****************************************
****************************************
** Phoenix Valley Wrestling Presents  **
**            SHOWCASE                **
**            05.17.11                **
****************************************
****************************************



-> Gibson Hayes
-> Marcus Manson
-> Rob Cole
-> Max and Sal
-> Mike Bisignano
-> The Renegades
-> Senor Cloak Dos
-> Livestock and The Gutch
-> Matthew Lee Holliday #1
-> AsH
-> The Mercenary
-> Chris Hartt
-> Prophets of Rage
-> Tyson Cain
-> Danny Daniels
-> Los Corazones
-> Sinister
-> Hersher von Donkerhardt
-> Christopher Black
-> Johnny Detson
-> Tommy Ryder
-> Tom Landis
-> William Craven
-> Rick Marley
-> Larry Gionet
-> Nevermind
-> The Heat
-> Perry Fontana
-> Caleb Foley
-> Matthew Lee Holliday #2


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

[The Battle Hymn of the Republic plays as a waving flag of the United
States of America is seen on the screen. Red and white letters with
blue outlining appear on the screen reading: Gibson Hayes - Patriot,
Pal... and Patriot.]

V/O: I'm the heart of PVW.

[Image of Gibson Hayes begging off.]

V/O: I am the soul of PVW.

[Audio-less video of Gibson throwing salt in the eyes of an opponent.]

V/O: I am the precious vitae of PVW.

[Another image: this one of Hayes jabbing a fork into a foe's
forehead.]

V/O: I am the moral compass of PVW.

[We see Gibson Hayes pulling the tights and putting his feet on the
ropes while pinning someone.]

V/O: I am also America's last, best hope for a bright future and
better tomorrow.

[An American flag backdrop with a bald eagle shedding a single tear on
the left with Gibson Hayes in a blue suit with red tie and white dress
shirt looking up and to the right while saluting. The image fades and
we see Gibson Hayes standing behind a podium with a giant banner
behind him. The banner is white and red striped with a blue circle in
the middle with stars making up an interlocking G and H tilted at a 35
degree angle in the center.]

GH: Ladies, gentlemen... fellow Americans. I face my most trying
encounter. I, America's golden child, me, Gibson Hayes, is going tace
to face with a criminal known as Matthew Lee Holliday and an
unqualified mess known as Rick Marley.

[The expression on Gibby's face is very serious.]

GH: Holliday has done nothing but lie, cheat and steal since he came
to PVW. Holliday paid Rick Marley to cripple the Tucson Kid; I have
that bit of information on very good authority. When Holliday was
about to be brought to American justice, by me, PVW protected him.
When I had a second chance to finish off the miscreant, Holliday again
escaped his just desserts through the PVW secret elders' hands. Well,
Matthew, Gibson Hayes is sick of your antics and tired of your false
bravado. Gibson Hayes and America will not tolerate your crimes any
longer. At End Game, Gibson Hayes becomes the savior of Arizona.
Gibson Hayes will finish you off once and for all and prevent you from
getting your foreign sold soul on what belongs to America: the PVW
World Heavyweight championship.

[Gibson nods sternly, as if agreeing with some horrible revelation.]

GH: Don't think I've forgotten about Rick Marley. No sir, not even a
chance of me forgetting about Rick. Rick Marley is no saint,
consorting with Holliday to collect on insurance money. Buying William
Craven's love to get ahead. Actually figuring out that Rob Cole is
three steps short of a three step dance. These things have all be
nothing but luck. Marley has some talent, sure, but he's also in bed
with the powers behind the throne. Marley has been protected by PVW
from Gibson "America's True Hero and Destined Leader of the 21st and
22nd Century" Hayes. PVW knows that if Gibson Hayes delivers this
federation from their foreign mastery that nations that hate America,
nations like China and Luxembourg, will finally be able to attact the
silky smooth shores of our beloved mother nation. Russia salivates at
the bountiful mountains, jutting forth and filling up eye after eye.
But I say no!

PVW knows that no other American is up to the task. PVW knows that no
other son of the red, white and blue can hope to stem the tide of
darkness that is coming. PVW thinks they know the truth. PVW asks:
where are the American challengers? Where are liberty's children?
Where are the other wrestlers who believe in life, liberty and the
pursuit of property? Well, PVW, they are right here!

[Hayes stands defiant!]

GH: I say we rise up and take a stand. I say we come together behind
me, America's last, best hope for a bright future and better tomorrow,
Gibson Hayes.

[Brushing some stray hairs out of his face, Gibson is red around the
collar. A sudden fist pound on the podium accenuates Gibby's point.
Gibson takes a deep breath and looks, deeply, into the camera before
continuing.]

People of Phoenix, rise up! (Both hands go down onto the podium)
People of San Francisco, rise up! (Gibson's right hand is raised into
the air)
People of Chicago, rise up! (And down onto the podium)
People of New York, rise up! (Both hands into the air)
People of Seattle RISE UP! (Both hands go down and up harder)
People of Miam RISE UP! (Again, harder)
People of Detroit, RISE UP! Rise up and throw off the shackles of
oppression! (And both hands slam down onto the podium)

Rise up against the foul corporate beast that wishes to devour hard
working Americans and spit them out with no remorse! Raise your voice
to the heavens and shout in union: Save us Gibson Hayes! For I, Gibson
Hayes, am all that is left to fight off the impending darkness. Rise
up and support me, Gibson Hayes!

[Hayes swallows hard, sweat pouring from his brow. Hayes loosens his
tie and continues.]

America, it is your moment of clarity! America, this is your finest
hour! America, show PVW that you will no longer tolerate their tricks
and ruthless attempts to destroy our very nation! America, support
Gibson Hayes! I need your support now, more than ever! Help me make
PVW listen! Together, yes, we can make them listen!

[Emploring eyes from the "American Hero".]

GH: I, Gibson Hayes, am America's last bullet in the chamber.
Holliday, Marley; they both are wiley and skilled opponents but they
do not have the one thing Gibson Hayes has in abundance: the sheer
indomitable will of the American people behind them. Gibson Hayes
fights for America. Gibson Hayes will save America and...

[One last, deep look from Gibson.]

GH:  ...Gibson Hayes will save the world.

[DOUBLE V FOR VICTORY~!]

~The preceding message was paid for by the American Society for
Safety, Health, Obedience, Liberty and Education and generous
donations from viewers like you and was in no way paid for by Gibson
Hayes.~

 Vote for me as your Chief Executive Official in Charge of Fairness
 and Balance in Officiating and Decision Making, or CEOCFBODM. Thank
 you, good night and God Bless!

~The preceding message was paid for by the American Society for
Safety, Health, Obedience, Liberty and Education and generous
donations from viewers like you and was in no way paid for by Gibson
Hayes.~

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

[Black. Eyes glint with reflection of light from somewhere in the
room, but aside from that all that's shown is darkness. Soon, the
gravelly voice of Marcus Manson is heard.]

"Pain.  Pain is an unpleasant sensory and emotional experience
associated with actual or potential tissue damage, or described in
terms of such damage."

[Manson inhales deeply.]

"But isn't it so much more than that? It motivates us. It motivates us
to fight on. To push through. It motivates some to run away, and
others...

It motivates others to surrender. To submit. To quit. To give up.

And to tap out."

[Manson chuckles.]

"For some, it is not their own pain that motivates them, but the pain
of others. It motivates us to be healers. Nurses, Doctors, EMTs...
And yet others are motivated in a different way. Some by sheer
curiousity. Some by sadism. Some derive sexual pleasure from the
infliction of pain upon themselves or others. And some of us just like
hurting people."

[Light glints off of white teeth as Mansons lip split into a
presumably sadistic grin.]

"Herscher, you think you've got the high ground in this battle? So
naive, my friend. I don't want to burst your bubble, but I feel like I
need to let you in on a little secret.

You believe what I let you believe.

You think I care if people think I tapped out in the ring to your
pitiful assault upon me? Just as you, they think and believe what I
want them to think and believe.

Think whatever gives you comfort Herscher. Tell yourself and the
people in the crowd whatever you need to to help you sleep at night.
And while you lay comfortably tucked into your bed sleeping, I lie
awake. I lie awake and i imagine what the PVW will need to do to pull
me off of you at End Game."

[A laugh.]

"End Game. Such a fitting name for the event at which we meet.  It
will either be the end of you by my hands... The end of your career as
I snap your neck... or the end of your very life as I constrict your
airway, allowing you to exhale but keeping you gasping for breath like
a fish out of water... but wouldn't that be too simple, Herscher? I
could go right for your jugular, and end it quickly, but that wouldn't
be any fun would it? No fun for me, certainly, and no fun for the
thousands of people that jammed that arena to see blood spilt. And no
fun for those of us who enjoy watching others inflict pain.

Oh, they will deny it. But I see through. I see through the lies and
the deceit, I see through all the pandering and political
correctness... and all the posturing for advertisers and sponsorships.
The audience would scream for blood. They would fall on their hands
and knees and beg me to rip you apart... but they are scared. They're
afraid of what their wives or husbands, sons or daughters, neighbors
and friends would think. They are afraid of the ridicule.

But luckily for them, and for you, they don't have to beg. They don't
even have to ask. Because at End Game, Herscher, It will be the end of
a multitude of things.

It will be the end of the facade that you are better than myself.

It will be the end of your reign as American Champion.

It will be the end of you.

But there will be one new beginning at end game. It will be the
beginning of a new era for PVW. It will be the beginning of the Era of
Misery.

[Cut.]

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

[Rob Cole stands by with Dean Hayes, dressed in his white ring attire
with black trim. His hair is pulled back into a top knot and his
wrists are heavily taped, his eyes distant on his match in the future.
His features are still splotched with yellow bruising from his beating
a number of weeks earlier, his eyes cast in shadow, and he doesn't
seem as lost as he has been... he takes a deep breath as he waits.]

DH: Rob Cole comes off losing the Heavyweight Title and enters into
what many can only describe as "Hell on Earth." William Craven has
hounded you, attacked you, threatened you, threatened your family, and
now we walk into this huge pay per view with a match you wanted to
avoid... you and William Craven, one on one. How do you feel, Rob?

RC: That's a funny question... But it's not specific, is it? Let's be
honest: you want to know if Rob Cole is shaking, trembling, and
feeling that familiar fear build up in the gut, Dean? Yes. Yes I'm
afraid, I'm terrified, and I have the worst shakes of my entire
career... it's not the green skin, the sharp teeth, or the size of the
man that intimidates me, though. Bill is sick... in the head, in the
heart, and he has the ability to do whatever he wants with whoever he
is in the ring with. And for the past several weeks that is precisely
what he's done with me... he's beaten me, brutalized me, threatened
me, my family, and everything that's really important in MY life.
That's not the kind of man you want to face... not if you want to have
a long and happy career in this business. Some young kids might think
they can beat some respect out of Bill... no. Bill Craven doesn't
'respect' you... he doesn't even respect himself.

[Hayes seems a little shocked... and confused. He clears his throat
and pulls the mic back.]

DH: That's kind of a depressed attitude to have for a match of this
caliber... especially coming from a former champion!  It sounds like
you've lost your spirit, Rob... and from the fans in this arena to the
boys in the back and all the people watching at home, this just
doesn't sound like you.

RC: Yeah, well it is me. As for this match... well you know what? I
didn't want it. I don't need it. I've given this business the best
parts of myself... I've left pieces of me scattered in arenas around
the world. I'd like to spend a few happy years with my wife and my
son. But I don't have a choice... I'm in a corner, Dean. I can't leave
this business without him following me... so I'm going to make him pay
for every drop of blood he spills. I'm going to survive this match and
I'm going to keep on breathing... that's the only way I know of to
really win against a monster like Craven. I can live with losing; I
can live with being beaten and being afraid. I don't like it and I
don't have to but I won't let Bill Craven take away the really
important things from me. So tonight isn't about revenge for what he
did, it isn't about what I've done with my career, and it sure as hell
isn't about what either one of us "deserves"... I am here to protect
my family. This is about surviving and Rob Cole won't just crawl up
and die because he's afraid of a monster.

[There is disgust from the normally impartial Hayes who suddenly steps
up to the former champion.]

DH: Seriously? That's what you're going to do? You're going to
"survive"... that's your big plan?

[Cole turns to regard Dean in silence. He reaches up and takes the
microphone from Hayes, glowering with anger at his gall.]

RC: My big plan? Who do you think I am, Dean?!?!?!!  Was I supposed to
be some sort of hero to you? Pay attention! You think my career has
been built on head games, intimidation, and crazy talk? Every time I
go out there... every time I step in that ring... my plan is to
survive. That's the only thing I ever plan on doing... I didn't 'plan'
to jab that pen in Bills skull, I just did it! I didn't 'plan' to dive
on top of Spectre wrapped in barbed wire... I JUST DID IT!!! I don't
have a plan... I'm not the kind of guy who makes a 'plan'. I'm walking
out there tonight... I don't care if I get boo'd, don't care if these
people want me in that ring, I'm going out there to survive another
bloody war with another monster and I'm going to hope there's enough
left of me to crawl home and get in bed. DON'T YOU DARE!!!! Don't you
dare look at me like that... you don't get in that ring, you don't
face injury every time you do YOUR job, you don't know what it's like
to tell your son you can't play catch because your arms are too sore
or your back is having spasms... don't you dare stare at me like
you're judging me, Dean!

[He spins to face the camera again. He grins a bit awkwardly,
laughing... and shakes his head before hatred fills his eyes again. He
licks his lips and steps forward, lifting the microphone to his lips.]

RC: Oh, Bill... Oh boy oh boy! This must really get you going, huh?
You threaten a man, you threaten his wife, you threaten his son... you
actually think you can justify using my family against me?!?!!
HUH?!?!!  You twisted piece of crap... you never had a family and wah
wah wah!  Poor Bill... guess what? You're never going to have one,
either! You're not capable... never mind what you deserve, you don't
have the courage to love someone else. You're too busy feeling sorry
for all the bad decisions you made in your life... all those
"sacrifices".  Oooh, ouch? Did that hurt? You're a coward... you're a
big coward, one who is capable of putting a steel railing through my
chest, one who could bleed me dry, one who could mow down anyone
standing in his way... but a coward all the same. You've hidden for so
long behind your tattoos your tongue and your image that you forgot
about the guy that served this country and wanted to keep people safe!
I'm not here to remind you of him, either... I'm here to keep you from
hurting my family or taking one step closer to them ever again. That's
the only thing anyone needs to know about our match! Now cut the power
because this little promo is DONE!!!

[To Black...]

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

[The camera fades in to see Max and Sal, dressed in casual clothes,
seated at a table.  In the background is the Heat Invitational Trophy
(HIT), split into three pieces and held together with duct tape.  Max
and Sal are in the middle of a conversation.]

Max:  ... and that's why we need to become pawn store owners.

Sal:   Another time.  We heard Arvelle vow of 'Payback' last week
heading into End Game, and this is a big test.

Max:  We're not quite sure how they are the ones wanting 'Payback'
when they hit us with the trophy.  In fact, we think that it's US who
owe THEM some payback.

[As Max and Sal ponder this dilemma, we cue up the voiceover.]

Sal VO:  But it wouldn't be easy.  Counting Florine, they had three
people to our two.

Max VO:  And counting Florine and Arvelle, they had three and a half.

Sal VO:  So we had our work cut out before us.  To beat the HEAT, we
had to get inside the minds of these people.  We would have to, in
fact, BECOME the HEAT.

[Cut to Sal, standing in a room.  He has a badly painted on tan, a
worse painted-on five o'clock shadow, and a mustache that could rival
Wilford Brimley's.  He's wearing a cream-colored suit and baby blue
sequined shirt.  On the table in front of him is a small cloth bag.]

Sal:  I ended up with PACO.  I managed to get the look down very well-
in fact, we could pass for twins.  But there's more to PACO than just
getting the look down.  There's the accent.  I mean, sure- the only
word Arvelle ever lets him say is 'No'.  But there's a lot of nuance
in that one word.

[A deep sigh, and then...]

Sal:  No
Sal:  NO!
Sal:  No?
Sal:  nO.

[A shake of the head]

Sal:  It's something I needed more practice on.  But beyond the look
and the accent, there's the name.  And there I am almost done...

[Sal reached into the bag, and pulls out... a Scrabble Tile.  He peers
at it...]

Sal:  H... H.... [Sal snaps his fingers]  HAROLD!  That should work...

[Sal steps over to the left, where a giant sheet of paper is taped to
the wall.  On the paper, it reads:

FranciscoCordovaAlphaBetaDeltaMatthewMarkLukeJohnGeorgePaulJohnRIngo

Sal adds 'Harold' at the end of Ringo.  He steps back and looks at the
bag...]

Sal:  Three... maybe four more letters should do it.  [Pause]  OK,
five.

[Cut to Max...

...well, actually his bare feet.  He wiggles his toes a little.]

