extremely depressed about
everything that is going on in his career.]

Caleb Foley: Maybe I am too worried and concerned about making
everyone else happy but myself. Maybe that is why I CAN'T win that big
match. Maybe the pressure has finally gotten to The Celtic Crippler. I
do not know how else to explain it. One thing for sure I need to find
out what the problem is or it will only get worse for me.

[Caleb is not looking directly into the camera as he usually does.]

Caleb Foley: This week on Heatwave I am facing two men I know very
well in Larry Gionet and 'The Paladin' Chris Hartt. Now I can come out
here and talk about each man for days but that would just bore you to
death. I could list each of their accomplishments and injuries like I
know my own but once again that would accomplish nothing. Basically
this match is it for me it is either time to put up or shut up. It is
time to dig down deep and find that passion, desire and heart I once
had. I expect this match to be a WAR and I know both of them expect
the same. When Phoenix Valley Wrestling opened myself and 'The
Paladin' were the good guys of the federation. Hartt and I were both
just starting out and we looked out for one another. Then a few months
later Larry debuted and we had the veteran guidance as he joined our
so called clique. We were like Moe, Larry and Curly of the Three
Stooges of the PVW. Wherever one of us went we were all there watching
each other back or cheering one another on. We traveled the roads
together, we got together on holidays and birthdays, we even trained
together on our off days. And then something changed...

[Foley for the first time looks directly into the camera for a few
seconds before turning back to give a silhouette of his right side of
his face.]

Caleb Foley: What caused the change or why it happened I may never
know. And that I am fine with but I can not be fine with another loss
this week on Heatwave. Hartt and Gionet may be talented superstars and
have many years left on their careers but come next Heatwave I will no
longer be a pushover. I am going to continue to go back to basics to
stop this losing streak. I do not care if I have to spend day and
night inside the gym training, sweating, bleeding or eating. The only
thing on my mind now is getting back to where I should be in the PVW.
This Heatwave, everyone will find out how I got the nickname of The
Celtic Crippler ...

[Fade to black ...]

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

[The screen opens to a different venue than normal. This is a large,
textured, white wall with a large frame hanging on it. We cannot see
what is in the frame because the view cuts off just before the side of
the frame ends. There is a hum in the audio, but this is not
production error. Rather, it is because this is not a studio setting
or any sound stage set up by PVW.]

[The view pans out and we see the picture in the frame is of a very
embellished Tyson Cain with his hands on a bull's horns, seemingly
tackling it to the ground. Under the frame is a large, black couch and
Tyson Cain is seen sitting on the couch in a robe that looks like he
stole from the last Hyatt Regency he stayed at.]

Cain:  I have been so bored this past week.

[He pauses and rubs his robe gently before continuing.]

Cain:  I haven't been able to go out to the clubs, drive my car or
enjoy the company of women because I have been forced to go without
payment for services rendered by the PVW officials.

[He pauses a moment as he continues rubbing the robe and staring down
at it like a pet.]

Cain:  Do you know how dreadful it feels to be left without any
clothing because I can't afford to pay the dry cleaning bill? It left
me here, stuck in nothing but underwear and a robe I kept from the
hotel I stayed at in Stockton.

[He stops rubbing the robe and turns his head to face the camera.]

Cain:  Was this your goal?  Were you trying to strip me of everything
in my life?  My hobbies, my enjoyment, my very clothing?

[Cain's face contorts as if holding back tears.]

Cain:  Well congratulations...you have laid me bare and gotten to the
core of me. You have taken the fight to this young man and I have felt
the sting of your attack.

But I'm not out completely.

You just want me to prove I can be a good boy and play nice with
others. I can understand your desire for me to do that. It is hard to
continue bringing in giant streams of revenue when your best talent is
forced to sit on the sideline due to his actions.

[He looks up at the picture.]

Cain:  I notice you like my painting. It is a life lesson I learned
years ago about taking the bull by the horns and showing it where you
want it to go. That is how I have advanced so far in life, by doing
things my own way. I don't let anyone bully me around and tell me what
direction I have to go.

I'm not like those mindless robots in the stands who boo and cheer at
our very whim. I'm not like Tom Landis, who is led around by his
johnson and told what to do at every turn. I do what I feel is best
and base it on the moment.

That is what the painting symbolizes. This is what I do when backed
into a corner both allegorically and literally.

[Cain looks back at the camera.]

Cain:  You tried to steal my very lifestyle away, you sons of
bitches...

Now prepare to reap what you sow...

[Tyson stands to his feet and throws a pillow at the camera.]

Cain:  REAP IT!!!

[Fade.]

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

[Hollywood Boulevard. The Hollywood Walk of Fame. The black and gold
lined sidewalk sports the salmon-colored stars of world famous actors,
actresses, singers, and other stars. The camera pans over tourists,
peddlers, and struggling actors dressed as super heroes, and finds a
man who is much taller than most on the boulevard. Marcus Manson walks
down the gilded sidewalk, black sunglasses covering his face. The
california heat has forced him to abandon his customary black trench
coat, and he simply wears a white compression shirt and black mesh
shorts. As he gets closer to the camera he speaks.]

Marcus Manson: I suppose it was inevitable that our paths would
eventually cross, Spectre. It was almost garaunteed once Sammy Knight
decided that he was going to give me a sermon. You call me friend, but
you are mistaken. I am friend to no one who might stand in my way, and
Spectre, you've put yourself in my way. If you've suddeny decided that
titles are you focus, then you are most definitely in my way.

[Manson passes by the Kodak Theater, but pays the landmark no mind.]

I have one goal in PVW, and that is to hold it's top prize. To take my
World Heavyweight Championship away from its undeserving posessor. All
you and Sammy Knight will end up being are speed bumps on the road to
my rightful place as World Champion. Momentary distractions before I
proove to everyone what I already know, that I am the best in the
entire world.

Spectre, you speak of rebirth and baptisms by pain. You speak of
warnings.

I've been warned?

By you?

Don't make me laugh, Spectre.

[Manson passes Grauman's Chinese Theater, where many stars have their
handprints in the cement of the sidewalk outside. He continues past,
only briefly glancing at the trappings of celebrity that lure others
to this spot.]

You see, it is no coincidence that I stopped in Hollywood on the way
to Palm Springs for Heatwave. I thought it would be fitting to address
you here, from the virtual Mecca of deceit, Hollywood, California.
Because I think a lot of what you put on to PVW is an act. You fear
the dark more than anyone you warn to do the same. And on Heatwave, I
will prove that you are nothing but talk. I took your Rebirth in the
center of the ring last week, Spectre, and I am still standing. I am
still here, and you can "warn" me all you want. Do whatever you need
to do, Spectre.

[Manson removes his sunglasses, and closes the distance between
himself and the camera, steeley grey eyes scowling over the airwaves
at the Spectre.]

You want to threaten me? Let's see how many broken bodies will be in
your wake once I am done with you. If anyone is fair game to you now,
I say bring everything you have.

Bring your malice -- your baptisms by pain. Bring chaos and anarchy
and any other weapon you have, Spectre. Bring your rebirth. I will
take it all, and more. I will weather everything you have, Spectre.
You think anything you can do to me matters? No imaginary Beast that
you can conjure up is going to scare me, Spectre. I've been reborn
already, and I've been Baptized too, but not through pain, Spectre.

Through _MISERY_.

Grief, anguish, woe, and torment are the trappings of the world you're
stepping into, Spectre. And you have no idea what you've gotten
yourself into.

[Manson puts his sunglass back on.]

Can you handle it, Spectre? I suspect that you cannot.

Fear the Misery.

[Fade.]

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

(Scene opens to the locker room of the Mercenary, just after his
betrayal of long time friend Alex Epstein. Merc is seated on a wooden
bench, a ball-peen hammer on one side, his trusty Haliburton, the lid
flipped open, on the other. The hired gun looks up at the camera just
after he puts a neatly bundled wad of cash into the briefcase, and
snaps the lid shut.)

Merc: Before all of you out there get around to asking the most
obvious question in the world, I'm going to give you the answer. But
its not as simple as most of you think it is. It's actually a multi-
part answer.

(Merc pats the Haliburton)

Merc: So, the first,and most obvious part is the money. Money is what
makes the world go round and with how much I've gotten from Epstein,
and now Marshall, over the past year, my world is going to be spinning
for a very, very long time. Yeah, I know a lot of you are going to say
that money can't buy you everything, like friendship and love and all
that other happy-crappy stuff, and to that I call bullshit. Without
money, we'd be nothing more than animals, or worse than that,
(shudder) hippies.

And there's no way that I want that to happen to me. In fact, none of
you should want that, but I'm not really concerned about what the rest
of you want. I'm out for number one, and that shouldn't come as a
surprise to anyone of you.

Now then, just to show that I am more than a one dimensional person,
I'm going to sorta contradict what I just said in my last statement.
Alex, I know you're not going to believe this, but the second reason I
took this hammer and cracked your knee cap, is because its time for
you to hang it up. Your best days in this business are done and over
with. Sure, I've been in this business just as long, if not longer
than you have.

But unlike you, I haven't let time pass me by. I've stood by you for
years, watched you grow up, go through rehab, and come back from
countless beatings. But enough is enough, Alex. You're done. Maybe I
should have stuck around and helped protect you in the UWF, but I
thought you could handle things yourself. Granted, I haven't really
been following the goings on there much over the last few years, but
from what I've heard and seen, things have not turned out well for
you. Hell, not even have you been beat up by some old Mexican guy, you
went and lost your name.

Your name Alex. How the hell does someone manage to do that? (shakes
his head). The Extreme that I knew would never have let anything like
happen.

Did the 'roids eat more of your brain than anyone thought? I'm
thinking they must have, because you didn't even bother to call me
when all that shit was going down. Hell, you didn't even call me after
it happened. I had to find out by watching YouTube. You should have
called me long before you did, Alex. Not that I'm holding that against
you. If I was, I wouldn't have helped you in your plans to exact
revenge on Jessica.

I thought it was going to be like old times... you and me raising hell
and dominating like the good old days. But the longer we went on with
your plans, the more I realized you weren't the same person anymore.
The old Alex wouldn't have waited so long to avenge himself. And he
wouldn't have hidden in the background. Alex Extreme would have
handled things a lot differently... he would have met things head on.
It took me a while to realize it, but when it did, it hit me like a
thunder bolt...

There was no Alex Extreme anymore, and its not just in name. Whatever
it was inside you that made you Alex Extreme, is gone. And I decided
it was up to me to make you see it. I could have tried to talk to you
sensibly about it, but we both know that wasn't going to work. You may
have changed in some ways, but your thick-headedness is one thing that
will never change. The only thing that will stop you is a total shock
to the system.

