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** Phoenix Valley Wrestling Presents  **
**            SHOWCASE                **
**            03.25.11                **
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-> Max and Sal
-> Mike Bisignano
-> Chris Hartt
-> Nevermind
-> Prophets of Rage
-> William Craven
-> Christopher Black
-> Sinister
-> Johnny Detson
-> Senor Cloak Dos
-> Doc Holliday
-> Larry Gionet
-> The Renegades
-> AsH
-> Tyson Cain
-> Caleb Foley
-> Hollywood by Night
-> Marcus Manson
-> The Heat
-> Los Corazones
-> Rick Marley



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

[The camera fades in to see Max Weinrib and Salih Mubarak seated in a
small room on wooden chairs, lost in thought.  Behind them, leaning
against a wall, was a five and a half foot piece of wood with a trophy
on top.  The trophy was in several parts, but put together with
masking tape.  Tape even covered the faceplate, so it read "W____r
2011 Heat Inv_______al To___ament:"  The remaining faceplate had a
white sticker with 'MAX AND SAL' written in marker over it.  As the
two pondered, Max started pointing behind the camera and Sal began his
voiceover.]

Sal VO:  As winners of the prestigious Heat Invitational Tournament,
Max and I had targets on our backs.  We hadn't realized that being a
target would start five seconds after winning.  Give Arvelle credit-
the man is a sniper with oak and mahogany.

Max VO:  And we wondered too if we'd continue being a target as we
prepared for our match with Los Corazones, the tag team champions of
ASLL.  Between the Corazones' skills and double team moves...

Sal VO:  And the dangers of splinters when HEAT bought some more
trophies to hit us with, we were concerned.

Max VO:  As we got ourselves ready, we were faced with a very
important question which had no easy answer...who was hotter:  Emylee
Marie Bermudez Cruz or Florine Walker-Davies?

Sal VO:  Max and I, of course, had different approaches to this
burning topic...

[In his chair, Max strokes his chin thoughtfully as Sal gets up and
moves out of the shot.]

Max:  There's no doubt that each lady brings her own unique assets to
the table.  In Emylee, you have the quintessential "hot tamale".  With
Florine, Southern-fried style mixed with apple pie.  Tequila versus
mojito.  Caramel flan versus cheesecake...mmm...

[Sal comes back in, shaking his head sadly at his partner's
ruminations.  He is now wearing a white lab coat, thick black glasses,
and is holding a clipboard and a pointer.]

Sal:  Typical.  Immediately go for the ethnic stereotypes AND the food
metaphors, Max.

[Sal begins walking behind the camera, which turns to follow him as he
goes near a blackboard with several numbers and two hourglass figures
on it.]

Sal:  Now, I went for the scientific approach.  On the left is the
body dimension of Emylee Cruz, and on the right is Florine Walker-
Davies.  As you can clearly see, Emylee is shorter, more compact,
while Florine is leggier and with a more...

[Sal holds out his hands several inches from out his chest.]

Sal:  ... 'Robust'  look.  But careful studies- and believe me, I've
been studying- of Ms. Walker-Davies leads to me to suspect artificial
enhancement.

Max:  Silicone?

Sal:  Enough to impress Apple Computers.  Now, by cross-checking the
bust, applying a silicone penalty to Ms. Davies, and dividing by the
waistline... we get...

[Sal checks his clipboard]

Sal:  Well, I get 8.6 for Emylee and 8.5 for Florine.  I don't quite
understand what that means, but I think I'm throwing my support for
Emylee.

Max:  [rolls his eyes]  Clearly, you've got your numbers and figures
crossed and you've skewed the data, Sal.   As for me, I can never go
wrong with cheesecake.  Gotta go with Florine here.

[As Max and Sal begin to argue, we cut back to the voice over.]

Max VO:  Both Sal and myself made very good points for our respective
sides.  Needless to say, we decided on the only objective method to
settle this pressing debate.

[Max pulls out a quarter and shows it to Sal, who checks it over and
then nods.  Max flips the coin high in the air.  Both men look up at
it expectantly...

...and we fade to black before it lands.]

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

[We fade up as The Biz is sitting on a couch somewhere in the
backstage area. We've caught up with him in mid conversation as his
Bluetooth is in his ear. He takes a look at a piece of paper in his
lap and then throws it aside.]

Biz: Yeah man, I'm looking at it right now. What a bunch of crap! How
dare they dangle a carrot in front of me and then take it away. It was
there in black and white -- Scramble match at the start of End Game;
winner faces Sinister. Now god only knows when they'll wise up and put
me in a TV title match.

[He pauses to hear what the other person has to say before responding
again.]

Biz: That right there is the worst part about this whole mess. Someone
in the main office thought it would be fantastic to put me in the ring
with The Cruiserweight Icon, AsH. Makes me think they hired a couple
of the boys over from the competition to shuffle the cards a little.

[Pauses once more before laughing]

Biz: Absolutely. You'll be the first person I buzz if I see AJ running
around backstage.

[He finally looks up and notices the camera crew. He jumps in his
seat]

Biz: Jesus Christ... you guys a bunch of ninjas or some shit. (pause)
Oh it's just the idiots from Production wanting to film some comments
about my match. This shouldn't take very long so let me hit you back
in twenty.

[He hits the button on his Bluetooth to end the call and removes the
earpiece.]

Biz: Not sure how much you heard but allow me to reiterate. Yours
truly is not the LEAST bit happy about this Scramble match not being
booked anymore at End Game. But that's quite alright -- I WILL find
another way... a BETTER way even... to get my hands on Sinister and
the PVW Television title.

And in the mean time, I'll do the powers that be a HUGE favor and
eliminate from the roster one Cruiserweight Icon.

You see, AsH... you and I are not very different. Both of us were
smart enough to leave the big pond of SPW for the small pond of PVW.
The only thing I did that you didn't was solidify my position in this
company early on. Just ask anyone in the back who they find to be more
entertaining on the mic and the answer will always be The Biz.

And on March 31st in Surprise, Arizona... the surprise is going to be
on you because you and your trophy case of accolades aren't gonna mean
shit to me. I've had the SPW World Title next to my name as well --
you may have earned yours but that doesn't make you better. If
anything it makes you dumber because while you worked for your gold, I
played the biggest con game in the business for mine.

Now Jim... make sure to kiss your wife Kieran and your boy Logan
before you board that airplane because it just may be the last time
they ever see you again.

(pause)

It's a damn shame Logan is gonna have to grow up without a daddy but
hey, mine wasn't always there for me and look how successful I turned
out. Kieran, consider it a personal favor from one SPW alum to
another.

[Fade out]

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

Chris Hartt sits in a darkened spot of the backstage area. A dim light
shines on him from off camera. Boxes and cases of the production crew
surround him.

“You never know what life is gonna do to you. You can be happy-go-
lucky one day, and suddenly become Darth Vader the next. It’s a crazy
ride that throws us all for loops, sometimes.

And it seems that Larry Gionet has taken a huge fall at the moment.
Gionet turned on me last week. He beat the crap out of me. Nevermind
and Marcus Manson got their licks in and made sure they showed
everyone just what the score is.

But I’m still here. I’m still standing. And maybe I’m all by myself,
but at least I know I’m the only one I can trust right now. Caleb
Foley’s listening to Spectre for match advice and Gionet’s lost his
damned mind. Someday, Larry, you and I are gonna have words. You’re
not walking away from this thing clean.

Nevermind says all i do is bitch and moan? This from a dude who took
forever to sign his contract and get in the ring. So glad we waited so
long for that! Friggin’ technical mat genius! What a douche! He makes
everyone wait so long to see what his ring skills really are. And what
are they? Weak, pathetic, lame. Go back to the skate park, emo boy.
Your Nineties Era grunge indifference is old news nobody wanted to
hear the first time around.

This week, I get to face Marcus Manson. One step to paying back all
these trumpeting ass-monkeys who run around here and pretend they’re
king of the big block. I’ve got a strong lesson for you, Manson.
You’re meeting a man who’s at his rope’s end. I’ve been backed into a
corner by events and forced to keep going. I’ve got nothing to lose
and everything to gain. But for you, the end is just beginning and may
last a long time. I’m taking that Called Shot Qualifier and going on
to get that title shot. You, Manson, are a hurdle to pass over and
leave way behind.

This is when I’m going to rise above everything and make the best of
it all. I’ve never backed down and never shied away from any
adversity. Maybe I haven’t always won, but I’m focused on the main
goal and going to run through everyone I have to to get there. Stand
in my way at your own peril.”

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

[The scene is a vacant lot.  Several people dressed in discarded
clothing mill aimlessly about the dirt and gravel strewn space, some
drinking out of bottles hidden in brown paper bags, some mumbling to
themselves, some staring off into space with eyes devoid of purpose
and feeling, but all appear desperate and hopeless.  The only ones
that seem to have any sort of joy or spark are several grubby looking
children who are jumping up and down  and shouting with excitement.
They are all gathered around under a piñata, which hangs from the end
of a long pole.  The pole is being held up by a skinny woman with
cast-off clothing and messy blonde hair, and a short, chubby brunette
wearing equally distressed wardrobe.  They hold the papier-mache
object out of reach of the hyper kids, some of whom are jumping vainly
trying to grab hold of the brightly colored piñata that remains just
beyond their grasp.  Upon closer inspection, the dangling paper
sculpture looks familiar.  In fact, it is a fairly detailed and well-
made representation of PVW’s own Senor Cloak Dos -- complete with his
“SCII” mask.  The children stop their bouncing up and down and
shouting as a large man dressed in black rags with long, greasy black
hair and scraggly black beard walks into the scene carrying a long,
heavy stick.  They give the lumbering figure a respectful berth as he
stands next to the effigy made of paper and paste, and looks up at it.
As he looks into the camera, Nevermind begins to speak.]

Nevermind:  You know, where I come from, Number Two was something you
scraped off your shoe after you stepped in it, but now it seems that
I’m going to be forced to stomp through Number Two on purpose.  Oh
well, I’ve stepped in worse.  I’ll get to that in a minute, though.
First, I want to say something to Chris Hartt.

[Nevermind plants one end of the heavy stick in the ground and leans
his weight on it.]

Nevermind:  Sure seems like nobody likes you, Paladin.  Did you ever
stop to wonder why?   I’m sure you’ll convince yourself that this
whole thing was some big conspiracy set up by the powers-that-be to
ruin your career.  But if you have this many people, including some
loser that was supposed to be your best friend gunning for you, maybe
you should just consider the possibility that its _YOU_.  I mean, if
it walks like a duck, and quacks like a duck, right?  In this case,
the other ducks seem to want to beat you up at every given
opportunity.  So before you even say it, let me just tell you.  Your
friend Gionet turning on you had nothing to do with me, or Manson.  I
also want you to realize once and for all, that I’m not here because
of Detson, Manson, Gionet, or even Willingham.  If you want to know
why the whole world seems to be against you Paladin, maybe instead of
trying to find someone else to blame, you should take a long look into
the mirror.  That is, if your own reflection doesn’t try to kick your
ass.