Max VO:  This left me with Jean-Maxim Baptise to channel.  Sure, I
could go for "Small-minded surfer dude by way of the French Riviera"
with that name alone, but that just seemed...wrong.  Disrespectful.
Especially to the memory of the late, great Patrick Swayze and "Point
Break"!  Not to mention, it didn't fully encompass how _impressive_ of
both the name and the ego of a man of Jean-Maxim Baptiste's stature...

[Max wiggles his toes again as we begin to slowly pan up...


...


...no getting around it, the best way to describe what Max is wearing
is something straight out of the Vatican.  Shiny white satin robe with
gold, silver and red trim.  There's also a shaggy pair of grey
muttonchops spirit-gummed to the sides of his face.  He completes the
ensemble with a big ivory  and gold bishop's pointy mitre on his head
and a gold-plated crosier in his hand.  Indeed, we're talking true
papal bling here.  The only thing missing is the ominous crack of
thunder.  Max clears his throat.]

Max:  Mawwiage.  Mawwiage is what bwings us together today.  Mawwiage,
dat bwessed event.   Dat dweam within a dweam...


Sal VO:  OK- we have PACO, we have Jean.  But we still need the
others.  Arvelle 'MAGIC' LaFayette.  We needed someone who could match
his style,  someone who could pull off his incredible feats of
magic... someone who thought adding a 'Y' to our name was a clever
insult.  We auditioned a lot of people before we found the perfect
person for the job...

[Cut to a seven year old kid, in a magenta tuxedo three times larger
than him, complete with a top hat, a wand in his left hand, and
holding up a deck of cards in the right.]

Kid:  Maxy and Sally... was your card the Three of Clubs?

[Max and Sal, standing off to the side, look at each other.]

Sal:  You know... he got it.

Max:  Timmy may be too good for the part.

Max VO:  By a stroke of luck, our new Arvelle got us connected with
someone who could pass for our Florine too.

[An elderly woman in a floral print housecoat steps into the scene
with a tray of what appears to be freshly-baked chocolate chip
cookies.]

Old Lady:  Who wants cookies?

Timmy:  [happy]  GRANDMA!

Sal: [to Grandma]  That's a lovely accent, Mrs.  Hanlow.  May I ask
where you're from?

Old Lady:  Born and raised in Biloxi, Mississippi for all my life,
deary.

Sal:  Mississippi?  Wonderful...how would you like a job?

Max VO:  Sure, she was more than a few years younger than the real
deal, but we figured we could get away with a little artistic license
here.  And speaking of artistic license, we managed to find the
perfect substitute for Florine's pet rat as well.

[Cut to a rather familiar looking hamster whose name we are legally
not allowed to show.  But he's in PPV limbo right now, so we felt
sorry for the little bugger.]

RFLH:  MEEP!

Sal VO:  We had PACO... we had Jean... we have Arvelle and Florine.
We were ready to get inside the heads of the HEAT...

[Synthesizer music plays as the theme song from 'Miami Vice' blares.
The scene cuts to a sunny corner, where Sal, Max, Timmy, and Mrs.
Hanlow (dressed in a yellow sundress and carrying a parasol) stand on
a street corner, all dressed up as HEAT.  Timmy does card tricks, Mrs.
Hanlow stands around with a bemused look on her face and a juice box
for Timmy,  and Max and Sal approach several female pedestrians as
PACO and Jean...

SLAP!

SLAP!

SLAP!

SLAPSLAP!  (two women, in stereo, at each of them)

... rather unsuccessfully.



The music continues, and Sal and Max go through a series of looks with
each beat- from a Cream-colored suit and a mesh baby blue shirt with a
feathered collar to "Member's Only" jackets to mall hair (for Jean)
and a mullet (for PACO) to parachute pants...


...


Fade in to a cardboard cutout of Max and Sal, and PACO-Sal and Jean-
Max rush in with the taped-up HIT trophy and bash the cardboard
cutouts of Max and Sal, knocking them over.  PACO-Sal and Jean-Max
exchange an overly dramatic high-five.  In the background, Timmy-
Arvelle noshes on a chocolate chip cookie given to him by Florine-Mrs.
Hanlow.]

Sal VO:  We had gotten inside the minds of HEAT... and it was rather
quite empty.

Max VO:  But we had a new problem...

[PACO-Sal and Jean-Max start doing a dance to the Mick Jagger-David
Bowie version of "Dancing in the Street" over the cardboard cutouts of
Max and Sal]

Max VO:  Once inside, we were stuck.  We couldn't escape being HEAT,
as desperately as we wanted to.  It would take extreme measures to
bring us out...

[The music suddenly is cut off in mid-beat.  PACO-Sal and Jean Max
stop in mid-step, then look around, frightened.  They rush up and
start pounding on the glass right in front of the camera...



...



The camera pulls back....



... and shows PACO-Sal and Jean-Max inside an old tube television set.
As the camera pulls back further, we see Max and Sal (looking normal
again), Mrs. Hanlow, and Timmy (also looking normal) standing around
the TV.  Mrs. Hanlow nods, and Timmy reaches out, shutting off the tv
and causing PACO-Sal and Jean-Max to disappear.]

Max VO:  We were out.

Sal VO:  And we were ready...

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

[Instead of fading up, we hear some audio over a black screen. It's
The Biz speaking but we don't see him.]

Biz V/O: THANKFULLY, The Biz is in town to make everything alright and
give these people a chance to see a winner for a change. Even if it
means I gotta carry an entire 8-man scramble match by myself just like
I let Senor Cloak Dos, AsH, and Christian Copeland ride my coattails
for a good portion of our match back in Tucson. And boy are those
three heavy...at some point I had to call it quits and exit from the
contest for fear of getting a hernia. Figured nothing gained, nothing
lost.

[We now fade up and see The Biz speaking... but it's just a replay of
a
previous promo.]

Biz: But this time, there's a lot on the line. This is the first step
towards my inevitable future - the PVW Television championship. Which
is EXACTLY why this time I come prepared.

[The Biz raises his shirt and we see he is wearing a back support
brace around his torso.]

With this, I won't need to bow out early after the weight of seven
retards puts me at a near paralysis state. Oh no no no...The Biz WILL
NOT quit this contest.

[The image pauses and we now see that it's playing on a monitor in the
locker room  backstage at Veteran's Memorial Coliseum. The camera
zooms out and watching said monitor is The Biz himself, decked out in
his ring attire in addition to a black t-shirt.]

Biz: It's like deja vu. For weeks now, I've had to contend with six
other people honing in on my territory -- the number one contender
spot for the PVW Television title. And for weeks, I've continuously
shown that it takes brains to be a champ and unfortunately none of
that exists in the heads of my competition.

They want you to think so but it takes more than sheer brawn to be
victorious inside of a Scramble Cage match. So that right there
eliminates Christopher Black and Tyson Cain.

As for Christian Copeland... well he can bring his friend, Smacky but
all that's gonna end up doing is causing him a world of hurt because
titanium steel being raked across your face will always trump a hammer
that probably came from Home Depot or Lowes.

Then we have my good buddy, AsH which has to stand for Always Sent
Home as in "sorry kid but you're just not good enough to be here right
now so just go home." Now you're probably going to pull out some crap
about how you outlasted me in the battle royal a few weeks ago but
that's quite alright because with nothing to gain other than
embarrassing Tommy Ryder, I'd say it was a pretty good night for The
Biz. PLUS, lightning never strikes twice so good luck making it out
alive two times in a row.

And speaking of Tommy Ryder, a prime example by the way of how nice
guys always finish last, I say this to you Senor Cloak Dos -- don't be
such a goody two shoes because it won't get you anywhere in this
company.

Now Tommy... I hope you're starting to understand what I've been
trying
to explain to you all this time. But just in case, let me say it
another way. Save the superhero junk for guys like Senor Cloak because
running to the rescue of your darling Laurel got you absolutely
nothing but a spot on Sportscenter as "Dumbest Move of the Week."
Hopefully inside of the Scramble Cage, you will finally shed the nice
guy routine and realize that wearing the black hat is a lot cooler and
better for you than sporting the white one. Otherwise, I may have to
resort to "harsher" tactics.

[And with that, we zoom on The Biz's face as he grows a sinister
grin.]

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

[Just JD Houlihan, and a black background.  He's sitting in a 'phantom
chair' (chair that's off screen), since only the top half of JD is
visible.]

JD: This is _IT_....   The end of the long journey... The final
battle in a very hard fought war...

[JD fades away, as Devin's voice takes over.  Keeping this symmetric,
Devin is on the right side of the screen, since JD was on the left.
Again, just a black background, and the 'phantom chair'.]

DEVIN: ...AND I JUST CAN'T WAIT FOR IT TO BE OVER! No worrying about
strange masked men sneaking up  behind me.  No more wondering if I
will be able to go out, and do what I do best without some bozo
sticking their nose in my _BIZNESS_! After End Games, that's it! NO
MORE GAMES! And, ya know... With how _immature_ and _pathetic_ the Los
Corazones are, I know when the have to suffer the bitter taste of
defeat...  They probably won't be _MEN_, and accept it.  They probably
won't leave well enough alone, and they'll continue their bullshit
antics...

[Devin pauses, as JD now fades back onto the screen as Devin
disappears.  Gotta love TV magic.]

JD: Just knowing that... Realizing that after we go out there, and
dominate like the Renegades do, it _still_ won't be over because of
just how _insecure_ they are... It makes me almost... Almost just
wanna... ya know... _THROW_ the match...

[Devin's turn.]

DEVIN: I mean...  I _know_ the Renegades are going no where but _up_
in the Pee Vee Dubbya rankings.  This up coming summer months are
going to be the proving grounds. We will be showing the _ENTIRE_ world
that this rookie tag team is no joke, that we are a real threat in the
ring, and on any given night, we can and most of then than not _WILL_
find our way to victory...

[Back to the JD.]

JD: So, knowing all that... Know that only _GREAT_ things will soon be
coming our way...  And knowing that, well... _EVEN_ if the Los
Corazones some how find the... uh.. 'furitude de testículos' to pick
up the win at End Games.... _WHERE_ are they going? They reason they
cheat and cheat and cheat they way they do is they _KNOW_ they can't
compete! That is why they attack you backstage.  That is why they send
their cousins after you when they're away 
"defending their ASLL tag titles"....  They do it _ALLLLL_ because
they know come time to ring that bell, and _WRESTLE_... their can't
compete!

[Devin's turn.]

DEVIN: Thus, in a sense, it seems to me... Ya know, as if... In these
day and ages when every dumb ass can have his fifteen minutes... Why
not let the Corazones get theirs now... at End Games? Why not give
them the _THRILL_ of their lives by letting them walk away with a
victory? Besides, if we win... They'll just keep bugging us.  Keep
begging for a rematch.  Keep sticking their noses in my business......
Just seems like the path of least resistance, and, well... _LEAST_
annoyance, is to give them their brief glimpse of success, since we
all know they cannot compete and won't be able to stick around long at
all!

[And back to the JD!]

JD: But then.... Then I have this other idea... I idea I think I like
a little better, and will also solves everyone's problems.... just in
a _DIFFERNT_ way!

[Devin is heard laughing, as the camera zooms out, revealing the
'phantom chairs' and the rest of the Renegades, who are actually
sitting around the same bar table, sitting on identical bar stools.
Water with lemon in front of JD; brown colored drink in front of
Devin.  Draw yer on conclusions about it's contents.]

DEVIN: You see... We can let the Corazones gloat in victory, hoping
they fell satisfied and move on, only to crash and burn at a later
date when they stop dealing with such _awesome_ and _respectbale-
young men like ourselves.

JD: OR... Or.... there's always another option.

DEVIN: You see... Me and JD here, we talked it over...  We really did.
What we came up with is _THIS_....What if...  What if the Los
Corazones _can't_ come after us even more... _EVEN_ if they wanted to!

JD: What if they were... _INCAPICATED_ in a manner which they were
rendered harmless to not only ourselves, but the enter Pee Vee
Dubbya...

DEVIN: The point of it all is this... As much as it might not be
politically correct... As much it is probably not the most ethical and
_moral_ decision to make...

JD: we, the twin Houlihans, Pee Vee Dubbya _HOTTEST_ tag team...

DEVIN: ....have decided....

JD: ...THAT....

DEVIN: ...our Mexican friends...

JD: ...need to visit....

[Both brothers.]

JD AND DEVIN: _THE INJURY REPORT_!

[Both nodding, and with shit eating grins.]

DEVIN: I know it might seem harsh.  I know it might seem like we will
be crossing lines.... But at this point....

JD: We don't give a flying .

[Both brothers chuckle a little bit and begin to wave.]

DEVIN: See ya at End Games mothers!

JD: Hope you're insurance is paid up, bitches!!

DEVIN: 'Cause yins about to make the biggest claim in ya lives!

[Fade out.]

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

[Scene opens to outside a very nice looking home somewhere on the
outskirts of Mexico City, Mexico. The people living her have money but
while their home looks nice it still simple enough in design and decor
from the outside to not scream wealth. We hear footsteps and then see
a figure approach the front door. From behind we can see this figure
is wearing a dark brown suit jacket, navy blue slacks, black dress
shoes and has a black luchadore mask over his head. His small
yet athletic stature is a fairly good give away as to who this is but
we have not seen him from the front yet to confirm our suspicions. The
masked figure approaches the door, makes a loud gulping noise, then
knocks on the door.]

*KNOCK*

*KNOCK*

*KNOCK*

[Tense quiet moments ensue. Tension because you expect the silence to
break at any moment with the opening of the door. After some time the
door finally opens and an older Mexican woman wearing a sky blue dress
with white trim and frills and a light pink apron looks at the masked
man. They begin to speak in Spanish, which we get subtitles for.]

Woman: (May I help you?)

Masked Man: (Hello, Good afternoon. I am a fighter from
this country and was hoping I could speak with the man of the house
for advice.)

[The old woman looks at the masked man with suspicious eyes.]

Woman: (Your mask is black. Are you the son of a rudo ready to take
revenge on my husband?)

[The masked man shakes his head "no" quite vigorously.]

Masked Man: (Oh no, ma'am. I am not the son of any fighter, tecnico
or rudo. I am the first in my family to fight. I have a very important
match coming up and I would like to seek his advice for it.)

[The woman eyes him cautiously and nods her head.]

Woman: (Wait here a moment.)

Masked Man: (Thank you very much, ma'am.)

[The woman closes the door and the masked man lets out a big sigh.
Then he looks around and finally we see his masked face. A familiar
fully covered masked face we know so well. Black mask, cherry colored
"SCII" on the forehead, cherry colored eye coverings. It's PVW's
little luchadore, Señor Cloak Dos! Dos looks around at the yard, then
up at the sky, then at the ground, then at the door. After long
moments of this the door opens and standing there is an older Mexican
man. He is wearing a white button up shirt with short sleeves and
little palm tree designs on it. He has tan slacks, black dress
shoes on and oh yeah.. His face is hidden behind a gold and silver
mask. To long time wrestling fans the maks is instantly familiar as
that of the most famous luchadore in pro wrestling history. A man who
is considered almost a God in Mexico. A man who made all kinds of
movies. A man who held the Associacion Nacional de Lucha Libre and Los
Locos Lucha Libre Heavyweight Titles more times than any other person
in wrestling history. The myth, the legend... EL MAGNIFICO!]

EM: Hmm...

SCD: El Magnifico!

[Cloak offers a hand and bows towards the greatest luchadore of all
time.]

SCD: (Thank you so much for seeing me!)

[The old masked man looks at Dos' hand and then slowly reaches out and
takes his hand and shakes it.]

EM: (I know your mask, young man. But.. I thought you lost the
mask a long time ago.)

SCD: (That was my predecessor. The original Señor Cloak!)

[Magnifico nods his masked head a bit more at ease now.]

EM: (Ah! I see! The Roman numeral two. Ah. You are the second Señor
Cloak.)

SCD: (Yes, sir. Thank you so much for giving me some of your
precious time. I do not mean to bother you on this lovely day but.. I
need some help!)

[The old luchadore rubs his masked head.]

EM: (I think I am a little old to be helping anyone fight battles,
young man.)

SCD: (I am certain you can still defeat anyone in the world! You
are the greatest of all time!)

EM: Hmmm...

SCD: (But I did not come to ask for fighting help, I have come
for advice about a very important match coming up.)

EM: (Why not ask your Father?)

SCD: (My father?)

EM: (Yes. Señor Cloak the first!)

SCD: (Oh no, sir. The original is not my father. Not my birth
father if that is what you mean.)

EM: (Oh, how strange.)

SCD: (And besides he has made it very clear to me, on more than
one instance now, to not bother him.)

[Magnifico rubs his masked head again then closes the front door and
motions to the young luchadore.]

EM: (Walk with me, young man.)

SCD: (Of course!)

[The two begin walking through the yard to the side of the house and
making the trek towards the back yard.]