Hopefully, having one of your best friends turn against you and
working with your biggest enemy will be enough to get to realize that
its time to hang up the boots. So, really, what I did, I did for you.
And if I happen to get something for myself out of the deal, so much
the better. Everyone wins.

(fade to snow)

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

[The camera fades in to the outside of the Palms Spring Convention
Center.  The electronic sign indicates that PVW is in town, and a long
line of wrestling fans in waiting for the doors to open.

Moving up and down that line is Danny "YOUR HERO" Daniels.  Danny's
wearing his "YOUR HERO" t-shirt, wraparound sunglasses, the SUPREME
Wrestling title around his waist and over his wrestling trunks... and
a
red, white and blue top hat.  He walks up and down the crowd, shaking
hands and handing out cotton candy and popcorn to the fans.  The
camera moves up and Danny motions it closer.]

D"YH"D:  Greetings!  And Salutations!  I'm "YOUR HERO" Danny Daniels-
a man so nice they names me twice- and I'm running for PVW President.
I'm here with the great people of Palm Springs, 'pressing the flesh'
as it's called, and being one with the people.  They, after all, are
the ones who must choose- does PVW's future remain in the corrupt
hands of Johnny Detson?  Or do we bring a breath of fresh air by
electing... ME!  "YOUR HERO", Danny Daniels- scourge of ninjas
everywhere- to PVW as your President.

[As Danny speaks, he continues to move up the line, shaking hands,
posing for pictures, and handing out more food to the fans.]

D"YH"D:  You'll notice that Johnny Detson isn't here.  That's partly
because he underestimates me- much like he underestimate "YOUR HERO"
last week in the match- and also partly because Johnny Detson has
isolated himself from the very fans he represents.  While I'm here,
shaking hands and kissing babies, I've heard that Johnny Detson hates
children and small animals.  I've also heard that he's a Satan-
worshipping peon who enjoys stealing candy from babies, blocking the
sun, and following the New York Yankees.  But I won't go there,
because I don't believe in the politics of personal destruction.

[Danny nods sagely]

D"YH"D:  Now, this week I'm competing against Gibson Hayes, who
benefited from Johnny Detson's corrupt policies to wind up with the
PVW World Title.  As a fellow titleholder, I'm aware of the stress
that defending that title will have on a person.  The sleepless
nights, the cold sweats, the nightmares, the excessive sweating, and
the sudden onset of hysterical blindness- just some of the symptoms
that a new titleholder may experience.  But as a champion, it's up to
Gibson to overcome those obstacles.  Unfortunately for Gibson, he has
a new obstacle... ME!  Danny "YOUR HERO" Daniels.  A many so nice they
named me twice.  Your SUPREME Champion, your next PVW President... and
the next PVW World Champion.

[Danny ponders this for a moment before nodding his head.]

D"YH"D:  I think we can all agree- this is the best for everybody.

[Danny gives a finger wave to the camera.]

D"YH"D:  TOODLES~!

[Danny goes back to shaking hands as the camera pulls back, turns...
and
runs into the Greek Yuppie Choir, who are holding sticks of pink and
baby blue cotton candy.  They start singing (to the tune of Fleetwood
Mac):

GYC:

# If you wake up and don't want to smile
If it takes just a little while
Open your eyes and think about this
Danny Daniels' here and life is now bliss

Don't stop, thinking about tomorrow
Don't stop, it'll soon be here
It'll be, better than before
Detson is gone
Detson is gone

Oooo... Danny Daniels' back.
Oooo... Danny Daniels' back.
#

((Fade))

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

[We pan to an empty beach in the bleak dark night.  The waves crash
onto the shore dampening the sand as familes are sound asleep in their
homes.  As the moon shines from above with some stars making thier
presence felt we see Larry Gionet sitting on the beach listening to
the waves.]

Larry Gionet:  So it was the talk of the town it was discussed in
secret and on boards all across the world. Larry Gionet couldn't beat
Sinister.  Sinister had too much to prove they said. Despite my
toughness Sinisters' brute strength would prevail in the end they
said.  I lifted up the 300+ Chicago Native on my shoulders and dropped
him flat on his ribs!  You could just hear the crackle of ribs.  It
was just the fuel I needed to finish you off Sinister.  I didn't need
to resort to a submission to make you cry in agony.  I didn't even
need my Darkness Falls that would have shattered your neck. i hit a
shinning wizard knocking you out cold. Maybe you have a nice shiner to
show to the world.  Maybe the few brain cells you have left in that
empty head of yours finally rotted away.  Whatever damage you have
whether it be external or from within you will NEVER forget that night
when I knocked you out.

[Larry Gionet begins to smile widely as he then looks up at the
darkened sky. Remembering what he put Sinister through he reminisces
about last week's victory while thinking ahead to what lies ahead of
the PVW Warrior at Heatwave.]

LG:  As for next week on Heatwave I could not have asked for a better
gift.  I get to kill two birds with one stone and take two men out
instead of one!  Chris Hartt you know what the difference is between
you and I?  I lead my life and don't follow.  I don't let what is out
there in the wilderness distract me.  You have always let what is out
there take hold of what is in your mind. The mind of man is the most
powerful tool one can obtain.  With it we can look behind and what
lays ahead. All our joys, sorrows, fears and rage all reside inside.
Only a real man can control it all and move on without a wink.  A real
leader meets truth square in the eye with his inner strength.  What is
your truth Hartt?  My truth is passed down from my strict father.
That everyday of my life inside of the ring and out of it I make a
lasting impression through my words and through my fists.  Some suffer
the sting of my verbiage while others are  left in ambulances. Either
way my mark has been met.

[Larry Gionet stretches himself out dragging the sand along with him.
He stands up firmly wiping off any sand that got on his jeans.  He
stares into the camera with his cold blue eyes.]

LG:  How about you Foley?  For years you soared to the heavens here in
PVW.  In the eyes of many you still stand about what is right with
professional wrestling.  Always sticking up for the little guy never
losing your humbleness. Now it's as if you walk with clipped wings.
Is it fear Foley?  Fear of knowing that the world could swallow you up
at any moment leaving you a spec of dust?  Fear of knowing that in one
full swoop I could end your career with the snap of my fingers.  In
the end fear can NEVER stand up to hunger.  No patience can ever wear
it out.  I'm hungry like a predator Foley.  I'm hungry for blood for
glory.  MY hunger knows no bounds and I will do anything I have to in
order to satisfy it.

In the end boys when this knowledge comes to you at last it will be
all too late.  Maybe you will be staring up at the lights when you
reach your moment of clarity.  Maybe you will be bed ridden in a
hospital when an epiphany hits you straight to the heart!  Yeah you
fight for that prestige. Go ahead and fight for your ambition to
please your puppet master.  I'm fighting for my need and fighting for
my life.  Unfortunately for you two THAT is when I will be at my most
deadliest.  It's not about how or why it's all about do or die!

[Larry Gionet stuffs his hands in his pockets of his blue track
jacket.  He walks to his right as the sand crumbles beneath his feet.
As he leaves the scene another wave comes in low tide crashing over
the horizon with the stares shining brightly.  We then fade to black.]

****************************************
****************************************
Davin Houlihan
****************************************
****************************************

[In the PVW locker room. more than likely immediately after Heatwave,
sits one half of the Renegades, Devin Houlihan.  His still in his
wrestling gear, black and gold tie-dyed pants of the vinyl variety.
His wrists are still taped, his hair down and covering most of his
face.  Devin is clenching and unclenching his fist, breathing slowly
in and out... in and out...]

DEVIN: So tired of this stinking bull!

ARRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGH!!!

[Devin's employs some primal scream therapy, but that doesn't seem to
be enough.  He immediately stands, and begins to use another form of
anger management....



*WHAAAAAM!*



...Devin slams his fist off the lockers, shaking his fist out.  The
anger has not left him, though.  Not at all.]

DEVIN: One step forward, two steps back! Always dealing with these
scoundrels... this douche nozzle little bs that can't figure
out how to fight like _MEN_ so they need others to improve their odds
and ensure their victory! It's so fg disappointing! I can't
take it anymore!



*WHAAAAAM!*


[Another punch thrown the locker's way...

DEVIN: Livestock and Gutch are champions still because they _never_
play by the rules. _NEVER_!  They always increase the odds in their
favor! Same with the Prophets last week and that  of woman
Pizzazz...  How dare she interject herself! How dare she play
distraction, add to the chaos, and cause a loss on _my_ record!



*WHAAAAAM!*

*WHAAAAAM!*

*WHAAAAAM!*



[Devin's hand has to be totally throbbing now.]

DEVIN: Maybe this... This _moral_ approach to wrestling isn't working.
Sure, we won at End Games, sending the Corazones packing... Sure, we
overcame their debauchery and shenanigans to prove we _ARE_ the best
young tag team in PVW.  But was it worth it? Was it worth the six
month struggle to _finally_ get them in the ring one on one, fighting
like men?

[He shakes his head.]

DEVIN: Perhaps it shouldn't have taken six months... Perhaps if we
just hadn't been so noble and decided to fight fire with fire, the
fire woulda' been put out long ago! Perhaps then instead of wasting
six long hard months on them _JOKES_, we could have cemented ourselves
as real threats to the lawyer's throne!



ARRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!



*WHAAAAAM!*

*WHAAAAAM!*

*WHAAAAAM!*

*WHAAAAAM!*

*WHAAAAAM!*

*WHAAAAAM!*


[There's now a sizeable dent in the locker, as Devin flops back down
on the bench, clutching his right hand.  He just stare at, the anger
still just dripping off of him.

DEVIN: Things are going to change, PVW. Things are going to fg
change!

_MARK_

_MY_

_WORDS_!

[He takes a deep breath, flexing his fingers on his right hand,
grimacing a little bit.]

DEVIN: Like, for starters...if Pizzazz ever... _EVER_... asks me to
take a swing again..

No hesitation.  No second guessing.

[Devin looks right at the camera.]

Just my hand hitting her square in the fg face...

...And her hitting the mat, knocked out fg _COLD_!

[No smile, no emotion as Devin grips up a sweat towel right more and
throws it at the camera... fade out.]

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

[On screen, a middle aged receptionist is seated behind her desk,
completely jaded by work, life, and the universe as a whole. On the
wall behind her, a logotype famous to hardcore wrestling fans reads
"Wrestling Observer." The receptionist lifts her hear, lights glaring
on her glasses, and clears her throat.]

Receptionist: Mr. Mitschener will see you now, Mr. Fontana, you can
step this way.

[The famous orange, red and gold boxer's robe enters the frame, its
wearer's head covered by its hood. In his gravelly whisper of a voice,
Il Eterno responds.]

Fontana: Thank you.