[Nevermind pauses and shifts his weight to the other foot, while
continuing to lean on the stick.]

Nevermind:  And now on to more pressing matters.  You know, I’ve done
my fair share of wrestling in Mexico. I know all about Lucha Libre and
all the tradition associated with it.  I know about how important
masks are to the luchadores.  I also know a total ass-clown when I see
one.  Back in the day, there was a masked man in Mexico whose whole
gimmick was copying me.  He called himself “Guerrero del Grunge.”
Well, eventually, this poor dumb bastard found himself across the ring
from me.  He was convinced that I was going to try to unmask him, but
I didn’t.  Instead, I just beat him within an inch of his life and
left him laying there in the middle of the ring in a puddle of his own
blood and stink.  He took off the mask himself after that, because
after what I did to him, he couldn’t stand to even see anything that
served as a reminder of it, let alone have to look at it in the mirror
every damn day.  I have no idea what happened to him after that.
Didn’t really bother to find out.

[Nevermind stands up straight and places the stick on his right
shoulder.]

Nevermind:  The weird thing about you masked luchadore types, Dos, is
that you assign this great, almost mystical importance to those silly
masks.   You’ll do almost anything to protect them.  I’m just
wondering…   how far are you _really_ willing to go?  How hard will
you fight?  How much of a beating will you take to keep it?  How much
punishment will you take before you just give up and think to
yourself, “It’s only a mask.  It doesn’t matter.  Please stop hurting
me!”  How important is that mask to you?  I guess we’ll find out, huh?

[Nevermind suddenly spins on his heels and brings the stick up over
his head in both hands.  The two scroungy girls brace themselves and
turn their heads away as Nevermind brings the stick down hard onto the
Senor Cloak Dos piñata, which bursts into dozens of pieces with a loud
popping sound.  The grubby children squeal in anticipation and delight
as they dive to the ground, digging through the dust and gravel in
vain for several moments before they realize that the candy and toys
there were searching for are nowhere to be found.  They look up at
Nevermind, their eyes big and wet with disappointed tears.  He looks
down at the filthy urchins and shrugs his massive shoulders.]

Nevermind:  Whoops.  Guess I forgot to get the candy.  Oh well, never
mind…

[Nevermind drops the stick to the ground and walks away, the blonde
following him immediately.  The chubby brunette pauses for a brief
moment to look at the crestfallen children still on their hands and
knees, a few still vainly searching for a prize amongst the dirt and
rocks, before she hurries off after the other two as the scene fades
to darkness.]

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

[Fade in:

The first sight we see is the rather angry expression of Shadoe Rage.
His lip is curled back in a snarl.  His eyebrow arches primly.  The
camera pulls back into a two shot so we can see the object of his ire.
It is none other than his brother, Derek Rage.  The bigger Prophet
stares down at his older brother.  His powerful and deep chest jumps
and bounces as he twitches.]

DR: You got something to say?

SR: (sniffing) So this is how it's going to be?  This is how it's
going to be?

DR: What are you talking about?

SR: We're pissing away a legacy, man.  We're pissing it away.  Every
match ... every loss ... is throwing away a legacy.  Where were you
during that four way?

DR: I was there at the end.

SR: But you should have been there since the beginning.  What's
happening now?  You're bored?   Is this Portland?  Is this Portland
all over again?

DR: What the Hell are you talking about?

SR: Yeah, I remember even if you don't.  There are times when you
check out on this team.  are you checking out?  Is that why you
weren't there when I needed you?  There are no Prophets without the
two of us!  There are no Prophets unless we're on the same page.

[Shadoe jabs his finger into Derek's face.]

SR: Can I trust you?

DR: Can you trust me?  You can trust me not to fly off the handle
every time something goes wrong.  This is sports.  Not every team is
always firing.  The point is to be ready for Tradition.

SR: And we're not ready.  We have no momentum right now.  We could
have sent a message to everybody if you were there.

DR: You really need me to win a match these days?  And you want to
know if you can trust me?  Can you get it done on your own?

[He bats Shadoe's finger away.]

DR: Is that the problem?  Are you feeling a little insecure ever since
Marissa won the SPW title.

SR: Shut your mouth!

DR: Are you stressing because she did something you couldn't do?

SR: Maybe she could win because she didn't have to drag your ass up
and down the ring.  Maybe that's why she's ahead of us!  Ever think of
that, big man?

[Derek Rage's hand shoots out and grabs Shadoe by the shirtfront.
Derek jerks Shadoe off the ground to stare him eye-to-eye.]

DR: You may want to rethink your words, big brother.  We're on the
verge of a discrepancy.  Now calm down.  We got the match at
Tradition.  We have the chance to get back on the same page and do
something out there.  That's what we'll do.  Stop overreacting.

[He drops his brother to the ground.  Shadoe's eyes blaze as he
straightens his shirt.]

SR: You better have that fire out there.

DR: Oh, I'll have it.  Do you have it?

SR: I'll always have it.  I can't stand this, D.  I can't stand this
losing.

DR: Well, stop thinking and just go out there and fight.  That's all
you need to do.  Think.  Think for once in your career instead of
exploding wildly.  We're going to think our way out of this slump.

[Shadoe's lip curls in distaste as he extends his hand.]

SR: I'll go through this with you.

DR: Nobody else I'd rather go to war with.

[Derek's big hand swallows his brother's.]

DR: Just remember we're in this together.

[Fade out]

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

[Urban wasteland.  Wadded up paper, a newspaper to be exact, rolls
across the horizon in the distance as would a tumbleweed in a western
setting.  The stillness is not one of peace but one of degradation.
There is nothing here.  No industry.  A barrel burns in the distance,
grim shadows hovering near for warmth or for some other purpose.
Unseen, a voice rings out.]

WC: Stretching out before me an endless canvas awaiting only a
sanguine brush to end it's emptiness, the night sky is oddly pale for
midnight in late winter.  Then again, the stars have had little reason
to shine in Detroit for years now.

[Panning over, the camera catches the nightmare visage of the, by now,
familiar man of many names.  Some call him the "Motor City Madman",
others "the Devil's Hand" and a dozen other monikers haunt his every
step but the only name he truly owns is his very own; William Craven.
In the diffuse light of perpetual twilight, Bill's green features are
nearly gray, but a nearby streetlight highlights every crag with a
harsh contrast that makes him seem to almost be etched as a rough ink
drawing.]

WC: This will ever be my home.  I like to spend time here whenever
possible ... to remind me of the truth contained in my mantra; "it
gets worse".  We rot together, she and I, the city knows me better
than any human being ever will.

Like the city, I can lay no claim to a clean history devoid of sin.
My every scar and crease is earned, and so the mortar crumbles and the
bricks fall from her many brownstones.  My bones jut out in places
that serve as cautionary tale to any who would eschew the attentions
of a physician when injuries present.  Her roads are more pothole than
asphalt...

[Donning a broad-brimmed hat of dull brown, Bill takes a step back
from the camera to run gloved fingers down the destroyed features of a
demolished brick building.  One might assume that, by wearing a long
coat with matching gloves and hat Bill is trying to be incognito.
This might work ... if anyone dressed like that in the 21st century.]

WC: We ever yearn for the gentle comfort of order, of predictability
in the hope of normality and the American dream.  However, we
continuously find ourselves drawn inexorably into the fearful tendrils
of chaos and succumb to the ways of lady violence.

The comfort of order ... is an enticement only in theory; only when
chaos wounds us.  Eventually, the thrill of the madness, be it music,
the use of substances foreign or simply the pain given us by drama or
trauma are simply too much of a temptation.

We are all born as addicts.  Some rise above, others fall beneath the
iron-shod jack boot of chaos ... but it touches us all.

[Withdrawing slowly from the wall, Craven turns to his right, raising
the brim of his hat and giving a shark-toothed grin to a pair of
street toughs who had been closing on his position.  It's unclear what
their intentions were, but now they give a wider berth to the big
freak.]

WC: Oh, how did it come to this, Doc?

[Turning to lean against the dilapidated construct, Bill's 320-pound
frame comically brings a "condemned" sign crashing down some 3 feet
away.]

WC: We both called the same man "protege", both decried the same man
for taking him from us ... and now we are set against one another,
seemingly for no purpose other than jockeying for position.

Thanks for the help with the Widowmakers, by the way.  Much
appreciated.

[Bill takes a crack at giving a wry smile.  It'd work better if he
didn't look like Freddy Krueger covered in a layer of mold.]

WC: First, caught in the throes of my servitude to Richard Marley, I
am pressed to pick you apart, piece by piece.  I'd say I accorded
myself fairly well, although, I take no pride in what I did.  After
all, set aside the fact that I'm double your size the fact remains
that we're supposed to be friends.  I do believe that we are of one
mind as concerns the business though, aren't we?  Leave it all in the
ring and, after the business is concluded, life goes on...

But then, there is a point on which we diverge.  You see, Doc, aheh,
and I feel silly saying anything to you, as you can assuredly predict
my words, whereas you have a life outside of this business ... I do
not.

Wrestling is my only love, my only pride, the only thing that accepts
me as I am, scars and all.  My natural environment, this is the only
place I've found where the violence can live as it would in the wild
world that existed only when the Earth was young; unfettered by the
_curse_ of order.  Without wrestling, I would wither and die on the
vine that is this mortal coil, and I would flee this world by any
means necessary.  When I was gone, I assure you ... no one would mourn
my passing, Doc.  No one, except perhaps, for you...

Were that simpleton Drew Hayes here he would doubtless ask something
so mind-numbingly obvious that I would be tempted to strike him.
Instead, I ask and answer myself.

[Crossing his arms, Bill leans up and away from the wall, turning down
the street to stare at the, presumably, bums clustered around the
burning barrel.]

WC: "Why will William Craven defeat Doc Holliday?"  Heh.  The answer
is simple ... "because he has to."

[Pausing, the momentarily serious Craven glares up at the camera, his
chin tucked, and grins with the twisted countenance of a green joker,
his eyes forming into the shape of teacups and his brow knitting above
them.  Reaching out to the viewers at home, drawing them in, his pale,
ice-blue eyes have a mesmerizing property about them.]

WC: And then there's another man who bears mentioning.  No, not my
good friend Marcus, who at last found himself on the right side of a
battle with me.  It was great fun, wasn't it Marcus?  Beating on the
man with the unpronounceable name...  No, not the little imps that
ruined our fun.  Oh, it is obvious, isn't it?  Why belabor the point!?
Cole?  Oh Cooole...

Where are you, Robert?  Where have you gone?  Are you now truly a
ghost, having taken the aspect from friend Spectre in an effort to
escape me?  Why so scared?  You've faced men of ferocious stature in
the past, haven't you?  Did you not brandish steel against another
when finally you were forced to feel fear before?

Why not take a blade ... put it against my throat ... and do a little
bloodletting?  It worked then, didn't it?  A dead-eyed staredown with
steel and the threat of violence conjuring fear of the hereafter.  Why
not do the same to me?