EM: (First, before I decide if I will give you advice or not,
tell me about this important match you have coming up.)

SCD: (Well, sir, I am in a seven man scramble match.)

EM: (A what now?)

SCD: (Seven men fighting against one another to earn the right to
fight for a championship later in the night.)

EM: Hmmm...

SCD: (My opponents include a man who hates me and has attacked me with
weapons in efforts to end my young career.)

EM: Rudo, eh?

SCD: (Yes, sir. Very rudo.)

[Magnifico nods his masked head.]

SCD: (There is also a man who once wore a mask but now hates masks and
has tried to rip mine to pieces in a match.)

EM: (Classic rudo.)

SCD: (There is a young man who is very large and strong and much like
me is just starting out in his career but he wants everything given to
him right now and tries to hurt a good friend of mine and also keeps
trying to defeat a man he claims he idolized growing up.)

EM: (Ah, youth.)

SCD: (Then there is a man from England who keeps bad mouthing everyone
and doing mindgames and sneak attacks against the champion that we are
all fighting to fight.)

EM: (I see.. Interesting.)

SCD: (Also in the match is a young man who is having alot of problems
with the man who once wore a mask and now hates masks. This man is
young but has been around longer than I have and seems to be having
problems with his wife.)

[As the two men walk into the backyard and up to some chairs in a
patio on the back the old luchadore legend laughs.]

EM: (Who does not have problems with their wife. Haha! Wait til you
have a wife young man!)

SCD: (The other man in the match is my best friend, who has helped me
more than anyone else in the business so far but also has told  me he
will eliminate me to win if he has to.)

[The old masked man stands there for a moment, pondering. Then he nods
his head and motions to a chair.]

EM: (Please, young man, have a seat.)

SCD: (Thank you so much, sir!

[Both men sit down and El Magnifico seems to be lost in thought for a
while before he leans forward in his chair.]

EM: (Young man, does the date May 30th, 2003 mean anything to you?)

[Dos thinks about this for a while then nods his head.]

SCD: (Yes. That is the date when I first saw Señor Cloak Original when
I was younger.)

EM: (Yes. That is when your predecessor showed up at Arena Mexico and
in a trios match became the first man to ever defeat my son, El Hijo
de Magnifico.)

[Dos nods his head.]

SCD: (I was at the show, I remember it well sir.)

EM: (My son changed after that match. Doubt began to creep into his
brain and over time it ate him alive. In 2005 my son did something I
have never done in my career. He went rudo. Rudo. The son of El
Magnifico.. a villain.)

[The old masked man shakes his head sadly.]

EM: (It broke my heart. I was so proud of my son before that. And to
this day he remains a villain, fighting up in America much like you, I
summize.)

[Dos nods his head.]

EM: (I have thought about this often and I always come to the
conclusion that May 30th, 2003 is the day that sent my son down that
path. Do you understand?)

SCD: (Yes, sir.)

EM: (For me to give you, the second Señor Cloak, help is.. a very
difficult thing to do because of these circumstances.)

SCD: (I.. I understand sir.)

[An awkward silence begins and then Cloak begins to stand up out of
his chair when Magnifico motions for him to stay.]

EM: (It is difficult, young man, but not impossible.)

[Dos sits back down.]

EM: (I can tell certain things about you, young man, without ever
seeing you fight in a ring. You are nothing like the original Cloak,
that is for certain.)

[Magnifico points towards Dos' chest.]

EM: (You have a good heart. Maybe, you have too good a heart. But I
understand this. The fans, the little ones especially, they invest so
much in us. They believe us to be superheroes. It is alot to carry
with you into battle. But I can tell that you have taken this on. I
commend you for it, and I feel sad for you that your predecessor is
such a bad example to follow after.)

SCD: (Thank you, sir.)

EM: (Your match.. You have a good friend who wants to win. You have a
young man at the crossroads. An arrogant and conniving Englishman. A
delusional yet powerful young man. A man with an inferiority complex
thus why he attacks a mirror he sees of his past. And then.. a hated
rival.)

SCD: (I do not hate this man with a hammer, sir.)

EM: (You want justice, no?)

[Dos nods his head.]

EM: (It is good you do not hate your rivals, young man. Do you
remember the Laughing Skull?)

SCD: (Of course! He is one of the greatest fighters of all time!)

EM: (The Laughing Skull did so many horrible things to me during my
career. We were bitter, bitter rivals. He took my title, I took his
mask. I took back my title, he went after my mask, I took his hair. We
fought tooth and nail to the end of our careers. In fact, my
retirement match was also his retirement match.)

SCD: (And the debuts of your son and his son.)

EM: (Yes.. My son, El Hijo de Magnifico, and his son.. The Laughing
Skull II. That poor, poor boy.)

[Cloak nods his head in a sad fashion.]

SCD: (It is a tragedy.)

EM: (Decades of fighting and enduring all kinds of abuse I still never
hated the Laughing Skull, young man. When his son died in that
unfortunate car accident in the summer of 2003.. I went to my rival's
house. I took off my mask and we cried and I was there for him in his
darkest days. This man with a hammer who hates you may one day become
your best friend. So no matter what any man does to you, do not hate
him young man.)

[Dos nods his head.]

EM: (But.. Fight for justice always. I know that this match is very
important and that many young fans are depending on you.. I can feel
this. But do not worry about anything but fighting for justice. Show
the young ones that it's not just about glory or gold belts. It is
about justice. Deliver justice to the villains including the man who
hates you. But always be open to give them compassion down the road.)

[Magnifico points again towards Cloak.]

EM: (This is your course. If you think of me as reverently as you seem
to then take this as my special assignment I send you on. Fight for
justice, not for glory, and always do what is right.)

SCD: (Thank you so much, sir. I will do everything in my body and my
heart and my soul to do what you ask of me.)

EM: (It is not just I who asks this of you, young man. It is every
supporter putting their hopes and dreams on your back. More
importantly, it is God. God asks us to always do what is right.)

[Magnifico stands up and offers a hand. Dos stands up and takes the
man's hand and they shake hands.]

EM: (Señor Cloak Original met my son and sent him down a path that
breaks my heart. I, El Magnifico, who you say is the greatest fighter
of all time, have met Cloak's son by proxy and I hope that I send you
down the path of what is right.)

SCD: (Thank you-)

EM: [cutting off Dos] (Go, young man. Go do your best. Fight the good
fight. Go.]

[Dos nods and walks away, heading back to the front and away.
Magnifico watches him walk away and then sits back down and nods his
head.]

EM: (Good luck, young man. Good luck.)

[The greatest luchadore of all time in his iconic silver and gold mask
sits back as the scene fades.]


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

[Fade in on the backstage area shortly after Heatwave has ended.
Gutch Bartilucci stands, hoisting a large bag over one shoulder and
leaning on a 4-legged cane as he walks, the overweight mongoloid
monster seems about to be heading out.  Oh, and just to make him even
more distracted he's also got a cell phone clenched between his fat
cheek and fat shoulder.]

Gutch: Yeah, Mal, I'm leaving now.  Yes, just now.  I am not that
slow!  It's only been a few ... oh, really?  That late?  When'd you
leave?  Wow.  You move quick.  So hey, we should probably get in a few
train ... ing ... gottacallyouback.

[Raising his head, Gutch lets his phone drop into the cane hand as he
stands upright, the cane standing free on the floor.]

Gutch: What now, 'Stock?  Come to beg for mercy?

[The shot widens, showing Gutch's handsome counterpart in the dearly
departed team of Livestock and the Gutch.]

Livestock: No.  I just thought maybe I could talk some sense into you.

Gutch: Yeah, that's gonna happen.  Right after I void myself on your
back at End Game, skinny.

Livestock: Void?  You know that doesn't mean fart, right?  It means
*BLEEP*.

Gutch: I know what I said!  You think you're so damned smart 'cause
you throw the dictionary around like you ... like you bought out the
dictionary store and decided that dictionaries are snowballs!

Livestock: What?

Gutch: I don't know!  I'm mad!

Livestock: But you do mean that you want to *BLEEP* on my back?

Gutch: Yeah?  Maybe.  I dunno.

Livestock: So tell me the story about the cane.

Gutch: What is there to tell?  It's titanium carbide with a healthy
dose of aluminum.  If you made a jet plane out of it it wouldn't fall
apart.

Livestock: Why do you need it, Gutch?

Gutch: What do you care?

Livestock: I care.  Isn't that enough?

Gutch: No, not so much.

Livestock: What Zeke said was right.  You're over 400 pounds.  Hell,
even I'm off my BMI and I'm only 275 at the same height.

Gutch: Oh there it is again, BMI this and diet that.  I got hurt
tumblin' down a hill at 70 damned miles per hour, 'Stock, not standin'
still in a wrestlin' ring.

Livestock: The damage is done.  This isn't going to prove anything.

Gutch: It could.  It could prove that you need me more than I need
you.  It could prove that both me AND Mal were the strong links in our
teams.

Livestock: Mal?  Malus Practice M.D.?  Membership in the AARP?
Looking Medicare-slash-Medicaid in the eye trying not to blink Malus
Practice?

Gutch: What do you know?

Livestock: I know quite a bit about body mechanics, human anatomy and
physiology.  Mal is an exceptional pentaguanarian athlete, Gutch, but
let's face facts; both him _and_ you could have a heart attack or
aggravate your existing injuries if you get in the ring with two real
world-class athletes at Endgame.

Gutch: Uh-huh, yeah, we'll see about that, cheerleader.

Livestock: Now, now now.

Gutch: Zeke's ass-bitch!

Livestock: WHOA!

Gutch: Oh no, not this time.  No reasonin' with me when I know I'm
right just 'cause you can talk circles around people.  I'm gonna drop
you on your overinflated head, sit on you, make you stink out loud so
people can tell on sight that you're rotten to the core.  See you on
the other side, 'Stock ... if you even make it there.

[Standing stunned, Livestock can only look on as Gutch hobbles off,
his cane clicking on the concrete.  As he watches his expression
darkens until it's nothing but a twisted mask of grief and hatred.
Fade to black.]

****************************************
****************************************
Matthew Lee Holliday #1
****************************************
****************************************

MLH: This ain't whut ah came back fer.

[The opening line more or less says it all, as Matthew Lee Holliday
sits on a locker room bench.  He is polishing his black-and-gold
wrestling boots; the one piece of ring attire he hasn't changed since
his image was forcibly retooled.  Doc's bitterly mumbling to himself
in a decidedly unhappy tone.]

MLH: This ain't about a title.  Ain't about a referee.  Ain't about
Gibson Hayes.  Alla these thangs floated in, confused th' picture.
Mebbe ah oughta stab Hayes inna alley, make sure Whitecross' plane
don't leave London, an' hire out any lowdown muscle who'll take cash
ta stand by th' entrance an' let nobody in or out.  Ah should.  Ah
really should.

[Pause while he develops his plan a bit more.]

MLH: Ah could git Shanna ta do it.  Hayes'd let her close enough, he
ain't as swift as he thinks.  She'd stab him inna heartbeat, cut a
tendon, make sure he cain't wrassle fer a month'r three.  She's done
it before.  Ah should call her.  Ah really should.

Make one call ta Drake, he'd git thet plane delayed.  Prob'ly call in
a bomb threat, slip a shiv on somebody goin' in... thet'd gum up
ever'thang.  So easy ta do thet nowadays, hell, ah wish it was thet
easy back in th' day.  Practically hadda use a real bomb back then.
Now, we could git Whitecross stuck fer long enough.  Git some referee
whut ain't got th' spine ta stop me.  Ah should call 'im.  Ah really
should.

Merc's busy, but ah kin get a fleet o' guys down from Vegas.  Times is
hard up thet way, casinos been layin' off.  Real easy ta pull in some
muscle.  Could even git some guys whut don't like Scapelli, so
they'd have a grudge ag'inst Judd... who made up with Rick.  It'd work
perfect.  Could git thet arena floor locked down in thirty seconds.
Ah should make th' call.  Ah really should.

[Doc stops polishing his boot, and goes for his cell phone.  The
answer to all of his problems is in the palm of his hand.  He stares
at it.]

MLH: Ah used ta do this alla time.

[And stares at it.  And can't bring himself to push a button.]

MLH: ...whut happened ta me?

[He turns his head to look in the mirror.  The mirror is bolted to the
back of the wide, open-faced locker.]

MLH: Didja really win in th' end, Jason?

[Holliday shoves his cellphone back in his pocket, and wordlessly
starts shining his other boot.]

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

[Camera opens on AsH standing in his kitchen, leaning on the door of a
pantry. He's wearing a pair of boxer briefs and a myriad of bruises,
but little else. Give him a break, it's his house at 8 in the morning.
Anyways, as he leans his head into the pantry he sorts through various
boxes of cereal, pulling many out and sitting them on the counter. He
cups his chin in his hand and looks down at the boxes, seemingly
unable to decide. He looks towards the camera and back to the boxes]

AsH: Any suggestions? I can't decide. Like I've been mulling over
exactly the mood I'm in so I can start getting creative and just
kinda... can't pull it together.

Cameraman: Creative?

AsH: Sorry, channeling my inner writer.

Cameraman: Are we pursuing this line of thought?

AsH: Um... no, not really. By the way, let me know when we're gonna
start filming. I know you've been following me around for 3 days now,
but I just stopped caring about it. SHOULD you decide to start
filming, I'll go throw on at least a pair of jeans.

Cameraman: Uh...

AsH: You started already, didn't you?

Cameraman: ...

AsH: ...

Cameraman: I suggest Trix.

[AsH picks up the Trix box and walks over to the sink. He turns on the
garbage disposal and stuffs the box into it, sending bright bits of
cornmeal and cardboard everywhere. He looks back to the cameraman and
sneers]

AsH: Still can't decide...

[AsH turns and walks across the kitchen to a cabinet, removing a bowl,
then opens a drawer and grabs a spoon. As he turns around, Tony the
Tiger, Lucky the Leprechaun, Toucan Sam, Count Chocula, and a BADLY
injured Trix Rabbit are sitting at the table in the center of his
kitchen. AsH stops in his tracks and looks at each one, stopping
especially long at Rabbit who's missing an ear, has lacerations all
over his face and body and is missing an eye. He's actually not so
much sitting on the chair as he's just leaning against it holding his
insides in, but remarkably well composed for such horrendous injuries]

AsH: Uh... Cameraguy, you getting this?

Cameraman: Yup. Buncha cereal mascots.

AsH: So I'm not hallucinating?

Cameraman: Oh, you're hallucinating bad. When I take my eye away from
the lens I see nothing.

AsH: What? What's the rating on that camera?

Cameraman: Umm... I think 1080p HD plus.

AsH: Plus what? Psyche view? Super ego, Ego and id Distinguishable?

Cameraman: The farther we go down this hole, the more likely
viewers---

AsH: Readers.

Cameraman: What?

AsH: Continue...

Cameraman: Right, the more likely viewers are to tune out. So I
suggest going with this hallucination.

[AsH walks to the table and takes the empty seat with all of the
characters looking at them with their cartoony smiles etched on their
faces. Except the rabbit. Not much smiling from any being who
technically went through a garbage disposal. Nothing fun about that]

AsH: *grumbling* A company with enough money to buy cameras into my
own damaged brain won't spot me an MRI. Nice...

Tony: THEY'RRRRRRRRRRE GREAT!

[AsH looks up at him and then around the the table]

AsH: ...k...

Lucky: *BUUUUUUUURP*

[Lucky looks a bit wobbly and actually rocks back and forth on the
chair, nearly falling off before regaining his balance]

AsH: I SO needed to have a better IRA. Even _I_ think I have severe
brain trauma now.

Count Chocula: Relax, we're here to help you.

AsH: Help me how? Am I planning on giving an entire generation of kids
early onset diabetes?

Tony: THEY'RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRE GREAT!

[AsH shakes his head again and looks back to the count]

Count: No, I mean we're here to help you verbalize what you want to
get out, your wants and fears on your upcoming and possibly career
altering match, and allowing you to do that in you current frame of
mind.

AsH: Insanity?

Count: Humor.

AsH: Gonna go ahead and call that a fine hair to split.

Count: Anyways...

Lucky: *BUUUUUUUURP*

AsH: What is with that?

Lucky: FROM DAY ONE, I BEEN A DISGUSTING, OBNOXIOUS STEREOTYPE FELLA!
Might as well enjoy what wee bits I can...

Rabbit: Shut UP you Alcoholic Ginger Midget!

Lucky: Screw you, ya friggin' failure! Least I ATE me cereal.

Rabbit: YOU SON OF A B*TCH!

AsH: What the hell is going on?

Tony: THEY'RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRE GREAT!

AsH: And WHAT is with that?!

Toucan: Ignore him. So many long years of sugar and sports have left
his brain so badly damaged that he only has the last phrase these
days.