[The corridor that the Everlasting One stomps down into is decorated
with old Wrestling Observer covers featuring all-time wrestling greats
like Brody Thunder, Richard Dixon, El Magnifico, Luke Fontana and
Gunnar Gaines, among others. But after this short trip, he emerges in
a untidy, chaotic office with charts, pictures and piles of paper
stacked everywhere over the computer. Within this space, a clean cut
car salesman of a balding man awaits, presumably Mr. Mitschener...]

Man: Mr. Fontana, such an honor to meet you in person. I'm Wayne
Mitschener, editor of Wrestling Observer.

Fontana: I know.

WM: Well, please, tell me how Wrestling Observer can help, and um...
[He removes a stack of papers from a chair and throws it in the corner
of the room] ... take a seat.

Fontana: No thanks. I'm only here because of _this_. The new Wrestling
Observer rankings.

WM: That thing?

Fontana: Ouais, THAT thing.

WM: He beat Marcus Manson. He decisively beat Gibson Hayes! Do I
really need to explain why we ranked Herscher von Donkerhardt as the
top technical wrestler in the world?

Fontana: No, but you might want consider printing some _corrected_
rankings in next month's issue.

[Wayne Mitschener frowns, sighs... then suddenly smiles widely, as if
struck by inspiration. He makes his pitch with all the confidence of
an used car salesman.]

WM: Hey! Let's settle the issue with... an Armbar Contest!  If I
promise to make a Johnny Deston appreciation special, I'm sure we can
get it on PVW television...

Fontana: Only an idiot would dream up something like an Armbar
Contest!

WM: Come on, it would be great! I have lots of connections, man. You,
"The Everlasting" Perry Fontana, against Herscher von Donkerhardt...
We can reunite some of the sport's best to judge... I can see it
now... Wrestling Observer presents: the Ultimate Armbar Challenge!
We'll finally know who does the best arm bars!

[Il Eterno ponders the proposal for a moment.]

Fontana: If you can organize it, and get the _Dutchman_ there, I'll
come. If NOT... aaah ouais... next month, you publish _rectified_
RANKINGS, OUAIS!

WM: That sounds fair. Deal.

[The Deathless One nods, flips the hood of his robe back over his
gigantic muttonchops, and stomps out of the disorganized mess of an
office. Mitschener's smile evaporates, and he dives into loose paper
piles to retrieve his phone. He frenetically dials...]

WM: ...Janine? Yeah... Well drop that, you have to organize an armbar
challenge! ... I don't know either.

[He rolls his eyes in exasperation.]

WM: Well, you'll figure something out. ...Look, I was on the spot, and
I had to find something to do with Fontana, alright? I didn't have
time to think ab out the damned details, OK!  How hard can setting up
an armbar challenge be? ...

[As Wayne Mitschener argues on the phone with his staff, the image
fades to black...]

****************************************
****************************************
Team Tomorrow
****************************************
****************************************

MGA: You're going to have to explain to me how this preps us for our
match.

DD: YAHTZEE!

MGA: That isn't even the right damn game! Go directly to jail, by the
way.

["The One Man Dynasty" Drake Dresden and Marc Gabriel Alruane are
sitting at a shoddy dining room table and playing a game of Monopoly.
Both men may have gotten done with a workout, as they are both
sweating profusely in a set of black and grey workout gear. Drake
sullenly moves his thimble to the jail space while MGA looks right at
him, shaking his head the whole time]

MGA: Again, please explain how this helps us.

DD: Interval training.

MGA: Uh, yeah, I know what interval training is. Heavy, intense
workouts for short bursts of time.

DD: Right, and now ADD to that, mental training for our opponents in
between.

MGA: How?

DD: Duh, we're playing. Pay attention man. You're the battleship, in
case you forgot.

MGA: I know, and while we're on THAT subject, you officially chose the
worst, most non-masculine piece in the whole box. Dude, there's an old
school racecar, and you chose the thimble. The thing women put on
their fingers when they sew.

DD: I sew...

MGA: I know, I remember you offering to stitch my crotch after it
ripped during our last match. I've never been so unsettled.

DD: I was offering to stitch up your vagina, if it meant you'd stop
bitching so much.

[MGA's jaw opens, legitimately surprised that he was momentarily
outwitted by his younger, infinitely more naive and sheltered partner.
He quickly shuts it and shakes his head]

MGA: Again, you've yet to explain why we're playing monopoly.

[As he says that, he rolls the dice, gets an 8, and lands on
Mediterranean]

DD: THAT'S WHY! YES! Perfectly proved my point...

[MGA looks utterly flabbergasted at this as he hands over 6 Monopoly
dollars. Drake smiles, ignoring his partners utter confusion and tucks
the money into his holders]

MGA: ...

DD: ...

MGA: EXPLAIN, YOU ASSHOLE!

DD: Mediterranean Avenue, man! Our next opponents. No better way to
get to know a team than to get to know why they NAMED themselves that.
I can only assume that they A, enjoy purple, and B, are very cheap.
And are shockingly close to an area which regularly gives out 200
dollars every time you pass through. Maybe in Alaska? Anyways, I'm
pretty sure they have stock in hotels. Cheap ones, at that. Probably
only wash the sheets when you ask and---

MGA: FOR THE LOVE OF GOD STOP.

DD: You just don't get the psychological side of these things.

MGA: You don't understand the psychology of shutting the F up and
paying attention. It's not Mediterranean, though it is amazing that
your brain heard Baltic Avenue and immediately screwed it up, but kept
it close enough to understand. You're like a person who ALMOST
understands English... wait, no, you're like a DOG who almost
understands English.

DD: World's Smartest Dog.

MGA: [Loooooong sigh] ...exactly. You know, you're damn lucky that
you're a talented wrestler. Because I don't think you could, you know,
pump gas... or be a test subject for medical experiments...

[The camera fades with MGA resting his head on the table while Drake
happily rolls the dice, clearly ignoring the hurtful, hurtful comment]

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

[Fade in on the interior of a car.  A Buick Regal, to be specific and
probably a rental.  Currently driving is a rather uncomfortable-
looking (though still impeccably tailored) Jacob Rose.  Whether his
discomfort is due to the fact that "chauffeur" has now been added to
his resume or the fact he hasn't quite gotten used to driving on the
right side of the road is still up in the air.

Meanwhile, sitting in the middle of the roomy back seat is PVW
Television Champion "Bad Wolf" Christopher Black, clad as always in
his battered black leather jacket, t-shirt and jeans.  The Englishman
isn't paying attention to Jacob's driving, nor on the Arizona scenery
speeding by.  Instead, Black seems preoccupied, blue eyes set in a
distant frown as he idly traces a finger along the gold face plate of
the TV belt.]

CB:  [muttering]  ...it ain't enough...

JR:  Mister Black?

[If the Bad Wolf heard Jacob, he gives no sign.  Jacob clears his
throat as his grip tenses on the steering wheel.]

JR:  Sir, if I may bring it up again, I do wish you'd reconsider this
idea about trying to talk with Mister Craven.  Indeed, not that I wish
to encourage more fines with a no-show, but this entire match seems
more dangerous than most, given the individuals involved!  I don't
begin to understand why you're fixated on Mister Cloak Dos; that's
your own affair.  But to go after Mister Cole too?  [Rose blanches a
little]  And Mister Craven!  He's-- he's not--

[Black finally looks up, arching a brow curiously at his financial
manager's stammering.]

CB:  He's not _what_?

[Jacob swallows, trying to find a tactful option while still driving.]

JR:  He's not _well_, sir!  You've seen what he's done to his body!
And the stories...what he does to people.  Sane men don't do those
sort of things!

[Black only lets out a sharp bark of laughter as he shakes his head.]

CB:  No, mate, you're bleedin' wrong.  A man like Craven, he knows
_exactly_ what he's doin'! Every scar.  Every wound.  Every hellish
depth he's dragged himself down to.  It's a level o' devotion that yob
Cole can't even begin to touch!  Him an' ponces like Cain or Biz or
Fontana...they all pretend at bein' tough.  Beatin' their chests an'
gruntin' like it's supposed to mean they're suddenly monsters.  [At
that, Black scowls as a small snort of derision escapes him.]  But
Craven?  You say his name an' you know you're in for a damn war once
he's on your arse -- an' that's only if you're [bleep]in' lucky.

[Black nods to himself, the earlier disgust gone from his angular face
as once more his tone grows thoughtful, even a hint of admiration.]

CB:  Craven...he feels _it_.  He knows _it_.  An' he embraces _it_!

JR:  [confused]  "It", Mister Black?

[Black's eyes are squeezed shut, brow furrowed deeply as if he were
Oppenheimer one equation away from the cusp of atomic destruction.
Jacob shoots him a worried look.]

JR:  Sir, this all the more reason why you shouldn't get this man's
attention!  Have your fight with Mister Cloak Dos if you have to, but
leave Mister Cole and Mister Craven to their own business!  What would
you do if Mister Craven decided to attack you as well?!

CB:  [murmuring]  An' what a bloody fight that'd be...

[The eyes snap open and the glint of the Bad Wolf is back in his cold
grin as if Black would relish such a grotesque "honour" one day.  He
chuckles, shaking his head again.]

CB:  ...but not this time.  Not when that runt Cloak needs to be
broken again in front o' all his  little bleatin' lambs.  An' the Bad
Wolf--

[Black's suddenly cut off by a honking horn as a white-knuckled Jacob
frantically veers back into his lane, narrowly missing a passing
minivan.]

CB:  [snarling]  Christ's DICK, eyes on the [BLEEP]IN' road, mate!

[As Jacob immediately returns his focus back to driving, his lips move
in silent prayer as we fade to black.]

****************************************
****************************************
The Berserkers
****************************************
****************************************

(We open to side by side shots of Doom and Wolf.  The two menacing
warriors are known to the wrestling world as, The Berserkers.  Decked
out in their usual face paint.  The two men wear "FEEL THE BOOM"
t-shirt's.)

Wolf: The Berserkers are officially in the PVW and flying high.  After
traveling the globe and wrestling all around the world.  We pinpointed
the best tag teams in the world and they were hibernating in Phoenix!
And after a few months of working our magic we found ourselves
crushing some skulls at On the Road and showing the PVW just what we
are about.

Doom: While we may have been tossed two young kids fresh out of the
Desert.  We looked at it as a challenge.  A challenge to show what we
have been doing the past three years in Japan.  We went out there and
did what we have always done and laid a challenge out on the line to
the biggest and baddest tag team in the PVW.

Until we showed up.

(Doom gives a big grin.)

Wolf: Prophets we understand you have a lot of pull inside the PVW.
You are former champions and we must prove ourselves before we grab
your attention.  The PVW tag team titles are why we are here.  We
aren't the type to shy away from a fight.  We look for the toughest,
the meanest, and the team that carries the most weight.  You carry a
decorated resume of respect.  You have sent more men out of the PVW
then anybody.   The Prophets and The Berserkers are a match made in
heaven.  And when we work our way through the PVW roster, eventually
we are going to find ourselves standing across that ring ready to
collide.