WC: Do you think that before the essence drained completely from me
and onto the floor that you'd be in pieces?  That your child would be
without a father, your wife without a provider?  That's the reality of
it, Robert, not some "monster under the bed" conjured from storybooks
and hidden in the room of a child.  You're a man ... because when
faced with the same decisions as myself ... you made the right ones
and you made them stick.  In reality ... you are a very sane, centered
young man, aren't you...?

Or, perhaps, you simply need better encouragement?  Hrm?  Heh.  Heh,
it seems that I will be very, very busy this week, Robert.  It gets
worse...

[Fade to black.  End.]

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

[The screen is black, with the caption reading "AFTER LAST
HEATWAVE..."

Scene fades up, the Mesa crowds are long gone.  The ring, however, has
yet to be dismantled.  And up there, slowly and deliberately stalking
around the ring is "Bad Wolf" Christopher Black.  Off to the outside
waits impassively his financial advisor Jacob Rose.  Despite the
outcome of the scramble tag match, a spark of defiance glints in the
Bad Wolf's cold blue eyes.]

CB:  [sneering]  How did it feel, Sin?  The Bad Wolf warned ya about
closin' his teeth against your throat.  An' there you were...utterly
helpless.  A bloated bag o' bones gaspin' for breath!  [Black's eyes
narrow as he raises his head a little.]  Yeah, your pathetic flock got
the win.  But the Bad Wolf, he got the _real_ victory in the end
there!

[His hands close around the top rope, giving it a tug as a glare forms
on his face.]

CB:  Now ya gotta deal with that blubberin' gob[bleep] Cain again --
the Chi-Town Beast versus the Mouse Who Whored.  You gonna lose
_twice_ to this miserable bollock, Sin?  You gonna let the Bad Wolf's
gold slip from your fat hands?!  To some little pisser who thinks
drivin' around in a cockrocket makes him impressive?

JR: [neutrally]  Indeed, sir.  Ferraris...dreadfully common.  Vulgar.
[Pause.  More thoughtful.]  Anyone with a real eye for sport cars
would go for a Bugatti Veyron.  Or at least a Jaguar XJ...

CB:  [ignoring Jacob, pressing on.]  The Bad Wolf...he wants to know,
Sin.  He wants to know if you're gonna choke again!  If all that fire
ya had when you tried to answer the Wolf's call for a challenge is
gone...  [Black's scowl twists into a smirk.]  ...but in the meantime,
the Bad Wolf gets to whet his appetite on the snivelin' pikey -- an'
get himself into that Called Shot.

[Black nods, eyes lighting up in anticipation.  His grip tightens
around the rope as he tugs at it more frenetically.]

CB:  They call ya the "Celtic Crippler", Foley...  Still don't hide
the fact you're just Irish trash.  You were lucky to get by Detson.
Lucky you're still _walkin'_...

...the Bad Wolf ain't gonna give ya that kindness when he's finished.

[With a merciless grin, Black runs his tongue over his teeth.  He
fixes a piercing gaze at the camera.]

CB:  Oh, an' Sin?  If ya get past that [BLEEP]stain next Heatwave,
don't be pattin' yourself on the back.  The Bad Wolf is comin' for his
due prize -- an' he don't need to waste the Called Shot on ya.

[Again, his eyes narrow sharply as his grin is at near-manic glee.]

CB:  If that bloke Hayes could hold two belts, so can the Bad Wolf!

[He throws back his head and laughs as we fade to black.]

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

[The scene fades in to an immediate picture of NCAA March Madness
action that is being shown on a few different large-screen
televisions. Highlights of a few games are being shown while the
largest television shows Illinois versus Kansas. The camera zooms out
to reveal what is obviously a room designated for sports. There are
large-screen televisions throughout the room as well as various
memorabilia from various sports teams, mainly basketball and football,
but a few others as well.  What is easily noticeable to the viewer is
the far larger number of Chicago Bulls and Bears items in the room.
As the camera continues to reveal the room, we see an extremely
impressive sound system setup in the room with speakers both on the
floor and mounted on the ceiling. Large comfortable-looking chairs and
couches are strategically placed near the televisions as well as two
pool tables, two basketball-toss machines, a couple of gambling tables
featuring Las Vegas-style Craps, Poker and Blackjack. As the room is
fully revealed, we see Sinister sitting on the largest couch in front
of the largest television, looking very relaxed with the exception of
the large ice packs sitting upon his neck and shoulders.

The Chicago native dons a large University of Illinois t-shirt, shorts
and flip-flops. Sitting in one of the cup holders on the couch is his
customary beverage, a large glass of cranberry juice. Sinister watches
the college basketball game with great intent, occasionally lifting
his shoulders slightly to position the ice packs more comfortably.  He
takes a large drink of the cranberry juice, places it back in the
holder, and turns his attention to the PVW camera, turning the volume
of the televisions down to barely audible using a large remote with
numerous buttons upon it]

“Good evening ladies and gents, I hope all of you are well.  Before I
get down to business, I have to admit something. There aren’t many
events that occur where I pay as much attention as March Madness. I
truly enjoy the uncertainty of each game, the upsets, the clutch
plays…it’s what makes sports great and painful in some cases [he
chuckles momentarily]. I did not expect Michigan to trounce Tennessee
by thirty points but hey, that’s exactly what transpired. I just hope
Illinois can keep the Jayhawks down so they can advance to the next
round.”

[He takes another long drink of the cranberry juice, puts the glass in
the holder then removes the ice pack from his neck. He stares at it
momentarily]

“Damn this thing is aggravating. [He sets it down on a coffee table in
front of him] All right, let’s get down to business.  First and
foremost, I want to thank Senor Cloak Dos, Ash, and Ryder for handling
business in the ring. The match itself was damn fun and it has been
many moons since I have used various double-team moves like those.
Senor Cloak Dos, I am especially impressed by you mi amigo.  You were
a house of fire and it was very classy of you to pay homage to Smacky
Dos the way you did. There were many great back-and-forth battles
amongst all of the men involved but obviously, the aftermath is what
I’m going to address.”

[He clears his throat while sitting at attention, his back straight
and chest forward. His eyes tighten and he removes the ice packs from
his shoulders, placing them on the table in front of him alongside the
ice pack used for his neck]

“A low blow, ‘Lamb to the Slaughter’, Smaky, handcuffs, using a steel
chair…where should I begin? I’ll be a bit selfish and will begin with
you, Black. A low blow as a cheap shot to get me into your interesting
submission maneuver with the ‘Silence Of The Lambs’ ambiance is the
best you can do huh? That’s a damn shame Black, because you present
yourself as a wrestler, yet all you have demonstrated to me is the
ability to sneak attack. While some see this as a skill of sorts, I
see it as revealing of your character…or lack thereof. I’m sure your
retort will be along the lines of ‘doing what you have to do’, or
being ‘opportunistic and taking advantage’. However you paint the
picture, once again you HAD to cheat to put me in a precarious
position that you can’t do on your own. Yes, your unique submission
move hurts no doubt about that, but despite Fred’s or anyone else’s
belief, I definitely was not going to cry about it! You honestly think
that’s the first time I have experienced pain? “

[Sinister meticulously points to the large vertical scar that adorns
his dark complexion with his right index finger while opening his eyes
widely and flaring his nostrils momentarily.  He takes a very deep
breath, visibly calms, and lowers his right hand. He then shakes his
head a few times]

“Black, you have no idea what I have been through nor what I have done
in my past. However, since you insist on constantly being an obstacle
in my path, I will be sure to demonstrate upon you what I am very
capable of doing. [He tilts his neck to the right, then left, and as
usual audible popping noises are heard. He then watches the basketball
action momentarily before continuing]

“Now, Tyson Cain, more of what you’re about is being revealed each and
every week. Handcuffs so you can hit a man over his head repeatedly
with a steel chair? Seriously?!  Are you really THAT afraid!? Now I’m
very certain you will speak of sending a message to everyone in the
PVW about your willingness to go to whatever lengths to succeed. While
that is a good mindset to have in this business to be very honest, as
a brash, cocky rookie who has yet to learn about consequences of
actions, you’re going to find yourself in situations that your actions
have placed you in to, but your body can not withstand.”

[He crosses his right foot atop his left knee and leans back against
the couch, his demeanor changing to an almost amused feel]

“I’m sure you’re feeling reeeeeal good about yourself these days,
aren’t you?  A count-out victory over me, a handcuffing and beating of
a defenseless man, and now you have the opportunity to battle me yet
again, and this is for the actually PVW Network Championship. [He
claps mockingly a few times] Well done young man. You have placed a
bulls eye upon your back so large yet you honestly do not know what
you’re in for when we battle again.”

[He chuckles briefly while rubbing his chin with his left forefinger
and thumb. He then takes another deep breath, tightens his eyes, and
lowers his left hand]

“Something that you have to consider, Cain, is this. YOU HAVE to beat
me…NOT the other way around! You sell yourself as an intelligent young
man, so wrap your noodle around that for a bit. Do you possess the
energy, determination, and capability to pin my shoulders to the mat
or make me submit? You’ll say a resounding yes for certain, but I beg
to differ, Cain. You take pride in ‘outthinking me’ by making me
wrestle your style, thus enabling you to win via count out. Do you
honestly think that what you saw in the ring is all that I have to
offer? “

[He taps his right temple with his right index finger twice before
lowering his hand, taking another drink of cranberry juice then
sitting it back in the holder]

“You brag that I only saw a fraction of your capabilities and I’m sure
that has some truth to it. However, consider who you’re facing. How
many battles have you seen me fight in the ring over the years Cain?
You said yourself that you used to watch me when you were a kid
growing up. If that is true then you know full well that this ‘old
dog’ has many capabilities that can be called upon when the time
comes. Will I underestimate you?  Absolutely not. Will you
underestimate me? Perhaps, and for me that is enough to change the
game plan and make you wrestle MY way. “

[He takes another moment to watch the March Madness action on the
television while he cracks his knuckles loudly then steeples his
fingers. He lowers his right leg and rests his elbows upon his knees,
his eyes peering intently into the camera]

“How fitting that we battle in Surprise, Arizona, because there will
definitely be a surprise headed your way Cain. In your mind you have
already defeated me, yes? You’re thinking that there is no way on this
Earth that Sinister can win this match, right? That’s exactly what I
want you to think Cain. School will be in session young man and
‘Professor Sin’ will be conducting class.  Let’s see how well you do
with your education, shall we?  See you soon, Cain!”

[With that, he smirks a bit, turns his attention to the television and
uses the large remote to turn the volume back up as he reaches for the
ice packs]

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

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

Detson:  A great man once said, “From every defeat even victory can be
obtained.”

(The serious look remains on Detson’s face as he continues.)

Detson:  That great man of course is me, and in these dark times one
can certainly see how it applies to the current situation.

(Detson shakes his head.)