[AsH shakes his head and looks down at his empty bowl. He pushes it
away and leans back, looking up to the ceiling]

AsH: Honestly, I know that this match is pretty much a lost cause.
I've got a bigger bullseye on my back than normal after outlasting
everyone but Nevermind. Hell, I even beat 6 of the Called Shooters.
(Go with it) So rather than going in as the Dark Horse, just as I
thought I would... I'm going in with the most attention on ME right
now. And for a man skirting retirement BEFORE he joined the fed and
who's best days were spent as king of the garbage heap... what can I
say? I certainly wouldn't be betting money on me at this point.

Toucan: Cop Out.

Count: Deflection.

AsH: What?

Toucan: You're making excuses before you lose.

Count: And trying to downplay your own abilities so people don't get
all over you for losing a match you SHOULD win.

AsH: Wait...

Rabbit: YOU wait! You've got the most experience in this match. Not
even the Biz comes close, despite playing that as his only real card.
He's a walking a joke... more than Tony over there, and he knows it.
So he's been ducking matches and stepping in and out and claiming it's
because as a veteran he wants to take only BIG matches.

Toucan: When the truth is he HAS to rest for the big matches, because
he can't win them going at the pace you all do.

Leprechaun: And he probably won't anyway.

AsH: And Cain and Dos? Black and Ryder? Copeland?

Toucan: Phenomenal Athletes, every one.

Count: But so are you, even at this broken down level you claim to be
at. The truth is that even with that knee hanging on by a threat, 90
degrees of your right shoulder's movement being lost and your head
battered like a woman in Alabama... you're still a Blue Chip prospect.
Five Stars.

AsH: The true show stopper... the LIVING Ratings Hike...

Leprachaun: The Icon.

Count: The Icon.

Rabbit: The Icon

Toucan: The ICON. Start acting like it, Jim. Otherwise you're just
wasting YOUR time and all of the fans' time. You're wasting the
company's time and you're wasting time you could be SPENDING with your
WIFE and SON!

[AsH gets a look of realization, followed by one of confidence on his
face]

AsH: You know what? You cartoon characters sure do have good insight.

Count: It just means you do, we're just here to help get it out there.

AsH: Now that you mention it... I LIKE my chances in this match.

Tony: THEY'RRRRRRRRE GREAT!

[AsH nods a little and cracks his neck]

AsH: They sure are, Tony. They sure are.

[The camera fades out]

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

(Scene opens. We're in the parking lot outside of the Veteran's
Memorial Coliseum in Phoenix. We can tell that because that is what's
stenciled on the side of the dumpsters. A rat sneaks it's nose out
from under one of the red bins, sniffs around and makes a dash out
into the open. But before it can go very far, a loud bang is heard,
and the rat disappears into a spray of red mist. This causes more rats
to pour out from their feeding grounds, which is then followed by
three more consecutive bangs, and three more red splatters. The camera
pans around the parking lot, and lo and behold, we see the Mercenary
seated on the hood of his Hummer, changing out the clip of his Rueger
pistol. The camera moves in closer, carefully of course, and when Merc
sees the cameraman approaching, he slams the new clip home, and places
the gun down beside himself.)

Merc: Since you're here, you may as well come on in closer. I'm not
going to hurt you.

CM: You're sure about that?

Merc: Of course, I'm sure of it, you tool. First off, it wouldn't be
prudent of me to shoot you while you have a running camera now, could
it? Secondly, the gun is sitting right here beside me, safety on. No
chance of it going of by itself...

(The camera zooms in on the gun, and we see that Merc's pet weasel is
sniffing around the weapon, its snout coming close to the trigger)

CM: Looks like it might be getting a bit of help...

(Merc looks over and grabs the rodent by the scruff and lifts it away
from the gun)

Merc: Uh..uh...uh... That's not for you. Besides, you know what
happened last time you got too close to a gun. That poor guy will
never be able to have kids... or at least make them.

CM: That's supposed to make me feel safer?

Merc: You? Hell no. I just don't want to have to put the weasel into
hiding again.

CM: ....

Merc: Fine, if it'll make you feel any better... Sic 'em...

(A shriek is heard and the camera shakes as the cameraman flinches,
and the weasel comes flying towards the lens. But instead of going
after the operator, the weasel goes flying by in a ball of fur,
chasing after yet another rat that made the mistake of coming into the
open. Within seconds, the rodent on rodent battle is over, Merc's
weasel victorious, the tail of his opponent dripping blood from his
jaws.)

Merc: Well, this couldn't have worked out any better if I had planned
it. I needed to make a statement for the upcoming final battle with
Chance McKenzie, and what just happened here said it better than I
could in words. But, I guess I should spell it out anyways and clear
up an error that I made in judging Chance. I originally accused him of
being a weasel, but as you've just seen here, a weasel is just too
vicious, and I think I may have insulted all weasels out there by
making that comparison. For that I apologize profusely. McKenzie is no
more than a dirty rat... and we all know that rats need to be
exterminated. And End Game, that is what will come to be, McKenzie.
You will be exterminated. There are many ways to do that, and you've
seen just a couple possibilities here today. Now, these methods are
probably a little more savage than what will be allowed in the ring,
but let me promise you this Chance... You're going to wish that all I
did to you was shoot you or rip you limb from limb.

And then when he's out of the way, that's just going to leave you and
me, Jessica. Well, you, me and my employer...I know we've been going
in circles for quite a while now, but End Game will not be the end...
Oh no... This is just the beginning...

(Fade to red snow)

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

[Chris Hartt walks into a dimly lit training room. Several shadows
stand just out of sight behind Hartt.]

Hartt:  Now is the time we'll all find out who will be PVW's 2011 Mr.
Called Shot. So much emphasis has been riding on holding this
position. We all want to be like Rick Marley and use it to catapult
ourselves to holding the PVW title. But, is everyone involved really
ready for it? There's so many choices and possibilities for the
outcome of the match, but al of you watching need to know what you're
possibly asking for with each contestant.

[The lights come up and behind Hartt are 6 life size cardboard stand-
ups of the other competitors in the Called Shot match.  Hartt walks up
to the first picture.]

Hartt: Here we have the great and powerful Johnny Detson. He'd make a
great champion. Just ask him. He'll tell you. If you ever believed
that the fix was in, root for Detson. He'll change every rule until
he's the only one who can do anything in a match and will always win.
Great championship material.

[Hartt grabs the stand-up and tosses it aside with no concern.]

Hartt:  Next, we have Larry Gionet.  What you see is what you get with
Larry. Dull, boring, lame. Can't wrestle with a decision, let alone
another wrestler.  But don't worry about any of that.  As soon as your
back is turned, the knife Larry will plunge into you will make
everything else irrelevant.

[Hartt tears the head off of "Larry".]

Hartt:  Next, we have Dan Flores. [Hartt taps the stand-up over from
behind to land face first on the floor.] Dan is the champion that
could rock the crowd.....gently to sleep.  No complaints from anyone
about his wrestling style.  What can you say when you don't remember
any of it?

Then we come to Danny Daniels. "Your Hero". Sorry, pal. You're Zero.
Bring it if you got it, but I'm betting you can't afford to own it.

[Hartt legsweeps the stand-up out of his way.]

Hartt:  Then we come to one of my favorites, Nevermind.  His name says
it all.  Nevermind about this guy.  He pulled off a victory when it
didn't count and will probably get the announcement of it  tattooed on
his neck 'cuz he's hardcore!

[Hartt back elbows the stand-up with a sneer to his face.]

Hartt: Then we come to Caleb Foley.  Sure, I still call Caleb a
friend, even if his decision to take advice from Spectre is about as
foolish as voting for Bachmann/Palin in 2012. I'd worry about Caleb,
myself.  He's dedicated and focused and would really put up a strong
fight. The only problem is, Caleb has a problem following through in
the end. Her always gets so close but never gets the cigar. But you
never know.  This could be Caleb's time.

Now, don't let all of this make you think that only I am gonna walk
away from this match as the winner. It's up to me to show that. It's
up to me to make sure that's what happens.  It's up to me to put up or
shut up.  And unlike a lot of these other guys, I do exactly that.  I
back it up, bring it out and never do less than the best I possibly
can.

I don't doubt I could lose this match. It happens. Usually through the
devious actions of someone else in this match. I've made promise after
promise of what kind of performer I am and what kind of champion I
would be.  That's no different now than it was then. There's nothing
that will stop me from reaching that goal.

Once again, and this time for real, I'm walking into this free-for-all
and determined to be the one winner.  I will be Mr. Called Shot, so
help me God!

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

[Fade in:

The scene opens in Los Angeles, California.  At the intersection of
Hollywood and Highland, Pizzazz Elysee is posed against the backdrop
of Hollywood's most famous symbol.  The sign on the hills.  The
glamorous model turned wrestler turned valet draws a crowd as she
strikes another pose.  She takes a drag on that long slim cigarette in
its holder.  Her dark black luxurious hair falls over one eye like an
impossibly long version of Veronica Lake.  The sky is an inky indigo
behind her.  Soon Derek Rage joins her in the shots.  He is shirtless,
his body oiled. His hair and face are manicured and glisten as the
couple poses together for shots.  He flexes and smirks.  He strikes
quizzical poses, arrogant poses, dominating poses.  Finally the photo
shoot comes to an end.  The PVW cameras catch the photographers
striking the set and they catch Shadoe Rage looking on, clearly
disturbed by the whole process.]

SR: All these photographs for what?  Promos?  Publicity?  Yeah, we get
the joke.  Hollywood by Night so they want us to shoot in Hollywood.
Ha ha.

[Derek is busy wiping himself off.  His eyebrow quirks towards his
brother.]

DR: Are you upset because PVW Magazine wanted to do a feature on me
and Pizzazz?

SR: I don't care about that.  I don't care about that at all.  I care
that End Game is coming up and we're not even on the pay-per-view.
PVW likes to call us the gatekeepers and we're jerking the goddamn
curtains on free TV.  That means either they don't value their tag-
team division or they know that the Prophets of Rage aren't what we
used to be.

P: Nous sommes pas qu'est ce qu'on etait?  Vous dites quoi, Shadoe?

SR: We aren't the same.  Want to call us gatekeepers?  We broke Los
Corazones and still we don't invited to the big show?  It's just warm
up the crowd on free TV?

DR: (frowning) It's not like it used to be.

SR: No, it's not because we're not what we used to be.  You still feel
that fire?

DR: Yeah.

SR: (snarling) Liar!

DR: What do you mean, liar?

SR: You're out here taking pretty pictures and doing interviews.
That's what I mean.  You've gone Hollywood yourself, man.  We've got
to get back to basics.  We've got to get back to grime.

DR: This from the guy in the fuchsia shirts?

SR: Yeah, pink is just a colour.  It's not an attitude, man.  You and
Pizzazz are content to just let things come because you know we can
live off our name.  Every week it's the same in and the same out and
you've just got it on cruise control, man.  You've found a formula,
but it isn't working.  We're not digging deep enough.  We've been
losing too much and that has to mean that we don't care.

DR: You've been on this spiel for a while, but have you been working
on your wrestling game?  How long have you been in this business and
you still get flustered by a hammerlock.

[Shadoe pushes up into his brother's chest.]

SR: Real funny.  Real real funny.

DR: I'm tired of you telling me I don't want to win.  I want to win.

SR: Well, prove it!  Stop try to be the world's slickest wrestler and
beat people up again.  Let's turn back the clock and forget the
flamboyance.

DR; Forget the image?

[Shadoe looks pointedly at Pizzazz.]

SR: Every thing that glitters isn't gold.

DR: Watch yourself now.

P: Maudit bete.

SR: (waving his hand) Yeah yeah.  I may be a bastard, but I have the
future of the team in mind.  No more Hollywood.  Just Halifax.  Rough,
tumble and back to basics.  That's the best way for us to get it done.

[Derek chews his lip.]

DR: You're getting carried away.  We'll send a message when we
dismantle Hollywood by Night at End Game just like we did Los
Corazones.  Your problem is you don't look at the big picture.  You
react to every little thing.  Yeah, we haven't been in a great groove,
but we're still the standard bearers.  This life?  Have we got a
little extravagant, a little complacent?  Yeah, we have.  But that's
because we've earned it. And we've maintained consistency throughout
it.

SR: Consistently not been the PVW World champions.  That's what we
are.

DR: You want the World Titles?

SR: More than anything in the world.

DR: (nodding) Then stop moaning about where we are on the card and
let's get this done.

P: D'accord.

SR: You always agree with him.

P: Trou de cul.

SR: Keep it up.

[Derek put a hand on Shadoe's shoulder.]

DR: Save it for Hollywood by Night.

[Fade out]

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

[The screen opens to a recording studio. Two men are sitting at the
sound board and looking very irritated. They are tweaking buttons and
levels on the mixing board in front of them and one of them seems to
have had enough.]

Tech 1:  This should have been done hours ago.

Tech 2:  Maybe so, but if the guy won't actually read the script like
he is supposed to, then we can't get it finished on time.

Tech 1:  Are we sure he can read?

Tech 2:  Oh I think he can read, he is just refusing to read out loud
what is written.

Tech 1:  Hopefully this take will be the one that works. I got tickets
to go see Thor waiting on me.

Tech 2:  Oh yeah, take number 73. Why should it not be the one?

[One of the Techs flips a switch that allows them to speak to whomever
is in the booth.]

Tech 1:  Alright, let's try that again, but this time just read what
the script says, OK?

[No response, but the background music fires up and we hear a voice
come over in front of the music.]

Voice:  I'm ready for my biggest challenge and hope to shock the
worl....

[The Techs both look utterly aghast that he just stopped reading the
text. The camera finally swivels to look inside the booth and sees
"Showstopper" Tyson Cain standing inside with headphones over his
ears. The arrogant, angry, condescending look that is on his face is
worth a million words to be sure.]

Cain:  I'm not reading this!

Tech 1:  Why not?

Cain:  It's garbage!

(starts using a sarcastically mocking voice)  I'm ready for my biggest
challenge to shock the world and get my TV Title opportunity....and oh
yeah, I'm a freaking joke for reading this piece of trash.

[Tech 1 throws his hands into the air.]

Tech 2:  Ty, listen....you need to read what is written there to fit
the promo they are wanting to have up for the pre-match hype all over
the area radio stations.

Cain:  I don't care if they want it to play at Disneyland, I'm not
going to read something that makes me sound like I'm just happy to be
involved in this match. And another thing...

[The tech flips the switch and Cain doesn't know he has been muted..he
is just railing away inside the sound booth as if cutting the promo of
his life....just imagine what he can do in there and yet...we miss
out. Damn Techs and their switch-flipping ways! Tech 1 seems to have
an idea.]

Tech 1:  You know, if we just recorded him going off like this...it is
either going to be a great improve addition for the promo...or it is
going to ensure they NEVER send him down here to tape one of these
again.

Tech 2:  Hell yeah!  Either way, we win.

Tech 1:  Exactly.

Tech 2:  Let's light one on this ass hole already.

[Tech 1 reaches down and flips the switch, Cain is immediately heard.]

Cain:  ...and he trained me to be the best no matter what. Not because
of how great he was, but because of the pure skill he saw in me. I was
one of the few he felt could be his equal. That tells me..

Tech 2:  Excuse me, Ty...

Cain:  What?

Tech 2:  We are going to set up for the next segment...give us a
second, OK?

Cain:  Whatever.

[Tech 2 smiles and leaves the eye line of Cain from the booth so he
can listen to what gets said. Tech 1 jumps in.]

Tech 1:  So you are really not happy with just being in a scramble
match like this?

Cain:  Are you kidding me?

Tech 1:  Not at all.  I'm just curious as to why such a great chance
like this is something you don't care about.

Cain:  I care about it plenty, but the fact is that I ought to be TV
Champion already. I had Sinister beaten in the middle of the ring. It
was over. They couldn't just let good enough alone and let this man
take his rightful place among the PVW elites. They are afraid of a guy
like me because I don't take any crap from people. I don't line up to
make the crowd get giddy. I just go out there and do what I do...and
do it better than anybody else. Sinister couldn't hack it against me.
He was finished.

He knows it and I know it.

Tech 1: So why aren't you in a TV Title match instead of the scramble
then?

Cain:  Because others didn't know it or just wanted to prevent me
getting hold of the belt. They are all cowards...every single damn one
of them. They knew the title was getting ready to rest on a man who
wouldn't ever lose it. Who could and would achieve the same kinds of
success Gibson Hayes did so long ago as a double champ. I'm that kind
of man. I'm better than all of them.

And they know it.

AsH is a coward. He is nothing but a cast-away from another time and
place thinking he is still relevant in the era we now wrestle in. He
still calls himself a cruiserweight icon, yet nobody has used the term
cruiserweight in wrestling for a decade! He is out of touch and not
protected like he was back then.

Tech 1:  Protected?