Doom: First thing is first.  As we continue to tour the great sunny
state of California.  We are set to take on the well traveled, Action
Packed.  They seemed to be ever-so-close in gaining a tag team title
shot against Livestock and The Gutch.  We know they will be hungry to
show up and prove a point.  We hold no illusions that this is going to
be a walk in the park.  Action Packed have earned their spot on the
PVW roster.

(Doom glares ahead like a bulldog.)

Doom: It's our time, Action Packed!  While we may respect where you
have been and what you have done.  It's our time to make a statement
in the PVW.  We have worked too darn hard to be slowed down now.  So
like our first match you can bet we are going to walk out from the
back.  With fight in our eyes we are going to head down towards the
ring.  We are going to climb inside that ring and we are going to do
what we have always done.

Wolf: We are going to bring the HURT!

Doom: We are going to bring the PAIN!

Wolf: We are going to bring the BOOM!

Doom: BOOM!

Wolf: BOOM!

(The two men are done shouting and we fade away.)

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

[The scene fades into a beautifully landscaped area surrounding an
Olympic-sized pool, the vivid colors of the flowers, the strong bark
of the palm trees, and the lush green areas of grass make for a very
tranquil ambiance. There are various bikini-clad women and swim trunk-
clad men milling about, or swimming, or relaxing on one of the many
lawn beds sitting poolside. As the camera pans the scene – and makes
sure to focus a bit longer on the women with attractive figures – the
focus shifts to the pool itself. Amongst the various swimmers and
children at play is one very large, dark-complexioned man who is
immediately recognized as Sinister despite being underwater, gliding
from one end of the pool to the other.

He comes up for air about three-quarters of the length of the pool and
swims the breast stroke to the end of the pool, going underwater and
pushing off the wall with his feet, gliding back to the other end. He
performs the same sequence, coming up for air around three-quarters of
the way there, finishes with the breast stroke, goes underwater, and
glides. This time, however, he glides the entire length of the pool
and upon reaching the edge, he stands and rivulets rush down his
thickly-muscular torso. As he takes a deep breath a few of the
children near him launch themselves on his back and shoulders,
laughing loudly.

Sinister laughs loudly and supports five playful children by his
shoulders, back and neck, splashing water on them and dipping down
slightly into the water then back up again. He does this for a few
minutes then tells the children he needs to speak to the camera, and
despite numerous groans they let go and Sinister steps out of the
pool. Water rushes down his tall frame as he walks over to one of the
lawn beds, grabbing a large Chicago Bulls towel and begins to dry off.
Various scars adorn his impressive physique, the result of various
battles throughout his life, and each of them carries a story. He
wraps the towel around his neck and shoulders, makes himself
comfortable on the lawn bed and speaks]

"Allow me to begin with a congratulatory opening to Mr. Gionet. He was
the better man in our battle, defeated me like a warrior, without
cheating, and I respect that greatly. There are some who have asked me
if the attack by Mr. Biz affected my ability in this match.  I NEVER
use any excuses because everyone who has participated in any type of
sport knows that injuries are a part of the deal. So Mr. Gionet, we
are one and one versus one another and I look forward to future
battles.  However, for the time begin, there is an individual who has
suddenly become a very annoyingly prominent part of my wrestling
life."

[He inhales deeply and towels his face and head off, the combination
of water and sweat streaming down. Exhaling loudly he cracks his
knuckles and wraps the towel around his shoulders again]

"Biz, I'm going to chalk up your attack on me as pure arrogance
because you do not strike me as a man of stupidity. You're a capable
wrestler, as you have proven thus far, but there are certain actions
that one should consider far more carefully before proceeding with
them. Name-calling me is fine because I have heard every name in the
book hurled at me from various sources throughout my entire life.
However, punting me in the temple and causing me to visit a
neurologist, again, was not the smartest move you can make Biz. Bask
in the glory of your little moment because you obviously have not
taken me out, though you and many others have tried multiple times, no
doubt."

[He chuckles, more to himself than anyone else, undoubtedly amused by
the actual number of people who have attempted to remove him from the
sport. There is a certain twinkle in his eye for a moment before he
shakes his head, towels it off once again, replaces the towel on his
shoulders and continues]

"I must say, Biz, that I'm very glad you doubt my 'hunter' mentality
because that will allow me to unleash various amounts of malice upon
you because you perform actions I simply don't agree with. I want you
and others to believe I'm just talking. I want you and others to
believe I'm not capable of doing anything of any violent nature or to
have a measure of vengeance. Speaking of violence and vengeance, I see
that the powers that be in the PVW have decided to place The Renegades
and I against The Heat and Biz."

[Sinister smiles widely then motions towards someone off screen.  A
tall, very attractive, tanned, green-eyed brunette in a revealing
bikini approaches carrying a serving tray and wearing a large smile.
Sinister smiles widely and nods once respectfully]

"Pardon me young lady, but may I please have a large Raspberry Iced
Tea?"

Young Lady: "Of course Mr. Sinister, I'd be glad to get that for you.
Is there anything else you would like?"

[He rubs his chin in thought with his right hand, smiles sheepishly
then lowers his hand and winks]

"I'm sure there is but I'll ask about that after I finish this
interview."

[The young lady grins knowingly and returns the wink]

Young Lady: "I'll be sure to pay attention to your inquiry."
[Sinister chuckles once and nods one more time]

"I look forward to making such an inquiry."

[The young lady saunters off towards a wet bar as the camera, and
Sinister, focus intently upon the young woman. Sinister clears his
throat and the camera returns its focus upon him]

"Business first, then pleasure. So, I will be working with the team of
J.D. and Devin Houlihan, The Renegades, vs. Biz and The Heat, one Mr.
Jean-Baptiste, and Mr. Magnon, the man with enough names to become a
spy in one of the Jason Bourne movies. I admit I don't know much about
The Renegades or The Heat because I have been dealing with numerous
situations, but one thing I know about both teams is this. They handle
business and I always respect that. In my opinion the Houlihan's have
an edge because they're obviously brothers and know one another better
than anyone else."

[The young lady returns with a very large glass of Raspberry Iced Tea,
which Sinister takes readily and thanks her kindly for. She smiles and
looks him up and down momentarily, asking again if there is anything
more he would like. He raises the glass towards her, nods once again,
and ensures her that he will ask once he completes the commentary. She
nods twice and winks again as she departs. Sinister quickly gulps half
of the drink and places it down on the cement to his left]

"Ah, that hit the spot. Admittedly it has been a bit of time since
I've been involved in a six-man battle but I look forward to it. Not
only do I have an opportunity to get my hands on Biz to show him
exactly how much I appreciated the Pele-style kick to the temple, but
I also get to test myself against two men who have worked together as
a team for some time. It's always good to face adverse situations to
maintain your sharpness and as of late, I feel that I have lost some
sharpness. This is an excellent opportunity for me to right the ship,
so to speak."

[He again towels off his head and face and takes another drink of the
tea.  Setting the glass back down on the cement he sits on the edge of
the lawn bed]

"So, very soon, the heat of battle shall commence in a place that is
already hot. We shall see which three men are capable of working
together as a unified force and unleashes fury and punishment that is
too much to withstand. Biz, Mr. Jean-Baptiste and Mr. Magnon, we shall
see who is capable of what in due time. Until then gentlemen, I assure
you, if you underestimate me then there shall be dire consequences.
Now if you'll excuse me, palm trees aren't the only thing rising
around these parts."

[Sinister laughs loudly then stands slowly, towels himself off and
heads towards the wet bar and the attractive young lady as the picture
fades]

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

[Out in front of a coffee shop, Chris Hartt sits at a table with his
smartphone. He taps at it, finishing up a task, then sets it aside.]

We all see these devices as the pinnacle of our lives.  We store all
the things we can on them, download apps to do miraculous things, help
us remember things and stay productive through our day.

When I look at this phone, the one thing I don't see it being used for
is phone calls.  Sure, I take them, but all of them have been from
outside sources, not fully important or connected to me.

No friends have called me.  No friends are on my contact list. No
friends chatting me up.

I should be surprised, but I'm not.  I haven't had a solid friend in
this business since Vinnie Vasquez.  I miss that man.  He went his own
way and is happy now, working as a rodeo clown.  He's doing what he
loves and I'm happy for him. But he's moved on and is happy where he
is.  He and I are a thing of the past.

I thought I had friends in Larry Gionet and Caleb Foley, but it seems
they've decided to be deluded in their goals in this business. Foley
wants to genuflect before the Spectre and be one of his Spooky Kids.
Gionet....well, he just lost his damned mind.

Now, the three of us get to face off in the ring to settle some
differences.  Triple threat hardly even covers where this match is
going.  The three of us, for better or worse, are going to tear each
other apart.  Winning won't matter, because making sure the other two
are worse off than you is the most important thing here.

Look at what you go through with your family and friends at any given
time.  When you have rough spots, you work through it.  The three of
us are just going to try and kill each other just for the bragging
rights.

And when we walk away, there'll be no hugs, no handshakes, no tears of
regret and forgiveness.  Once this match is over, we'll all limp away,
soured that we couldn't do more to make the other two pay.  This will
be a match that never ends, even when the ring is collapsed, the fans
have left, the trucks roll on to the next destination.  This match is
the end of our friendship. What I'm really upset about most is that
I'm not concerned at all by this.

Friendship should be so much more. It should mean you forgive and
forget. Accept despite differences and not look twice at them.  It
should be stronger than kinship. It should be deep and abiding. The
only reason it isn't is that we were never really friends at all.  And
I'm going to make sure neither of you two ever forget that.

Any bond between us is broken. Any trust between us is dead.  From
here on, you tread your own path and if it crosses mine, I will rub
yours out.

[The camera pulls back as Hartt picks up his phone and looks at
something on the screen.]

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

[Fade up on The Biz at the 18th hole at the Bighorn Golf Club in Palm
Desert, CA. He's sitting in his golf cart with JDM Superstar next to
him. Meanwhile there's another cart behind them waiting for Biz and
JDM to finish up so they can "play through". Both are dressed in Polo
shirts and slacks with a couple of drinks in their hands. Biz looks
over his shoulder and smiles while making a gesture in the direction
of the other cart.]

Biz: Can you believe these two? It's like Bob Hope and Arnold Palmer
dragged their old butts out of the retirement home and planted them
right on top of us.

JDM:  "Beware the fury of a patient man."  John Dryden.

Biz: Oh I'm far from patient with those two. Hopefully my "partners"
in my upcoming match don't try my patience and actually hold up their
end of this partnership. What are they called again?

JDM: I'm thinking it's the Heat?