Detson:  You see my fellow PVW-ogians, our company is facing perilous
times, perilous times indeed.  Tradition did not go exactly how I
imagined that it would.  Nevertheless this strong company I single-
handedly rebuilt will rise up once again to an even brighter future.
The Road to Greatness continues, and even though it may have hit a
slight pothole in its road.  The road will soon be repaved and
reconditioned and we will be back on track.

(Detson frowns.)

Detson:  That slight pothole of course is Caleb Foley.  Caleb Foley,
corporate puppet for all my detractors out there who nay say all the
hard and great work I’ve have done for this company.  Caleb Foley has
been a thorn in my side for quite some time, a thorn I thought I would
be rid of after Tradition.  Alas this is not the case.

(A loud exaggerated sigh from our President and CEO as his shoulders
slump a little.)

Detson:  Now did Caleb Foley get his hand raised in victory against me
at Tradition?  Yes, he did.  As the humble and honorable President and
CEO that I am known to be, I can admit this fact.  But the real
question is, was Caleb Foley really victorious at Tradition?  Did he
really win?

(Detson shakes his head back and forth.)

Detson:  No, he did not.  Just like the Johnny Detson Challenge before
it, he did not.  Caleb Foley did not pin my shoulders down to the
match twice during our match and he never made me submit, because as
your President and CEO I would never give up on this great company
that I have personally saved.  No, he relied on a cheap and tainted
countout during the first fall to obtain victory on that fateful
night.  A shortcut just like all his matches before that, maybe I
underestimated him, his ability, his determination; or maybe, I simply
did not think that he would stoop so low just to accomplish his goals.
Caleb Foley has no honor and he will never admit that simply put, I am
the better man.

(Detson shows a faint sign of a smirk creeping on his face.)

Detson:  I mean, I, Johnny Detson, President and CEO of the PVW have
already pinned Caleb Foley to the mat not once but twice!  BOTH times
using my superior technical skill.  All Caleb Foley has to show for
his effort is a busted up knee, a fluke win, and a cheap victory
against me, your President and CEO.  I ask you out there tonight, does
that sound like a winner?

(Detson quickly shakes his head.)

Detson:  Because in reality, what has he won?  Mr. Gionet was sick of
all of Mr. Hartt’s sermons and all of Caleb’s whining and has now
joined my side of thinking.  So he’s lost an ally.  Caleb sure could
walk a lot better before Tradition so he’s lost that as well.  I’ve
still soundly defeated him more times than he will ever defeat me, so
no win there.  Let’s see, I’m better looking, more talented, have more
Facebook friends, have a better job, more job security, and am just an
overall better person.  So lose, lose, lose, lose, lose.

(Detson flashes his trademark cocky smirk.)

Detson:  And I, President and CEO, most importantly am STILL in the
Called Shot match at End Game, the Road to Greatness Tour STILL rolls
on, I am STILL your President and CEO, and eventual World Heavyweight
Champion.  Things Mr. Foley can never hope to achieve.  As I’ve said
before, I AM A WINNER.  This war has cost Foley friends, health, and
honor that he claimed to have before.  That doesn’t seem to me like
he’s one anything at all.

(Detson shakes his head again.)

Detson:  Maybe I have taken this all a little to lightly.  Maybe just
maybe, I didn’t do all I could to end this particular blight of the
company.  As a highly paid executive my many responsibilities may have
distracted me from my primary objective.  Just before my match I had
to meet with the Championship Committee to instruct them on how to do
their job and just what needed to be said.  I have so many things
planned for the future of this company that maybe, just maybe, I
wasn’t focused on my present, not as your President and CEO, which I
am, but as the finely, skilled and highly gifted superior technical
wizard that I always have been.  Maybe Caleb Foley took advantage of
that small window and got his hand raised at the end.  And to that Mr.
Foley I say congratulations to you.

(Detson frowns and glares at the camera.)

Detson:  But that does not make you a winner, it makes you lucky, or
in a sense unlucky.  You see now I have a glimpse of what happens if I
lose focus, I now know that if I take my eye of the prize for just one
second, I might lose it.  I can now go into End Game refocus and
redetermined, and when I, your President and CEO, finally reach up and
grab that Called Shot match at End Game, I’ll have you to thank for
it.

(Detson smirks and gives a small nod to the camera.)

Detson:  Thank you, Caleb.  Thank you very much.

(Detson chuckles for a second before regaining his composure.)

Detson:  Now on to company business.  In an effort to increase the
demographics of this great company I, as President and CEO, have
decided to bring the Road to Greatness Tour to the next On the Road
show.  Simply put, your President and CEO, will be placed in the main
event of this fine program of my creation against Tom Landis.

(Detson nods.)

Detson:  Now some ancient historians out there might remember that
your beloved executive first came to this company to help Mr. Landis
against Gibson Hayes.  Mr. Landis, to be blunt, let me down
tremendously.

(Again Detson nods in agreement.)

Detson:  But that is all in the past.  I have no ill will towards Mr.
Landis and the shortcomings he may or may not have.  The fact that I
gave him priceless information and he wasted it in defeat matters not.
I am a company man now, and as such, I am compassionate and forgiving
to all who fall under my employ.  As such, I will once again give Mr.
Landis priceless information that he should really take to heart.

(Detson returns to his solemn expression.)

Detson:  Don’t show up.

(Detson smirks again, but you can tell he’s serious.)

Detson:  Tom, back in the day, I sort of liked you, and the fact that
I would have to hurt you this week doesn’t really bring joy to my
heart.  It is painfully obvious that I am your better and that your
old fragile body could not withstand the beating my superior technical
skill would likely cause you.  So I ask you… no I tell you, do not
show up.  My fight isn’t with you, nor should it be.

(Detson shakes his head.)

Detson:  Because who I face isn’t really important.  The crowd and my
constituents demand that I, THEIR President and CEO be out there and
for that you shouldn’t be made to suffer.  So don’t show up, stay in
the back, protect your family…

(Detson stops mid-sentence and holds up his hands.)

Detson:  Not that your family needs to be protected, I mean, I don’t
know anything.  But you have made enemies here Tom, turned families
against each other, and while I, your President and CEO, would not do
something like that maybe…

(Again Detson stops.)

Detson:  You know what?  You probably have nothing to worry about, I’m
sure people aren’t trying to hurt you or your family with a certain
famous armbar, that may or may not be named after a medical procedure
that cause one to have their entire limb removed.

(Detson smirks.)

Detson:  I’m sure everything is going to be fine.

(Detson laughs and folds his hands together as the scene fades to
black.)

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

[Scene opens to a PVW fan event. There are fans lined up for
autographs and PVW stars posing for pictures. We move past all of this
to a table where a masked luchadore wearing a black mask that covers
his full face with cherry colored eye coverings and a cherry colored
"SCII" on his forehead, and wearing a black t-shirt with cherry
colored text that reads "PVW Fans are Numero Uno", and blue jeans sits
signing autographs. And since there is only one dark skinned Mexican
masked man who has a black mask with "SCII" on it it in PVW that means
it can be none other than Senor Cloak Dos!]

SCD: Lo siento..

[Cloak Dos grabs his head for a moment then looks up at the young boy
wearing the replica Senor Cloak Dos mask standing across the table
from him.]

SCD: What was your name again, amigo?

Boy: Oliver!

[The luchadore nods his head.]

SCD: Ah, si! Mi amigo, Oliver! How is this.. "To mi amigo Oliver.."

Oliver: That's me!

SCD: Si, es verdad! "To mi amigo Oliver, Mucho Gracias for your
support and cheers! The next moonsault will be for you, mi amigo!"

Oliver: WOAH!

SCD: "Sincerely, Senor Cloak Dos!"

[Dos writes out his message on the picture Oliver wanted signed. He
hands it to Oliver.]

SCD: Mucho Gracias, Oliver! Be a good boy for your parents, OK?

Oliver: I sure will! You kick that big mean guy's butt!

[Cloak shakes his head.]

SCD: Oh no, Oliver! Do not use such language! We must be gentleman
even in fighting!

[Oliver hangs his head a bit and nods his head.]

Oliver: Yes, sir.

[Cloak motions for the boy to come over to him, and Oliver does so and
Cloak goes to whisper in Oliver's ear.]

SCD: (whispering) Between you and me though, amigo.. I will do my best
to beat up DeVegas for you!

[Oliver makes a surprised gesture.]

Oliver: Who is DeVegas?! I was talking about Nevermind!

[Dos grabs his head and shakes his head.]

SCD: Si, si! I do not know what I was saying, lo siento! DeVegas is a
mean dog that lives on my street in Mexico, forget about him. Yes,
amigo, I will do my best to beat up Nevermind just for you!

Oliver: Yay!

SCD: Thank you, Oliver! Be a good boy, OK?

Oliver: I will, bye!

SCD: Adios!

[Oliver runs off to his parents while Cloak Dos grabs his head.]

SCD: Madre Dios! My head has been so funny since Cristiano hit me with
his hammer. These headaches.. The blinding lights..

[Someone walks up to the table and Cloak shakes his head and looks
up.]

SCD: Hola, amigo! My name is Senor Cloak Dos, who are you?

[Standing there is a teenage boy dressed in ripped up clothes with
an angry look on his face, what you can see that isn't covered by
his long hair.]

Teen: Hey, Wet-Back!

[GASPS!]

[Parents with young fans behind the rude teenager look nervous. Cloak
shakes his head.]

SCD: This must be one of Senor AsH's pranks but no.. I checked this
chair before I sat in it! I know it had no paint or water on it! My
back is not wet, amigo!

Teen: I'm not your amigo, man! I'm Nevermind's biggest fan and I think
you should go run back to Mexico before you get your ass KICKED by my
hero!

[The luchadore grabs his head, the yelling hurting his head.]

SCD: T-technically...

[Cloak Dos grabs his head as he leans forward, his body language seems
to say he's in some distress.]

SCD: Technically I am from Parts Unknown!

Teen: Whatever, go back there or get BURIED in that ring! YOU SUCK!
NEVERMIND RULES!

[Dos runs his hand over his masked head and shivers a bit.]

SCD: Por que? The shouting? Why all the shouting?

Teen: YOU'RE GONNA' GET BEAT!

[Cloak tries to steady himself in his chair.]

SCD: Well, you can not win them all. Do you want me to sign something
for you amigo?

Teen: Yeah, I have something for you to sign... NOTHING!

[The fan does a fake out move then walks off as parents and kids
gossip in his wake. The small Mexican masked man only grabs his head
and shivers again.]

SCD: T-thank you for stopping by!

[Cloak moans a bit as he seems to slump to his right side a bit but
then he steadies himself.]

SCD: (to himself) Please God, make these pains go away. Por favor!

[Another young fan wearing a Senor Cloak Dos replica mask walks up to
the table with nervous parents behind him. Cloak Dos looks up and nods
his head.]

SCD: Hola, amigo! My name is Senor Cloak Dos, who are you?

Boy: Josie!

SCD: Ah! Senorita Josie! I like the alterations you made to the mask,
amiga!

[Josie turns her masked head to reveal she put a sticker of a daisy on
one side of the mask.]