Cain:  Oh yeah!  I have heard the stories of him and the guy who owned
the place jet skiing together and going on trips with their families.
They were tight, which explains why AsH was so successful there, but
then look at what happened after he left there...nothing. He's almost
like a rookie again. How the hell can you brag about being an icon in
any form and be in the early card this far into your career.

I think it is sad and I plan on ending his pathetic career at this
event. You can bet on that.

[Tech 2 walks back with a smile on his face.]

Tech 2:  OK Ty, we have the next segment ready. This is where you make
predictions about the on-air matches at the event and not your match
or anything.

Tech 1:  Well he isn't even on the main show, can he take part in that
promo?

Tech 2:  Sure.  S tell us who you think will win the main matches and
why.

[Cain looks almost angry now.]

Cain:  You think this is funny?  I'll show you funny.

[Cain rips the headphones off and storms out of the booth, slamming
the door open with a smack. He walks right over to the Techs and
stares them down. They are in a much different mood now as Cain has
them half flinching with every movement.]

Cain:  You think it is funny to mock somebody?

[crickets...]

Cain:  I'M TALKING TO YOU!

[Let's face it...Cain isn't going to scare somebody so much they pee
their pants....that is more for Craven or maybe even if people see
Perry Fontana naked. But you can get that they really don't want to
say a word when he is jacked up like this.]

Cain:  You know why I am in this section of the show?  I'm a rookie!

That means I am just beginning in this industry and people are just
getting to know who I am.

It is not something I am upset about because I figured this is where I
should be right now. It is also where I WANT to be right now.

[A pause as he seems to take a little breath and calm down a bit.]

Cain:  I saw this as when I would be TV Champ already. Proving myself
to be the best talent on Television today and those other jokers came
out and screwed me out of it just to get some heat for themselves.
They can't generate it on their own despite all the years of
experience. They had to ruin my night and drag me back into their
level.

Biz has been around as long as AsH. Copeland has been around and so
has Ryder. Even the Mexican jumping bean has some history in the
little promotions down there and credibility with the Latinos around
the globe. These guys ought to be able to get heat on their own
without scooping mine and stealing away my title victory.

You two pencil-necked geek want a prediction?  I'll give you one...

[Tyson stares them down for a second.]

Cain:  I walk out of the pre-show with a victory and make whomever has
the TV Title wish they didn't have it anymore. I'm going to make the
kind of impact even long-time veterans wish they could make.

And it won't be the last time you see me either. Mark my words
boys....

you can't have an "End Game"...

[He flashes that cocky grin.]

Cain:  ...without a "Showstopper"

I'm on my way boys....and the show is about to close for all of you.
I'm done with this....

[Tyson walks away as the Techs both look happy to have not been
struck. The screen slowly fades out to black.]

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

[The camera fades in to... an empty locker room.  There's a ceiling
light illuminating the room, a couple of benches, a set of lockers, an
opened door to the hallway...

... the door moves, and from behind steps Danny "YOUR HERO" Daniels.
Danny's dressed differently than normal- camoflague jacket and pants,
an army hat, and camfoalgue paint on his face.  He's still wearing the
wraparound shades and the SUPREME Title is around his waist.  He spots
the camera and holds up one finger, then motions the camera to zoom
in.  He bgeins speaking in a harsh whisper.]

D"YH"D:  Greetings... and Salutations!  I'm Danny "YOUR HERO" Daniels,
a man so nice they named me twice!  And I'm hunting ninjas!

[Danny nods sagely]

D"YH"D:  Last week, the ninja sturck twice, costing both myself and
Dan Flores the battle royale with his lightning-cat reflexes and near
invisible abilities!  We were neither able to catch or fight off this
deadly assassin!

[A sigh]

D"YH"D:  I admit... things have been frustrating.  Both Flores and
myself are in the VPW Called Shot match.  While not quite as
prestigious as the SUPREME Title, it is nevertheless a feather in the
cap of anyone in wrestling.  But with the fear and knowledge of
constant ninja attacks, my mind has been occupied.  It's a well-known
fact that your mind cannot focus properly when under a barrage from a
ninja master, and yet that's the situation we find ourselves in.   And
in my efforts to find the ninja, I may have sacrifced my chances for
the Called Shot.

[A sad shake of the head.]

D"YH"D:  Fortunately, my partner-in-crime and fellow Dan, Dan Flores,
came up with a BRILLIANT suggestion.  Instead of hunting the ninja,
why not have the ninja come to us?  I've baited a snare trap in the
room down the hallway with a mannequin of myself.  Any moment now, the
ninja will attempt to attack me, and the snare trap will be activated.
At that point, (Danny cracks his knuckles), he'll be unable to escape
my wrath, and...

[At that moment, there is a click, a WHOOSH, and the sudden cries of
'WHAT!?'  Danny breaks out into a grin.]

D"YH"D:  The NINJA!  I've got him!

[Danny rushes out the room.  A few seconds later, there is the sounds
of pummeling, of punches, of a man yelling in agony, of curse words.
Danny voice can be heard "I'VE GOT YOU NOW!".  After a few seconds,
there is the sound of a door slamming open and a fire alarm going off.
A few more seconds, and Danny runs back in, grinning.]

D"YH"D:  He's run!  The ninja has fled from my judicious attack!  It's
a well-known fact that once a ninja has ran away from a fight, they
must commit sudoku and kill themselves, and I fully expect this ninja
to do that same.

[A wider grin]

D"YH"D:  Thanks to the mind of Dan Flores and the will of Danny "YOUR
HERO" Daniels- a man so nice they named his twice- I am pleased to
announce the VPW is now and forevermore NINJA-FREE!

[Danny raises both arms in the air and laughs as he rushes out of the
room.  The camera starts to follow...

... and runs into the Two men and two women that make up the Yuppie
Greek Chorus, standing behind a giant roll of paper that reads
"Phoenix Valley Wrestling- Ninja-Free since 2011"  They are sipping
Chardonnay and begin singing (to the tune of Paul McCartney's "Band of
the Run")


Greek Yuppie Chorus:

Well, the fed exploded with a mighty crash as we fell into the sun
And the first Dan said to the second Dan there I hope you're having
fun. Dan's on the run, Dan's on the run. And the ninja man had fought
and lost and fleeing every one

From the Dan on the run, Dan on the run, Dan on the run, Dan on the
run

Well, the ninja is gone and the Called Shot show has come,
And a bell was ringing because "Your Hero's" fought and he's beaten
everyone. Dan on the run, Dan on the run. And the ninja man had fought
and lost and fleeing every one

From the Dan on the run, Dan on the run, Dan on the run, Dan on the
run

[Fade out]

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

[The scene fades in from black to reveal Corazón Blanco standing
before the PVW banner. Blanco is wearing his white mask, a pair of
blue jeans and white ASLL Los Corazones t-shirt. To his right stands
Corazón Rojo, who is attired in a pair of blue jeans a plain black t-
shirt and his red mask. Emylee Marie Bermudez paces slowly in front of
them, after a few moments she pauses and is attired in a pair of tight
black jeans and a low cut baby blue top. Her normal smile is replaced
by a look of disappointment.]

CB: Fin del Juego ...

EMBC: End Game Blanco ... End Game.

CB: Emylee, I no longer care to make it easy for the idiotas to
understand me.

EMBC: That maybe Blanco but I figure we should at least call the PVW's
End Game event by it's correct name ...

[Blanco exhales deeply in annoyance as Emylee twists her long red hair
around her index finger.]

CB: Fine Emylee, fine. End Game is aptly named ... well for Los
Renagados it is. For End Game is the final time Los Renegados will
step into the ring with Rojo and myself.

[Rojo places his hand on Blanco's shoulder and cuts off his partner as
he begins to speak.]

CR: And they will finally pay for what they did! They will feel the
wrath ...

[Emylee suddenly cuts off Rojo by speaking.]

EMBC: Rojo ... Blanco ... you need to focus. This vendetta needs to
brought under control. You've been so obsessed with Los Renegados that
you have not looked like campeones. Usted ha sido una desgracia ...

[Emylee pauses as both Blanco and Rojo stare at her, their masks
hiding their expressions.]

CR: Emylee!

EMBC: I'm sorry Rojo, but it's true. Your obsession has tarnished your
legacy ... it has made you no better than Milagro Expresar ...

CB: Emylee!

[Emylee stares at both Blanco and Rojo, disappointment is in her
eyes.]

EMBC: Think about it niños. Since Los Renegados struck me all you have
done is obsessed about them. Promising that they shall pay for their
actions and all the while you have dropped match after match here in
Arizona. You have not looked like the campeones we know you _are_!

[Blanco and Rojo nod their heads slowly.]

CB: But at End Game we have the chance to finally end it.

EMBC: Then end it Blanco. End it Rojo and show the PVW what campeones
truly are.

[Emylee just stares at Los Corazones as the camera slowly fades to
black.]

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

[The scene fades in to a very familiar room that is adorned with
various pieces of art, furniture and electronics. We immediately
recognize this as the room where Sinister enjoys watching various
sports on a large, high-end television with an equally high-end
surround sound system. True to form we see the large Chicago native
resting comfortably upon a large black leather couch, a mahogany wood
coffee table within reach and sitting atop said table is his customary
large glass of cranberry juice as well as various snack foods, both
healthy and not-so healthy.  He dons a white Chicago Bulls jersey with
the number "1" upon it, Derrick Rose's jersey and a pair of black-and-
red Bulls shorts.

The game upon the screen is the first game between the Miami Heat and
Chicago Bulls.  Currently the game is in the beginning of the fourth
quarter and Chicago is leading. One would expect Sinister to be
elated, and obviously the big man is pleased, but something is amiss
nonetheless. As the camera positions itself to focus on Sinister's
face we immediately see an even larger knot on the top of his head,
courtesy of steel chair strikes from Christopher Black. Sinister
barely glances at the camera, tilts his head slightly upward to
acknowledge its presence, takes a large drink of the cranberry juice
and upon sitting the glass down, cracks his neck loudly before
speaking]

"Good evening ladies and gents, as you can see the Bulls are showing
the Heat that this is not going to be an easy series whatsoever.
Despite having the best record in the NBA, Chicago is considered the
underdog even though they have home court advantage. That makes very
little sense to me but then again, what do I know?  I have only
watched basketball for many years [chuckles once]. Regardless, the
Bulls are imposing their will on the Heat and the 'Big 3' don't seem
to know how to handle that.  I don't mind of course so hey, it's all
good."

[He reaches his left hand into a big bowl of cashews, grabs a handful,
and places them into his mouth, taking a few moments to chew them
before continuing]

"Enough about hoop for now as there is other business to address [he
crosses his arms across his chest and his face is a picture of sheer
annoyance]. Christopher Black, time and time again you interject
yourself into business that doesn't pertain to you...primarily MY
business! [The anger building is very apparent as his nostrils flare]
You insist on ruining battles that I have forged through blood, sweat,
pain and sacrifice, and I have had enough of it! Who the hell do you
think you are to interfere in a battle between Craven and I!? Rob Cole
coming out for a...closer look, if you will...is one thing, but you!?
You're nowhere near on Cole's level so what right do you THINK you
have to interfere...AGAIN...in one of my battles!?"

[He uncrosses his arms and takes a very deep breath, holding it in his
lungs for a few moments before releasing the air slowly.  He then
reaches over to a large cardboard box, opens it and pulls out a few
large slices of Chicago-style pizza – of course – and eats them
quickly, following up with another large drink of cranberry juice. He
cracks his knuckles loudly and continues]

"Now Black, I have told you the game you're playing can have very dire
consequences but you seem to not believe me.  It seems it's my
responsibility to help you understand just how serious about that I
am. Thus, I may very well do so but again, that's my business [he
smiles unexpectedly and winks, though this soon passes and his face is
a picture of focus] Craven, I must apologize for what occurred during
our battle.  I'm not referring to the attack upon your eye because I
don't regret that.  Anyone with any sense would have done the same.
Besides, when it comes to you there are no rules and you know that. By
the way I don't want you to think I'll forget about the two bloody
snot-rockets you shot onto my back.  Classy, real classy. That's all
right, all in due time Craven. You're not the main focus though."

[He reaches into a large bowl of almonds and chews on a handful of
them before reaching into a large bag of Salt & Vinegar chips and
chewing down a handful of those as well.  He wipes his hands on a
paper towel, as well as his mouth, then sets the towel down and
continues]

"Needless to say I'll be watching the Network Title contender match
very closely, just as I'm watching this game...OH! Luol Deng is
putting
on a clinic! [Clears his throat] Sorry, where was I?  Oh yes, I have
to play the waiting game to see who my next opponent is for the
Network title and that will require me to be very adaptive.  I already
know everyone in that match believes they deserve a shot so it will be
a great match. One last thing before I go.  Gentlemen in that match,
do understand that be you friend or foe, when you face me for the
title, you will be in for one hell of a fight! Until then, may the
best man win."

[Picture fades as Sinister turns his full attention to the basketball
game, pumping his right fist as Deng nails a three-pointer over a Heat
defender]

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

(Scene: The outside doors of a hospital, The doors open and a male
nurse in green scrubs pushing a wheelchair with a man in it pass
through these doors. The man is HvD and he is dressed in his normal
street-clothes. He sees the camera and walks over towards it)

Off camera voice: Mister Donkerhardt, what do you have to say
regarding the beating you took after the match, and will you still be
wrestling Marcus Manson, in light of your new injuries?

HvD looks at the person off camera, his face not changing expression,
and then looks directly into the camera.

HvD: What I have to say is this.  Are you watching Manson? I hope you
are.  Do you look at me and take pride in your work? Perhaps you are
congratulating yourself on all but winning the PVW American Title.
With the antics of both you and your tag team partners you have all
but secured the title for yourself.  Others are probably thinking
this, and i would be thinking that you have all but won the title.
That's right, I would not give myself a shot, if i didn't know myself,
and if didn't know exactly how powerful the but in that all but won
truly is.

HvD: My doctors are saying to sit this match out and forfeit the
title. They say my career and my very life are at risk. What they
don't understand is the title means nothing and my career means
nothing if l let any kind of bully, even one the likes of Marcus
Manson, force me into doing anything that is not in my character.
Wrestling is my life, and I have no problems risking my life if it
means putting a bully like Manson in his place. IF i get crippled and
die in that ring, so be it. It wouldn't be my first brush with death.
I'd go out with the heart of a champion, something you Manson will
always lack no matter how many gold belts you wrap around your waist.

HvD: That being said, what i do will not be easy. I am not 100% and
i'm still hurting and Manson knows this, this is what he wanted after
all. Manson is not a person you should face when you are not on top of
your game. But Manson you have never played the game with me.

HvD: I recommend you all watch this match on pay per view. IF you
don't watch it, then let me give you a summary of what is going to
happen. I will get into the ring with Manson and we will fight. Manson
will give me a beating only the Misery Machine is capable of giving. I
will be be bruised, bloodied and battered. Manson will smile from what
he has done, knowing the championship is all but his. And then, I will
wipe that smile off his face, when after everything he has done, I
return the favor and beat his ass and win the match. I may not walk
out, i may limp or need assistance, but regardless of how i leave, I
WILL leave as The PVW American Champion.!

(fade to black)

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

[We fade in on the dark and dank familiar interior of a warehouse.
Fitting, in a way as this is where it all began.  Yet as asburd as
this run-down location is, the Bad Wolf himself Christopher Black
seems a perfect fit for it.  In a crouching position, the man from
Lancaster gazes at the camera, his angular face hard and tense.]

CB:  They're sayin' the Wolf's an opportunist.  A "lowly scavenger"...

[Black allows himself a faint smile.  As he raises his chin in pride,
the shot pans out.  On the dusty floor of the warehouse, we see all
the fruits of Jacob Rose's meticulous research callously crumpled-up
and tossed aside.]

CB:  ...too bleedin' right.  Ya know what a scavenger does, mate?  We
cull the weak an' the slow, the fat an' the stupid.  When the cowardly
flock is too brainless to do anythin' but bleat an' beat their heads
against each other, _that's_ when we strike!  That's survival o' the
fittest...

[A low throaty chuckle escapes the Wolf.]

CB:  The Bad Wolf's said it before, he'll say it again...ya ought to
be THANKIN' him for guttin' all your [BLEEP]!  All these simperin',
mewlin' gits ya got in this Scramble...you think that's gonna stop the
Wolf?!  All the Cains an' Ryders an' AsHoles an' Cloaks... Ya think
those are gonna quell his hunger?!

[He shakes his head wildly, teeth gritted in rage.]

CB:  No, no, no...it ain't gonna stop.  Not until the Wolf finishes
off what he started.  Not until he tears down the biggest bloated
coward o' them all!  SINISTER!  [Spittle now flies with each and every
word coming out of Black's twisted snarl.]  Ya call yourself a hero?!
You who bloody [BLEEP]in' HIDES every damn chance he can get?!  Ya
content to sit back an' pray that one o' the sheep squeaks through at
End Game instead o' facin' the Wolf for HIS gold?!