Biz: Ah yes. The Heat. Which is ironic because everyone knows I'M the
hottest thing in PVW. Those Magnon boys should be counting their lucky
stars to have someone like me leading their charge in this match.
Although my only objective is to cripple that old man Sinister once
and for all. As for The Renegades, let Paco and Francisco toy with
them all they want.

JDM:  This whole thing is completely irrelevant.  PVW... This is not
what I meant when I said high profile matches.

[The Biz finally gets out of the golf cart, pulls a 9 Iron from his
golf bag, as he prepares to tee off.  JDM turns to the camera.]

JDM:  PVW... the only reason Biz even comes to the ring, and it's in
full protest, is because he wants to size up this Sinister fellow.
Locker room leader I hear. Well, that's a funny thing because due to
my contract negotiations, Biz doesn't have to dress in the locker room
with everyone else.  Biz has his own private dressing room.  You see,
we don't need to soil our hands with the common folk, smell their
sweat, or watch their ugly disturbing bodies try to recover from
punishment and defeat.  The stink of loser.

You see.. The Biz has no need to associate with the locker room.
Sinister, which you aren't, if you represent the boys in the back well
just remember this.  You and the rest of them serve a purpose...

[He motions to The Biz who is still sizing up the ball]

JDM: ...to elevate this man.  Soon enough he's going to be World
Champion.  And while working with all the boys is something you seem
to love, Biz really has no use for that.  He has no need to pay his
dues.

[The Biz puts the club over his shoulder]

Biz: it's quite the opposite. People pay me money.  At this point in
the game, I have no need to work my way up from the bottom; I'd rather
let other people do that.  To play the game of "earning it."  Nope, I
won't be doing any of that.

JDM: Did you see what this man did to Chris Hartt?  How he decimated
him cleanly, piece by piece, and how he successfully main evented like
I told you he would?  That's a winner.  That's a true Paladin.  That's
a locker room leader.

And what do we see when we turn the camera on you, Sinister?

A man leading a giant locker room full of musclebound wrestlers and a
not a brain among them to spare.

[The Biz laughs]

Biz: I'm _WAY_ too good for all that seeing as I was blessed with
brains,  intellect, and independence.

JDM: Speaking of... didn't we just celebrate a holiday about
independence?  Didn't we just mark an occasion where this great
country drew itself away from the monotony of top down hierarchal
order?

Biz: I believe we did and, what's more, you call yourself a leader,
Sinister, but you should really be mocked for your beloved status.
Because if everyone in PVW acted just like you.. well wouldn't that
mean they all get to line up to lose to Larry Gionet?

[He places the golf club down and leans on it like a cane]

Biz: Let's face it.  You're old news.  You and scum like The Renegades
have no idea how to achieve a successful career.  And the real reason
is you're content. You're happy with your place in life.  You love it
among the mundane.  The boring.  The blissfully ignorant.  And that's
the kind of atmosphere you encourage in PVW.  You're more dangerous to
those kids and vets in the locker room than anything that I will ever
do to them.

JDM: You see... we're leaders.  We're innovators.  We're pioneers and
we're visionaries.  Besides... there's not enough room in that locker
room anyways.  What with your giant hamster wheel you all love to take
turns running on.

So come Heatwave...  you're gonna see exactly what we think of
everyone on this roster.

Remember.  We're not here to make friends.  We're here to win titles.
This match does nothing for us.

Biz: And Sinister? Guess we'll just have to play through.

[The Biz nails the ball and it flies like mad off into the distance.
Biz stares, nodding in satisfaction.]

Biz: And that's just how it should be.

[Fade out]

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

(Scene: The home of Herscher von Donkerhardt, the living room of his
home to be exact. Herscher is sitting on a sofa, wearing grey suit
dress pants, white dress shirt and orange tie. In front of him sits
the coffee table, and on that coffee table The PVW American Title.
Herscher takes one last sip from the coffee cup in his hand before
placing it on the coffee table next to the belt.)

HvD: Titles, they are a blessing and a curse. They bring you fame,
money respect and a great sense of achievement. Titles also bring you
the attention of everyone who wants to hold that title. I've accepted
the fact that this belt has put a target on my back. Everyone who
feels they have something to prove or has some sort of axe to grind,
feels the need to do so against people holding the gold. That's fine,
let them come and try to prove something at my expense, let them take
their best shot at me and this title. I welcome all challengers to
this title. What kind of champion would i be if i wasn't up for that
type of thing?

(Herscher lets out a big sigh as he crosses his arms)

HvD:And then there are the types of challenges made by one Perry
Fontana. He challenges me for a title that one cannot possess, that
has no belt, that can't be sanctioned by any promotion, even if it
wanted to. Best technical wrestler in the world? Fontana believes
himself to be just that. It can be said he can make such a claim,
given the matches he has had in PVW. When he demonstrates his
technical abilities, there are few that can measure up. But the best
in the world? Anybody can call themselves the best. I've heard this
claim from many legends in their own minds in the course of my career.
It's when others call you these things, that it begins to mean
something.

(HvD, reaches for his title belt, and places it over his shoulder.)

HvD:You have something to prove against me Fontana? By all means come
and try. Go ahead and try to show the world I'm just another meatball
as you put it. Go ahead and prove to the world you are the best. Prove
that you are something other then a man who hides behind women! Just
remember, others felt they had to prove something against me,
Baldursson,Mercenary, & Manson to name a few. Ask them what they ended
up proving.

(HvD stands up and looks directly into the camera)

HvD: While you're at it, be sure to ask Nevermind what he intends to
prove in that ring. He's proven he's a violent and dangerous man, not
one to turn your back on. But, can he prove that he can be the
American Champion? Ask him after the match, when he regains
consciousness.

(Herscher lets a wry little smile out after that last remark. Herscher
then walks out of the room and out of the cameras view. Fade to
black.)

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

[As the scene opens up, the attentive (read: obsessive) PVW fan
figures out immediately the location being filmed is the Renegades
apartment.  The real dead give away is JD Houlihan standing in the
middle of the shot, standing over a stove covered with pots.  One has
a read sauce in it, the other is boiling water with noodles.  The mind
instantly draws the conclusion that he's making spaghetti, as JD turns
around from the stove and walks over to the island.  There sits a big
ole salad bowl filled with all types of rabbit food.  JD begins to
toss the salad, as the apartment door swings open and Uncle Sid
waltzes right on in.]

UNCLE SID: Hello nephew! Sure smells good!

JD: _BETTER_! Tis my mom's special spaghetti recipe... Figured it
might help snap Devin outta his little... _funk_...

[Uncle Sid sits at other side of the island, opposite JD, probably one
a stool unseen by the camera.]

UNCLE SID: He's still acting like a chick on their rag? What's up with
that?  You can't win every match! Sometimes shit happens,
but you keep you head held high, and you keep on going!

JD: Speaking to the choir, Unky.  I've tried the same speech on him.
Doesn't wanna listen.  You see what he did to his hand?

UNCLE SID:  he didn't
break it did he?

JD: I dun think it's broke, but sure is swollen up real bad.  He keeps
it wrapped up, so I dunno how bad it really is... but tell ya one
thing, he ain't' using it for much.  Watched him have to put his beer
down the other day to use the TV remote.  Normally, he's way to lazy
to do such a thing!

[Both men chuckle, as JD's finally done tossing the salad.  He now
moves onto bringing out the tableware.  Glasses, silverware,
plates...]

UNCLE SID: Speaking of the Dee Vaughn.... Where's he at?

JD: Out.

UNCLE SID: Out?

JD: Yea, what, you deaf in your old age? He's out.  Been gone since
this afternoon...

UNCLE SID:  But it's tape night! I got the
whole HIT Invitational Tournament, and pretty much a Best of Biz DVD!

JD:  I'm so excited...

UNCLE SID: Don't you even _start_ Jay! One of you has to take this
seriously! Watching film, working things out in the ring, practicing
day in and day out... _THAT'S_ what will take you guys far in this
league! _THAT'S_ what has brought you guys to _NUMBER TWO_ in the list
of contenders for the tag tit--

JD: Again, Unky, preaching to the choir! I know all of that! I'm here
for the long haul! I know at this stage in our career we _NEED_ to put
in those extra man hours to overcome the odds! Devin, well... I think
he's more about instant gratification!

UNCLE SID: You ain't wrong there! I think that's the real root of the
problem!

[JD has set up three table settings, one in front of him, one in front
of Uncle Sid, and one presumably at the empty bar stool.  He even lays
down a few towels for the hot pans he's now bringing over.]

JD: Dinner is served! Which means, knowing my brother... He should be
here any minute now.

UNCLE SID: Better be, or else we are going to get embarrassed this
week! The Heat are _NO_ joke, and the Biz.. he's accomplished
virtually everything a man could want to in the wrestling ring!

JD: Didn't he even come back from the dead???

UNCLE SID: Well, technically... he faked it to get away, but yea.. in
a sense your rig--

[Just then, Devin walks into the apartment, flinging the door wide
open, as it slams against the wall.  He laughs, and stumbles his way
into the apartment, obviously pretty lit.  He slams the door shut,
flings his sandals off at the wall, and clumsily sits in the empty
stool.]

DEVIN: How yins doing tonight?

JD: Fine.  Drink the entire city dry, brutha man?

DEVIN:  No, but I can try harder tomorrow if
you want!  So what awesome, amazing, totally interesting,
grab you by the seat of your pants wrestling footage do you have for
us to watch tonight, Unk?

UNCLE SID:  No one is forcing me to help you guys.  I just
know what happened to me and how this sport can just _EAT_ you
alive...  I don't wanna see you boys travel down that same path I did.
But hey, if you know better, I'll stay outta your way and let you lead
the team, Devin!

JD: Uncle, don--

DEVIN:  What's it matter, Unk? You... me... HIM...
whoever's in charge, we ain't never gunna succeed! They're all
cheating bastards! They all bend the rules to their favor, leaving us
in the dust! We are becoming living proof that nice guys finish last!

JD: we didn't finish last at End Games!

DEVIN: Oh, what... _ONE_ night of glory justifies six months of
beatings and screw job finishes???

UNCLE SID: That's life, Devin! It's a bitch! Sometimes it hits you
hard, and knocks you down! But you get back up! You put back on the
helmet and you get back in the game! You don't whine about what other
peoples are doing, you got out there and do what YOU can to have
positive results!

DEVIN: This ain't some fairy tale, Unk, where's cheaters never win and
winners never cheat! This is the real world! This is wrestling!
Cheaters are the _ONLY_ ones that win!

JD: I dunno about that, Devin... I think that's the booze talking!