Josie: I was hoping you would like it!

SCD: Si, si! You look muy bonita!

Josie: What does that mean?

SCD: It means you look very pretty!

Josie: Me?

[Josie turns to her parents.]

Josie: He said I'm pretty!

[They give sad smiles at their daughter who then turns back around to
Cloak.]

Josie: Can I ask you a question?

[The luchadore steadies himself with one arm while he holds his head
with the other hand.]

SCD: Si! Ask me any question you want to!

Josie: Do you wear your mask because you are bald?

SCD: Ah..

[Her parents look nervous and give worried smiles to the masked man.]

Father: We apologize.

Mother: Josie, you should not ask people things like that.

Josie: But, I want to know if he is bald like I am!

[Josie's mother looks ready to cry and her father sighs, a sad sigh.]

SCD: ... Josie.. I said you can ask me any question you want to, and
I meant it. But amiga.. I can not answer your question.

Josie: Why?

SCD: Because that would give hints to my identity and us luchadores..
We can not give away our secret identities.

Josie: Oh no! That would be bad!

SCD: It would not be good but amiga, I feel bad that I could not
answer your question. I have to make this up to you somehow. How
about...

[Cloak Dos goes into a bag he has nearby and digs through it til he
pulls out.. A cherry colored version of his mask with black eye
coverings and black "SCII" on the forehead.]

SCD: Do you wear your mask often?

Josie: I wear it anytime I go out so people do not see my bald head!

[Her parents look sadder, Cloak nods his head through some trembling.]

SCD: Well, look what I have for you! This is a very SPECIAL mask!

Josie: Woah!

SCD: It was made for a special event coming up but, amiga.. You are
more special than ANYTHING and I want you to have it!

[Cloak hands the cherry colored mask to Josie.]

Josie: GASP! WOW!

SCD: Put your stickers on it and now you have DOS masks to go out on
the town with!

Josie: Oh My God! Mommy! Daddy! He gave me a mask! I have another
mask!

[The mother doesn't speak, only embraces her daughter with smile on
her face and tears in her eyes. The father smiles at the luchadore.]

Father: Thank you.

SCD: It's nothing!

Father: No, it.. You don't know how much she uses that mask because
of.. Her...

SCD: Senor, compared to the support Josie gives to me, it pales in
comparison.

[The girl pulls on her mother's purse.]

Josie: Mommy, give me some stickers!

[The mother nods and opens her purse.]

Mother: W-we carry stickers around in case her sticker falls off.

[Cloak steadies himself and nods. The mother hands the girl a sticker
and then she asks for another one. She gives Josie a 2nd one and then
Josie runs up to Cloak.]

Josie: Hold still!

SCD: Si, amiga!

[The girl puts a daisy sticker on the side of Cloak's mask.]

Josie: There! Now yours is as pretty as mine!

SCD: Madre Dios! Mucho Gracias, amiga!

[Cloak gives Josie a small embrace and then Josie leans to Cloak's
masked ear.]

Josie: (whispering) Don't listen to that meanie before me! You can
beat anyone up! You rule!

SCD: Mucho gracias, Josie. (whispering) Between you and me, muchacha..
I can not promise to beat up Nevermind. He is a King, afterall. But I
will give it my best for you!

Josie: Don't be silly, Mister Cloak Two! He's the king of nothing!
You're the best superhero in the world!

[Cloak nods and pats her on the head.]

SCD: Mucho gracias, amiga. Thank you very, very much! But I will tell
you a secret.. YOU are the best superhero in the world, amiga!

Josie: Thank you!

[Josie gives Cloak Dos another embrace and then runs to her parents.
Cloak waves at her.]

SCD: Adios, Josie!

Josie: Bye!

[The mother walks off with Josie and the father extends his hand to
the luchadore.]

Father: Thank you.

[Cloak Dos shakes his hand.]

SCD: No, senor, thank you.

[The father leaves and Cloak Dos drops his head into his hands and
begins trembling.]

SCD: Give me your worst, head pains. For mi amigos, I will put up with
anything.

[Another young masked fan walks up to the table and Cloak Dos looks
up.]

SCD: Hola, amigo! My name is Senor Cloak Dos, who are you?

[Scene fades.]

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

[SCENE: The day after Tradition.

Life goes on in Phoenix Valley Wrestling, even when the cameras are
not rolling, and already our stars are starting to assemble in
Albequerque, New Mexico.  A house show is on tap tonight.  Tonight,
our lucky fans will witness quite a few matches that the general
public will never know about.  Rick Marley will defend his
championship against Caleb Foley, whose injured knee will betray him
in the end.  Gibson Hayes will resume his attempt to wrest the Number
One Contendership from Doc Holliday, but tonight's match will end in a
double disqualification as both men will end up colliding with Duke
Martin... again.  The team of Ow and Livestock will defend the tag
team championships against the Renegades, with a little bit of outside
interference on their side.  And tonight's rematch between Tom Landis
and Perry Fontana will end with a disqualification as Fontana will be
caught using a weapon.  William Craven will defeat the Mercenary, who
will substitute for a still-missing Rob Cole.  Chris Hartt will get a
pinfall victory over Johnny De[THE REST OF THIS SENTENCE HAS BEEN
EDITED BY PVW MANAGEMENT].

Or so I heard.  They say "if it didn't happen on TV, it didn't
happen".

This is what happens on house shows every night; PVW brings their best
shows to the people.  Tonight's show is for Albequerque, and
Albequerque alone.  Following that, Amarillo, Texas... about as far
east as PVW ventures in its regional existence.  A few nights off and
then up to Colorado Springs.  Then Denver.  Then Reno.  A few nights
off, and back across to San Diego.  Back to Arizona with a show in
Gilbert.  And then we'll have Heatwave in Surprise.  Every one of
these shows will have top flight talent in top-quality matchups.

But through all of this, there can only be one Number One Contender.
The man who currently wears that crown is seated outside the
University Arena on the campus of the University Of New Mexico... The
Pit.  That's where the action is tonight, and that's where Doc
Holliday is currently resting.  It is a bright clear day, and Holliday
is reclining on a bench outside the facility, his gym bag seated next
to him.  He's not wearing his 1880's livery... he's wearing a normal,
2011-era business suit.  A dark grey sportcoat and pants, tailor-fit.
Sunglasses shade his eyes, but they cannot hide the morose expression
on his face.]

Doc Holliday: Life don' wait fer no man.

Gibson Hayes, when ah pinned ya las' night... when ah shifted mah
weight off thet suplex ta press yer shoulders down... Duke Martin got
so busted up addled by gittin' hit somany times thet he counted us
both out.  Now, thet ain't an excuse; it's a fact.  An' inna end, it
don' mattah.  Th' result is whut it is.  Ya didn't win, an' ah didn't
win.

Now, seems ta me we both lost out.  See, in order ta git my Numbah One
Contendahship... ya hadda win.  Not pin me.  Not 'not lose'.  Ya hadda
WIN.  An' ya didn't.  So it seems ta me yer still floatin' short o'
harbor.  Yer chance is gone.  Go fight some contendahs, mebbe even
beat 'em, an' come back agin' aftah ah'm done.  Hell, by then, yer
job'll be mostly done fer ya; Marley ain't gonna be fit ta defend
HISSELF, let alone his belt.

But... th' challenge ah accepted said thet if ah 'didn't win', ah lost
mah name.

An' ah didn't win.

[Long pause.  Long bitter pause.  Morose slowly morphs into that cold,
cold stare.  That killer's look.]

DH: Alright.  Fine.  Mah name is Matthew Lee Holliday.  So long as no
Cardinals fans git me confused with they left fielder, it ain't no
mind ta me.  This what ya want, Gibson Hayes?

As if thet, in fact, was yer real name.

So inna end, all thet changes is Herc Douglas says somethin' differnt
before mah match with Rick Marley, an' Gibson Hayes goes back ta
pretendin' thet he means somethin' ta somebody.  Yer chance is gone,
Hayes; ya officially blew it.  Go play in traffic.

Better yet, go tell Bill Craven yer in front of him in line.  Good
luck with thet.

[Oh, there's a smile.  Very brief, but it's there.]

MLH: Ah'll be glad ta do it mahself.  Bill, ah'm ahead o' you in line.
Ah waited while ya went fer Rick Marley fer months on end.  An' sure,
ah was waitin' fer him ta spend ever'thang he had 'gainst you an' Cole
anyway... but th' fact is, yer time came.  An' in a steel cage in
London, it went.

Sure, ah reckon ya made such a strong rebound with Blood Bowl an'
beatin' Manson thet yer right back in line.  But this comin' Heatwave,
Matthew Lee Holliday has no qualm about defendin' mah contendership
'gainst ya.  Ya already know ya don' scare me, an' ya already know ah
do respect whut ya kin do.  Ah see no need ta make any grand proclama-
shins ta you about whut ah'm gonna do; it wouldn't change nothin'.
You do whut ya gotta do... an' so will ah.

Ah'm sure Marley'll be thar with a big grin on his face.  He wins in
either case.  He knows yer gonna turn back ag'inst him any time now.
Ya think he's set ya out ta cripple me up before mah shot, an' so he
has... but remembah one thang: he's doin' th' same ta you, Bill.

If ya think fer one moment thet yer th' monster in this horror flick,
ah suggest ya reconstruct yer line o' thinkin'.  Ah ain't nobody's
victim.  Matthew Lee Holliday goes ta Crystal Lake on vaca-shin.
Matthew Lee Holliday trains in his sleep by runnin' ovah ta Elm Street
an' whippin' Freddy's ass.  When Matthew Lee Holliday loks inna mirror
an' says "Candyman", both a spirit with a hook an' Damian Rose wet
themselves respectively.  An' when Matthew Lee Holliday's ring name
changed, one man who ain't affected is Chuck Norris, on account o'
he's been callin' me "Sir" fer years.

Craven, all thet happened las' night is it got tougher fer me ta talk
inna third person, an' I got mahself some grade-A  rage ta wear off on
somebody.  Thet won't scare ya, no, nothin' will.  But ah say this
because thar is a man who knows ta fear me: Marley.  Marley, ah want
you ta take a good look.  Th' man ya ran from fer years?  Ah'll take
'im head on.  Th' man who wore you out an' left ya needin' a month
onna shelf?  He's a bad, dangerous man.

An' ah'm WARMIN' UP FER YOU WITH HIM.  Let thet thought ease yer
dreams at night.

[Doc... no, Matthew Lee... gets up from his seat and shoulders his gym
bag, as the doors to the back are now open.]

MLH: An' from this day, ah got two weeks o' house matches.  Matches
whar ah gotta see wrasslin's answer ta Charlie Sheen, Gibson "Double
Standard" Hayes.  Matches whar ah'll have ta tag team an' watch Marley
hide onna apron from me ag'in... hidin' behind you.  Matches whar
every Tom, Dick, an' Harry'll line themselves up ta take mah Numbah
One Contendahship.  Matches whar ah gotta hear Douglas remind me about
Tradition.  Day in, an' day out... jus' gittin' me ready.  Gittin' me
in a suitable frame o' mind ta do somethin' to ya, Bill.  Ah have
nothin' personal towards you at all... but yer gonna git outta mah
way.