Pray harder.  "End Game"...that's right.  'Cause it's the end for you,
Sinister.  The Bad Wolf is bayin' at your door...

[Another low, merciless chuckle as we fade to black.]

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

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

Detson:  My fellow PVW-icans, history is just over the horizon.  We
have finally reached our goal, our destination, End Game.  End Game,
where the Road to Greatness tour finally winds down in complete and
total victory.  End Game, where I, your President and CEO, finally
obtains what is rightfully mine.  End Game, where I, your President
and CEO, gives one last Presidential Seal of Approval!

(Detson nods in agreement.)

Detson:  I think all of my constituents would agree that last week at
Heatwave was a complete success!  A complete success in that while I
did not obtain victory in the meaningless, but nevertheless popular,
battle royale.  A battle royale that I, Johnny Detson, President and
CEO, orchestrated for you, the little people.

(Detson gives a big thumbs up.)

Detson:  While I didn't win I did achieve the goals of being able to
outlast the thorn in my presidential reign.  I'm talking of course
about the anarchist, Caleb Foley.  Now what Mr. Foley lacks in skill
he makes up for with his lack of brains.  To hear him talk, he thinks
that we are equals.  Now as I, Johnny Detson, President and CEO, have
proven on unlimited occasions, this is simply not the case.  I beat
him using my superior technical skill, he failed the Johnny Detson
Challenge, and he failed to beat me two times in our two out of three
fails match.

(Detson flashes a cocky smirk.)

Detson:  But I will not let this thorn ruin my eventual triumphant
night.  No, as your President and CEO I am all about the positives of
this administration and not the negatives.  Caleb Foley, while
annoying, has no real shot of ever achieving my level of greatness.  I
have taken this once dead company and made it great.  I have been
performing at a rate of success he could only dream of.  And I have
used that success to fuel me to succeed more, where he has used any
success, however small, to set up his eventual failure.

(Detson chuckles slightly.)

Detson:   But as I stated, my administration is all about the
positives.  Positive number one, the World Title picture.  Yes, a
positive would be that the World Title picture is soon to include your
President and CEO, but I am not talking about that.  I am talking
about the fact that, after much debate with some of the greatest
wrestling minds ever assembled, mainly myself, I have decided that the
World Title match will be between Rick Marley, Gibson Hayes and
Matthew Holliday.

(Detson nods.)

Detson:  I feel that this match will be highly entertaining and give
you, the little people, what they want to see.  And I am all about the
entertainment... and profit... from you, the little people.

(Detson flashes his cocky smirk.)

Detson:  And even though I could use this grueling match that will
take place as an advantage after my eventual End Game win and cash in
my Called Shot right after I win it on a World Champion who would have
just gone through hell.  Well I can honestly say that, that thought
has not even crossed my mind!

(Detson's smirk gets a little bigger.)

Detson:  No, my main focus, as President and CEO, is about the
entertainment of all you fine marketable wallets out there that our
stimulated by our product enough to pour your checks into my bottom
line.  And definitely not what I may, or may not do, after the World
Title match... if I was so inclined.

(Detson shakes his head as if disgusted by the thought, though the
smirk never leaves his face.)

Detson:  Also, thanks to your President and CEO's cross-promotional
interview process during the Johnny Detson Challenge, I have also
helped secure wrestling legend, Gabriel Whitecross.  This man will
help keep the peace during the match and give the little people want
they want.  Just another little gesture to show all those little
people that the Johnny Detson administration cares about you!

(Detson faces his politician smile again.)

Detson:  I also want to commend the effort of one, young Danny Daniels
last week.  Last week he overcame the awe-inspiring nature that is
your President and CEO, to eliminate yours truly from the battle
royale.  I believe this kid has a shiny bright future after his
eventual defeat at End Game and wish him well on his quest to rid the
PVW of ninjas.  Johnny Detson, President and CEO, also shares in Mr.
Daniels desire to rid the PVW of ninjas and I have constantly taken
this stand.  Ninjas are a constant disturbance to the peace and
tranquility that the Johnny Detson administration is all about, so I
for one wish Mr. Daniels well.  I personally have suspected Caleb
Foley of ninja like behavior for quite some time, and hold not hold
Mr. Daniels responsible for any actions he deems necessary to root out
this evil!

(Detson give a strong nod.)

Detson:  And last but not least, we have the eventual Called Shot
Victory of your President and CEO, Johnny Detson, Face of the
Franchise and savior of the Phoenix Valley region as a whole!  My
trial and tribulations have been great, I will not lie, but that will
only make the eventual victory that much sweeter.  So I have the Road
to Greatness tour bus all gassed up, I have much victory speech all
planned out, the conference room is all booked for my victory party,
and I will be accept concessions speeches from all my adversaries,
especially Caleb Foley.

(Detson rubs his hands together greedily in anticipation.)

Detson:  I, Johnny Detson, your President and CEO, and all around nice
guy, will finally be able to ascend to my rightful place from which I
have been held down for so long.  The battles from obscurity in the
wrestling community and the overlooking will finally be over.  The
doubters will be proven wrong.  Everything I've strived for will be
there for the taking.  Validation...

(Detson trails off for a second but quickly recovers.)

Detson:  Just like the respect I've earned from all the wrestling
executives from my highly successfully run company, so too will I have
earned the respect of my wrestling peers as I take AND EARN these
final steps towards greatness.  Your President, your CEO, your Face of
the Franchise, your eventual World Champ, Johnny Detson!

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

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

["The Phenom" Tommy Ryder is busy going through an intensive workout
while "Lady" Laurel Levinger seems to be shouting encouragement? to
him.]

LL: Tommy you have to take this more seriously if you want to win the
Tubby Title.

TR: It doesn't help when you call it that.

LL: I'm not the one who keeps going after a title that isn't more
serious.  By the way, they renamed your match.  It's now Tommy Ryder
and everyone who beat him recently.  At least you got top billing...
for the opening match.

[The glare that Tommy gives Laurel doesn't slow her taunts in the
slightest.]

LL: Tommy, you're in a seven man, count them, seven, scramble.  You
are the only one that wasn't named on any sports cast has having a
good chance to win.  They forgot that you were in the match.  They
said it was a seven man match and only named six guys.

Honestly, it was one thing when you choked during the big matches.
It's fairly new that you're choking against guys with less experience
than you.

[Tommy has moved to a speed bag and has apparently forgotten the speed
part as he hits the bag harder and harder.]

LL: I'm just saying it's nice of you to put your career on the back
burning so that you can lay down for the new guys.

TR: Do you really think this is helping?

LL: You have no idea.  This is better than a counselor.

TR: I meant for me.

LL: Oh, well I think it's still helpful for you.  No one is pointing
this out and you don't seem to be noticing what you're doing.  I
understand the put on a show for the fans and the do the right thing
attitude, but maybe you could win every once in a while?  I mean for
me baby because you obviously don't care about winning for you.

I know that you were eliminated from the batte royale because of me,
and I'm sorry about that.  But you have to want to win.  You use to be
talked about and now they don't even put you in the highlight reels.

You NEED to win this match.  You have a reason to want to beat every
other guy in that match.  I don't mean the shot at a championship.  I
mean, get some payback for them beating you or what The BiZ did to me.

TR: Maybe your right.  But the only thing I want to tell any of them
is to let Sinister that I like the idea of closing the pre-show with a
match against him.

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

[Fade up to a hotel bar.  Bottles of various liquors are lined up
behind the long oak surface, and seated before us are "Swingin" Dean
Hayes and "Hellraiser" Tom Landis.  Landis is dressed in bluejeans and
a faded Chicago Blackhawks t-shirt, and sips away at a drink.]

DH: Hey fans, Dean Hayes here by request with Tom Landis the night
before PVW's End Game.  Tom, you asked me to meet you here to get your
thoughts less than twenty-four hours before you step into the ring
with your brother-in-law, Perry Fontana.  And unlike the last time, a
pinfall won't end the match.  You're in a towel match, which means
your fate isn't entirely in your hands.  How do you deal with that?

[Tom sets his drink down and puts a hand on the bar.]

TL: Dean, I'd be lying if I said anything other than it's keeping me
up at night.  Now don't get me wrong, Fontana doesn't scare me.  He
sickens me.  He's integrated himself into my family to a point that
we'll never really be rid of him.  And I hate that there's really
nothing I can do to fix it.  Or fix my family.

DH: You won the previous match against him at Tradition, but that
didn't seem to satisfy you or Perry.  Does the hatred really run so
deep that anything less than breaking his spirit or ending his career
is a failure?

TL: You've seen what he's done, Dean.  In the short amount of time
that Perry Fontana has been in the business he's broken bones, he's
destroyed careers, and he's played mind games from day one.  You go
ask Jack Keening how he feels about Fontana?  Go ask his own uncle.
He inspires complete and total loathing from me.

DH: But you defeated him once already, wasn't that enough?

TL: It could have been, but he wasn't satisfied in keeping our rivalry
between the two of us... That's when he pulled my baby sister into it.
Got her to set me up all so he could get the jump on me.  For that,
I'm going to make damn well sure he burns in hell.

[Tom takes a swig of his drink as Dean continues.]

DH: Well what are your feelings towards your sister now?  Clearly she
took part in the charade of her own free will, and tomorrow night
she'll be in her husband's corner as his towelperson.

TL: She's not getting a free ride, Dean.  For a long time I tried to
blame everyone except Emily.  I made excuses for her every step of the
way.  She's too young, doesn't know what she's doing.  She tries to
see the best in everyone.  Love is blind.  Maybe he really is a
different person away from the cameras.  And then it hit me.
Literally.

She's every bit as guilty in this situation as he is.

[Dean's jaw drops.]

DH: Now that's a reaction I didn't expect.  This whole time you've
been the consumate big brother, trying to be her protector.  Why the
sudden change?

TL: Because I've been down this road before, for starters.  Anyone who
knows my career and history knows about my other sister, Brianna, and
the troubles we've had for years.  Brianna and I haven't seen eye to
eye for far too long... and never once did I blame myself for her
estrangement. Bri needed to step out and assert her independence.  I
don't agree with her actions and I'll never really understand it, but
it was something she felt she needed to do and felt strongly about it.
At the very least, I can respect that.

Emily on the other hand, was manipulated and lied to by Perry.  Or at
least that's what I thought.  She's not the innocent lamb she appeared
to be, and by siding with that egotistical thug she's essentially
throwing away her family.  She knew exactly how to play me, by making
me think she'd been abused, she knew my temper would get the better of
me and would allow Fontana to take me out back in the locker room
because they both knew he couldn't get the job done in the ring.  It's
one of the lowest things I've ever seen in this business, and for her
to twist the knife like that is something I cannot forgive.

DH: Do you have any words for your sister?

TL: I do.  Call your mother.  No matter what you think of me at this
point or what happens tomorrow, don't take this vendetta out on her.
You might not feel like you owe me anything, but you owe her
everything.

DH: How about Perry himself?

TL: What more is there to say by now, for either of us?  He'll go on
and on about being a great husband, how family is everything to him
and how he's such a magnificent man.  How he'll be the man of the
family.   Then he'll probably spit a little bit as he's talking, call
himself Il Eterno and come as close as one can to blowing themself.
Afterall, he's given the same speech for about a year now, it's gotten
a little tiring.

[Tom shrugs.]

And what more can I say?  I've never hated a man with so blind a rage
as I hate him, and when all is said and done I'll make sure his bride
is forced to throw the towel in on the man who cannot die.

DH: Your own wife, Tara, will be in your corner tomorrow.  What sort
of advice or game plan have you given her?

[This gets a quick smile from Tom.]

TL: I've been married way too long to try and give my wife advice,
Dean. Tara is the person I trust with my life, and I have complete
faith that whatever happens tomorrow, my family will be better off by
this whole ordeal being FINISHED.

DH: One last question.  Tom, there's a rumor going around that you've
stated this match with Perry is the last time you'll face him.

TL: That's absolutely the god's honest truth, Dean.  The towel match
is the end of Fontana and Landis.  I've wasted far too much time,
personally _AND_ professionally on him.  Win, lose or draw I won't be
dealing with him anymore.  And sadly, that probably means I won't be
dealing with Emily anymore either.  I know it might disappoint the
fans, but there's no redemption here, no fight for her soul.  That
battle was over a long time ago, I just didn't see it.

DH: Thanks for your time, Tom, and good luck tomorrow night.

[Fade.]

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

[Stark shadows stretch out across a dry landscape and obscure the
bottom portion of an old building that could be anything from an old
ranch-style home to an antique prison.  Beneath a sign that reads
"O.K. Corral Feed and Livery Stables" is a figure of deeper shadow.]

WC: Heh.  Aheh.  For once I wish I were Doc Holliday.  Heh, but then,
so does he ... having lost the name...

[Standing, his back scraping against the wall of the building, William
Craven looks up into the dawning light of sunrise.  His head visible,
eyes shaded by a broad-brimmed hat, the majority of his green-tattooed
skin concealed beneath a long coat, he looks almost as if he belongs
beneath the feed sign and a second one the camera catches just off to
one side that reads, white on red; "shootout site".]

WC: I wish I were Doc so that I could rattle on about the historical
significance of this locale, relating it to myself by virtue of name
and thus cast my opponent as one of the villainous cowboys that fell
that day on this very spot.  A spot I had to see before returning to
Phoenix for End Game.

[As the camera zooms in, it captures Bill's face in full detail
showing it to be riddled with stitches and his left eye to be covered
by a patch of thick gauze taped down to contain the wound that split
it's lid.]

WC: Oh, but Rob Cole is no cowboy.  There was probably a day when he
dressed as one, just as he clothes himself in the raiments of a
monster today.  No doubt he's taken in this very site and been
inspired to heroism; to avenge his family upon me.  Such a pity that
he now walks a path I've set for him...

    Do you think that I'll regret pushing you, Robert?  Did you think
    that, when you stabbed at me with a plastic quill that I'd quiver
    and melt as my hubris became my undoing?  Had I not been mobbed
    and dragged, my blood loss hampering me, I'd have refused all
    assistance after your little "attack".  That night was one of
    celebration for me and you don't even realize it.

[A shuddering laughter escapes Craven and he runs his cheek against
the wall, white stubble making a sandpaper-on-wood scraping sound.]

WC: Eye for an eye, Cole.  Can we be any more literal?  But I'll take
much more than an eye.  YOU were willing to retire ... for now.
Retirement sounds like forever but how long would you stay gone?  A
month?  A year?  How long would it take for William Craven to forget
your promise?  How long until a return could be safe?

[Shooting to the right; focusing on the camera, Bill's right ice blue
eye fixates on the fans at home.]

WC: A better question; how do you erase someone from your world?  Do
you give them quarter and let them withdraw from the battlefield ...
or do you pursue them into their foxholes, forts and castles?  Robert,
oh Robert, the trap is sprung!  I'll do to you what you did to Brian
Young, steal the final years of your career like you did to me since
PVW began and I was BURIED beneath you in the undercard!

[Ripping the broad felt hat from his head, Bill leers at the camera,
splitting a stitch in his lower lip and bleeding a little.  Taking one
step out from the wall, he rubs the white stubble on his scalp,
revealing that, since the last time he had hair, he's developed a
widow's peak in the front.]

WC: You buried me figuratively, I buried you literally.  My career was
all but broken by your shadow; the shadow of a pretender to the throne
of madness, so I broke you physically and psychologically.  All my
fury levied against you you bolted as a deer from an enraged grizzly.
So I had to give you a reason to turn and fight, feral in the face of
certain doom.

    It's a cold, dry day in Arizona, Robert.  In a month, perhaps
    less, the rains will come and revive her from her slumber; one
    that lasts more than half the year.  Before then, however, my fire
    will rage, your blood will spill and the life that drains from you
    will feed her!  It gets worse.  It gets worse!  IT!  GETS!
    WWWOOORRRSSSEEE!!!

[As he screams, two more spots of blood form amid Bill's myriad
injuries including a small spot at the center of his eyepatch.  Cut.
Instant black.  End.]

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

[The scene fades in on a panning shot of Veternan's Memorial Coliseum.
 Row upon row of empty chairs surround the lonely-looking PVW ring
standing its silent vigil in the middle of the arena floor, the dim
emergency lights the only illumination offered to the viewer.  The
shot moves around, then down to the seats midway up the arena, coming
to rest next to PVW Champion "Widowmaker" Rick Marley.

The dark haired cruiserweight is wearing a black suit, blue silk shirt
and black dress shoes, his dark hair pulled back into a pony tail as
he sits quietly in the dark, looking down at the ring with a far off
look in his eye as he starts speaking quietly, almost to himself.]

"It's come down to this."

[He shakes his head slightly, breathing out.]

"First pay per view title defense.  Most guys in this spot get to take
one one guy...a guy that had to jump through flaming hoops to even get
there and to take the shot.  Most guys in this spot have known who was
coming for their belt for weeks, if not months.  Most guys in this
spot have a built-in advantage with the time, the rules and the build
up all working in their favor."