DEVIN: Yea _blame_ it on the booze... don't accept what I'm saying is
_TRUE_!  Run, hide, deny all you want, fellas! But if we keep trying
to be the bigger men.. we keep trying to play by the rules, and bide
our time... we are gunna get lost in the shuffle! However, for now
you... must excuse... me......

[And with that, Devin runs off screen, opens a door off screen and
slams it shut.  Very faintly the sounds of vomiting can be heard.]

UNCLE SID: Wow.  Just _wow_!

JD: That's how it's been all week.  Same rant, different word
choices...

UNCLE SID: How does just one loss affect him so much??? Not like you
haven't lost before!

JD: I think it's just getting to him finally.  After battling the
Corazones, and putting up with all that bullshit... especially the
stuff with him punching Emylee accidently....  And then last week with
Pizzazz just begging for him to swing...  he's just totally
frustrated.  I dun think this sport is living up to his expectations!

UNCLE SID: ,  It not all candy canes and lollipops! Its
professional _WRESTLING_! There are bad guys, good guys and all types
of guys in between! The weaker ones CHEAT to win, the stronger ones
bide their time and win when it MATTERS MOST!

JD: I get that.  We just need to get Pukey McPukePuke there to
understand all that.

UNCLE SID: He will, in time...  This just growing pains, a stage...
Once we put together a few wins, and get that rematch with Livestock
and Gutch... he'll change his tune!

JD: he better.  I can't take much more of this mopey teenage drama
queen bullshit act!

UNCLE SID: Cheers to that!

[As the two cheers wine glasses, Devin can be heard flushing and
brushing his teeth in the background as the camera fades out...]

****************************************
****************************************
Rob Cole & Senor Cloak Dos
****************************************
****************************************

[At the PVW offices, Rob Cole sits in a chair opposite an empty one.
He leans forward, hands clasped in front of him, his brows furrowed in
deep thought as he waits for the entrance of his partner for the
upcoming Heatwave. The former PVW World Champion does not have to wait
long as a small Mexican man dressed in a white button up shirt with a
yellow tie, brown slacks with black dress shoes. Oh and a black mask
that covers his head entirely with cherry colored eye visors and
cherry colored "SCII" on the forehead. Senor Cloak Dos has arrived and
he has a hand out stretched as he walks up to Cole.]

SCD: Hola, Senor Cole.

[Cole watches Senor Cloak Dos with a frown, rising to offer his hand
in greeting.]

RC: I don't know where to begin, Cloak Dos. Thank you for inviting me
here to meet with you... and for accepting my hand in that ring. It
may not seem like much to a lot of people... but to me, to my son, it
meant the world. I'm grateful.

SCD: Thank you, Senor Cole, for finally listening to me that I was not
the one to aggrieve you after your match with Senor Craven.

[Rob Cole sits and clasps his hands in front of him again.]

RC:  I think I need to make something clear to you, Cloak Dos... and
I'm not sure how you're going to react to it or what you might think
of me or any of that. I need to tell you this... it's something that I
think of as important to our match, important to whether or not we can
trust each other, and it's important to understanding who I am in this
business. I've been through a lot in the past several years... I've
seen terrible things, done terrible things, and I have even BEEN a
terrible thing. So... there's this movie called "Pulp Fiction" and
there's this character named Jules.

[The luchadore nods his masked head.]

RC: This character... he isn't a good guy, Senor Cloak Dos. But he has
a moment... a moment where the world flashes and everything he
thought, every thing he's ever done, everything he is happens to get
thrown into doubt. Jules has a crisis of identity... it's a crisis his
own partner can't understand, it's something he is only barely
beginning to grasp but it leads to one of the most important scenes of
the movie. He comes to understand what he is in this world... are you
familiar with the scene? In the Diner?

SCD: No, Senor Cole, but I think I follow what you are saying.

RC: I know I've been a villain. I've been the monster I advertised for
so long... I was something that someone like you should always stand
up against. That is what William Craven wants me to be again... it's
what he is hoping for with every punch, every kick, and every terrible
thing he does. But I don't want to be that thing anymore, Senor. I
want to be something better... for my wife, for my son, and for
myself. I need to find redemption, Senor Cloak Dos... and I am going
to do it by standing up to William Craven.

SCD: I understand, Senor Cole. I also seek to stand up to someone,
Senor Black of England.

RC: This man who keeps attacking you? He's filth. He's a degenerate
coward. I've seen what he did to you... I've seen the desperation in
his eyes, the tangible fear, and I have seen him tremble. You are a
man of honor! You keep standing... you keep getting up again, you
don't let him keep you down, and you force him to see himself for the
pathetic bully he is. And this week... don't get me wrong, I can't
promise to have your back for the rest of our lives. I can't promise
you undying devotion and friendship. I can't make you a promise I
might not be able to keep down the road...but this week? This week...
I will stand by your side. I will not leave you. I will not allow
those two men to break us, to shatter what we are in the middle of the
ring. I will not let down your young fans... because I am a better man
than I used to be.

SCD: Thank you, Senor Cole. I completely trust you and hope that you
can put your trust in me for each of us to watch out for one another.
Together we will fight the good fight against Senors Craven y Black
and show them that no evil attacks will break our spirits nor our
drive to do what is right in this fight. Let us show them and all the
good people the power of the good fight!

[The luchadore again offers his hand towards the wrestling legend.
Cole accepts the hand as the screen fades to black.]

****************************************
****************************************
Jaime Roberts
****************************************
****************************************

[Jaime Roberts is in his gym, where he's obviously just finished a
workout. He smiles as he addresses the PVW fans.]

JR: Great to get the chance to talk to you all again, guys. I hope
that those of you who saw my PVW debut against the Masked Maniac
enjoyed it – I loved getting in the ring again, and it was great to
hear the cheers. Of course, getting the win helped.

Next time around, no disrespect to the Maniac, I'm thinking things
will be a little bit more difficult against Chance McKenzie.  Chance
reminds me a lot of how I used to be before my original retirement.
He's young, he's good looking – and boy, does he know it – he's an
exciting guy in the ring, and he's full of confidence.

You could even say arrogant. And hey, having been called that many
times myself, who am I to criticise?

[He shrugs.]

Maybe I shouldn't. Maybe I should break the habit of a lifetime, keep
my mouth shut, and just go in there and wrestle. But you see, Chance
reminds me so much of myself, I want to stop him making the same
mistakes I did. So, Mr McKenzie, I have a little bit of advice for
you.

Remember you're never quite as good as you think you are. Remember
that while you can sneer at the fans all you like, at the end of the
day, they pay your wages.

And most of all...

[A big thumbs up, and the smile grows wider.]

Remember that stepping in the ring with Jaime Roberts can be seriously
damaging to your health. I know when I was as pretty as you, Chance, I
never liked getting hit in the face. I can only imagine how much
you're trying to avoid the Knockout Kick.

See you at Heatwave, Chance. May the best man win.

[Fade.]

****************************************
****************************************
Spectre
****************************************
****************************************

"Tick tock...tick tock..."

[The camera fades in on The Spectre.  PVW's goth sits on a dented
folding chair in front of a plain cinderblock wall, leaning forward so
that his elbows rest on his knees.]

"Do you hear that?

Tick tock...tick tock...it's the march of the inevitable.  The
soundtrack to oblivion.

The passage of time...the Reaper's footsteps...it all amounts to the
same thing.

It amounts to moments lost.  Opportunities gone.  It amounts to a
shorter window in which we might accomplish our goals.

Friend Marcus...we feel no need to force you to prove anything to us.
Your Beast has been well fed and tended for years...the death of your
wife saw to that in far greater depth than we could ever hope...and
when little Samuel picked at that wound...drew out the poison that
rested within...well, we had to lean back and smile.

You see, while your Beast had been well tended, it has been too long
since it was truly tested...since you truly raged against the actions
of someone and allowed your baser instincts to take control...to peel
your lips back into a snarl and waded through bodies and blood to
achieve your prize: the utter destruction of another human being?  Do
you remember the feel of it, Misery Machine?  Does the look in your
opponent's eyes when call to you?  That look that they give when they
know that they're simply not capable of stopping you...that moment
when their priorities shift from attaining victory to merely
surviving?

Can you honestly tell us that you still possess that fire?

Or had it been as dead as your wife?"

[Spectre leans back in his chair, smiling...a sick, twisted sight.]

"You should thank Little Samuel, Friend Marcus.  Without his
intervention, that fire would be all but extinguished.  Your
anger...your rage...it fuels  you.  It pushes you to deeper and deeper
depths of depravity.

...

...

And we know you adore every moment...because as long as you have that,
you know you're still alive.

So...don't expect us to pretend we're attempting to rebuild you in
some grand crusade, Friend Marcus...instead embrace the fact that we
look upon you as a kindred spirit...and we too shall peel back our
teeth into a rictus snarl to find out whose Beast shall hold the day.

...

...

But you already know the answer to that as well, don't you, Friend
Marcus?"

[Spectre smiles widely, leaning forward once again...then nods.]


"Of course you do...which is why you still know to fear the dark."

[fade]

****************************************
****************************************
Gabriel Whitecross
****************************************
****************************************

[Enshrouded in the semi-darkness, he stands ; stripped to the waist,
and bedecked in a tapestry of unforgiving black thereafter. His
heavily muscled and heavily tattooed upper body glistens in the subtle
light, and most of his weathered, goateed facade is obscured by his
long, silver-esque hair. When he speaks, his words are measured, and
barely more than a growled whisper - yet every syllable is clearly
heard. Intensity peppers his cadence.]

"It was the notion of preserving honour ; the notion of meting out a
justice true, that bought me here ... And it is these very traits that
keep me here, still."

[Unbidden, the 6'4" powerhouse throws back his head, more clearly
revealing the fire that burns behind his pale, blue eyes. His face
contorting into a snarl, Gabriel Whitecross continues with his
catharsis.]

GW: My business is unfinished, and  a man they call Livestock
initially stands in my way ... And initially it will only be.
You see, it matters not who is thrown into my path, as my quest will
not be denied. Be it motivated by cowardice or devious calculation, on
his part, my trail will blaze toward Hayes, irrespective ... So,
Livestock, even with your status as Tag Team Champion being noted, you
_will_ still fall to my fury. I ... I am a man driven, and your demise
at my hands is inevitable.

[Clenching his meaty right hand into a fist, Whitecross slams said
fist over his left pectoral with savage intent. As quickly as the
explosion of visible violent emotion had arrived, it duly dissipated.
In its stead, there's a measured but malevolent statement of fact.]

GW: Victim, ready yourself, for 'the Era Of Defiance' will soon be
upon you ...

[Without another word being spoken, the scene fades to a cloying
blanket of threatening obsidian.]


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

(We open on the executive office of our President and CEO, Johnny
Detson.  Sitting behind a Mahogany desk sits Mr. Called Shot Johnny
Detson.  Detson is wearing a gray three piece suit with a red tie.
His usually politician smile is replaced with an unpleasant scowl.)