Ah'm not askin' ya ta GET outta mah way.  Ah'm TELLIN' ya thet yer
GOIN' ta git outta mah way.  More truthfully, ah'm tellin' Marley thet
yer gonna git outta mah way.  An' he knows ah'll do it.

Sharpen yer teeth, Bill... on account of it's just as ya said:

   IT.  GOT.  WORSE.

[With that, Holliday turns to the back door, and we fade away.]

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

[We pan to an outstretched area in Surprise Arizona. Mounds of sand
occupy the vast majority of its landscape with grass patches. A
falling sunset blankets the realm shining on rock formations all
around making the sky look like its on fire. a little bit to the left
one can see PVW's own Larry Gionet. He stands with his jet black hair,
trimmed down chin goatee sporting a black sweatshirt with black denim
pants and white sneakers.]

Larry Gionet:  Do you hear that in the warm Arizona air, PVW?  It's
the sound of liberation embarking the night sky.  It is this feeling
sending a current through my body ever since Tradition 5.  That
empowerment of freedom exploded out of me when I kicked my partner
Chris Hartt in the face and left him high and dry in our tag match!

[Larry Gionet looks straight into the camera with his piercing cold
blue eyes with a distinct purpose on his face.  A slight bit of
agitation begins to form as he begins to speak once again.]

LG:  You see I tried wrestling for you people.  Playing the good
samaritan of PVW. Selling the merchandise, signing the autographs for
the fans in attendance. Standing side by side with friends that I
believed in with my heart and soul.  Where in the hell did it get me
huh? What has my career become?!

[By the look in his eyes Larry Gionet is burning a hole into every
viewer watching.  He looks up to the starlit sky as a look of
reflection merges with a look of accomplishment shown in his
demeanor.]

LG:  You see when I sped away from Mesa Arizona, I felt a sense of
tranquility wash over me like a waterfall. As if I felt comfortable in
my own skin again for the first time in 18 months.  When I looked at
myself in the rear view mirror I looked like myself again.  No longer
living a facade to please those that don't matter.

Last week at Tradition 5 I was called a snake. When I think back that
fits me to a tee.  I shed my own skin to return to where I needed to
be in this life.  I set the pace and can attack without warning. I can
be quick to end one's misery either by choking them out or proving my
bite can be deadly.

[Larry Gionet gets in a fighting stance as if prepared to take on the
world.. He pounds both fists together as the cracking of knuckles send
a smacking echo across the horizon.]

LG:  In the end, I'm here to crack some ribs.  To plant some
unfortunate victim on his skull.  All in my path to win the PVW World
Championship.  I was so close I could taste it.  I won't let the hype,
the distractions get in my way ever again!

[Larry Gionet leans up against a rock formation  as he puts his hand
through his hair.  He digs his sneakers into the sand making his mark
just as he is doing so again in PVW.]

LG:  At On The Road I team with Chance McKenzie against the Dan Team
of Dan Flores and Dan Your Hero Daniels.  Chance had your number on
last weeks Heatwave.  So whose to say that history won't repeat
itself?  While I have not locked horns with them as of late we will
meet in the Called Shot Match at End Game.  You boys will just get a
taste of what I am truly capable of doing in that ring with the weight
of the world off my shoulders!

At Heatwave I reveal to the whole world why I turned my back on Chris
Hartt and Caleb Foley.  You ask me who I am?  What do I stand for?
Show more personalty? I'm fuckin Larry Gionet ... You don't need to
know anything more then that.

[Larry Gionet in a flash turns his back to the camera as some have
believed he did so to his former allies. He walks further and further
away from the camera's sight as the camera picks up what was dug in
the ground with his sneakers reading LG. With that picture, we fade to
black.]

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

[The scene opens up in a busy gym somewhere in Arizona.  The focus of
the shot, Devin Houlihan, one half of the Renegades, is sitting on a
bench along the one wall, busy tying his shoe.  Devin's dressed in a
pair of black shorts, and black wife beater.  A red bandanna is busy
keeping his hair out of his face.  Finished with his laces, Devin
leans back against the wall and just shakes his head.  The overall hum
of the gym doesn't over power Devin's voice, as he begins, his stare
focused on something off camera.]

DEVIN: Ya know... After Tradition...  When I was peeling myself up off
the mat, and walking to back, my head still ringing...  I really began
to grow angry.  I was really beginning to just get pissed the
[CENSORED] off.  It was beginning to seem like week in and week out
_I_ was on the short end of the stick.... _I_ was the one getting
outclassed, outperformed and left in the dusk.

And I did not like it one bit!

[Shakes his head.]

I hated the failing, the losing...  I couldn't _stand_ it.  It was
eating me alive.  But then a couple little birdies took me under their
wings...  A couple little birdies began to talk and talk and talk, all
trying so desperately to help me understand the circumstances.

Suddenly, I wasn't angry anymore...

I was _HUNGRY_!

[Devin smiles, turning his focus right on the camera.].

_HUNGRY_ to step into the gym and continue my conditioning regiment.
_HUGNRY_ to get back into the film room, and prepare myself for the
next onslaught.  But most of all _HUNGRY_ to get back inside that
squared circle, and show everyone that Devin Houlihan isn't no punk
bitch... That Devin Houlihan isn't flash in the pan prospect that'll
never become as great as everyone expected.

And that's _exactly_ what I'm going to do!

[Devin nods, barely pausing.]

See, those birdies, Kip... Those birdies reminded me that perhaps you
walked away the winner at Tradition not because you were better than
me, but because you were _smarter_.  You played the right angles,
showed your cards only when you wanted too, and took advantage of the
situation like the skilled pro you are.  See, that's what the birdies
taught me, Kip.... that here, this sport, it really isn't about who is
the most talented or has the biggest skill set.  It isn't about who's
been in the bizness longer, or risen to the top faster. What matters
is how _smart_ you wrestle, how _effective_ your game plan is.

[Pause.]

See, _that_ is why on any given night _anyone_ can walk away the
winner, Kip.  Because a _great_ game plan can overcome almost
anything.  And that's what happened at Tradition. I was there to fight
and kick some ass. I was there to show the Prophets of Rage I was not
afraid of their legacy, and would have no problems standing toe to toe
with them inside the ring.  I was there to teach the Corazones a
lesson, to show spreading lies about someone does not go without
consequences.

You? You were an _afterthought_....

[Pause.]

A decision I regret making...

[Deep breath.]

But, not this week, Kip.  Yins ain't no after thought this week.  Yins
are the _MAIN COURSE_.

[Smile.]

I'd be a liar if I said I wasn't happy about it Kip.  I really cannot
wait to get back inside that ring, and show you all that I've learned
this week.  At Heatwave, you shall see a new and improved Devin
Houlihan... a _smarter_ Devin Houlihan.

One that sure as hell isn't getting his shoulders pinned to the mat
this week!

[With that, Devin stands and calls out to his 'birdies', JD and Uncle
Sid.  The camera fades as Devin joins the two inside the ring, and
gets to work.]

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

[Camera opens on AsH standing at his fridge with his head in the
freezer. He's wearing a pair of sweats and no shirt, bruises visible
along his back and shoulders]

AsH's wife (offscreen): Honey, what the heck are you looking for?

AsH: Something to put on my face... the bruises still aren't gone and
that egg on my temple is still Condor-like in size.

A-W: Aren't Condor's extinct?

AsH: Endangered... just like YOU'RE going to be if you don't tell me
where the frozen peas are.

A-W: We don't have any.

AsH: Corn?

A-W: Nope.

AsH: Um... blueberries?

A-W: Nuh-uh.

AsH: What do we have?

A-W: Frozen yams. By the way, am I referred to as AsH's Wife?

AsH: I believe so...

A-W: I have a name, you know.

AsH: Yeah, but before you were my girlfriend and wife you were a
company employed entity... and before that you worked for someone
else.

A-W: So?

AsH: Listen, I cut ties with the old fed and everything and rather
than arguing with that little D-nozzle about getting the RIGHT to say
your name, it's just easier for the current company to refer to you as
my wife.

A-W: ...you suck.

AsH: YOU SUCK!

A-W: Enjoy your YAMS!

[AsH grumbles and slams the freezer shut. He instead opens the fridge
door, grabs two beers (Yuengling's) and shuts that door. He sits down
on the bar stool at the island and untwists the top of one of the
bottles... then presses one to his forehead and one to his lips,
taking a long drink. The bruises on his head are some of the worst
you've ever seen OR read about. ...right...]

AsH: I'll give that Cain kid one thing, he throws a helluva temper
tantrum.

[AsH takes another pull from the glorious green bottle]

AsH: I mean, I wouldn't be surprised if he had to change his huggies
after he was finished playing teeball with my face.

What? You expect me to get my Hanes in a wad just because you tried to
dent my skull? Handcuffed me and tried to make some sort of statement?
Kid, I've had tougher numbers than you try to make REAL statements
using me as their method of dissemination and guess what?

I'm still here... they aren't.

Game, old guy.

[AsH chuckles at that and takes another sip of the beer]

AsH: Damn, wish I still had a few Negro Modela's... speaking of... HEY
HONEY!

A-W: WHAT?!

AsH: CAN CLOAK COME OVER TOMORROW NIGHT?!

A-W: ONLY IF HE DECIDES TO SPEAK AT LEAST 60% SPANISH! YOUR SON WAS
ASKING FOR HIS TELEMUNDO TODAY!

AsH: I CAN PROMISE 40%... I will admit, though. He's good with my kid.
He was running around screaming "Arriba!" ...though he can't talk well
yet, so it was more of "Oreepa!"

Hey, speaking of people who can't speak well and have
little-to-no-coordination... THE BIZ! I'm facing this guy on the next
show! Can you believe it? I mean, it took Management all of 4 shows
before they pit us together. I won't admit that I hadn't thought about
it when I heard he signed too... but more as a kind of softball easy
win en route to a roll.

The dude faked his death, won nothing of any consequence on his own,
and his biggest claim to fame was feuding with the same boss who
thought his BEST and Most TALENTED man on the roster... was a WOMAN.
Brilliant. Fighting the Biz is like fighting the cold. You're gonna
win, it's just gonna be REALLY annoying along the way.

[AsH moves the bottle over to another bruise and grimaces]

AsH: And now the guy's on a big kick like he's too good for the
competition here and he's gonna pick and choose when he wants to
compete. The Biz? Too good? He modeled his name after an MTV reality
TV contestant ...BEFORE HE WAS AN ATHLETE! I guess we're lucky he
didn't start later and become "Bize$ha." Though, who am I to talk?
Thirty something years old and I still don't conform to normal
capitalization rules...

[AsH shrugs]

AsH: But at the end of the day, I never faked my own death to win a
title, I never hitched myself to a better talent to win a title, and I
certainly never blew a goat.