[Marley laughs bitterly.]

"Thanks to the Willinghams, I'm clearly not most guys."

[Marley shakes his head again before he once again begins to speak.]

"So, here we are.

Not only will I have to face Matt Holliday...a guy that's less
interested in taking my title than ending my career...but I'll also
have to face everyone's golden boy, Gibson Hayes...and I get to do it
at the same time as Holliday's trying to hang me high in remembrance
of a guy that I wronged.

Perfect?

No no...we're not finished yet.

See, the Willinghams weren't sure that was enough to assure that I'd
drop the belt...a belt they clearly want on someone else...so what
they did was they went out and found 'The Era of Defiance', Gabriel
Whitecross himself."

[Marley closes his eyes, a smirk creeping onto his lips.]

"Sure.

Why not?"

[He looks at the camera, his eyes hard, but still holding onto that
smirk.]

"Whitecross has a hate on for me that goes back to New York, back when
I was first starting out in this business...since I announced that I
was my own man in a match against his brother in law...and if you
don't think that Gabe holds a grudge...well...you haven't been paying
real close attention, have you?

So fine.  Make him the offiicial for the match.

Pile on two of the top guys in the industry: A sure-fire first ballot
hall of famer and the current golden boy.

Hell, people have been telling me that I don't have a chance for my
entire career, why should it change now?

I don't speak 'Cowboy' like Holliday.  I won't spout cute little catch
phrases and make you giggle like a school-girl like Hayes...

And I don't sound like a lost Sonnet like Whitecross.

What you see is what you get.

So here's the deal:

Bring it on."

[Marley nods.]

"You heard me: Do your worst.

I'm ready.

Holliday: break every rule in the book.  You come after me like an
avenging angel and take my career from me...just like I did to Tucson
Kid.  Bring your A game.  Show everyone what made you Doc
Holliday...show 'em that you're still relevant...that you still have
something to give in there.

Hope they don't notice that you're a step slow.  That your limp is a
bit more legit than it used to be.

That you have trouble lacing your shoes by yourself with your body
breaking down on you.

I'm ready.

Hayes: Bring your posse.  Hell, add ninjas for all I care.  Run your
mouth about being held back.  Try to make a mockery of me and everyone
else around you.

I'm not gonna try to match you laugh for laugh, kid.

What I'm gonna say is that it's time to put up or shut up...and I
don't think you've got the balance to write those million dollar
checks your mouth's been writing.

You think it's your turn?"

[Marley smiles, shaking his head.]

"I don't recall having finished up with the title just yet.

Whitecross: You step out of line, don't think I won't put you down
just like I did your brother-in-law.  New York's a long time ago and
I'm not the same guy that ran from you during that match.

You make yourself a participant, and I'll show you exactly what I mean
by that.

I'm walking out of that ring there with the belt held high.

So...all three of you...and each and every one of the people watching
at home?

All of you can take it to the bank."

[Fade]

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

[The camera pans to an abandoned side street in Phoenix Arizona.
Water trickles down the sidewalk from the downpour that came down from
the heavens earlier on in the day.  A chrome colored garage door stays
firm in the middle of the gritty area as we see Larry Gionet leaning
against it. He wears a navy blue t-shirt with jean shorts and black
sneakers. A smirk comes across his face as he quietly chuckles to
himself.]

Larry Gionet:  It's finally here oh yes it's finally here.  The moment
that has invaded my subconscious and submerged into my dreams.  At End
Game its the called shot match to see who goes on to a guaranteed
title shot.  I am the only man that has been in this match twice.
Some men were physically and mentally destroyed to the point where
they could take no more and leave Phoenix Valley Wrestling.  While
Rick Marley won that match and went on to become the PVW World
Champion this time around, End Game will be MY night!  Why?  I took a
chair dropkicked in my skull, I had my head smashed in by the
stainless steel ladder.  I feel through 2 tables to the cement floor.
Through my hellacious battle I still stand before you.

[Larry Gionet rubs his hands together feverishly as if trying to wash
away the memories.  He bangs the back of his head  not once but twice
against the steel garage door.  It echos throughout the vacated scene.
He looks up to the sky before continuing on.]

LG:  For every man I beat into nothing-ness all I hear about is
William Craven.  Every time I hit some hopeless soul with a Darkness
Falls all I hear whispered in the back is about Rick Marley.  This
business is nothing full of has beens and never weres.  I see people
pissing and moaning over not getting the opportunities they feel they
are entitled to.  Unlike all those people I MAKE my own damn
opportunities.   I've sacrificed everything to get to this point...
everything.  Most of these guys will go home after End Game into the
arms of their loving wives... their kids.  Me? The only thing I want
to go home to is being the holder of the called shot... I want this
more then everything I've ever wanted in my life.... I _need_ this.

[Larry Gionet looks around with a purely disgusted look on his face.
He inhales before spitting into a puddle where you can see the ripple
effect taking over the area of water. He looks at himself as he
clenches his hands into fists to where he is nearly trembling with
anger.]

LG:  Why, because it's vindication.  It's to shove it in the god damn
pieces of garbage that told me I didn't posses the tools to make it.
Tell that to my bloodshot eyes from never getting just the right
amount of sleep.  Tell that to my body that racked up bruises, scars
and broken bones.  No matter ho many ounces of sweat poured from me
after hours of working out in the gym there has always been people
with something to say.  What are you going to say when I snatch that
clipboard like the bull-horns of the world, and proclaim myself Mr.
Called Shot and #1 contender to the PVW World Championship?!  What are
you going to say then huh?

[Larry Gionet steps away from the garage door and off the sidewalk.
He gets in the face of the camera man as if he represents the men he
hates.  Gionet gets so close to where one can only see his piercing
blue eyes freezing the camera man full of fear.  Larry's breathing
becomes more aggressive taking an impatient tone of its own.]

LG:  You won't be saying a damn thing! Why, because you will be
choking on your words with your tail between your legs.  Once I have
that contract in my hands I DARE you to take me down!  So go ahead
Chris Hartt bust my head open with a ladder. Come on Foley crack my
bones with a steel chair.  Go ahead Nevermind I DARE you to rattle my
brains again with a kick to the back of the head!  Because it's not
about how you start it's all about how you close.  As I ascend that
ladder with bodies mangled in the steel guardrail, men gasping for air
and fighting for their lives I will smile. Once I snatch the biggest
opportunity of my career. My life will have come full circle once and
for all.

When it's over I won't be a corpse among corpses laying prone on the
arena floor.  I won't have been disillusioned gasping for air amidst
broken table.  I will be ascending the heavens as I snatch onto that
contract for dear life.SHATTERING the glass ceiling for good!

[Larry Gionet backs up as he shows his pearly white teeth shut tight.
He nods to the camera almost salivating of the thought of being one
step closer to immortality. He walks through the puddle as it
violently splatters over the pavement. We then fade to black.]

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

[As the scene fades in, it appears the camera is inside a van that is
coming to a stop.  The panel door of the van opens and then we see the
point of view of the camera as it exits the white van.  A quick scan
of the immediate surroundings reveal that the vehicle has apparently
come to a stop in front of a large, empty lot.  A homeless man in
dirty rags steps forward to the camera and speaks.]

Man:  He's expecting you.  Come with me.

[The camera follows the man as he leads them further into the camp.
The lot is fenced in on three sides, and the ground is littered with
dirt and rocks.  Several shabbily clad people mill about aimlessly
amongst small shelters made from cardboard and other cast-off
remnants.  Some of them sit upon the ground, while others sleep on
cardboard sheets to keep them off the dirt and gravel.  A few stand
around a rusty oil drum that has a fire burning in it.  Grubby
children run around playing, apparently oblivious to the squalor all
around them.  As the camera proceeds further into the squatter's camp,
all the homeless people stare with looks of suspicion and loathing.
Finally, the camera approaches a discarded sofa, faded and stained.
Seated upon the sofa's middle cushion, his arms spread out across the
back of the old couch is Nevermind.  His greasy black hair falls
forward over his face, obscuring his eyes.  His chin is covered with
an unruly black beard that extends several inches below his jaw line.
He is clad in his usual faded black t-shirt, and home-made kilt, with
a greying flannel tied around his thick waist by the sleeves.  His
dirty socks hang loosely around his calves and his combat boots are
held together by strips of thick, silver tape.  He is flanked on
either side by a young homeless woman.  One is thin with long dirty
blonde hair.  She is clad in faded jeans with holes in them and a
dirty t-shirt.  The other is chubby and her black hair is cut short
and mussed.  She is dressed in an oversized pink sweater with stained
turquoise leggings.  The homeless man gestures for the camera to stop
and nods towards Nevermind, who doesn't so much as acknowledge his
existence.  The homeless man retreats and the camera comes in close.
Nevermind shifts his weight forward and places his elbows on his
knees.  He brushes the unruly black mop out of his eyes and stares
into the camera's unblinking lens.]

Nevermind:  So End Game is finally here.  Big Whoop.  And with it, the
big "Called Shot" match that everyone is so looking forward to.
Again, who cares?  Certainly not me.  Although I know six other guys
that do.   Not that it will do any of them any good.  The way I see
it, is this "Called Shot" thing is just another example of why this
world stinks.  Why spend months working for something when you can
just get a title shot handed to you from winning one match that
doesn't prove anything?  That's how most of these guys look at it.  As
an easy way to get what they want.  Climb up a ladder and grab a
briefcase, that's all there is to it.  Everyone always wants things to
be easy.  But life isn't easy.  And I intend to show the six other men
in this match just how difficult life can be.

Dan Flores and Danny Daniels are worried about some mystery ninja
ruining things for them.  There's no mystery, boys.  The ninja doesn't
exist, just like your chances of winning this match.  The real mystery
is how the hell did the two of you manage to get into this match in
the first place?  Keep on searching for your ninja, boys.  You have a
way better chance of finding him than climbing up that ladder and
taking that briefcase down.

Larry Gionet, you're another guy that likes doing things the easy way.
You can't get anyone to take you seriously so you turn your back on
your so called friends in the desperate attempt to get someone to pay
you any attention.  Granted, jumping a moron like Chris Hartt is
pretty tempting.  But you knew you were going to attack him the first
chance you got back before you even considered being his friend.
Again, it's a lot simpler than getting known for something like hard
work or talent.  The fact is, Gionet, you're a scum bag.  And that's
all you'll ever be known for.  You certainly won't be known as "Mr.
Called Shot," so I guess it's better to be known as "Mr. Saw It Coming
Down Main Street."  Just so long as they call you anything, huh?

Let's talk about another of Gionet's buddies, Caleb Foley.  A lot of
people think that always having to fight against the odds and having
to overcome betrayal at every turn makes you a hero.  I say it makes
you a door mat.  Just like a door mat, Foley, I'm going to walk all
over you.  I may take the time to wipe the crap off my boots while I'm
at it. I'm looking really forward to you climbing that ladder Foley,
so I can throw your skinny ass off of it.

As for Foley's pal, Johnny Detson, well, what can be said?  You sure
have gone to great lengths and effort to try to convince everyone
you're a big deal, Detson.  I can't help but wonder why?  Who is it
you're really trying to convince?  Myself, I can't understand why if
you were going to that much trouble to impress people, why you'd claim
to be the CEO of PVW.  That's kind of like proclaiming yourself "Ruler
of all A-holes."  It sounds impressive, but who'd really want to be
it?   Now, "the King of Nothing," that has flair to it.  You can make
up all the names and titles for yourself  you want, Johnny, it won't
matter one bit.  You'll never be more than a joke, and you'll never be
a champion.  You can be CEO, Detson.  I'll be "Mr. Called Shot."  Then
I'll be PVW champion, and you can still be trying to convince yourself
that you matter when I take that belt and become "Mr. Gone."

Finally, we get to Chris Hartt.  Paladin, some time ago you wanted to
know who was responsible for my being here.  Well, I'm going to tell
you who's responsible. You.  You are, Hartt.  I'm sure you'll never
figure it out by yourself, so I'll explain it to you.

[Nevermind settles back into the couch and makes himself comfortable.]

You see, all those months ago when I was sleeping out behind the
armory on 52nd Street in Phoenix, I saw all kinds of guys coming and
going in the few weeks I was there.  And with the exception of one,
none of them even so much as noticed me.  I know that one of them did,
because I looked him in the eye.  We looked at each other for several
moments and then he turned away and walked right on by, as if I wasn't
there.   Then at Rise From the Ashes, I thought I'd sneak inside the
armory.  I wanted to see a wrestling ring again.  I'm not sure why.
Maybe I thought that if I saw a ring up close again, it might make me
feel something.  So I snuck into the armory and headed to the ring.

I walked down the aisle and stood at ringside while some match was
going on.  And as security was coming out to escort me away, one of
the guys in the ring left it and came over to me.  He put his arm on
my shoulder, told the guards to back off, and proceeded to lead me
away from ringside, out of the goodness of his heart.  I looked over
at him and he looked back at me, and I recognized him.  It was the
same guy that a few days before looked me right in the eye, and just
kept on walking.  He couldn't be bothered to even acknowledge my
existence then, but now, he was making all this effort to show
everyone what a great guy he was by helping out this poor unfortunate
soul.  The same poor soul that he couldn't be troubled with just days
prior.

Does any of this sound familiar, Paladin?  It should.  Because the guy
that looked me in the eye and kept on walking was you.   The guy that
wouldn't help someone unless there was an audience to see it was you.
And I realized that you were a prime example of everything that makes
this world suck.  You, and all the people watching.  The more I saw of
PVW the more I realized that it wasn't just you, but everyone here.
You all needed to be made examples of.  That's why I'm here, Hartt.
You're the reason.  So you see, once again, the only person
responsible for all your problems is you.  And now, It's time for you
to finally face up to your problem and deal with it.  No more hiding
behind excuses and no more getting "distracted" by obvious scum bags
like Larry Gionet.  No more easy way out, Hartt.  One way or the
other, it will be over.  And when I win, and go on to take the title
out of this place, you'll be the one to blame.

Hartt, Detson, Gionet, all of you.  I don't think that any of you have
any idea what you're in for.  You all think that you're going to do
this without having to sacrifice anything, but you couldn't be more
wrong.  I don't think any of you even have a concept of sacrifice.
You aren't really willing to give up anything.  Are any of you ready
to give up your career?  I did.  For twelve years I ate garbage and
slept on cement on a whim.  For no reason what so ever.  Do you think
that I'll hesitate to cripple each and every one of you if I think I
have to?  Do you think I'll let any of you just climb that ladder?
None of you are capable of doing what you have to do to keep me from
getting that called shot.  You won't be able to do it with obvious
tricks, lies, shifting blame, or acting like idiots.  All any of you
know how to do is lie, cheat, or deny the truth.  None of that will be
enough.  Not against me.  Compared to what I put myself through every
day, none of you simply measure up.  I've learned to take all the crap
this world has to offer and not even flinch.  Do any of you believe
for one second that there's anything you can do that will even make me
so much as notice?  No matter what you do, I'll still climb that
ladder and I'll still pull down that briefcase.  Odds are, whatever
you try, I'll just never mind...

[The King of Nothing leans back in the sofa and places his arms on the
back of the couch.  The girls on either side of him nestle up against
him, but he seems not to notice or care.  He simply stares straight
ahead.  After several awkward moments, the homeless man from before
walks into the scene.]

Homeless Man:  You can leave now.

[As several more homeless people begin to gather round, the camera
retreats and turns back towards the van before the scene fades to
black.]

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

[The setting is a gymnasium filled with rather pricey workout
equipment and way too much light. Numerous treadmills, stationary
bikes and weight machines line the walls and in the center of it all
is a wrestling ring. Riding one of the treadmills is none other than
PACO Magnon, dressed in a peach track suit. To his right, doing simple
bicep curls, is Maxime Jean-Baptiste, also dressed in a peach
tracksuit. Standing in front of them, clad in a what appears to be a
cast off from Liberace's lounge wear sale (bright turquoise and silver
tuxedo) is Arvelle "MAGIC" Lafayette. Arvy notices the camera (as if
he didn't know it was there) and is all smiles).]

AML: Hello regular Joes and plain Janes! Welcome to the ultimate
training center - where the HEAT maintain their fighting physiques and
salaciously svelte forms to make sure all those double X having
members of society have something to fantasize about while they suffer
through the non-HEAT portion of the show!

[Magnon is sprinting but still manages to take out a comb and fix his
pompador.]

AML: See that? That's a man who cares about his appearance. It ain't
because he's vain... well, it ain't only because he's vain. Y'all
gotta know that my man PACO, he looks that good because he's doing a
the fans a service! And do y'all see the big man, Maxy, right there?

[Up and down and up and down go the arms of Jean-Baptiste as Arvelle
moves next to the other member of the Heat.]