Detson:  You people make me sick.

(Detson, seething, pauses before continuing.)

Detson:  You jack-o's took the greatest night in professional
wrestling history and you turned it into a joke, a travesty, a total
disaster.  Johnny Detson Appreciation Night was a gift to you, the
little people, and you took it and threw it away without even
appreciating its value.

(Detson shakes his head.)

Detson:  I, your President and CEO, your Face of the Franchise, your
Mr. Called Shot, am the greatest executive/wrestler the sport has ever
seen and I deserve praise.  But what?  Not one wrestler came out
thanking me for saving their company, not one heap of praise from them
because they still get a pay check.

(Detson sneers.)

Detson:  Not one mention of my name.  The name that kept them all
here, the name that saved this company, the ungrateful jack-o's...

(Detson pauses and takes a deep breath.)

Detson:  Of course, the fault for that lies with me.

(Detson nods in agreement.)

Detson:  Yes as a highly paid, highly talented executive I realized
that the proverbial "buck" stops with me.  In my pursuant of personal
glory I have left a few things unchecked, mainly that status that I
created stay quo.  Well I looked around after Heatwave; I watched the
tape for hours dissecting it, and folks the status is not quo.

(Detson smirks.)

Detson:  And the fault with that lies with me.  Perhaps I've coddled
all that fall under my employ too much.  Perhaps I overvalued the
competency of the various committee here in the PVW a little too much,
Preston certainly has been hogging the spotlight a little too much for
my liking, but I have to admit, it's my own doing because I allowed it
to happen.  Because his foolish decisions bare no consequence on him,
no, they all fall on my lap.  I sign HIS check and he better not
forget that little fact.  NO ONE better forget the fact that I, your
President and CEO, am in charge.  I am the man responsible for this
all, the PVW, its success, and continued profit.  I refuse to let the
past, which Preston was a part of, repeat itself here in the PVW.

(Detson shakes his head and holds up a finger.)

Detson:  Let's look at the facts, Martinez... gone.

(Detson holds another finger.)

Detson:  Holliday... gone.

(Detson holds another finger.)

Detson:  Marley... who cares?

(Detson holds up yet another finger.)

Detson:  Vasquez... banned from the state of Arizona and especially my
company!

(Detson smirks.)

Detson:  Most of those examples are mistakes your President and CEO
had to fix because of the various committees in this place.  The same
network they now scoff at was the very same network that I had to save
them from when they were begging it for cash just a little over one
year ago.  So to say everyone here does not appreciate Johnny Detson,
President and CEO, would be foolish on your part, to not share that
appreciation publicly is foolish on their part!

(Detson scowls.)

Detson:  But as I said, as the top executive of this company I have to
take the responsibility for their incompetency.  And as a magnanimous,
generous, and fair man that you all know me for, I will pardon their
transgressions this one time.

(Detson laughs.)

Detson:  Because your President and CEO is a fair and forgiving man,
but don't think for one second that your continued incompetency will
be overlooked.  I am hereby taking a more "active" role when it comes
to this company, MY Company, and unsatisfactory work will no longer be
tolerated.

(Detson shakes his head.)

Detson:  Another thing that will no longer be tolerated is the
constant calls from the press and other various jack-o's about my
feelings towards one Mr. Danny Daniels running for the office of PVW
President.)

(Detson laughs and shrugs his shoulders.)

Detson:  People, your idiocy amuses me.  Much like I was amused when
Mr. Daniels came out in front of the world and said the greatest
accomplishment that he could achieve would be to be just like me,
Johnny Detson, President and CEO, Face of the Franchise, Mr. Called
Shot, and generally all-around nice guy.

(Detson's smirk changes back to a scowl.)

Detson:  But then Mr. Daniels isn't the man we all thought he was, now
is he?

(Detson rolls his eyes.)

Detson:  No, Mr. Daniels has no honor.  He is an opportunist and a
cheat.  He attacked your President and CEO from behind and used other
forms of subterfuge and chicanery to obtain, in my opinion, a rather
hollow victory against me in a handicap match last week.  From there
it can be assumed that he now thinks himself worthy of my "throne."

(Detson gives a hearty laugh.)

Detson:  Well people, nothing could be further from the truth.  Mr.
Daniels only demonstrated why he can't hold the position of PVW
President.  He's a liar, a cheat, a backstabber, a horrible dresser,
too young, and most of all untrustworthy to hold office.  And lest we
forget the most important reason, the position is not up for any sort
of election.

(Detson, again, shakes his head.)

Detson:  No, people, I am PVW President, FOR LIFE.  I saved this
company, not Danny Daniels.  When the people of the place needed a
savior, when they needed a HERO, they did not turn to Mr. Daniels, nor
did Mr. Daniels look to take on the task.  No, they turned to me, a
TRUE savior, a TRUE hero, and some faux imitation; they went to the
real thing.

(Detson, for the first time, flashes his wide politician smile.)

Detson:  Now, only now, after the fruit of my labor have turned this
into a viable and successful organization does Mr. Daniels think it
wise to ride on my coattails.  Well, I won't let this happen!  I took
an oath for you, the little people, to make, and keep, this a
successful organization, and I will not let these unfounded, and
little, distractions keep me from that oath.

(Detson slams his fist down on his desk for extra emphasis.)

Detson:  So it has been resolved, Mr. Daniels will not be running
against me for the presidency, which is mine and mine alone.  I see
his underhanded tactics have earned him a shot at the World Champion
Gibson Hayes.  Not a decision I endorse or approved but being the fair
and generous man that I am; I will let it stand.  Good luck to you Mr.
Daniels in all your future endeavors.  And to you, the little people,
I say fear not your company, MY company will always be in safe hands.
Good night.

(With that the screen fades on our noble leader.)

****************************************
****************************************
Sammy Knight
****************************************
****************************************

"Lesson learned?"

[Compton, California.]

"Or lesson remember?"

[In the middle of a heat wave in sunny Southern California, today
seems to be the hottest day; absolutely scorching.  The sun is setting
and the air is rather free from the usual congestion and smog.  The
blessings of one summer day?  Or rather the calm before the storm?
Regardless, it's a day of peace, a day away from the grit and grind of
one man.]

"Cowards make me mad."

[Fresh off his debut in Phoenix Valley Wrestling, Sammy Knight finds
himself bin a moment of comfort, if only for a short moment.  He is
sitting on a brownish-colored couch of sorts.  Whenever he moves it
squeaks, for the plastic cover still remains on it.  He is wearing a
black doo-rag tied tightly over his head, a black t-shirt and some
baggy black and red Centennial High School basketball shorts.  His now
12-year-old son Darrion is sitting an apparently doing his summer
school homework at a kitchen table.]

"Disillusioned morons make me laugh."

[Darrion turns sideways for a moment, trying to ear-hustle to
understand what his father is saying.]

"And yes, there's a difference."

[Darrion looks away and then continues to work on his summer writing
assignment.]

"You see, there's simply a difference amongst people.  Most of the
times it's not necessarily a negative or positive trait, it's just a
difference; or rather a series of differences.  People just ain't
built the same way.  Aren't the wired the same.  Don't have the same
DNA.  Sometimes those differences can be disguised, hidden, cloaked.
People are actually really good at that.  However, there's also times
when it's abundantly clear about who's who and what's what.  And
Spectre, you aren't hiding much."

[Knight shakes his head in honest dissent.]

"Quite possibly one of the most disheartening human states is when an
individual is blind to the fact that they aren't nearly as talented,
important, or relevant as they believe they are.  The unseen
acceptance of the reality that you are not who you think you are.  And
unfortunately, you find that a lot in this business.  Ignorant fucks
make these asinine statements declaring their intentions of
accomplishment and greatness.  Or they talk about what diabolical
scheme that they have planned.  Then, these same Irrelevant and past
their prime individuals take part in actions which only demonstrate
the reality that they are ghosts of their former selves.  Because,
_ONCE_ these assholes stops smoking at the mouth, _ONCE_ the lies
clear their ears, and _ONCE_ they realize that their actions are
actually, sad, then they're essentially left with nothing.

_NOTHING_.

Nothing but hot air.  Nothing but a hot head.  And nothing except the
bitter taste of disappointment left between their teeth."

[Knight pauses in his speak, carefully contemplating what to say
next.]

"I, by no means am perfect.  But you see, I don't claim to be
something I'm not.  I don't claim to do things that I'm not capable
of.  I don't fill my lips with with the remnants of empty promises.
The consequences of my youth didn't afford me the luxury of
mispeaking."

[He points to his arm as the camera focuses on a somewhat faded tattoo
that says "B L O O D", an direct memory of his younger days as a youth
in the streets of Compton.]

"However, what's even more disgusting then one falsely intentioned
idol, is the village idiots that follow and egg on that clueless
hunter.  I'm not sure why exactly it happens, but it always does.  You
find that one dude, living on his lies and reputation as a legendary
monster, yet he is only remembered by his blatantly cowardly actions.
It certainly isn't his talent that pushes him anymore, for that talent
has long disappeared; evaporated into the halls of wrestling lore.
But he listens to these idiots, and they tell him to carry-on; they
tell him that he's still a justified hunter, that he's _STILL_ good
enough to back up his threats and cowardly actions.  So the misguided
hunter picks his moment and chooses a Sammy Knight to serve as his
sacrificial lamb."

[Knight shakes his head jokingly in disgust.]

"But I'm not some harmless sheep Spectre."

[Knight lets out a small chuckle.]

"I'm a wolf."

[Knight smiles.]

"And the joke's on ewe."

[More grinning.]

"And you're too fuckin' blind to care to know the difference between
the two."

[He stands up for a second and walks towards his son Darrion; checking
to make sure that he's still focused on his work.]

"You aren't unique Spectre.  Your actions aren't new.  And your words
are nothing special.  You want to think that you're re-inventing the
motherfuckin' wheel.  Like you're the definition of fear.  Like your
actions are the epitome of hate and destruction.  Like you're the
first person to take offense to Sammy Knight.  But there's a problem
with that."

[He pauses.]

"Your fuckin' wheel is square.  Mine ain't.  So I'll let you figure
out which is more effective."

[Darrion looks up at his father and says, "The round one pops."
Knight smiles as he walks away from his son, back across the room.]

"Your actions last week speak even louder than your words of disdain
towards me and my career.  And people who talk loud?  Just more hot
air.  More bullshit.  Violence doesn't impress me.

Not one bit.

So while maybe your assaults scared your previous hate targets but
you're addressing a nigga who's _BEEN_ shot, who's _BEEN_ beaten,
who's _BEEN_ abused, who's stared death in the face and didn't waver
for one God-damned second."

[Knight sneers into the camera.]