...just saying...

[The camera begins to fade slowly]

AsH: What? Fading already... sh*t... hmm. Well, Mike, I'll see you
when I see you. Try to stay alive until then. Or if you don't, make
sure you really COMMIT to dying this time.

[AsH winks as the camera fades out]

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

[The picture is dark, but we hear footsteps and a familiar voice
begins to speak.]

VOICE:  It is a tail as old as time itself...

["The Showstopper" Tyson Cain walks into the black area and behind him
lights up a basketball game. In it, we see the Duke Blue Devils
playing basketball.]

Cain:  At some point the protege' usually usurps the mentor...

[Coach K is seen celebrating after Duke's second NCAA Tourney victory
and someone is holding a sign behind him that says '900 wins". Next to
the picture of Coach K, is Bob Knight in his Indiana red sweater with
the number "902" superimposed under his profile.]

Cain:  The student gives a lesson to the teacher...

[The background screen of a child walking away from a teacher and
through a door and the moment he steps through he is twenty years
older. The man he walks up to is an older version of that teacher as
the young man hands him a pink slip]

Cain:  And the child many times overtakes his idol.

[The background picture changes to show Sinister holding the PVW TV
Title above his head, then it fades back to black, leaving Cain
standing confidently in view.]

Cain:  It happens more often than people want to admit. In PVW, it has
happened before. I'm sure elsewhere. But for me, it has become
personal. It has become a quest.

Why?

Because I am disappointed.

[Tyson takes a swig from his water bottle before continuing.]

Cain:  Don't get me wrong, everything I have said before is true. I
held back in our last match because the title wasn't on the line. I
didn't want to show what I could do in the ring fully so that when we
met again I had an advantage. All of that is true and I stand by it.

But...

I also must admit that I was very excited to get that match. To be in
the ring against my idol -- the one guy I have looked up to since I
was a child. My Dad was a wrestler and it wasn't "The Sniper" I wanted
to be like, but Big Daddy Sin.

[Tyson fidgets a little with seeming excitement.]

Cain:  Imagine what it feels like for me in that moment. Stepping into
the ring with my idol and getting to do all those things I dreamed of.
I got to tie up with him in the ring. I got to wrestle him in and out
of the ring. I even got my name announced as the winner after the
match ended. It was perfect and yet the entire time as we performed
and showed our talents to the world, all I could think of was...

Where was your talent?

[Tyson finished the water bottle and stands up as e tosses it across
the room and into the garbage can.]

Cain:  Now you could be pulling the same tricks that I was and holding
back, but I have to think that a man of your advancing age would
realize that you can't play mind games with someone younger. You have
to give everything you have in order to win or even be competitive. So
my assumption is that you tried your best to win the match and if that
is the case...

I'm sorely disappointed.

I expected more fire.

I expected the guy who has been in battles with legendary man in the
ring.

I didn't expect to be seven steps ahead at every turn and knowing what
you would do because you haven't changed your repertoire in TWENTY
YEARS!

[Tyson chuckles and slaps his knee as he repeats himself...]

Cain:  Twenty years!

[More laughter. Finally Cain stops laughing.]

Cain:  I knew when you would throw a punch or a kick. I knew what you
would do in a tie-up. I also know how to get the advantage to work my
count out survival finish. I pulled it off because I know you better
than anybody because I have followed you forever.

Yet I found myself so sad from your performance.

[He smiles broadly.]

Cain:  Tat is how I know that when the next match between us ends, you
will be missing more than your talent. You will be missing your title.
The one thing that makes you relevant right now. There was a time when
you were the man. When you battled for every title worth having. You
were the one man I felt could do anything he wanted to....but I was
wrong.

[He raises an eyebrow.]

Cain:  And I found tat out when I stepped into the ring with you. You
do not deserve to be Television champion. You don't have the youth to
pull off wrestling that role. You don't have the stamina and you don't
have the looks!

[Tyson stands up and shows off his physique.]

Cain:  I'm the total package. I'm the Phi Slamma Jamma!  I'm the man
that will carry PVW into the future on my own back! I know this
because I'm already the guy they are talking about.

Can you see that?

Nobody talks about you and your title reign or any of the other
"contenders" to the title there are. It is me, the Jaw-Dropper, that
is capturing the hearts and minds of the PVW faithful.

[Cain's face goes full deadpan.]

Cain:   Your time is up Sin. You have had your final laugh and I
promise to give you one last match you can be proud of. But your reign
is over and it is time for someone new to hold the championship.

And then, I have a whole new set of priorities....

[Cain smiles.]

Cain:  You see, i didn't come here to make friends.  I didn't come
here to be the most beloved man in the business. That is not what I am
about.

I'm about spectacle.

I'm about flash with a boatload of substance included.

I'm what you have been waiting for years to see walk in the door here
in PVW.

I've gone out of my way to make my point clear that everybody is a
target.

[A poignant pause.]

Cain:  Isn't that right AsH?

[He chuckles for a second before moving forward.]

Cain:  Please don't take what I did to you personally. It was a
statement. A means to an end. I wanted everybody out there to see what
happens when someone tries to come after me once I have the TV title.

I don't play nice and never pretended I did.

Any of you who think you can take me out better get in line because
destiny is shining upon me and when this night is over...you will know
me as...

the jaw dropper...

the ratings spiker...

the showstopper....

[Tyson pauses and smiles slyly.]

Cain:  And most importantly you will know me as the TV Champion.

[Cain confidently stares into the camera.]

Cain:  I dare you to come take me out.

Bring it on.

[Fade to black.]

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

[The camera fades in and you fade into staring at a white wall with
just one sign hanging on it. What does that sign say you might ask
yourself ...]

"What Makes a Legend..."

[After a few moments of staring at the sign you hear a familiar voice
in the background...]

V/O: What makes a Legend a LEGEND in this sport?!? Is it how many men
he has defeated inside the ring ... How many titles he might of won
... How well he was respected backstage ... Maybe it is his winning
percentage in BIG matches ...

[The camera turns around and you see "The Celtic Crippler" Caleb Foley
standing there with his arms folded. Caleb has on a green t-shirt and
blue jeans and is wearing an green baseball cap with a shamrock on the
front of it.]

Caleb Foley: One thing for sure I, Caleb Foley, will NEVER be
considered a LEGEND in this sport. That's right I said it ... Caleb
Foley, will NEVER EVER be a LEGEND in this sport.

[Caleb pauses for a brief moment...]

Caleb Foley: As long as guys like Johnny Detson are around Caleb Foley
will never get his shot at being a LEGEND. Sure I might of beaten
Johnny Detson at Tradition 5 but you know he is gonna come out here
and say that it was nothing but a fluke. That I somehow cheated to
beat the President and CEO of Phoenix Valley Wrestling. Johnny, it
will never happen again right ...

[Caleb flashes a smirk at the camera...]

Caleb Foley: Face it Johnny you lost fair and square at Tradition 5.
Johnny, you can come up with all the excuses you want but in the
record book it will show that The Celtic Crippler defeated Johnny
Detson in a 2 out of 3 Falls Match. Sure it may not have gone exactly
how I wanted it to go but a win is still a win. My leg may still be a
little sore but this week I have another big match against "The Bad
Wolf" Christopher Black...

[Foley is no longer smiling as he seems to be getting down to
business...]

Caleb Foley: Not only do I face another fellow European but he like
myself is an up and comer in this sport. Black you have the look, you
have the moves and you have the skills to be a serious contender for a
very long time.The only thing that is working against you Mister Black
is your temper. Once you learn to control that temper of yours you
will be a lot better off.

[The Celtic Crippler takes a second to scratch the top of his head
before he continues to speak...]

Caleb Foley: Now Black I know you are not one to take advice
especially from a guy like myself but that temper of yours will be
your downfall in your career. Black not only is this a battle of
Europeans but this is for a shot at getting into the Called Shot
match. Black you remind me a lot of the first ever Phoenix Valley
Wrestling World Heavyweight Champion, Chase Williams. And we all know
the type of history that I have with him. But did you see what
happened to him Black. Chase reached the top of the sport and was on
cloud nine. He thought he could not be beat and no one could knock him
off his pedestal. But then he came crashing down and look where he is
now.

[Foley then lets out a small chuckle and continues to speak...]

Caleb Foley: So Black be careful. While it may be an honor to be
mentioned in the same sentence as the first every Phoenix Valley
Wrestling World Heavyweight Champion let's just hope your career
doesn't end the same way as his did. On Heatwave, we will find out
will it be The Englishman or Irishman that goes on to the Called Shot.
Who will take that next step to get one step closer to becoming a
LEGEND. So Black may the best man win...

[The camera fades to black with Caleb Foley just staring at the sign
What Makes a Legend...]

****************************************
****************************************
Hollywood by Night
****************************************
****************************************

[Just a voice.]

TT:  What are they thinking?

[Fade in to "The Fashion Assassin" Tony Thomas sitting on a chair in a
restaurant.  He's seated in the chair backwards, his arms resting on
top of the back rest on the chair.  The chair is situated at the end
of a booth.

On the right side of the booth "The Fashion Industry's Worst
Nightmare" Kip Butler and Kitty Von Braun are seated.  Butler is next
to the window with KVB to his left.]

KB:  Who cares what they're thinking, Tony?  We wanted matches.  We
wanted to prove to the world we deserve to be called _the_ greatest
tag team of all time.  We need matches to prove this.  We need to beat
every single team we can.

TT:  You already beat Devin Houlihan at Tradition.  Why are we facing
them in a tag team match now?

KB:  I have no idea, Tony.  I'm not the match maker.

TT:  I wanted to face the Prophets of Rage.  After their blatant
disrespect at Tradition... man, oh _man_.

KB:  Look, one thing at a time.  We face the Renegades this week.
Then we can focus on the Prophets of Rage.  Let's not look past the
Renegades.

TT:  Look, Kip.  I know you're all about busting heads and stuff.  The
Renegades are beneath us as a team.  Everyone expects us to beat this
team.  They can't match up to us.  They can't compete with us.
They're nothing, Kip.  The Prophets?  That's our next step.

KB:  One thing at a time, Tony.

KVB:  Listen to Kip, Tony.  The Prophets of Rage can wait.  They'll be
dealt with at End Game.  Worry about them then.

KB:  We need to be on the look out for the Corazones deciding to stick
their nose in the match, Tony.  There's some really bad blood between
them and the Renegades.

TT:  Who am I to insert myself in someone else's drama, Kip?  They
show up, I say we just walk away from it.  There's no reason to insert
ourself in that war.

KB:  Now you're thinking, Tony.  Now you're thinking.

TT:  Gah.  Let's just get this done with.

[Fade out.]

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

[The scene fades up from black to show a cinder block wall. Coat hooks
are attached to the wall, and a battered leather trench coat hangs on
one, the other sitting empty. The voice of Marcus Manson is heard
before the man himself is seen. Manson is laughing. As he enters the
scene, he starts applauding. ]

Manson: Well done Larry Gionet. You finally smartened up. I'm almost
proud of you, Larry. You're on the right path.