AML: Do you think Maxime has this sort of body just to get the ladies?
Well, yes, you'd be right. But it also just so happens Maxime has this
body to make sure punks like Max and Sal get their big payback!

[Arvelle playfully punches the right arm of Maxime, but big Maxi
doesn't really care as he is focused on something else; something else
that is coming on screen. Dressed in a green "Statute of Liberty"
outfit (only cut a little higher on the hem and a little lower on the
bust) is Miss Florine Walker-Davies. She's holding a sparkler in her
hand and has her blonde hair done up and off her neck and shoulders.]

AML: Speaking of pleasing the crowd, Miss Florine brings up a great
point - the HEAT is here to entertain y'all. Max and Sal ruined the
HIT, the Heat Invitational Tournament, through their cheating, lying,
no good Yankee ways! Well, boys, the HEAT ain't gonna let two Scrooge
McGringes like you get away with taking our spotlight. Ya done tried
to hurt our pride, boys. That don't sit to well with me...

[Arvelle hooks a thumb and points it at PACO.]

AML: ...or the Magnificent PACO...

[A thumb point to Maxime.]

AML: ...nor with the South Florida Adonis Maxime....

[Finally, Arvelle presents Florine, who manages to curtsy despite
having a dangerous outfit.]

AML: ...and especially not with the belle of the South. Y'all gotta
price to pay and while ya both might be a bit of a hot piece right
here, right now, in the end we all know two guys like you, you ain't
got what it takes to withstand the bright lights and scrutiny of that
there ring (points to the ring behind him) for too long. Max, Sal -
you talk a good game and you can sometimes back it up but when the
HEAT is on, you two are gonna wither like the daisies you really are -
bank on it!

[The quartet pose for the camera one last time as the interview ends.]

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

[A sharply dressed waiter slaloms
between tables, waving his arm to balance the orders he carries on his
tray... until he reaches his destination. The tray is ceremonially
swooped down to the desired table's level, and he dexterously lifts a
pitcher, and places it between "the Everlasting" Perry Fontana and his
wife, Emily.]

Waiter: Yer ice tea...

Emily: Iced tea.

Waiter: Hmmm?

Emily: Never mind, thank you.

Waiter: Be back soon with the rest of yer order.

Emily: Right, thanks.

[The waiter walks away, and Emily turns to her husband.]

Emily: See? I told you he's not hitting on me.

Fontana: It doesn't matter what his mouth says, babe, it's what his
_eyes_ say.  I wanted to bring you to a nice restaurant, tonight,
but... we're in Phoenix. We'll have to make due.

[He hand reaches across the small table to delicately rest over his,
and she smiles.]

Emily: So long as it's just the two of us, together.

Fontana: You're right, Emilia.

[The Deathless One nods.]

Fontana: Especially since this could be the last time...

Emily: Yeah. Tara did say Chelsea changed every-...

Fontana [Interrupting]: Not because of the baby, babe.

[Emily frowns, and cocks her head.]

Fontana: Because you'll soon be given a choice, Emilie.

[She opens her mouth to speak... but no sound comes out.]

Fontana: You'll have to choose between your brother Tom, the _family_
you come from... and your husband, the _family_ you're building. One,
you will choose to keep.

[Now, he covers her hand with his.]

Fontana: The other, you will choose to abandon forever.

Emily: Because of that match? But it's just-...

Fontana [Interrupting again]: It's my PASSION, Emily. It's what I do,
it's my _life_. It's what I _AM_. It'll never be "just a wrestling
match" to _me_, babe.

Emily: I didn't mean it like-...

Fontana: Now, it's a whole lot more than _just_ a wrestling match to
you, too. Because it's where you will choose which man you want to
keep in _your_ life. Me... or Tom.

Emily: Isn't that just a little over-dra-...

Fontana [Still interrupting]: NON! If you throw that towel, it means
you _give_up_ on me. On _ME_. It's the _worst_ thing you could do.

[She seems incredulous.]

Fontana: You could sleep with that waiter over there, babe, make
_romantic_ LOVE to the meatball... and it would never be as bad.
Because I can walk up to him, and RIP the palooka's _arm_ off, then
break the other, and call it _even_.

[He shakes his head.]

Fontana: But if you _betray_ me... throw the towel and _give_up_ on
me, that's a betrayal that can't be avenged. A score that can't be
settled. Because if you throw the towel, then you reject me as a man,
as a _husband_... and as a FATHER~!

[Spittle flies... The people at nearby tables do an excellent job of
staring at the Everlasting One while pretending they haven't noticed
him at all. And Emily? She certainly wasn't expecting something like
this.]

Fontana: I've had a lot of championship matches, Emily. But this
one... No title is at stake her, yet it's still the most important
match of my career.

[She understandingly nods.]

Emily: OK.

[The bespectacled blond takes a sip of iced tea, to digest it all.]

Emily: I won't throw the towel. I promise.

[Il Eterno doesnt seem to like her matter-of-fact tone, and he sighs.
Deeply.]

Fontana: When was the last time you watched a wrestling match?

Emily: I don't know, Perry. I saw lots of bits and pieces...

Fontana: Like the Heatwave intro? I'm talking about an actual match. A
big one.

[She falls silent, thinking... which clearly isn't a satisfactory
answer.]

Fontana: What about Tom. The last time you saw one of your brother's
matches?

[She shakes her head, and confesses...]

Emily: I think... I think I was nine. Maybe eight. Stayed late for
some PPV thing and... I was too young, I think.

Fontana: It was a bloody affair?

[She nods.]

Fontana: Gave you nightmares?

[She nods again.]

Fontana: And you haven't watched since.

["Le Phenix" exhales deeply, reclining back on his chair, frowning
pensively.]

Emily: Well, I still did everything you asked me to when it had to get
messy, Perry. You know I'm there for you.

[He nods, raising his eyebrows.]

Fontana: Ouais. Ouais... But you were shaking, afterwards. Trembling.

Emily: How could I not?

Fontana: Your resolve was _weak_. You're angry at Tom, real mad... but
there's a point where the _love_ for your brother becomes bigger than
the anger, and takes precedence.

[She looks back at him, stone-faced.]

Fontana: And watching this match, you'll regress back to childhood,
Emily. You'll be the eight year old girl again, watching the PPV,
watching her big _brother_ BLEED to _death_ in a wrestling ring.

[Emily's face is still expressionless, but she doesn't respond.]

Fontana: You'll want to save him, and make it stop... then you'll look
down at your hands and see the towel that can end it all.

Emily: I told you I wouldn't throw it, Perry. I promise I won't throw
it. I won't give up.

Fontana: Ouais, ouais, ouais... Tell me, babe... Have you ever seen
your man on the receiving end of a bloody beating?

[She sighs. There's a quizzical glint in her eyes, like she never
imagined Perry Fontana could possibly get his ass whooped...]

Fontana: Je vois.

[Il Eterno purses his lips, while combing his fingers through his
preposterously large muttonchops.]

Fontana: Take your tablecloth, please.

Emily: Erm.. sure?

[As she clutches her tablecloth, the Everlasting One reaches for the
half-filled pitcher of iced tea, and refills his wife's glass.]

Emily: ...Thanks...

[He puts the pitcher down, nods, gulps down his own glass, draining it
all in a flash, and punctuates the feat with a refreshed "aaaaahhhh
(ouais!)."


Then...

"___SMAAASH~!___"

He slams the glass against his own forehead! It shatters instantly,
showering the table and floor with tiny shards of glass.]

Emily: What the hell are you doing?

[This time, the other patrons can't pretend the Italian-French-
Canadian is invisible... and their confusion only increases when
Fontana grabs the pitcher, dumps the rest of the iced tea on the
floor, then...]

"___THOCKKKK___"

Emily: HEY!

[The pitcher doesn't break. But a cut on Fontana's forehead starts to
show some color...]

"___THACKKK___"

Emily: STOP THAT!

[It still doesn't break, and it's not for lack of trying.]

"___THWAACKKK___"

Emily: STOP!

[Il Eterno's face is turning red, and so is the pitcher's rim, but the
thick container remains undamaged. It's not made of plastic...]

Emily: NO!

"___THLOCKKK___"

Emily: Stop it, Perry.

"___SHLACKK___"

Emily: _STOP_ IT!!!

"___THRINGKKK~!___"

[Finally, it breaks. It breaks in big, lacerating shards, but it
breaks. Fontana's face is a crimson mask, but he's still smirking like
a man that finally bested a stubborn opponent. Emily, however, looks
like she's seen a ghost, tears of panic streaking her cheeks.]

Fontana: Where's your tablecloth?

[Emily looks down at her empty hands in confusion.]

Emily: I...

Fontana: Tom's _tougher_ than a pitcher of iced tea, babe.

Emily: But...

Fontana: You _betrayed_ me. Give up on me again, Emilia, and you
_give_ me UP _FOREVER_!

[Bright red spittle sprays the table, and the shirt of the waiter that
stands next to the Deathless One, dumbfounded.

The bloodied submissionist turns to the garcon.]

Fontana: No need, cousin, we're leaving. We're leaving.

[Perry stands, and reaches for his wife's trembling hand, leading her
passed the dumbstruck waiter and out of the establishment. After a few
awkward moments, the surrounding patrons progressively get back to
pretending nothing out of the ordinary ever occurred, and the scene
fades on what would otherwise look like a peaceful dining lounge... if
it wasn't for all the blood that was left behind.]

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

[The camera fades in and you are in a locker room. In the distance,
you see a man sitting on the bench with his back towards the camera.
His back is arched and his is wearing what seems to be a black jump
suit.  The man sits there motionless almost as if he has a lot on his
mind as he is holding his head with his hands. The camera zooms in a
bit closer just as the man is lifting his head up. As soon as he lifts
his head up you can tell it is "The Celtic Crippler" Caleb Foley.
Caleb opens the locker a bit as he swings around on the bench to face
the camera...]

Caleb Foley: For Each Man, There is a Moment..

[ A slight pause from "The Celtic Crippler" over as he continues ...]

Caleb Foley: The Culmination of a Life's Journey...

[ Caleb points to an image of him getting his hand raised in victory.
The camera remains on the photo as the voice over continues..]

Caleb Foley: A Moment of Respect ...

A Moment of Triumph ...

A Moment of Glory ...

[ "The Celtic Crippler" just stares into the camera looking to mean
business ... ]

Caleb Foley: Which moment do you want to be remembered for? I have
been called a Rookie ... Cry Baby ... Poster Boy... Destroyed ...
Broken ... A Choke Artist ... All of those words have been mentioned
in the same sentence as my wrestling career. And you know what? I
don't give a damn what you guys think I am not here to make friends in
the locker room ... I am here to do my job and that is to wrestle ...
My whole life I have been told I can't do this or I can't do that ...
I was told I was too small and I would never amount to anything. And
that stops here and now. If you don't like what I have to say well I'm
not a hard man to find and I do not back down from any challenges ...
You don't believe me look at the hell Johnny Detson has put me through
the past 6 months ... Have I backed down ... HELL NO ... So bring your
chair swinging freaks ... Your up and comers superstars ... Your
Mexicans or Monsters ... You want a fight I'll give you a fight ... I
am tired of people thinking they can walk all over me and nothing will
happen ... This is the new and improved Celtic Crippler ...

[ A short pause from "The Celtic Crippler" as he clears his throat
...]

Caleb Foley: I can already here the rumblings in the back. Once again
Caleb Foley is getting all the shots at becoming a champion. He has so
many title opportunities and the chance to shine but has always choked
in the end. All this hype about one man and this same man has done
absolutely nothing spectacular in his career. His win loss record is
not something to look at. So why does this one man always get the
spotlight? Why do the owners love him so much? Why do the fans always
cheer for him?"

[Foley suddenly lifts his head up and you can see the passion and fire
in his eyes as he begins to speak this time...]

Caleb Foley: I'll tell you why. It is because I go out to that very
ring night in and night out and leave it all on the line. It is
because I can relate to the fans because I am one myself. I can
remember when I would stand hours in line for great seats just to see
a certain superstar. You will never hear me complain about the outcome
of a match. From the time that bells rings to start the match til the
time it ends when the ring announcer announces who won the contest I
put my body on the line just to give the fans a show they will
remember...

[Caleb is no longer sitting down on the bench and seems to have a
serious tone in his voice tonight...]

Caleb Foley: One day you have this moment and everything just clicks.
You can do no wrong. Everything your peers and coaches have taught you
has finally made sense. And in that moment all the hard work, the long
days at the gym training, the bones you have broken, the blood you
have spilled inside the ring makes it that much more worth it. You
don't go though all the training and late nights for the fame, the
fortune or to get hot looking females banging at your hotel room door
at three o'clock in the morning. When you sign up to become a wrestler
you do it because you love what the business is all about. It doesn't
matter how big or small you are or who you know ... The rush you get
when your entrance music hits and your blood starts to flow throughout
your body while your walking down to the ring and then that ring bell
finally rings  ... It doesn't matter whether you being booed or
cheered all that matters is that you are living the dream of being a
professional superstar ...

Life can be cold ... it can throw you a curve ball and all sorts of
things that can be bad. No matter what it throws at you have only one
option. And that option is to adapt and if you can't do that then you
will never evolve into the person you were meant to be. You must get
up each time and rise to the occasion. How many men can honestly say
they do just that? In the end it's not how many times you fall down
but it's how many times you get up. I have overcome so many obstacles
in my short career thus far and for that alone I have achieved glory.
A great wrestler once told me if you want big rewards in life you have
to take even bigger risks ... So to the six other men in the Called
Shot get ready for a war because this match will not be for the weak
of heart ... I would wish you luck but even that wouldn't help you ...

At End Games I will finally realize my dream and I will walk out as
Mister Called Shot. I do not care what I have to do to grab the
briefcase ... I do not care if I have to bleed ... lose a few teeth
... break an finger or arm ... get driven threw a table ... get
leveled by a ladder or ring bell ... heck you can even set me on fire
... Nothing and I mean NOTHING will stop me from walking out with that
CONTRACT in my possession ...

[The camera fades to black as Caleb Foley is seen walking out of the
locker room and he looks ready for a WAR ... ]

*************************************
****************************************
Matthew Lee Holliday #2
****************************************
****************************************

[Plain backdrop.  Matthew Lee Holliday stands here, wearing an
expensive tailor-made Italian suit.  His light brown hair
cascades over the shoulders of the suit, and his cleanshaven face
possesses a very impassive expression.  His eyes, though,
stare sharply into the camera with the gleam of alertness.]

MLH: Ah'm gonna put it real simple.

Ah came back ta Phoenix Valley Wrasslin' ta git mah hands on Rick
Marley.  Ah could wipe mah ass with whut ah think about
Gibson Hayes.  He talked his way inta th' match... ah fought mah way
inta th' match.  This ain't about him.  This is about
Rick Marley.  This is about whut Rick Marley did, an' whut ah plan ta
do about it.

So it's real clear ta me thet Marley'll do anythin' he can ta avoid
his due.  He talked 'em inta puttin' Hayes in mah way.
He manipulated 'em inta puttin' Whitecross in mah way.  He's put every
obstacle you kin imagine in mah path.  But th' one
thang he ain't done is CHANGE mah path.

Rick Marley, all yer life ya wan'ned ta be Worl' Champion.  An' in yer
mind, ya visualized it.  Saw yerself as a great
champion.  A fightin' champion.  An' ah know as a point of fact you'd
defend 'gainst almost any of 'em.  Craven.  Manson.
Hayes.  Von Donkerhardt.  Cole.  Ya ain't afeared ta go at any of 'em.
Ah saw ya even started givin' shots out on account
o' ya didn't like how PVW keeps championship matches so far apart.
But alla thet means exack-ly nothin' so long as they's
one man ya duck.

An' yer duckin' me, Rick.  Yer duckin' me.  Yer gonna use Hayes, yer
gonna use Whitecross, an' yer gonna try an' sneak outta
this match with yer belt.  Then claim thet ya already fought me an'
"move on".  An' in so doin', mebbe ya made th' worst
mistake of all:

Ya made me desperate.

Ah got one chance ta git through all yer unwittin' human shields an'
put an end to ya.  Jus' exactly how didja see thet playin' out, Rick?
Didja think ah'd jus' shrug an' say "oh well, ah guess he got me", an'
walk away?  Didja think thet mah resolve would decrease when th'
obstacles increased?  Didja think an overgrown child an' a man whose
body has seen one war too many was gonna deter me?  No, Marley... ya
made it difficult.  Real difficult.  But in so doin', ya made thangs
worse. Ah was willin' ta lay it all on one match with ya.  Ah was
willin' ta let ya fight fer yer life.  Lak Craven did.  But not
now.  Now, ah simply will not rest, no mattah th' result, until yer
life is in ruins.

An' if ya skate on by with yer hide intact at End Game, Rick...
understand this: if ah cain't take away yer career in' th'
ring?  Ah'll destroy yer life out of it.

An' you kin take that to th' bank.

[With that, we fade.]