"You're facing Sammy Knight."

[Beat.]

"I ain't like you.  And I sure as hell ain't like anyone else you've
ever faced."

[Again, a head shake in disgust.]

"Oh yeah, and Manson?  I know our paths will cross again sooner than
later.  And until then, I pray for peace in your personal life because
I, too, know about loss.  But you need to know that I'm not scared of
misery.  Or machines.  And I'm not scared of you."

[Beat.]

"I am Sammy Knight.  Accept no imitations."

[Fade to black.]

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

[The scene is obviously a loading dock behind a large building at
night.  The only light source appears to be the bright security
lights, giving the area a burnt, orange cast.  The camera scans over
to a bank of several dumpsters in a row, all with the letters "PSCC"
stenciled on them with white spray paint.  On the ground between two
of the dumpsters, sitting on the ground with his back against the
cement wall is Nevermind.  He is dressed in his usual black kilt and
grey flannel, his forearms resting on his knees.  Curled up against
either side of him is a woman.  One a tall, thin blonde with long
dirty dishwater blonde hair, the other a short, thick girl with short
dishevelled brown hair.  Both appear to be asleep.  The wide awake
Nevermind looks into the camera, wipes the greasy black bangs
obscuring his face back, and runs his right hand through the thick,
matted black beard on his jaw.]

Before our match Foley, you blamed all of your problems for the last
several months on me, but that's not exactly true.  I didn't make your
friend Gionet a cheap scum bag -- he always was.  I didn't make Chris
Hartt a meaningless, purposeless joke -- he did that himself.  But I
did make it so you had to eat all your meals through a straw for a
week, and I did give you yet another loss.  So I suppose you could
blame me for that.  That would be fair. Not that anything in this
world is truly fair to begin with.

I'm not one to go around and complain, but there is something that has
been bugging me.  The names that people throw around to describe me.
I'm an "unbeatable monster?"  Well, I object to that characterization.
At least the monster part.  I'm no monster.  The unbeatable part,
well, that's a little harder to deny.  And now that I think about it,
maybe I am a monster. I guess I was wrong.  Never mind.  You're going
to find out for sure on both counts, Donkerhardt.  I don't think I
need to stress to you, or the rest of PVW, that your American title is
probably in more jeopardy in Palm Springs than it has been in a long
time.  If I were you, and Perry Fontana, I'd be pretty concerned.
Both of you want for you to still be champion, but life is full of
disappointment.

[The girl with black hair stirs slightly and Nevermind gives the
sleeping woman a look.]

Herscher, you may be the best technical and submission wrestler in
PVW.  I don't really keep track of that kind of stuff.  It really
doesn't interest me.  But even if you are, it doesn't matter.  You
can't make me submit.  Look around me, Donkerhardt.  Do you really
think you can do anything to me that life hasn't already?  I've lived
through more pain and suffering than you can even concieve of.  I'm
not talking about "twisting someone's arm behind their back and making
them cry uncle" pain.  I'm talking _real_ pain.   The kind of pain
that eats at your very soul, until finally you realize the only way to
not feel it is to not feel anything at all.  You can't hurt me,
Donkerhardt, and you can't beat me.  I just hope you can deal with the
pain of losing your title.  Just like I hope Perry Fontana can deal
with it, because I'm afraid he's in for a rough time of it come
Heatwave.

I'm sorry Fontana.  I'm sorry that you won't get your wish of facing
Herscher Von Donkerhardt at his absolute best, because I plan on
messing him up bad.  You'll still get your match with him, but he
won't be in peak physical condition, and he sure won't be American
champion.  I suppose you could always try to take the title away from
me, but that wouldn't happen either.  Even if I did bother to get in
the ring with you, it will take a lot more than some bad Pepe Le-Pew
impression to get it from me.  So I'm sorry that you'll be
disappointed.  As I said, the world's not fair.  But there are ways of
dealing with disappointment.  You can learn to accept the fact that
you'll have to face off against a damaged Dutchman, and the fact that
it won't be for any title.  Barring that, you could always just never
mind...

[Nevermind yawns and shakes both of his female companions off of him.
They blink sleepily as he lays down on the pavement and curls into a
fetal position to sleep.  After a few moments, the yawning women both
curl up against him and the trio lays there on the cold ground as the
camera fades to black.]

****************************************
****************************************
Gibson Hayes & Uncle Frank
****************************************
****************************************

[Standing on a balcony, overlooking nothing but desert and hills, is
Gibson Hayes. Hayes is wearing his typical suit but he has taken off
the jacket, which rests on the railing, and has his sleeves rolled up
to his elbows. On further inspection, Gibson's red tie is loosened and
Hayes looks like he has been very busy. The sound of a sliding door
opening and closing behind Gibson is the cue for the PVW World
Heavyweight Champion to turn around.]

GH: Francis? Welcome to my home. I am so glad you decided to accept
Todd's offer and join us. Once again, I apologize for the tardiness in
picking you up at the airfield. That gaffe was unfortunate but I am
delighted to see you here.

[Hayes extends his right hand for a handshake. The man he's addressing
is of course Frank Knight, or Uncle Frank as he usually calls himself,
a caucasian man slightly taller than Hayes and probably about 20
pounds heavier wearing blue jeans and a plain gray T-shirt. Knight
looks at Hayes an eyebrow raised.  His focus goes from Hayes' face to
the proffered hand and Knight's expression changes from one of mild
surprise to intense interest as he stares almost gleefully at first
the wrist, then the elbow and finally the shoulder of that arm. A
nasty grin starts creeping across his face before it disappears
without warning, replaced by a look so cheerful and friendly it would
be more at home on a children's TV show than anywhere else.  Frank
grabs Hayes' hand and shakes it vigorously.]

FK: Oh, you shouldn't worry about not picking Uncle Frank up.
Exercise is good for the soul, and Uncle Frank met ever so many fine
and interesting people on his way to the hotel.  In fact, Uncle Frank
should thank you, Mr. Hayes, for giving Uncle Frank the opportunity to
meet such fine, new friends which he could tell about how a brighter
and better future is coming, just like you told Uncle Frank on the
phone.

[He pauses, still shaking Hayes hand, a slight frown on his face.]

FK: A disturbing number of them were quite rude, however. That will
need to be rectified. Oh, yes it will.

GH: Francis, may I call you FranK?

FK: Uncle Frank would be rude not to let you do so. Yes, you may.

GH: I like the name Frank, it has an air of authority. Speaking of
authority, I have it on good authority that you, dear Frank, are a man
that believes in America... is that correct?

[Gibson looks into Frank's eyes. The first man to blink is, in fact,
Frank as he answers with a tone of confused uncertainty in his voice.]

FK: Yeeees...  Uncle Frank believes. Even when America does not always
believe in Uncle Frank.

GH: Frank. You know that your chosen name also means to cut pretense
and tell the base truth? I like that. Tell me, Frank, what do you
think when you think of this country?

FK: Uncle Frank thinks of Freedom! Freedom to listen to your Uncle
Frank when he knows what's best for you! Uncle Frank thinks of
Liberty! Liberty to be polite, or else! Uncle Frank thinks of
happiness...  Oh, so much happiness.  Uncle Frank is a very happy man,
you know. Everyone should be as happy as Uncle Frank.  Everyone WILL
be as happy as Uncle Frank.

[The grin is back.  That nasty one.]

GH: I like the way you think, Frank. Do you know what I see when I
look out into this endless ocean of sand? I see clear into the past
and the future. I see America when she was young and full of hope.
Frank, I see America as she is today - older, wiser and bitter.
America, Frank, America has had to see her children fight and die to
defend an ideal. America has sent her beloved young off to fight wars,
both idealogical and spiritual. America has made such great, great
sacrifices for her offspring. Do they appreciate her sacrifices,
Frank? Do those kids realize how many long nights the nation that gave
birth to them has spent awake, praying for their safety and happiness?
Are these babies thankful for all America has done for them; all that
America has given up - for them?

[As Hayes spoke Frank just stood there watching, his mouth dropping
open, eyes wide in wonder.  If this wasn't the same Uncle Frank who
gleefully would tear an opponent apart just for the giggles then one
could almost think there was the hint of a tear in the corner of his
eye. A barely audible whisper escapes him as he stares at Gibson.]

FK: Wow...

[America's Last, Best Hope for a Bright Future and Better Tomorrow
looks Frank straight in the face, right into Uncle Frank's eyes. The
champion takes in the man standing before him, the champion's face
stern, yet hopeful.]

GH: Frank, tell me, what do you believe in?

[Knight, shaken from his stupor by the direct question looks
momentarily confused and seems to struggle to find the words.]

FK: Uncle Frank...  Uncle Frank believes in...

[A frown, and then the widest sincere smile ever seen on Knight's
face!]

FK: Uncle Frank believes in A Bright Future and Better Tomorrow!
Uncle Frank Believes in YOU, Mr. Hayes!

GH: Frank, we stand at the cross roads of a critical time in our
history. Great men have been torn down by the fickle nature of our
beloved country's unwashed, teeming masses yearning to believe. You,
Livestock, Gutch and I, we represent the final chance this country,
no, this world, has at redemption. Frank, look at me and tell me what
you see. Frank, listen to me: I want to save this nation. America,
she's a beautiful lady that has been dragged down into the mud by so
many, too many things.

FK: Uncle Frank sees a man who understands what Uncle Frank has always
tried to teach all his wonderful friends.  Uncle Frank sees The Last,
Best Hope for a Bright Future and a Better Tomorrow! Uncle Frank is...
Uncle Frank is all choked up here...

GH: Frank, I am the last, best hope for America's bright future and
better tomorrow but I can't do it alone. No matter how much I have
accomplished, no matter how many demons and devils I have vanquished;
no matter how great the odds I have overcomed I am merely one man. One
great man but a man nevertheless. There are those out there whom wish
to tear me down, to stake me in the heart and take America's light of
hope out into the night and snuff it out when it needs to shine
brightest. Frank, Frank... I need true believers at my side, willing
to fight the good fight and beat back that night. I need a man of
courage, conviction and of considerable skill. Frank, I need you. Are
you with me?

[A determined nod from Knight.]

FK: Uncle Frank is! Uncle Frank is with you, Mr. Hayes! Uncle Frank
will fight that good fight for you and for America and for all of
Uncle Franks wonderful friends out there, even the rude ones...

[And that creepy grin is back.]

FK: Oh yes, even the rude ones.  Especially the rude ones, they need
the Help of Uncle Frank to understand the need for a Bright Future and
Better Tomorrow more than anyone...  Oh yes, they do.  Lots and lots
and lots of help, whether they like it or not.

GH: Good. I am so glad you are a true believer, Frank. Now, let's get
you situated and then let us get a clear view of our enemies. The
first of which is an arrogant foreigner...