[Manson takes off the trench coat he is wearing and hangs it up next
on the wall. It is not leather, but canvas, and is newer and in
notably better condition than the one already hung on the wall.]

Manson: Now, let me address Chris Hartt. The Paladin. Third time's the
charm, eh, buddy? One thing you need to get straight, though.

I am nobody's hired thug, Hartt. Whatever you and Johnny Detson have
going on, i'm not involved. I'm here to win titles, and hurt people.
And hartt, you don't have a title.

[Manson pulls the battered leather trench coat off the hook and shrugs
into it. His face darkens as he does and his eyes go cold.]

It's nothing personal, Hartt. I'm here to win championships. I am here
to climb the PVW ladder, and you are just one more rung right now
between myself and HVD.

Hartt, this trench coat sumbolizes pain and misery. At one time it
belonged to a man who was possibly more sick and twisted than I am.
For a few years it has sat on this hook, waiting. Maybe I wasn't
worthy of wearing it. Maybe I got a little soft....

But now, I'm on my own again. I am ready to hurt people, Hartt. And
i'm going to start with you.

[Fade.]

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

[Standing with "Swinging" Dean Hayes, who is in a bad Hawaii shirt and
cargo shorts, is the quartet known to PVW as The Heat! Arvelle is in a
blue tuxedo with pink bow tie and ruffled black shirt. PACO and Maxime
are wearing peach colored warm up suits with white piping. Those warm
up threads say: The HEAT on the right breast. Meanwhile, Florine is
dressed to the nines in an slinky peach satin gown. In MAGIC's hands
is the trophy top for the now broken prize of the HIT.]


SDH: Magic, it's been over week since the Heat were defeated in the
HIT at Tradition V by the Manga Express - a team that turned out to be
none other than PVW's fasting rising tag team of Max Weinrib and Sal
Mubarak...

[MAGIC pulls Dean's microphone holding arm towards him.]

AML: Lemme stop you right there, Dean. The Heat were not "defeated" in
the Heat Invitational Tournament finals. No sir, no how. The Heat were
bamboozled. The Heat were hornswaggled. The Heat were deceived. The
Heat were out and out lied to! After managing to qualify for the HIT
finals, the Manga Express were taken out by a team that could have
never qualified for the HIT in the first place. A team that took
advantage of all sorts of cheap shots and cheats. A team that out and
out carpetbagged themselves a vicotry. Max and Sal, they didn't win
nothing! Those two clowns stole a tainted win but the Heat ain't about
to let them two hoity-toity New York swindlers get away with what they
done, no sir! The Heat is coming for you, Max and Sal. You'd best
brush up on all your little tricks and chicanary because this time the
Heat is gonna be expecting you. You won't have the element of surprise
or those masks to hide behind! The Heat always gets even, y'all done
picked a fight you ain't gotta chance of winning. Next question!

SDH: On "On the Road" The Heat is scheduled to lock horns against a
team of local talent: MICHAEL PERFECT and "MR. MAGNIFICENT" DYLAN
DOUGLAS...

AML: Ya ain't gotta yell their names, Dean.

SDH: Sorry...

[Florine baps Dean on the head as Arvelle decides its time for him to
talk some more.]

AML: Now I don't know nothing about no Perfect or Douglas but I do
know that no matter how good these guys think they are, no matter how
much their mamas done told them they gotta chance at the big time here
in the PVW, no matter how much they think they want it - Douglas and
Perfect ain't the Heat. Mike and Dylan, I'm sure your mamas done tried
to raise you right and love y'all wastrels with as much love as they
could but that don't mean diddly squat in that there ring, especially
against a team like the Heat! While Max and Sal done tricked us, those
two didn't get an easy win, no sir no how! Even when surprised and
swindled, the Heat fought like caged, sex beasts to overcome odds that
were not in their favor. What chance do you think you got against the
tanned God of the Bedroom, Paco Magnon? Do you really think you can
out do the Muscle from Miami, Maxime? Look at these two Adonises! Ya
got high flying, techincal lucha with Paco and some of the fanciest
feet and straight power y'all ever done see in Maxime! With the brains
and mouth of me, MAGIC, and the moral support provided by Miss
Florine, those two chumps of Mr. Perfect and Dylan Micheals ain't
gotta a leg to stand on.

SDH: So you're predicing victory, Arvelle?

AML: I ain't doing nothing of the sort, Dean. I'm guarenteeing
victory. C'mon boys and lucious lady, we gotta show to put on for all
them HEAT deprived fans. Remember: you ain't cooking unless you've got
HEAT!

[The quartet walks off leaving Dean to wipe his brow.]

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

[The camera opens into a dimly lit locker room where two masked
figures sit upon a wooden benches, the figure closet to the camera is
slowly wrapping his wrist in white tape as the further figure is
lacing his boots.  Distant cheers and boos can be heard as the camera
moves closer towards the figures illuminating them better. The first
figure is wearing red full length wrestling tights and a white mask
with a red heart upon it; Corazòn Rojo obviously. He looks towards the
camera and nods.]

CR: Blanco, el equipo de cámara está aquí.

[The other figure looks towards the camera and nods. Corazòn Blanco is
wearing white full length wrestling tights, white boots and his
customary red mask with a white heart upon it.]

CB: No escatiman gastos para sus estrellas lo hacen?

[Corazòn Rojo chuckles.]

CR: Of course not Blanco. The PVW knows we are the only stars they
have that can draw in our homeland and in America.

CB: But how come they are here now and not for our last tour?

CR: The mighty dollar Blanco, the mighty dollar. I have heard they
want to produce a DVD of us and want ASLL footage on there ... they
want to see us against quality opponents.

CB: They aren't the only ones ... I'm sick of Los Renegados and  Los
Profetas ... it's the same old song and dance with them ... we are the
toughest, we are the greatest, we are the baddest ...

CR: We are women beaters ...

[Corazòn Blanco shakes his head and exhales angrily.]

CB: Tradition though ... I've watched the tapes ... Emylee was in the
wrong place, too close ... encouraging us.

CR: Yes ... yes. She knows the ringside dangers ... but to mark her
beauty with that hideous black eye ... that is different brother.

CB: Van a sufrir!

[Corazòn Rojo nods in agreement. There is a knock at the door and
Corazòn Rojo slowly stands to his feet and walks towards the door. He
pushes it open and two obese Mexican men stand there with tattered
black duffel bags slung over their shoulders. The man on the right
takes a swig from a tequila bottle as the man on the left removes his
sombrero and begins to speak.]

Man: We are Maximo y Sal ..

[The man referred to as Sal nods as he burps.]

Man: We were told we could get ready here for our match tonight
against Los Corazones..

[Blanco and Rojo glare at the two men in what can only be called
absolute disgust.]

CB: Perdón? Los Corazones are supposed to be facing El Milagro de
Expresarse ...

[Maximo nods his head as Sal takes another swig from the tequila
bottle.]

Maximo: Apparently they are travel issues and we were signed to take
their place ...

[Rojo shakes his head angrily to side and motions for the two men to
enter the room. Blanco slowly stands to his feet and grabs the ASLL
Campeon Nacional Parejas title belts and continues to glare at the two
men. As Sal places his duffel bag down upon the bench Blanco drills
him upside the head with the title belt.]

"___CCCRRRAAACCCKKK___"

[Maximo looks at Blanco in shock and takes a step backwards, right
into an elbow from Rojo that sends him stumbling forward ...]

"___CCCRRRAAACCCKKK___"

[Maximo slumps to the floor after the shot from the title belt and
Blanco steps over him as he walks towards Rojo.]

CB: Completely unacceptable. Time to discuss this with management.

CR: Hard to believe they found competition worse than Los Renegados
...

[Blanco laughs heartily as he pushes the door open once again. The two
men stop suddenly as a few young fans stand outside of the door, many
of them wearing various luchador masks. Blanco stares down at the
children for a moment.]

CB: Si.

Fan: Are you Senor Cloak Dos?

[Rojo and Blanco look at one another and both sigh in disgust.]

CB: No. Unlike Senor Cloak Dos we have heart ...

[Both men make a heart with their hands before slowly walking away
from the kids. Rojo turns around and speaks again.]

CR: Your idol ... Senor Cloak Dos, he passed out drunk on the floor in
there ... it's a shame really.

[Rojo laughs again as he turns away.]

CB: I hope the Maximo y Sal we face in Arizona aren't those two ...

CR: Nah, in Arizona they are at least thinner.

[As the men walk away all slowly fades to black.]

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

The scene opens on PVW champion "The Widowmaker" Rick Marley.  The
dark haired cruiserweight has his feet up on a glass coffee table as
he reclines on an overstuffed black leather couch, a book on his lap
as he stares out the bay window into the Miami morning.  Looking over
at the camera crew, he sighs, sits up and clears his throat.]

"Tracked me down, did you?

I figured you'd be too busy taking sound bytes from Gibson Hayes
and...Whatever-the-hell-his-name-is-now Holliday to put much effort
into it."

[Marley smiled, shaking his head.]

"And you know what?  For the first time in a long time, I'm fine with
that: pay attention to those guys.  Obsess over their dance to figure
out who gets to lay down for me.  Fixate on whether Gibson
or...well...I guess "Matt"...is the one that have to go one on one
with me.

Glaze over the fact that it's a contest to see who loses.

Just keep..."

[Marley stops, opens his mouth to continue, then shakes his head.]

"Y'know what...no.  I'm not gonna sit here and spin out the same
bull[BLEEP] that you hear day in and day out from a succession of
carboard cutouts in the wrestling world about how it's all part of
some master plan...about how I'm too cool for any of it to affect
me...about how great I am and how unworthy my opponent or opponents
are.

I've been guilty of giving that interview.  More than once, and I'm
here to tell you, it's all a load of utter crap.  Threre's not a guy
in this industry that can't lace 'em up and give a go with almost
anyone, regardless of the success that either of them has had.
There's not a guy in this industry that's not dangerous in one way or
another...there's not a guy in this industry who doesn't dream of
holding a world title...

And there's not a guy in this industry that couldn't lose it all in
the blink of an eye: One wrong landing.  One missed spot.  One guy
that goes just a bit too far..."

[He trails off, looking out the window for a moment before shaking his
head.]

"So no.  I'm not gonna go down the blase, "too cool to care" road.

Do I hope Holliday and Hayes wear each other down so that the winner
will be an easy win?

Sure...and I hope it for entirely selfish reasons: I want to hold onto
this belt as long as humanly possible.  Long enough that people can
hardly remember the champions that came before me, and the guy that
takes it from me will have impossible shoes to fill.  I want to raise
my game (and PVW's with me) to the point that it's written in the
heavens like the heroes of Greek myth.

I...I want to have it make some sense...so that anyone that got
hurt...so there's a reason behind it."

[Pausing again, Marley frowns.]

"It's not an apology...and I'm not sorry for what I did.

Take that to the bank."

[fade]